Linnear 02 - The Miko (4 page)

Inside the car, as Junior hurled them into the stifling traffic on

the outskirts of the city, Tomkin leaned forward, staring out the gray-tinted windows at the growing expanse of the steel and glass forest rising from the borders of the farmers’ green fields. “Jesus,” he said, “it’s just like New York. When the hell’re they gonna stop building? I come twelve thousand miles and I feel like I never left home.” He sat back with a sudden lurch, a smirk on his face. “Except, of course, that you and I’re the tallest creatures for a thousand miles, eh, Nick?”

Nicholas gave his employer the semblance of a nod and in the -same motion said to Miss Yoshida in the front of the car, “Gaijin are often rude without meaning to be, eh?” He shrugged his shoulders. “What else can you expect from ill-bred children.”

Miss Yoshida covered her bowlike lips with the palm of her hand, but her mirth was obvious in her sparkling eyes.

“What the hell’re you two chattering about?” Tomkin growled, feeling left out.

“Just informing the natives that it isn’t only height that’s out-sized on foreign devils,” Nicholas lied.

But he’d struck the right chord. “Hah!” Tomkin guffawed. “You’re damn straight! Very good, Nicky.”

Just over an hour later, the three of them stepped off the high speed elevator at the summit on the triangular Shinjuku Suiryu Building. All of Tokyo lay shimmering like a dusky multifaceted jewel beneath them. Suspended six hundred and sixty feetfifty-two storiesin the air, Nicholas was amazed at the profusion of ultra-modern skyscrapers that had sprung up in his absence. They shot from the bedrock pavement like a Mandarin’s glittering fingernails, lifting the Shinjuku District of downtown Tokyo into the dome of the heavens.

Tomkin grimaced as he stopped them and, pulling Nicholas close beside him, whispered, “Coming here always reminds me of cod liver oil. When I was a kid my father insisted I take two spoonfuls every morning. He kept telling me it was for my own good, just like he did when he beat me if he found me dumping the stuff down the toilet. Then I’d have to gag on that vile stuff anyway.” He grunted heavily. “Huh, you can eat your raw fish with these barbarians, Nick. I’ve still got the taste of cod liver oil in my mouth.”

Miss Yoshida led them through a set of wood-paneled doors, the oversized knobs carved into the Sato crest. Down a corridor softly lit by indirect lighting. Edo period ukiyo-e prints by Hiroshige, the master of rain, Hokusai, the master of the countryside, and Kuniyoshi, the master of Japanese myth, hung on the walls. A dove gray carpet was beneath their feet, acting as a damper for the bustle of work going on all around them, drifting out from a multitude of office doorways. Teletypes chattered softly, and in another section a battery of electronic typewriters were going full speed.

Miss Yoshida stopped them before another set of doors. These were of thick slabs of ash burl fitted together with wide wooden pegs in the traditional Japanese manner. The handles were of roughly worked black wrought iron, reminding Nicholas of the riakonthe inns of the countrysidehe had stayed in.

“Mr. Sato knew you would have a strenuous trip,” Miss Yoshida said. “Such a journey is fatiguing even to the strongest of constitutions. That is why Junior has gone on to the Okura with your luggage. He will see to your rooms.” Her arm raised, her hand held palm upward. It was a simple gesture, yet elegant for all that. “Here you may relax without concern or worry.” Now her cherry blossom lips pursed in a smile. “If you will be so kind as to follow me.”

Tomkin’s angry voice checked her. “What the hell’s going on here?” His eyes were belligerent. “I didn’t come halfway round the world to scorch my flesh in some sitz bath while the big man goes about his business.” He tapped his black crocodile attaché case. “I’ve got a merger to consummate.” He snorted. “This other stuff can wait as far as I’m concerned.”

Miss Yoshida’s face showed nothing of what she must be feeling. The smile was still on her face and to her credit it had not frozen there. “Mr. Tomkin.” she began, “let me assure you that”

“Sato!” Tomkin’s strident voice overrode her quiet controlled tones. “I want to see Sato now. He can’t keep me cooling my heels like some goddamned functionary. Raphael Tomkin waits for no one!”

“I assure you, Mr. Tomkin, no disrespect is intended,” Miss Yoshida pressed on, struggling to contend with this irrational outburst. “My task is to serve you, to help you relax, to put your mind into the proper frame of”

“I don’t need you or anyone else to tell me what my frame of mind is!” Tomkin thundered, taking a step toward her. “Now you get Sato in here or”

Nicholas stepped forward, coming between them. He could see that despite herself Miss Yoshida’s face had gone ashen beneath the artful cosmetics. Her hands were shaking.

“What d’you think you’re doing, Nick?”

Nicholas ignored Tomkin, using his own powerful frame to move his employer back. At the same time he composed his face, smiling easily, projecting his own relaxation in order to short-circuit the woman’s obvious alarm.

“Please excuse the gaijin,” he said in Japanese, not wanting to use Tomkin’s name. “He’s had a long, uncomfortable trip.” He lowered his voice and went on, keeping the pressure on Tomkin as he did so. “The truth is, Miss Yoshida, his piles are bothering him and he’s like a dog who’s sat on a warrior anthill. He snaps at anyone and everyone.” He grinned. “And he hasn’t the sense to be cordial to so dutiful a blossom but in his pain seeks out to blindly crush the beauty before him.”

Miss Yoshida gave Tomkin a wary look before she bowed, thanking Nicholas. “Sato-san will be with you shortly,” she said. “His wish is only for your comfort and ease before the rigors of negotiations begin.”

“1 understand completely, Yoshida-san,” Nicholas said kindly. “It is most thoughtful of Sato-san to be concerned with our total well-being. Please be so kind as to extend our compliments to him.” He bumped his muscular shoulder against Tomkin’s struggling form. “And as for the gaijin, leave him to me.”

Miss Yoshida bowed again, relief flooding her face; this time she made no attempt to mask her feelings. “Thank you, Linnear-san. I cannot think what Sato-san would say to me if he knew I had not performed as he had anticipated.” Half running, she squeezed by them both and hurried back down the corridor.

Tomkin felt a lessening of the awesome pressure brought to bear on him and broke away. His face flushed. He raised a sau-sagelike finger. “You owe me an explanation, Nick, and it goddamned well better be a good one or”

“Shut up.”

It was not said particularly loudly, but some hidden tone seemed to strike Tomkin’s nervous system. His mouth snapped shut.

“You’ve done enough damage to us already,” Nicholas said, struggling as Miss Yoshida had to keep his emotions under control.

“Damage? What are you”

“You lost us incalculable face with that woman. We’ll both count ourselves lucky if she hasn’t gone straight to Sato with the affront.” The last was a lie. Miss Yoshida was so frightened of offending the guests she’d do no such thing. But Tomkin would never know that, and some fear was good for him right now.

Nicholas pushed by him. He found himself in a rather small, dimly lighted room with a cedar slat-boarded floor. Along one wall was a row of spacious metal lockers. He went over to one and opened it. Inside he found not only a terry-cloth robe but comb and brush, an entire array of toiletry items. Off to the right an open archway led into a mirrored bathroom with sinks, urinals, and a row of toilet stalls.

Nicholas could hear the muffled sounds of water dripping, as if within the walls. To the left of the row of lockers was a plain wooden door. The baths, he surmised, must be beyond. The air was moist and warm, decidedly inviting. He began to disrobe.

Tomkin came in behind him. He stood rigidly in the middle of the room, glaring at him, willing Nicholas to face him. Nicholas went methodically on with what he was doing, his long, lean muscles rippling, consciously letting Tomkin steam.

After a time, Tomkin said, “Listen, you bastard, don’t you ever do that to me again.” His voice was thick with pent-up fury. “Are you listening to me?” he said finally.

“Get your clothes off.” Nicholas folded his trousers, hung them over the metal hanger. He was naked now, stripped of the layers that civilization dictated he must wear. It was clear he possessed an innate animal quality that was almost frightening. Justine had felt it the first moment she had seen him moving naked across the room like a wraith, a dancer, a nocturnal predator. Even when he made so mundane a move as putting one foot in front of the other, he used his body as an instrument, achieving a confluence of grace and power.

“Answer me civilly, dammit!” Tomkin’s voice had risen, a function of not only his anger but his abrupt fear of the man standing in front of him. He was nonplussed. In his world of corporate business, nakedness was a state of vulnerability. Yet looking at Nicholas Linnear now, Tomkin felt only his own vulnerability, so acutely that he was aware of the thunder of his heart pumping, his accelerated pulse.

Nicholas turned to face Tomkin. “You hired me for a specific purpose. Kindly allow me to do my job without interference.” There was no anger in his voice now; he had that under control.

“Your job is not to insult me,” Tomkin said in a more normal tone of voice as he struggled to control his runaway pulse.

“You’re in Japan now,” Nicholas said simply. “I’m here to help you stop thinking like a Westerner.”

“You mean loss of face again.” Tomkin snorted and hooked a spatulate thumb at the closed door. “That was just a girl. What the fuck do I care what she thinks of me.”

“She is, in fact, Seiichi Sato’s personal representative,” Nicholas said in a calming tone. “That makes her important.” This lie was essential now to keep Tomkin under control. If he should even suspect the slight that had been dealt them, there would be no stopping him. “As such, here, she is part of Sato himself and therefore no less important.”

“You mean I should bow and scrape to her? After Sato didn’t even have the courtesy to meet us himself.”

“You have been over here many times,” Nicholas said evenly. “It astonishes me that you have learned nothing at all about Japanese customs.” He gestured. “This treatment is accorded to only the highest dignitaries. Do you have any idea what this setup the Japanese bathmust cost with space at such a high premium in Tokyo.” Nicholas sighed. “Stop thinking with your Western ego and try a little acceptance. That will go a long way here.” He reached into his locker, brought out a fluffy white towel embroidered with a dark blue triple wheel, the emblem of Sato Petrochemicals.

Tomkin was silent for a moment. Then, abruptly, he grunted and began to undress. It was as close to an apology as he was going to come. When he, too, was naked, he drew out his towel and the key to the locker.

“Don’t use it,” Nicholas said.

“Why not?”

They stared at each other for a moment, then Tomkin nodded. “Loss of face, right?”

Nicholas smiled, opening the wooden door beside the bank of lockers. “Come on,” he said.

They stepped into a chamber perhaps twenty feet square. The floor was the same cedar slats but here the walls were of gleaming blue tile. The ceiling, of smaller tile, was a mosaic whose center was the interlocking wheel pattern of the company’s logo. The room was taken up by two enormous bathtubs both now filled with steaming water. Two young women stood in attendance.

Without hesitation Nicholas stepped in front of them, allowing them to pour scalding water over him, then begin rubbing him down with soapy sponges. After a moment spent taking this in, Tomkin followed him.

“This I understand,” he said, allowing the woman to wash him. “First get clean, then let the heat relax you.”

They were rinsed off carefully, shampoo provided for them, then, dripping, their flesh steaming, walked to one of the steaming tubs.

Here the water was even hotter, making Tomkin cringe. They discovered niches within the walls of the tub so that they could sit with just their heads out of the water. Tomkin’s face was red, beads of sweat rolling freely down his cheeks. He found that if he moved it made the heat intolerable. Nicholas’ eyes were closed, his body relaxed. There was no sound save the soft, hypnotic lapping of the wavelets their own bodies created in languid movements within the bath. The tiled walls were stippled with moisture.

Tomkin put his head back against the wood, stared up at the Sato triple wheel. “When I was a kid,” he said, “I remember I hated to take a bath. I don’t know why. Didn’t think it was manly or something. There was a fag kid in school always smelled like he’d come from the bath. Jesus, I hated him. Beat his brains out one day after class.” His chest moved up and down slowly with his breath.

“I thought, you know, that it’d make me some kind of hero with the other kids, but it didn’t.” His voice lapsed for a moment before resuming. The drip of the water was like a metronome. “I remember my father coming after me, throwing me into the tub, scrubbing me with that kind of powdered cleanserAjax or something. It hurt like hell, I can tell you. ‘Cry,’ he said. I can just hear his voice. ‘It’ll do you a world of good,’ he said. ‘Tomorrow you’ll take a bath on your own so I won’t have to clean you this way again.’

“Yes.” Tomkin nodded. “My father certainly taught me the wisdom of keeping clean.” He closed his eyes for a moment as if picturing the scene all over again.

Nicholas looked at him and thought of his dead friend. Lew Croaker had been so certain that Tomkin had had Angela Didion murdered. That obsession had a peculiarly Japanese flavor to it because it sprang from Croaker’s blind obedience to the dictates of the law. “Nick,” his friend had once told him, “I don’t give a rat’s ass what Angela Didion did or what her rep was. She was a human being, just like all us slobs. What I’m doing… Well, I figure it’s something she deserves. If she can’t get justice, then no one at all deserves it.”

What Croaker termed justice Nicholas knew as honor. Croaker knew where his duty lay and he had died in that pursuit. It was a samurai’s death, Nicholas knew that very well, but it somehow did not ease the sadness that welled up in him in odd quiet moments or erase the emptiness he felt inside him, as if a vital part of him had been abruptly severed.