Chapter Two: Turncoat
You can tell a lot about a man from the contents of his pockets. Although sometimes it's exactly what he wants them to tell you.
Sakai had kicked Youji in the ribs and then dragged him up into the hotel like he was escorting a drunken friend. The room was uncomfortably small, a dull grey without any sign of life in any of the beds or furnishings, the sort of place that visiting tourists would want to see the city just so they could leave. Leaving wasn't an option for Youji, who was handcuffed to a chair in the corner while Sakai went through the contents of his pockets. The handcuffs were tight; he couldn't feel his hands anymore.
Youji's heavy overcoat and his jacket were on the bed in an untidy heap. Scattered across the sheets was a wallet, a card holder, a half-empty pack of cigarettes with the heavy gold lighter, a single lonely breath mint in the wreckage of its packet, an unpleasantly green disposable camera, a few thousand yen in crumpled notes and scattered coins, the sunglasses and the heavy digital watch. It looked like the sum of a very small, very private life.
Sakai picked up the card holder and the wallet. "This says you're a private detective," he said. "At least it agrees with your driver's licence. They both say you're name's Youji Kudou."
"It's a common name," Youji responded.
"It would also make a good alias."
Youji laughed. "Look, Sakai, I've got enough to worry about without trying to remember my own name."
Sakai hit him in the stomach. It wasn't as hard or as bad as it could have been, but it still hurt. Youji made it look worse than it was, doubling over as far as the handcuffs would allow and gasping. When he looked up again, there was a Polaroid being flatted against his nose.
"Who's she?" Sakai demanded.
"My girlfriend," Youji replied.
Sakai looked at the black-and-white picture of the girl in the secretary's outfit, her face partially obscured by long curly brown hair in a good impression of a Hollywood movie star from the forties who understood that real sex appeal lay in the tilt of the head, the parting of the lips, and the look in the eyes, not in what a girl put on or took off. It was some of Birman's finest work. When Youji had taken the picture, he had asked her whether she was imitating Rita Hayworth or Ava Gardner. Despite this, part of him still wished that Manx had let him take her picture.
"What do you want from me?" Sakai asked.
"Finally," Youji said. "Now I get to see the other half of your one man good-cop-bad-cop act. You could have started with this and I'd have told you. In fact, my entire plan relies on us having this conversation. But before we do, can I have a cigarette?"
Sakai selected one of the most battered Camels from the battered packet and jammed it into Youji's mouth. Youji made several comic faces as he moved the cigarette around so he could hold it between his teeth
"Thanks," he said. "Do you feel like lighting it?"
Sakai lit the cigarette. "I'm not taking off the cuffs."
Youji smiled. "Sakai-san, I'm a professional private investigator. Do you think this is the first time I've had to smoke a cigarette while tied to a chair?"
"This is the last time I'm going to ask you why you were following me." Sakai sat down on the bed.
"You should know who I am," Youji replied. "You've been expecting me for a week. Or someone just like me. You killed another Kritiker agent, and they sent me after you. You know the drill as well as I do; watch, listen, record, hand over all information no matter how insignificant, and never let your mark know you're there."
"So what the hell are you thinking?" Sakai demanded. "Why break the rules? If Kritiker want me monitored, you've put your own head in a noose next to mine."
Youji made a gesture with his head, and Sakai reluctantly shoved an ash tray between his knees before Youji continued. "All my contact told me was that you were a Kritiker agent who they wanted me to watch. That got me curious. When I saw the news report on the young cop's death I put it together. There was nothing special about this crime, nothing that the police couldn't investigate, so it had to involve Kritiker. But the only reason one Kritiker agent would kill another is if he had found out about something very valuable."
Sakai's expression changed; a blink washed the fear out of his eyes. "How much?"
"Forty percent," Youji said. "I don't think that's unreasonable. Call it payment for services rendered."
"Services?"
"Services." Youji nodded. "I don't even need to know what you got, but I can guess from the cop's job that it has something to do with the Prime Minister, so it's got to be worth something to someone, and you wouldn't do something this crazy without knowing you have a buyer. So I'll share the risk, give you a hand and keep Kritiker off our backs while we do this. And then afterwards we just disappear."
The other man delicately plucked the cigarette end from Youji's lips and stubbed it out, his hard dark eyes staring deeply into Youji's cool green ones. "Why?" he whispered.
"When you want to tell me why you're doing it," Youji answered. "I'll tell you why I am."
Without breaking eye contact, Sakai reached behind Youji and opened the handcuffs with a careless flick of the wrist. Youji smiled, stood, and rubbed his wrists to restore the blood flow. He walked around the room as if Sakai wasn't there, picking up his coat and carefully replaced put everything back in the right pockets. He poured himself a glass of water from the bathroom sink, drained it, poured another one, and then sat down on the bed.
"Thank you."
"How do I know you won't turn me in to Kritiker?" Sakai asked.
Youji shrugged. "How do I know you won't drop me off the Rainbow Bridge? I get nothing if I turn you in. You can't trust me yet, but trust I want my forty percent."
"Twenty percent."
"Thirty."
"Okay, thirty."
They stood and bowed. They watched each other, each man trying to understand the other through the way he bowed and the way he straightened up afterwards. Youji knew Sakai was trying to find out what he was hiding, trying to read his mind through his eyes. For an instant, he let himself show a little of himself, let a trace of the real Youji Kudou smile out at Sakai. Just for an instant, because Sakai deserved to get something for his effort.
"You'll understand if I don't want to exchange cards."
"So what now?" Sakai asked.
"I go back to my hotel," Youji said. "It's getting late, and I'd like to get some painkillers before the shops shut. I know where I can find you."
"But you don't know where to find what I have," Sakai told him. "It's in a safe place."
"Of course it is."
Sakai opened the door. Youji walked through it. They didn't bow, they hardly nodded, then Youji walked away down the corridor as Sakai closed the door behind him. He made it to the lift before he let himself feel the pain. The burning in his ribs, the ache in his arms, the pounding in his head seemed to merge to fill his entire body. He coughed viciously as he emerged into the freezing night, but he fought it, wrapping his overcoat around himself like a full-body bandage.
It was starting to snow again. Youji lit another cigarette just to breathe in something warm, and headed into the night in search of alcohol and aspirin.