Tokyo Espionage

Chapter 8

Chapter 8

When I crossed the threshold to the streets, I realised the extent of the man hunt. My face was on the cover of every newspaper, on every screen. I looked with horror at how vilified I had become. I hadn’t even done anything wrong.

I’d arrived in Tokyo at midday with no money left. The police would expect me to contact people from my former life, but there was no choice. I had to reach out, and I thought Lily would be the best person to contact.  I knew that she took her lunch everyday at the Pret a Manger 5 minutes from work, which is to say, if Romeo was still operational. It wouldn’t have surprised me - with all the scrutiny I was under - if the English academy had been discovered for the front that it was.

It was almost midday, so there was just enough time to get to Pret ahead of her. I walked at a good pace, with my hands in my pockets, and eyes to the ground.

The Pret by Rinku tower was just like any other chain: sandwiches on the shelves, and coffee on the counter. Tables and chairs flanked the open foyer to provide seating to those eating in. The lunchtime rush was already in effect, and I was feigning to be indecisive about which lunch option to go for when I heard the doorbell ring, and a young Filipina in a smart suit enter. Lily looked like she had acquired a thousand worries since I last saw her.

She grabbed a cheese baguette, and went to the counter. I’d written a note on the bus, on a scrap of discarded newspaper with a plastic biro from the hostel. I followed her, and slipped this note into her jacket pocket while she waited to be served. Then I doubled back, and left the store.

I regretted leaving the panini, which I’d used as a pretense to stand in the queue, but couldn’t buy because of a lack of funds. I couldn’t risk an arrest for shoplifting right now. Still thinking about it, I went to the karaoke not far from Pret, and leant against a lamppost. If Lily had got my note, she would approach from the west. I thus fixed my eyes in that direction.

***

I stayed there the afternoon over, and was about to make my way God knows where, when, at around 4.30pm, I saw the angel turn the corner, and walk towards the bar. I turned on my heels, desiring to wait for her in reception.

Lily arrived a few minutes later; she kept her eyes off of me. She booked a room for an hour; the attendant took her through. He showed her into a room, and when he exited, I walked past him, and kept going. I craned my neck to see his back, returned to enter the room, and felt Lily’s warm embrace.

“Oh my God I was so worried.” She took a step back to appraise me. The conclusion was, “You look awful.”

She was right: my suit was creased, and began to smell. I had a week’s worth of stubble, and my skin was caked in sweat from nervous energy. I guessed I looked thinner too because I hadn’t eaten much.

“I would have come sooner, but I didn’t get your note until late afternoon.”

“We don’t have much time. They’ll expect me to contact people I know. They’ll be following you, I think.”

She nodded, I swallowed hard: I hated that I needed to ask the next question, “I need money Lily.”

Without hesitation she said, “You can take mine.”

“They’ll know I won’t have much, so don’t withdraw a lump sum. It’s a red flag.”

She looked irritated, as if I was telling her something she already knew. “I’ve always kept a stash lying around.”

I stared at her blankly.

“I’m an illegal immigrant, working for a bunch of prostitutes. I was worried that someday the cops would find out.”

“Clever.”

She did an exaggerated smile, and we shared a laugh.

“But how can I get it to you?”

“Where is it?”

“In a backpack.” I was about to speak when she continued; “I took it with me when I left.”

“Left?”

“They came to the apartment looking for you, waving badges, and warrants. It was a thoroughfare for every man and his dog, so I packed my shit and left.”

“Where are you staying?”

“Ronin’s.”

That put me at ease. I didn’t want to think of her being alone at a time like this, and I knew Ronin would look after her.

“Alright. What colour is the backpack?”

“Black.”

“How much money do you have?”

She opened her purse; there was roughly 20,000 yen. She handed it over without my even asking.

“I’ll buy a black rucksack tomorrow. You take yours to work, then with you to lunch at Pret. We’ll exchange them inside. If you are being watched, they’ll see you still with a black backpack, and then go back to whatever they were doing.”

“Ok.” She paused for a moment, wondering how best to articulate what came next. “There’s something you should know.”

“What?” I was conscious Lily had been gone a while; her handler might be by any minute to check up on her. Just in case, I had angled myself in the corner, out of view of the door’s narrow window.

“It’s about the business, Achilles has taken over.”

“What!”

“When it all happened he said that he was in charge now, nobody objected, everyone was so stunned. He’s taken over your accounts, and office. Whenever the police, or God knows who comes by asking questions, he takes them in there, shuts the door, and closes the blinds.”

I was pissed off at the bashfulness of it all. I scribbled a note onto my shred of paper – Achilles.

I gave Lily a kiss on the cheek; she’d earned it. I heard her say, “I told you this would end badly.”

I’d walked out the corridor, and then the back exit when it struck me: where to now? I was certain every hotel, and hostel in Tokyo would have my picture. I couldn’t go home, and friend’s houses were out of the question: they would be watched. So, what?

I took a ride to Kabukicho. It was still daylight, so the whores weren’t lining the streets yet. I walked down a less travelled alley, covered in garbage and muck. Sodden air vents were either heaped in the narrow walkway, or on iron platforms either side of the buildings that lined it. It was the kind of place you came to drunk, desperate, and horny with only a few notes in your wallet. I walked in an open door; an unlit sign hung outside.

It was dark and gloomy with an acrid smell. An ugly woman sat behind a glass panel. I said I wanted a room for the night. She said 10,000 yen. I handed over the cash, took the key, and went to my room. I’d reckoned correctly: people didn’t check I.D’s. They were people on on the lowest rung of society’s ladder, what mattered most was that I paid cash.

There was a worm-eaten wardrobe, and desk in my coffin apartment. The mattress on the bed was rusty, and the sheets hadn’t been cleaned. The bathroom was equally horrific: a rusty bath, and shower head that only suffered a modicum of water to escape it. The mirror was cracked, the sink was broken, and until I figured out this mess, it was home.

I thought I would sleep soundly that night because I was so tired, but the perennial footsteps in the hall kept me on edge: it was the hookers, and their clients whose incessant pleasure moans seeped through paper thin walls while drunks in the street yelled profanities. I stood a better chance of sleeping in the day. That’s what the working girls did.

The next morning I cradled my head: I had a migraine. I set out early, making a note to pick up some aspirin. I bought a backpack from a nearby market before heading downtown where I took up my place in Pret. It was just like the day before; not long after, Lily came in.

Copyright © 2014 by Curtis Couch