Anesthesia - Chapter 2

I wait until after we've eaten before bringing up business. It is what politeness dictates, and I have made it my custom to always be polite while in this house.

"I need a favor."

His eyebrows lift like the plumes of smoke from his antique pipe. "I've heard that before, Muraki."

"Don't try to play the martyr, Oriya. It's nothing difficult."

"I've heard that, too." He's silent as he pours tea for us. He has a way of moving that's both listless and irritated, as though he's grown tired of everything. Even being annoyed holds no thrill for him anymore.

He fascinates me. From a strictly intellectual standpoint, of course.

And he says, as he passes the tea to me carefully, "Go on and get it over with."

"I only want some information." I take a sip. It's hot, but it doesn't burn. "You've been preparing a stronger brew lately."

He sighs, relieved. Deep down, we both know that unsavory business doesn't suit him. He's too meticulous for it. A good criminal is one who is only cautious enough to not to be caught, not one who is so cautious he is always dreading it.

"About what?" he says.

"All I really have is a name. Nanjo. Perhaps you've heard it before...?"

"Nanjo?" He glances up, his hair making messy spider webs around his face. "I didn't know you had an interest in pop music, Muraki."

I know he's making fun of me, but he makes it difficult to be offended. Any humor he has is dry to the point of desiccation.

"Actually, it is his older brother who has captured my interest."

"Akihito, you mean?"

But then his lips pull into a hard little smile. I know that expression. I've seen him close a trap on unsuspecting prey enough times. "Or... could it be Hirose?"

"I don't like that look, Oriya. Do you know something about him?"

"We've corresponded, briefly."

He's always a step ahead of me. Without even knowing it, he's always right where I need to be. It's what makes me adore him, and it's what makes me, deep down in the reptile part of my brain, fear him a little.

It's what makes me want to hate him, and it's what makes me unable to.

"Please, elaborate," I say.

"It was nothing, really. His youngest brother caused a disturbance in my restaurant, and Hirose interceded on his behalf to see that it did not become public."

"That boy, Koji, is quite a handful, I hear."

He nods. "They've been estranged for several years now. Koji does well enough for himself, even without the family money."

"Ah, the Nanjo fortune. Tell me, how much did Nanjo Hirose pay for your inscrutable silence?"

Oriya only lifts one arm languidly, letting the soft light tangle in the silken folds of his haori. Dark blue, rich with violet embroidery. It's a color I've never seen on him before, and it smells like money. I have heard that it takes years to dye that shade of indigo. My knowledge of antiques is humble, but I'm not a complete philistine. It would be difficult not to see the wealth sewn in to every stitch.

"Do you like it?" Oriya says, as though it explains everything. He tilts his chin back a little, looking at me along the length of his lashes. "You ought to stay away from that man."

"Don't worry, I'll see that any extravagant gifts are passed on to you."

"That's not what I'm talking about." He moves suddenly, setting his hand over mine. "Nanjo Hirose is dangerous. Even he doesn't even know how dangerous he can be…"

"Your concern for me is touching." I tug at my trapped hand, but he's left me with no graceful way of extracting it.

"That family is troubled, Muraki. Deeply troubled. Suicide, madness, suspicious accidents. I've heard the word "curse" so many times… I don't know what to believe anymore."

I shake my head.

"I'm not interested in what other people say. I'm interested in what you know. What do you see, Oriya, when you look at Nanjo Hirose?"

He sighs softly. He doesn't like when I ask this of him; doesn't like to be reminded that he can see what others cannot. But he doesn't complain. He never does.

"I see… much the same thing I see when I look at you. A man who has not yet come into his full potential. But you don't want to be the one to make him realize it, Muraki.

"What makes you think I would do such a thing?"

"You are who you are."

This time, I do shake him off. I'm not looking at his face, but I can imagine the way his mouth must twist. "Such an unusual man. His hair is silver, you know. Stark white, as though it's never been anything else."

"He must dye it."

"He does nothing of the sort." I'm curious to see how Oriya will react when I add casually, "I checked."

"You...?" All at once, he understands. I'd like to say it stings, the way his lips twist in disgust.

But it doesn't. Not at all.

"You ought to be more careful," he says. "I'm afraid..."

"Are you?"

His eyes narrow. "I'm afraid you're not taking things seriously enough."

"I assure you, Oriya, I'm taking things very seriously."

He's silent for a moment, as though there's something he dreads saying, as though saying it will make it more real than it was when unspoken. "You think Nanjo is... like you, don't you?" He fingers a lock of his own hair. "Because of this."

"I think that there is something unusual about him. It's a feeling I get."

"A feeling?" He doesn't sound convinced. "I don't know what you mean."

"Am I not allowed to have intuition now, Oriya? I did not know you had a monopoly on the market."

"Forgive me, then."

When he submits to me, it's like a wave breaking against a rock. "I looked him up," he admits. "After he was here. I'll send that information to you. Will that be satisfactory?"

"Quite. Though… I would like to know your impression of him, as well." A toss off a little smile. A cold smile. A smile I know he can't resist.

"Silent," Oriya says. And he gets to his feet, slipping his pipe into his hand as he turns to open the door that looks onto the courtyard.

"I find him very silent."