Collector of Secrets (10 page)

“I have so much to tell,” Tomoko shouted.

A hawker waved a reggae T-shirt as they made a sharp right turn into a quieter side street. “Let me guess.” He pulled back against her arm and rolled his eyes. “Tony Roma’s again? How about
sushi
instead? Or even
shabu-shabu
? Heck, I’d settle for
Okonomiyaki
.”

Tomoko tugged him forward. “I’m the one who hasn’t eaten today. I should get to choose.”

“Kenji got time off from the school and we’re supposed to meet him and his friends for drinks in an hour.” He watched her mouth shape itself into a little frown and he found himself grinning defeat. “Okay. If it’s what you want. But you need to get us past that lineup.”

“Not a problem.” She squirmed her way to the front of the dozen waiting people. The flash of her business card and a brief dialogue with the hostess had them moving inside within moments. The place was packed, so they sat in the back under a sign blaring
BEST RIBS IN AMERICA
.

Onion rings, ribs, and beers arrived while Tomoko described the Sapporo television shoot in detail. Max licked sweet barbecue sauce from his fingers while listening intently. He loved to hear her talk, especially about work. Her eyes would grow fiery with passion while her cheeks would flush, and although it seemed impossible, she was even more radiant than usual.

Finally full, Tomoko stopped and took a deep breath. “I have to explain . . . there’s something I need to tell you.” She bit at her lip.

Max pushed away his now decimated plate. “What do you mean?” He hated confessions―they usually meant bad news.

Unsure of his reaction, she began cautiously. “I have a university friend who works for the government in Sapporo, and she did some research for me. Well, I mean that . . . I asked her to investigate Mr. Murayama and Yoko.”

Stunned, Max gaped at her for a moment before speaking. “Are you kidding? If she works in government, that’s a massive invasion of privacy.” He fought to temper the agitation he felt flaring up. “And why would you do that without talking to me?”

“I know, I should have, but Miki found out some very interesting things.”

“Such as?” His chair squeaked as he sat back.

“There is no information about Yoko before 1985. It’s like she didn’t exist at all.”

Max thought back to the little history he knew about Yoko. “Well, did you know she lived in Dallas and New York? Maybe she was there until ’85.” He wiped his fingers before tossing the napkin to the table, just a little too hard. “I can’t believe you’d do that without discussing it first. I never would have agreed.”

“I want to help you. I know I’ve only met Yoko a couple times but there’s something strange about her. And the feeling is getting stronger based on your missing passport, and the money she’s getting the parents to give her. Something isn’t right.” Tomoko reached across the table and clasped his hand. “There’s more and it gets worse. According to Miki, Mr. Murayama never had any children.”

“Okay, that’s just crazy.”

“It’s not a mistake,” Tomoko said emphatically. “Something’s wrong, and this proves it.”

Downing the last of his beer, he paused before replying. “Mr. M is a good friend. Why would he need to lie to me? He wouldn’t do that. It doesn’t make any sense.”

“I don’t know. He seems like a nice old man, but it could still be true.”

“So, if he isn’t Yoko’s father, then who is he? And why would they both lie?” Max shifted irritably in his seat, his voice rising. “We should leave.”

The waitress appeared at the table, popping the balloon of escalating tension. She handed over the bill before hurriedly gathering the dishes. Tomoko took the opportunity to head for the door. “I’ll meet you outside.”

“Yeah, fine.” Max walked slowly to the till, paid, then forced his way through the ever-present crowd huddled at the doorway. Standing in the fresh night air, it dawned on him that maybe he needed to take a break and get out of the country for a while. Away from all the weirdness—from the Dragon Lady, the unrelenting city, and the drug-addicted roommates. Tomoko was standing at the curb with her back to him as he approached and spoke abruptly from behind. “I need to go traveling for a while.”

“What?” Eyebrows raised, she turned to stare at him.

He could read the shock on her face, and his mind raced to explain what could only appear to be an irrational outburst. “It’s not what it sounds like. I quit my job yesterday.”

She threw a hand to cover her mouth, but said nothing.

“Let me explain. My work visa is tied to the job, and Zoe told me I’d have to leave the country to get a new one. ” He struggled to choose the right words. “I’m not sure if that’s true, but why not use it as an opportunity?” He tried to move closer. “I just thought of it now. We could travel together for a few months. Maybe backpack around for a while.”

Tomoko stepped back, out of reach. “That’s crazy―I can’t take off months to travel.”

“You could quit your job, too.”

“This is unbelievable. How could I have been so stupid?” Her eyes fell to the sidewalk, refusing to meet his gaze.

“But we could—”

Icy frost crackled in her voice as she interjected. “My brother is dead, Max. I’m an only child now. You know that. My parents are getting old and they expect me to care for them. And I can’t leave my job. It’s my duty.” Head down, her long hair swung to and fro. “My girlfriends were right.”

He knew well enough that her friends were afraid of foreigners; that they’d been whispering against him. “I want us to be together.”

“Doesn’t matter.” Eyes glistening, she looked as though she wanted to cry but was too proud. “I need some time to think, alone.”

“I’m not leaving you.” He was trying to explain things to himself as much as to her. “I want you to come with me.”

“So this is my fault—for not being able to drop everything.”

Nearby, rising above the hum of the surrounding city, Kenji’s voice was shouting their names, struggling to grab their attention. Max glanced over his shoulder toward the nearby McDonald’s, and in the brief moment it took him to wave a greeting, Tomoko sprang away into the mouth of a waiting cab.

The taxi door snapped shut as Max rushed forward, tapping repeatedly on the window. “What are you doing?” He banged on the glass with the palm of his hand, frantic, stumbling over his feet as the vehicle accelerated. “Where are you going? Please, Tomoko, let’s talk.” The glass barrier and the car’s rising engine muffled her words, but she allowed herself one hurtful glance that tore at his gut before the car pulled away.

Max swore in despair and punched the air as the taxi’s taillights disappeared up the street, only to be lost in a blur of neon.

HER EYES slowly panned the inside of the car, and she wondered how she’d gotten there. The emblem on the glove box read
CADILLAC SERIES 62
. The driver seemed familiar, but a murky shadow clung to him, and she couldn’t quite see his face. The car stopped in a dark, wooded forest heavy with fog. The man handed her a brown envelope. She peered inside and saw that it held tightly packed bundles of U.S. currency. The man’s instructions were muffled, and she strained to hear the words as he leaned across her to grasp the chrome door handle.

Yoko instantly found herself standing in the outdoor dampness. The car’s tires crunched over gravel as the slender, fin-shaped taillights disappeared into the haze. She was struck by the strangeness of it all, yet for some reason she didn’t feel frightened.

Looking down, she noticed she was wearing a sleeveless black satin cocktail dress, with white gloves that rose to her elbows. Clutching the envelope to her chest, she began to walk down the road. The mist cleared and the ground changed to the lawn of a luxurious estate home. Four immense pillars at the front of the grand building were spiraled in lights of sparkling green and red. Cars filled the driveway. A smiling butler motioned her toward the warm glow of the front door, and she entered.

The foyer held a brilliant Christmas tree that reached up to the second floor. People drifted about, laughing and talking as a string quartet played “Deck the Halls.” Passing a full-length mirror, she caught a reflection of herself. Touching her black bouffant hairdo, she noticed how incredibly young she looked.

In the living room, a handsome man stood in the far corner. She walked toward him. He was slim and youthful, with short brown hair, lime-colored eyes, and a pouting lower lip. He smiled without showing his teeth. Looking across the room toward the fireplace, she noticed an olive-skinned woman sneering at her.

Blinking, she found herself on a backyard patio. The handsome man followed her as she walked away across the grass. Turning to face him, she handed over the envelope and he suddenly grasped both her arms and his warm lips pressed against hers. She felt herself almost give in, but then swiftly pushed him away.

Immediately he was gone, and she found herself watching a car driving slowly through a crowd of hysterical people. As it passed she could just make out, in the back, the tortured face of a weeping lady in a pink jacket and hat. From behind, a finger tapped her shoulder, and she turned to see the familiar young man grinning and holding a rifle. Suddenly his mouth twisted in pain as a scarlet spot grew quickly in the center of his chest before he slumped to the ground, disappearing from sight into the angry crowd swarming around him.

The world reformed itself, and she was in a room with high ceilings, paneled chestnut walls, and worn hardwood floors. An imposing oak table ran along the far wall. Behind it sat four pale men dressed in suits, each with greased hair and slim black ties. In the center of the room was a lone wooden chair. She felt herself smoothing her satin skirt before sitting. The men fired question after question, and she wanted to answer them, but no sound came forth. They grew increasingly angry and pounded the table with their fists. Her chair slid continuously closer, and the men’s faces grew larger and angrier. Red-faced, they shouted repeatedly. She felt hot tears on her cheeks and wanted to rise and run, but she seemed glued to the chair, unable to move.

Yoko screamed and bolted upright in bed. The tabby cat resting beside her hissed. Breathing in sharply, she clutched at her chest, heart pounding in her ears as sweat trickled down her back.
It’s only a nightmare.

She rocked back and forth, willing her racing pulse to slow.

When will I be free of the past?

When will all the lies end?

A PHONE was ringing in the distance—three, five, seven times. Max’s mind climbed from its short slumber. He smelled straw. A tangle of sheets bound his feet together. His right eyelid came unstuck, and he saw the blurred tatami floor pressing against his face.

Pale light edged through a set of closed blinds, illuminating the meager room. A tousled sheet and a second wafer-thin mattress lay a few feet to the left. Kenji, Yoko’s assistant, had been sleeping there, but the bed was now empty.

Outside, a metallic squeak preceded the
whoomf
of a door pulling shut. Footsteps approached. The room’s wall slid open a few inches, and Max yawned. “Man, it’s way too early to be up. Where’d you go?”

Kenji’s familiar spiked hair and chubby frame entered the room. His voice carried a slight lisp as he spoke. “I went for hangover medicine.” He dug into a plastic bag and pulled out a pair of battery-sized brown bottles. “If you want one, there’s ‘Real Gold’ or ‘Go For It, Mr. Liver.’”