The Last Train (Detective Hiroshi Series Book 1)

by Michael Pronko

  “I guess you’re the kind of girl who likes martinis?” Hiroshi said, sitting next to her.

  “I guess you’re the kind of guy who asks dumb questions?”

  Sakaguchi sat on a nearby stool.

  “Two martinis,” Hiroshi said to the bartender after Sakaguchi shook his head no. Hiroshi searched past the make-up and tinted contact lenses for her eyes. She lit a cigarette with a diamond-lined gold lighter. Her long, square-filed fingernails, teensy green and pink flowers pasted in the centers, clicked around the stem of the martini glass.

  “So, Michiko and you went to school together?”

  “Until she got kicked out.”

  “For what?”

  “For wearing her skirt too short. Michiko was smart, but she couldn’t follow rules.”

  “And you did?”

  “No, but no one noticed me. Everyone noticed her.”

  “Sounds like a strict school.”

  “Not strict, just stupid.”

  “When was that?”

  “Ages ago.”

  “So, Michiko was a good student?”

  “She won an English speech contest, but the next day she forgot to take out her earrings and lower her skirt when she came onto the school grounds. So, they kicked her out.”

  “For a short dress?”

  Reiko smoked deeply and slowly. “A boy and I smashed the glass case and took her speech trophy to give her. That’s when I got kicked out!”

  “So, you didn’t finish high school?”

  “What for? Michiko and I made a lot of money back then. We were so young. She still makes a lot.”

  “Where is Michiko now?”

  “I told you. She left. For Europe.”

  “Any idea where in Europe?”

  Reiko laughed, shook her head, and lit another cigarette.

  “She went by herself?”

  “She always goes by herself.”

  “She speaks English?”

  “And French. She worked at clubs with foreigners. Almost married one once. But in the end, he turned out to be like most men.” Reiko laughed. “Another martini?”

  Hiroshi waved at the bartender for two more.

  “Why are you so interested in Michiko?”

  “We just want to talk with her.”

  “We haven’t really been in touch recently.”

  “But you know she’s in Europe?”

  The bartender brought over the drinks, looking nervously at Sakaguchi not drinking, and set them down on the table in front of Hiroshi and Reiko, who took the last swallow of her first martini and started on the second.

  “When was this photo taken?” He again showed her the photo of her with Michiko and Mark.

  “Seems like another lifetime.”

  “Your family is also from Kawasaki.”

  Reiko frowned, lit another cigarette. “They died, my mom and dad.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “This killed them,” she said, holding up her martini glass. “Michiko’s father let me live with them.”

  “What about Michiko’s parents? Are they still living?”

  “Her mother died when she was young. I barely remember her except we baked cookies. She had really long hair and nice perfume. Her dad was killed in an accident. But it wasn’t an accident. Everyone loved him. Especially Michiko.”

  “You must go back often?” Hiroshi asked Reiko.

  “To light incense for my parents, and Michiko’s, at Obon festival every August. After the factories were cheated out of their land and the place was buried in apartment buildings, there’s no other reason to go.”

  “Where did she live exactly?”

  She sighed, finished her martini. “There’s nothing there anymore.”

  “So, how do I get in touch with Michiko?”

  “You can’t. She gets in touch with you.”

  “Can you tell her we have to talk to her?”

  “She probably already knows that.”

  “Can you give me your number, so I don’t have to bother you at the coffee shop again?”

  She frowned and sighed but wrote it out for him on a paper coaster.

  Hiroshi dialed the number to be sure it worked.

  Reiko looked at him when her cell phone rang and shook her head. “Don’t trust me?” She typed in “cute cop guy” in English to save his number in her address book. “I have to go. I’m one of the older ones at my club now, so I help the mama-san with the new girls. It’s busy.”

  “Why don’t you open your own place?”

  “I’m planning on it. With Michiko’s help. She was always good at making and saving. I’m just good at spending.” She laughed at her own joke.

  She pulled a large folding mirror out of her white leather purse, adjusted her hair, and straightened her top. She stood up and said, “Michiko’s never done anything wrong. It’s the system that’s wrong.”

  Reiko finished the last sip of her martini, raised her eyebrows in thanks, and walked out.

  Sakaguchi stood up and walked over. “Should we follow her?”

  “I first want to see if anyone around here recognizes the faces from these photos.”

  “And if they don’t?”

  “We go to Kawasaki.”

  Chapter 34

  At Man-zoku, Hiroshi walked to the doorman, who looked like he was barely a teenager, and showed him the photos of Steve, Mark, Michiko, Reiko, and a few distracters. The kid shook his head as Hiroshi flipped to the photo of Michiko and asked again. The kid shook his head, looked away, his hands shuffling discount cards he was supposed to hand out to passersby.

  Sakaguchi stepped closer and cleared his throat.

  The kid spit on the sidewalk.

  Before it hit the ground, Sakaguchi had him on tiptoe by his arm and was hustling the kid around the side of the building. Sakaguchi was about to crack the kid’s face, but Hiroshi held up a restraining hand.

  “Whatever loyalty you have to this club, you better think clearly,” Sakaguchi said.

  The kid didn’t resist, waiting it out with his eyes down. “It costs,” he said, looking sideways at Sakaguchi.

  Sakaguchi shook the kid like a rag doll. “We don’t pay for information. We put people in jail until they give us information.”

  The kid looked at the photos and sighed. “I’ve never seen the people in those photos.”

  “Look again.”

  The kid looked again. “I worked here two years, never saw them.”

  “Look again.”

  Hiroshi showed them again.

  “All foreigners look the same. The women change their looks all the time.”

  Sakaguchi let go of the kid. “You keep your eyes open. We’ll be back.”

  The kid straightened his jacket and walked back to his spot on the sidewalk, acting tough. The same scenario played out at the next three clubs: Pata-Pata, Backside, and Sanctum Sanctorum.

  Before Hiroshi and Sakaguchi got to the Venus de Milo, Hiroshi’s phone buzzed.

  “Takamatsu?” Sakaguchi asked when Hiroshi hung up.

  “No, our friend Shibuya,” Hiroshi said.

  “He didn’t make it?”

  “The anesthetic, apparently.”

  “He had too much on top of the drug?”

  “The doctors weren’t clear, but something like that.”

  “Add that to Michiko’s list. What about the girl? Call her parents?”

  “Her parents were probably the problem. We can bring her in later,” Hiroshi said.

  “Seems like she can fend for herself all right,” Sakaguchi said.

  The bouncers at the Venus de Milo were older and more experienced. They stepped out to the cars pulling up to the curb, opened the doors and greeted the regulars by name. In between, the doormen chatted with each other as if they owned the street.

  Hiroshi said, “This is where Steve came all the time. I came here with Takamatsu.”

  Sakaguchi said, “Let’s not waste time, then.”

  Sakag
uchi stepped ahead of Hiroshi to the doorman standing in front of a fake Venus de Milo. Before Hiroshi could get a word out, the bouncer shoved Sakaguchi in the chest.

  Sakaguchi kneed him in the thigh and grabbed his hair. Twisting the bouncer’s head and arm, Sakaguchi pushed him over the back of a Mercedes Benz with tinted windows.

  Immediately, a man with a slicked-back ponytail and leather gloves shot out of the drivers’ side of the Mercedes, glaring. Sakaguchi pointed at him in caution, and frog-marched the doorman around the side of the building.

  Ueno, who had been following them, hurried from across the street, stepped in front of the ponytailed chauffeur and said something too low for Hiroshi to hear. Hiroshi followed Sakaguchi—who had the bouncer’s head locked in his thick arms—into the alley and heard the Mercedes Benz door shut with a heavy swoosh.

  Sakaguchi twisted the doorman’s head, tumbling him backward over two large, blue plastic trash bins, which collapsed with a plastic crackle. Sakaguchi picked him up and pushed his face against the brick of the wall.

  “Look closely and don’t make a mistake,” hissed Sakaguchi.

  Hiroshi pulled the photos out, flipping them one by one before the doorman’s angry face. For light, Hiroshi then pulled out his cell phone and used the glow from the screen. The doorman gave no response.

  “Look again,” said Sakaguchi, pushing until the bins caved in, and trash spilling over their shoes.

  This time, the doorman nodded at Steve’s photo, and then at Mark’s photo.

  Hiroshi asked, “They came here often?”

  Before the doorman could answer, a tall man in a black suit, black shirt, and thin, black tie stepped into the alley. He was older and thinner than the doorman. His long, round face took in the scene. Two more men stood behind him at the entrance to the alley, both of them holding long, thin knives along their thighs.

  The thin man spoke in a calm, clear voice. “That is one of my employees.”

  “We need information,” said Hiroshi.

  “You are disrupting our business operations.”

  “It won’t take long. Unless you want it to,” said Sakaguchi.

  The man glowered, his face pale and expressionless.

  “You’re the owner?” Hiroshi asked.

  “Let’s say I’m the manager.”

  “Well, why not tell your employee to answer our questions, so you can get back to business?” Hiroshi said.

  The man stared at Hiroshi.

  “If you’d like us to send the media here, there’s always some reporter looking for a scoop.” Hiroshi had learned this threat from Takamatsu. “We could go through your books, too, send in a crew.”

  The manager considered this.

  At that moment, Hiroshi noticed, with relief, Ueno and Osaki standing behind the men with the knives. Behind them was the ponytailed chauffeur of the Benz.

  “All we need to know is how often two foreigners came to the club and which of the hostesses they favored.”

  After a pause, the manager nodded to the doorman who was still bent over the trash bins. “Tell them what they need to know. There are always more women.”

  Sakaguchi released his grip, letting the doorman stand up and brush the garbage off his shoes and pant cuffs. Hiroshi again held up the photos.

  “What about this guy?” said Hiroshi, holding the photo of Steve.

  “The guy used to come in all the time.”

  “And this guy?” The photo was of Mark.

  “Sometimes.”

  “How often?”

  “Once every couple days. I don’t know.”

  “How often exactly?”

  “Every day sometimes. Then gone for a week. It depended.”

  “And this guy?” Hiroshi held up a photo of Wakayama, the rich real estate speculator.

  “Yes. That guy, too. Often.”

  “They were together?”

  “Yes, but that was a year ago. I heard he died.”

  “They both died. Same girls every time?”

  “I’m outside. I don’t know who they talk to. I just call the taxis.”

  “You see them get into taxis, right?”

  “Limos.”

  “What did the girls look like, if you don’t know their names?”

  “Attractive. Sophisticated.”

  Sakaguchi took a step toward him and he spoke more quickly.

  “Tall, strong, confident. Everything—hair, dress, make-up, changed all the time. You know how they are. Fashion trend of the moment.”

  Hiroshi held up the photo of Mark with Michiko and Reiko.

  “The tall one comes only on special occasions. The other quit. They had other girls sometimes, too.”

  “What was the tall one’s name?”

  “I don’t know any of their names.”

  “Did you go out with them?”

  The doorman snorted. “They go out with their own guys.”

  “Not with a doorman?”

  The doorman rubbed his wrist. “There are photos in the hallway.”

  Ueno, the biggest of all of them, walked up the stairs of the club entrance and ripped the frame board of photos of the hostesses off the wall. He pushed through the two guys holding knives and carried the board back into the alley.

  In the photos, twenty or thirty women with startled half-smiles, pale from a too-bright flash, stared out at them. The doorman pointed at one—which Hiroshi plucked out of its inner frame, then at another.

  “Any others?”

  “The tall woman’s photo isn’t there. Maybe the mama-san took it down. I haven’t seen her in a long time.”

  “She look like this?” Sakaguchi jammed a cropped photo of Michiko in sunglasses in front of the doorman.

  “That looks like a thousand girls in Tokyo,” the doorman said. “Even the one in your cell phone could be anybody.”

  Ueno tossed the photo board onto the trash. Hiroshi put the photos in his pocket.

  The men holding knives put them away inside their long coats, and then stood with their arms ready.

  Sakaguchi and Hiroshi straightened their jackets and walked out of the alley.

  “If you need information, you should ask politely,” the manager said as they passed.

  “That was polite,” Sakaguchi said.

  Before Sakaguchi and Hiroshi got to the street, the manager turned to them and said, “If it’s a hostess you need, I can arrange one for you.”

  The three detectives stopped.

  The manager continued, “They’ll tell any story, take the blame and do the time. It gets them out of debt, gets your case closed. Everyone’s happy.”

  Hiroshi turned to look at the manager and said, “It’s too late for happy.”

  “Never too late,” the man said. “Plenty of other cops do that. It’s not as expensive as you might think.”

  Hiroshi’s cell phone rang.

  “It’s Takamatsu.”

  Chapter 35

  The hallways were long and quiet and well-marked. Neither Hiroshi nor Sakaguchi spoke as they walked to the south wing elevators, one large and one for personnel only. The gurney-sized elevator moved at a ponderous crawl. The inside smelled of disinfectant.

  At the tenth floor, they were directed down a long hallway of private rooms. In a chair at the end, a plainclothes guard looked up from his manga and recognizing Sakaguchi, motioned with his chin to the room.

  “Where’s Sugamo?” Sakaguchi asked.

  “Went for more coffee.” Several empty cans of vending machine coffee rested on the table beside him.

  Hiroshi walked into the room, pulled back the curtain and reeled back.

  Fluids oozed through a tangle of tubes taped in place. Velcro straps circled the man’s arms and air casts covered his lower legs. IV drips dangled from above and a rack of monitors hummed. Two flexible tubes wormed into the man’s mouth. The bed was tilted up at an angle, so that his head, bandaged, flopped a little to the side.

  Hiroshi and Sakaguchi stood there
for a few, shocked minutes, the machines burbling and pulsing.

  Sakaguchi grunted and leaned away.

  After checking the name to be sure it was him, Hiroshi sighed deeply. He could hardly recognized Takamatsu underneath it all. He stepped forward to touch a small open patch of Takamatsu’s forearm. There was no response, only the rhythmic sound of the monitors indicating life.

  “He must have found our girl,” Sakaguchi said.

  Sugamo came in. “He’s been here a while, but they couldn’t ID him. No wallet, no cell phone, nothing. It took them hours to figure out who he was. I got here as soon as I could and called you.”

  “When did they bring him in?” Sakaguchi asked.

  “The train station called it in and the ambulance brought him here to the ER, so a few hours ago at least,” Sugamo said.

  “Did someone tell his wife?” Hiroshi asked.

  “She was here, but went home to check on the children. Said she’d be back in a while.”

  Hiroshi murmured, “I’ll stay here and wait for her to return.”

  Sakaguchi said, “Sugamo, you might as well go home. Be back after you sleep. On your way out, tell Osaki to come up here. He’s in the lobby. Tell the guy across the hall to be back late morning.”

  They stared down at Takamatsu. Most of his body’s functions had been externalized. He was breathing on his own, but fluids, pain and oxygen were all taken care of by machines. Dark bruises and scraped-raw skin were visible through the bandages and tape.

  A nurse with a large folder came into the room, startling Hiroshi and Sakaguchi both. Hiroshi asked her, “When will he wake up?”

  The nurse busied herself in her cart, “Not until the gamma hydroxybutyric acid filters out of his body.”

  “What’s that?”

  “The date rape drug.”

  “Rohypnol, you mean?”

  “That’s a benzodiazepine. This has the same effect, but it’s a little stronger, and colorless and tasteless. He had a very large dose.”

  “How large?”

  “It could have killed him. The alcohol made it worse. He had a large dose of that, too.”