The boy’s fingers began racing over the keys. He logged into a chat forum and conversation scrolled by almost faster than Kenji could read it.
Hornet typed, yo, ghost, want unlimited lives for level 36?
does godzilla want to destroy tokyo?
trade?
what for?
need some names
for you?
friend
what kinda job?
have user IDs from a website, need real names
“I need to read their e-mail too,” Kenji added.
and access to email archive, Hornet added.
There was a pause in the scrolling.
user IDs are easy but email’s usually got decent encryption. i’ll do it for a first edition appleseed
Hornet looked at Kenji. “The comic he wants is Appleseed, the series drawn by Shiro-sama before he became famous for Ghost in the Shell.”
The scrolling started up again.
seven samurai comix in akiba has a signed one for ¥3500 will trade
Hornet looked at Kenji. He nodded.
The boy typed, now?
no still at work. tonight after 8?
done. where?
café jaunty 1-6-4 kanda-sakamacho 2nd floor
my friend will be there at 8. thx
what’s his name?
Hornet raised his eyebrows at Kenji.
“Nakamura.”
Hornet typed it in.
Ghost replied, ok. tonite me & nakamura: goin’ fishin’
Hornet closed the chat window and flipped the laptop shut. “Okay, I did it. We’re square, right?”
“You really think he can do it?” Kenji asked.
Shouldering his backpack, Hornet snorted. “In the time it takes you to walk to the comic book store, he’ll get their names, addresses, and phone numbers, and tell you whether they drink their coffee black, sweet, or white.”
Chapter 32
Thursday, April 11
6:00 P.M.
Yumi
It took a moment for Yumi’s eyes to adjust to the Mad Hatter’s perpetual twilight. Boshi-san nodded, then returned his attention to the quarter-scale Ikki Tosen Battle Vixen figure standing on the bar, custom-painted in a blue Alice dress and pinafore. Two weedy-looking young men grinned as the bartender appreciated their gift.
Kenji came through the door behind her and crossed the room to examine the Alices on the far wall more closely, stopping before the Gundam robot in its golden curls. Turning to Yumi with an amused smile, he said, “I can’t say I ever built one quite like this.”
Few customers were there this early, none of them regulars. The Lolitas would arrive in force around 8:00, although some might stop in after work while they waited for the commuter crush on the trains to subside. A pair of twenty-something girls wearing outfits that had a bad case of rural fashion lag sat in the far corner, nursing their pink cocktails and their disappointment that there were no costumed patrons to ogle. They shot Yumi and Kenji a cursory glance before returning to their study of Top Secret Tokyo Hot Spots.
Boshi’s otaku friends accepted draft nama-beers as a down payment on his gratitude and meandered over to inspect the Alice collection. Yumi led Kenji to the bar, watching the bartender hold up his new action figure, admiring her from various angles. Tonight he was wearing a silk top hat, wisps of his extra-black hair falling into his eyes.
“Irasshaimase, Yumi-san.”
“Nice Vixen Alice,” she said.
“She’s a beauty, isn’t she?” He set the new figure behind the register.
“Boshi-san, this is Kenji Nakamura.”
Before she could explain he was the policeman in charge of Rika’s case, Kenji said, “I was admiring your Master Grade 102 Unicorn over there.” He nodded toward the Gundam robot in the wall display. “Did you build it yourself?”
“Nah, a friend gave that to me. Never got into Gundam, myself—I was always better at painting than gluing. Started with DragonballZ but switched to classic Alice figures in high school. You?”
“I was better at gluing. Too hard to paint by flashlight when I was supposed to be in bed.”
The bartender nodded with a knowing smile.
Kenji turned to Yumi. “Can I buy you a drink?”
“Well . . .” She looked at her watch. An hour and a half before she met Ichiro. Would she have to drink more of that awful French wine at dinner? Suddenly she craved a White Rabbit. It wouldn’t hurt to have just one.
She smiled. “Thanks Ken-kun.”
As the bartender mixed her drink, he looked at Kenji. “And you?”
“Nama-biru,” he said, glancing over at the taps. “Asahi Super Dry.”
The bartender pulled his beer, expertly shutting it off just as a modest head of foam pillowed slightly above the rim of the glass. He set the drinks in front of them, then busied himself at the register.
As Kenji placed a ¥5,000 note on the tray with the bill, he said, “Hata-san and I are friends from way back, but I’m also in charge of investigating Rika Ozawa’s murder.”
The bartender froze. He turned slowly to face Kenji. “You’re a police officer?”
“Detective, actually. I know Yumi was here with Rika-san on Friday evening and I was wondering if you remembered anybody who took a special interest in her that night. Someone who might have followed her when she left.”
The bartender picked up the tray and frowned as he made change. “A man?”
“We think so.”
Boshi picked up a glass to polish. “Not many men in here that night. Midori’s boyfriend came in looking for her, but he didn’t stay. A couple of salarymen wandered in and sat at that corner table, but they were here until around eleven, when they talked a couple of Princess Gals into leaving with them. Other than that . . . just one other guy. Never saw him before.” He turned to Yumi. “Do you remember him? Sitting at the end of the bar, near the door.”
Yumi shook her head.
“Looked like he was waiting for someone. Sat there alone, drank two draft beers, then left.”
“Did he leave before or after Rika-san?”
“After, I’m pretty sure. She said good-bye to me on her way out, then I got busy with table orders. When I had a chance to attend to the counter again, there was money on the bar and the guy was gone.”
Kenji took out his notebook. “Can you describe him?”
“Not really. It was busy, so I was juggling drink orders. I didn’t really talk to him.”
“Tall? Short?”
“Couldn’t tell, he was sitting. Sorry, that’s all I remember.”
“Thanks. Everything helps. If we need to get hold of you to look at some pictures, how can I reach you?”
The bartender recited a number with a 03 prefix. A landline, not a cell phone.
“Who should I ask for?”
The little man looked up in alarm.
“Unless, of course, your real name is Hatter,” Kenji joked.
The bartender’s eyes shuttered. “Boshi is fine. That’s what everyone calls me.” He bowed and headed toward the other end of the bar, where three office ladies were waiting to order.
They picked up their drinks and sat down at a table near the Gundam Alice.
Kenji took a swallow of beer. “Does Boshi-san’s memory of that evening jibe with yours?”
“He remembers more than I do. I was so busy trying to make Rika tell me who she was meeting that night . . .” She looked down at the table.
“Don’t worry about it, Yu-chan. Who else was here?”
She took a sip and thought for a moment. “It was early. The only girl I recognized was an Elegant Gothic Lolita who hangs around with Rika’s friend Midori.” She brightened. “I
could ask her tomorrow night. I’m sure she’ll be at the Circle event.”
She explained about the Lolita gathering she’d been invited to. “Oh, and Coco came in just before Rika had to leave, with a bunch of her friends. I’ll ask her, too. You remember Coco Kawaguchi, don’t you?”
She was interrupted by a familiar shriek. “Yumi! Why didn’t you tell me you were coming tonight?” It was Coco herself, wearing a pink miniskirt with glittery high-heel sandals, in the company of two fellow Princess Gals. She swiveled her attention to Kenji, putting two and two together. “Oh, Yumi told me about you! You must be—”
“Coco,” Yumi quickly interrupted her, “you remember Kenji Nakamura . . . ?”
Coco snapped her mouth shut, recalculating. Confusion that he wasn’t the Mitsuyama heir gave way to astonishment as she recognized Yumi’s companion. Obviously she had never looked beyond The Mole, either.
“Kenji Nakamura?” Coco repeated, dazed. “Kenji Nakamura from Koshikawa High School?”
As he bowed over the table in her direction, Coco raised her eyebrows at Yumi, then gave Kenji a dazzling smile. “O-hisashiburi. I hardly recognized you. What are you doing here?”
“I’m the head investigator on Rika Ozawa’s murder,” he explained. “Yumi’s been helping me with a few details about the night Rika died.”
“Really? You’re a policeman now? And you’re working on Rika’s case? You know,” she said, her carefully mascaraed eyes wide with helpful innocence, “I was here that night, too. Maybe I can help you.”
“Yumi mentioned you came in just before Rika left. Do you remember a man sitting alone at the end of the bar, near the door?”
Coco sipped her tall drink, showing off lips freshly glossed in the latest shade of pink. “You mean the guy Boshi-san was arguing with? I saw him when I came in.”
“Arguing?”
“Well, maybe not arguing, exactly. Boshi-san was giving him what-for like they’d known each other a long time. I got the impression that the guy had asked for something but wasn’t getting what he wanted. He sort of shoved back his chair and grabbed his bag and stomped out.”
“What did he look like?”
“Hm.” She shifted her weight to her other hip. “He was really short. Shorter even than Boshi-san. Trying to grow a goatee, not very successfully. Wearing those balloon-y pants like a construction worker, but—” Coco wrinkled her nose, puzzled. “—he didn’t really seem like one.”
“How do you mean?”
“No muscles. Skinny. Like my brother when he was in middle school.”
“Coco,” one of her friends called from a nearby table, where they’d been joined by several young men with extravagant bleached hair. They were waving her over.
“Okay, okay, just a minute,” she said, then returned her attention to Kenji. “Does that help?”
“Yes, thank you,” he said with a smile. “Can I get your phone number, in case I have any more questions or need you to look at some mug shots?”
“Sure,” she said, fishing around in her purse and coming up with a phone paved in pink rhinestones. After reciting her number to Kenji, she asked him to call so she’d have his too. Mission accomplished, Coco gave him a coquettish smile and said, “We didn’t know each other nearly well enough in high school, Nakamura-san. Even if you don’t have more questions, let’s get together sometime, ne?”
Turning to Yumi, she added, “We need to catch up, too, missy.” A pointed little stare said she hadn’t been kept nearly up to date enough on the Mitsuyama o-miai situation, and that being spotted having a drink with an attractive man who wasn’t her potential fiancé called for a much more complete explanation. With a final flutter of her bejeweled nails, she left to join her friends.
Over Kenji’s shoulder, Yumi watched their heads tilt toward Coco’s, listening avidly. One sneaked a glance at their table and Yumi’s face burned. She hoped nobody would tell Ichiro and give him the wrong . . . No, that was ridiculous. Nobody at the Hatter knew Ichiro. She hadn’t even told Coco about her engagement yet. She hadn’t told anyone.
Kenji was looking at her strangely, so she took a gulp of her cocktail and said, “You remember Coco from high school, don’t you?” She launched into a funny story about their high school days, and only later realized she’d told one that wasn’t particularly flattering to her friend.
Chapter 33
Thursday, April 11
8:00 P.M.
Kenji
An hour later, Kenji stood outside a tall, skinny building in the Akihabara electronics district. Light spilled from the open front of the camera emporium on the ground floor. Young men on a mission flowed around him as he checked the address. The guy at the curry shop on the corner had been right—it was the building with a life-size, cardboard cutout of a miniskirted girl standing outside, advertising low, low prices on digital SLRs.
To the right of the electronics store, a dim hallway led to an elevator. Kenji approached it warily. He’d heard about maid cafés but never visited one. They’d sprung up as a safe place for the shy engineers who shopped in Akihabara to talk to the scary half of the human race without fear of rejection. The waitresses dressed like French maids from comic books. They walked, talked, and acted like they’d just stepped from the pages of their customers’ favorite series.
A sign next to the lift confirmed that the Maid Café Jaunty was on the second floor. Below a manga-style drawing of a big-eyed, long-legged girl in a short black frock with a frilly white apron, it read, “Welcome home, Master of the House!” Below were listed boy-friendly menu offerings like pizza, spaghetti, and rice omelets.
Kenji’s stomach growled. He really needed to eat something. Taking a deep breath, he pushed the up button. Just as he realized he had no idea how to recognize the guy he was meeting, the doors opened onto a cheery interior, filled with small white Formica tables and bustling waitresses dressed like the drawings on the sign.
“Irasshaimase, go-shujin-sama!” sang a beaming young woman in a fluffy maid costume. “Welcome, Master of the House!”
“Uh . . .”
“How may we serve you, Honorable Master?”
“I’m, uh, supposed to be meeting someone here,” he said, scanning the room and wondering which of the guys glued to their laptops was Ghost.
“Oh, are you Nakamura-sama?” she chirped, referring to him as if he were a ranking dignitary.
He nodded and she said, “This way please, Honorable Master. Ghost-sama called to say he’d be a few minutes late tonight and to seat you at his usual table.”
Bewildered, Kenji followed her bobbing ponytail to a small table in the corner of the room. After handing him a menu, she produced what looked like a votive candle from her pocket and blew gently on it. An electronic flame flickered to life. She set it before him with a bow. “When this goes out, your first hour will be up. Please enjoy, go-shujin-sama!”
Kenji looked around curiously. The Jaunty’s walls were papered in faux stone. Across the room, a “window” framing a view of idealized European countryside was surrounded by pink-checked curtains tied back with bows. The backlit photo didn’t actually fool anybody, but it suggested that the café’s theme was “fairy-tale castle” rather than “dungeon.” Photos of the Jaunty waitresses lined the walls, each posed in her uniform, smiling and saluting. According to a poster tacked up behind a small raised dais, it was day four of Nyan-Nyan Week. Sure enough, all the maids were sporting furry cat-ear headbands and greeting their customers with the Japanese word for “meow.”
Kenji opened the menu.
In this particular fantasy world, no mother hovered, reminding patrons to eat their vegetables. In fact, no vegetable ever darkened the door of the Maid Café Jaunty. For a fixed price, customers could choose between rice omelets, spaghetti, curry rice or pizza, a variety of soft drinks, and the maid servi
ce of their choice. The cheapest combo included a signed Polaroid of the customer with his maid; the next offered five minutes of conversation while Master ate. For the top price, a maid would play rock-paper-scissors with go-shujin-sama, although the menu didn’t promise she’d let him win. Kenji hastily flipped past the combos, drink list, and desserts, and to his great relief, the final page offered à la carte food without any attention from the maids.
A pixyish ingenue with short pigtails appeared at his table. Her black skirt and starched white apron stood out like a doll’s over white bloomers and thigh-high black stockings. She lifted her hand like a paw and made a cat-meow, then piped in a little-girl voice, “How may I serve Honorable Master tonight?”
“I’d like a melon soda and . . .” He scanned the menu. “. . . curry rice, please.”
“Certainly, go-shujin-sama.”
Kenji looked around at the tables of young men dressed in T-shirts emblazoned with characters from comic books and animé movies. Their universally pale skin and unstyled hair suggested they lived their lives online, represented by avatars that looked nothing like their real selves. There was at least one computer on every table.
Across the room, a maid fed soup to a customer, blowing on each bite before offering it. Then an order was delivered to the otaku at the next table, who took a break from slaying zombies to watch his maid draw a bewhiskered cat on his rice omelet with a squeeze bottle of ketchup. Before digging in, he joined her in singing the maid café’s theme song, a look of adoration on his face, his hands mirroring hers as she held them in a heart shape and rocked them back and forth. Kenji hoped his neighbor was paying extra for that service, because he certainly wasn’t going to . . .
His curry rice arrived, and after trying to get him to sing along with her and failing, his waitress bowed and left him alone to eat. Kenji spooned up his curry, ravenous. It wasn’t anything special, but at least there was a lot of it.
“Welcome back, go-shujin-sama!” piped the hostess as the elevator doors opened for someone who was clearly a regular. Kenji’s eyes widened as he stepped into the café. He didn’t need an introduction to know that Ghost had arrived.
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