At the Sharpe End

by Ashton, Hugh

  “Well, I know something’s happening.”

  “Let me explain it as simply as I can. All the markets are in chaos. There’s no knowing from one minute to the next what’s happening. No-one knows what on earth is going on, and there is no way we can make any money using your husband’s ideas.”

  “Well, my father gave you that money for you to make money for him, to help him with his political aims. And that was several days ago. Now I want the money you’ve made from the money he gave you – loaned you.” Her sentences were becoming shorter, and Sharpe could hear her breathing at the other end of the line. “I want it. Now.”

  “Are you all right?” Despite being annoyed by this conversation, Sharpe was concerned.

  “I’m fine. Thanks for asking. Now where’s the money?” Her voice sounded even more jerky and staccato.

  “I’ve explained to you that we can’t give you back the original money just now. Or rather it would be in no-one’s interests right now.” Sharpe tried to cover himself. “There’s just no way we can give you back any more, because we really don’t have it.”

  “We need it. All of the money you promised to my father. Now.”

  Sharpe sighed to himself, but noticed the “we” that Tomiko had just used. Something slightly odd seemed to be going on at the other end. He was certain that she hadn’t sounded asthmatic or had any difficulty breathing when she had come round that evening.

  “Look, I’ve explained to you that this is really impossible. The markets—”

  She cut him off. “Do what my father wanted. Or else.” The line went dead, and Sharpe was left stupidly holding his phone and swearing under his breath. He was just beginning to repeat himself when Mieko walked in.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “That stupid Tomiko. She has absolutely no idea of how things work. She thinks her husband’s invention is just going to make money for her magically. She doesn’t understand what’s what.”

  “Well, you can explain that.”

  Sharpe sighed. “I just did that, and I think that even Jon, God rot him, did the same. She wants all the money we promised Kim.”

  “Not just the money that he gave us? All the money that we were going to make for him?” Sharpe nodded. “Ouch. We don’t have that money. We don’t even have the money he gave us.” Another nod and a groan from Sharpe. “And she’s taken over as boss of a group of gangsters?” Sharpe nodded yet again.

  “But,” he pointed out, “although she is boss in name, she might need the money to keep the position and become a real boss with genuine power.”

  “All of the money?” asked Mieko. “I’ve never run a gang,” (Sharpe couldn’t help smiling at this – he found it hard to imagine anyone less likely than Mieko to be running a yakuza gang) “but I don’t think you’d need all that money to do it.”

  “You’re probably right. But whatever, I don’t fancy the idea of a pissed-off gang boss who can’t pay her gang members coming after me. Some of those guys are heavy.” He closed his eyes and thought of Al Kowalski’s head in the locker in Tokyo Station. He shuddered.

  “What’s the matter?” asked Mieko. “Ghost walked over your grave?”

  “Don’t say things like that,” replied Sharpe, horrified, despite himself. Time to change the subject. “Any news from Vishal about getting the system working again?”

  “No. Last time I saw him he wasn’t talking to anyone. Just the computer, and it wasn’t really a conversation. More like a stream of abuse.”

  Damn. Even if Tomiko held a knife to his throat (or worse), there was going to be no way he could meet her demands.

  Sharpe walked out of the room, leaving Mieko doing something with cleaning rags and detergent that he didn’t want to get involved with. He looked at his watch. Half-past five. Time to be setting off for home.

  He called back to Mieko. “Do you really want to be starting that job now?”

  “Yes, I do. If I don’t do it now, there’s no way to get the dirt off tomorrow.”

  What dirt? Sharpe thought to himself. He peeked in at Vishal, who appeared to be busy mumbling to his computer. “Vishal?”

  “Piss off,” without even bothering to look away from the screen.

  Please yourself, thought Sharpe, a little offended. Aloud, “Well, don’t work too hard.”

  A nod in reply.

  He called back to Mieko. “All right, then. I’m going home. What do you want me to buy for supper?”

  “It’s all in the freezer. We can just pop it in the microwave when I get back. Won’t take me more than a couple of hours to get this place clean.”

  Damn place looked fine, thought Sharpe to himself. No way was there a couple of hours’ work there. He put on his coat, and was just opening the front door when he heard Meema behind him.

  “Nothing for me to do, either,” she said. “Come on, Ken-chan, let’s go together. Wait while I get my coat on and fix my face.”

  -o-

  Sharpe waited as she slipped into the bathroom. After all, he told himself, he didn’t have anything better to do with his time. Meema appeared. It did look as though she had done something to her face. She certainly looked a little different, anyway. Sharpe was still a bit vague about exactly how women titivated themselves for men, and how the whole thing managed to have an effect on the opposite sex, but in Meema’s case, he decided it was something she’d done to her eyes. They looked bigger and darker than usual.

  They walked down the street towards the station, and Meema looked at her watch. “There’s time,” she said.

  “Time for what?” asked Sharpe. He didn’t really want a detour. He felt drained by everything that had happened lately, and he wanted nothing so much as to get home, pour himself a very large gin and tonic, or something along those lines, and drink it.

  “Time for a drink,” said Meema, as if reading his mind. “We – Vishal and I – noticed this bar opposite the station the other day. Looked like a nice place from the outside.” She led the way to an ornate door with brass fittings, set in a fake brick wall. The single window beside the door was lace-curtained, but it seemed that behind the lace curtains was a wall, stopping any view of what was inside. A small discreet sign just above the window said “Happy Times” in katakana. Sharpe couldn’t see what had attracted her to the place.

  Sharpe tried the door, but it was locked. “Not open yet,” he said.

  “No, you have to call,” said Meema, fishing her phone from her bag and pressing the keypad. She turned away from Sharpe and started mumbling something in Japanese. As she put the phone back in her bag, the door opened.

  “Welcome. Come in,” said a female voice in Japanese from the dark interior.

  Sharpe and Meema entered, and the door closed behind them. Sharpe heard the click of the lock after it had shut. The interior really was pretty dark, Sharpe thought to himself. Not just the contrast with the outside. At first, he could just make out the shape of a kimono-clad figure leading the way, but as his eyes adjusted, he could make out a little more detail. A woman in her early thirties, if the back view was anything to go by (mind you, it often wasn’t). From the little that Sharpe could make out through the gloom, they appeared to be the only customers.

  When they were seated in a corner booth, Meema echoed Sharpe’s order for a gin and tonic, much to his surprise.

  “Are you sure you should be drinking, in your condition?” he asked, a little worried. “And I’ve never seen you drinking G&T before.”

  “First time for everything,” replied Meema. “In any case, I’m only going to try a bit. If I like it, that’s the only one I’m going to drink all evening. Promise. And if I don’t, I’ll give it to you, so it won’t be wasted.” She leaned forward, and Sharpe noticed that the top of her dress seemed to have come unbuttoned a little. Almost automatically, he looked while trying not to appear that he was doing so, and realised he was once again staring at what appeared to be Meema’s bra-less breasts. With a shock, he looked at Meema’s face, and
saw that she had noticed the direction of his look. He withdrew his gaze in panic.

  The drinks arrived. Sharpe grabbed his and put it to his face to try to cover his confusion. A little less sweet than the usual Japanese apology for gin and tonic, and a good deal less toxic than the one he remembered drinking with Jon in the hideous parody of an English pub.

  He put his glass down and watched as Meema sipped and winced slightly. “Not too bad,” she proclaimed after swallowing the first sip. “I can see why you like it, I think.”

  “You’re not drinking a lot, I hope?” asked Sharpe, a little worried. He had heard that pregnant women shouldn’t drink alcohol, but he really didn’t know much about these things. Babies had never been a part of his life.

  “No, hardly anything,” she replied. “Anyway, the baby seems to like it. Feel.”

  Without warning, she grabbed his hand and guided it through a gap in her dress, where it rested on her bare belly. He could feel her navel, which seemed to be protruding slightly, but couldn’t make out any movement inside.

  “Feel anything?”

  “No, not really.”

  “Maybe a bit lower down?” She moved his hand to well below the equator of her bulge. He could feel coarse hair. “Or lower still?” moving his hand again. She didn’t seem to be wearing any panties, and his fingers were now being pressed hard against her.

  “Meema?” he asked, dry-throated. “Why on earth aren’t you wearing anything down there?” It was the first thing that came to his mind. He wasn’t sure what to say or to do in this situation, which seemed to be going further and faster than the previous occasion when she had made a move in his direction. He tried to move his hand away, but Meema had it grasped in a frighteningly tight grip, and he was worried that he would hurt her or the baby, or tear her clothes if he tried to break away, none of which was an alternative he wanted.

  “Uh-huh,” was all the answer he received. She was now pressing his hand hard against her crotch and moving her body against it with increasing speed and pressure. He could hear her rapid breathing, and feel her becoming wet, but in this semi-public place (he looked around anxiously, even though they had seemed to be alone in the place when they came in, and noticed with relief that even if there was someone else in the bar, he and Meema couldn’t be seen by anyone else unless they actually came to that corner) he didn’t find the situation at all erotic. “Kiss me, Ken-chan,” she whispered hoarsely. Her body ground against his hand which she continued to press firmly against herself as her body moved rhythmically. He pecked her on the cheek. “No, properly. Come on,” she replied, using her other hand to grab the back of his neck and press his face against hers.

  He responded, but his heart wasn’t in it at all. He felt as though he was taking part in a bad porn movie. “Ouch— shit!” he exclaimed as she bit his tongue hard and released his hand under her dress. “What the hell?” as he removed his hand hurriedly from inside her clothes.

  She didn’t answer, but sat there silently weeping. “Look in my bag,” she sniffled at length. “There should be a pack of tissues there.”

  He opened her bag, and sure enough, there were the tissues, and beside them was a pair of panties which looked as though they’d been worn earlier that day. He handed her the tissues, and she blew her nose and wiped her eyes.

  “So silly,” she said. “Sorry. Did I hurt you? Sorry. I had to stop us both before I did something completely stupid. I was completely out of control, wasn’t I?”

  There seemed to be no answer to that, so he made none. They sat in silence for a while.

  “What are you going to say?” she asked him.

  This was one which seemed to demand an answer. “Who to?”

  “Vishal? Mieko? Anyone?” She sniffed again.

  “Why would I say anything to anyone? Unless you want me to?”

  “I’ve behaved terribly.” She turned her face away from him. “Why did I do this? What was I doing, anyway? Don’t tell anyone.”

  Sharpe would have liked to know the answer to that question himself. “I’m not going to tell anyone,” he replied. “But I think you should,” he added.

  She turned quickly to face him. “Why? What do you mean by that?”

  Picking his words carefully. “Something’s very strange about you right now, Meema. What happened just now isn’t like the Meema I’ve come to know and respect. And this wasn’t a sudden impulse, for sure.”

  “Why do you say that?” suspiciously. “But you’re right. That wasn’t the Meema you know. It’s as if there are two people here – well, there are because I’m pregnant, but that’s not what I mean – but a good angel and a bad angel fighting, if you want to put it in religious or mystical words. Except that the bad angel isn’t really a part of me, but it’s started taking over sometimes, like just now, and I have to stop things happening. Is this all rubbish that I’m talking?”

  “No, not at all. It just means you’re human. But I agree it’s a bit worrying that you feel this way, and give in to these things.”

  “Why did you say that this wasn’t a sudden impulse?” she asked again.

  “Because I saw what was in your bag when I gave you the tissues. I’m going to bet that you took those off just before you came out with me, when you were doing your face.” She nodded. “I’m not going to ask you why. It’s nothing to do with my overpowering and irresistible sexual allure, is it?”

  Despite herself, Meema smiled. “No. Of course I like you, but there’s never really been any thought about— I mean, any serious thoughts…” She trailed off, obviously embarrassed.

  “Don’t worry. I think everyone wonders from time to time what it would be like if they … I mean, with their good friends, if …” He, too, trailed off.

  “Would you mind turning away?” asked Meema. “I want to put those panties back on again. I know it seems ridiculous to ask you not to look after what’s just happened, but I’d feel happier.”

  “Tell me when it’s safe to look,” replied Sharpe, obediently turning his head away.

  “All right,” she said, after a short time. He turned back. “You know, that feels better. I’ve heard of women who never wear any underwear, and they think it’s erotic. Me, I found it rather disgusting as soon as I walked outside, and I felt naked. I suppose Mieko always wears bra and panties?”

  “I suppose so,” he replied. “At least when she’s dressed. And she always wears panties in bed. Most Japanese girls do, it seems. Except when …” He reached for the drink, surprised that it was still there. He’d forgotten about it.

  Meema reached for her drink, but put it down untasted. “What did you mean when you said I should talk to someone about it?”

  “Exactly what I said. I don’t mean a doctor or anyone like that, unless you want to. But couldn’t you talk to Mieko about it?”

  She shook her head. “I’m not going to do that. I’d have to explain what happened.”

  “Shall I explain what happened, and you can then explain why it happened? I’m lousy at keeping this sort of thing a secret, anyway. I have a guilty face or something, and it’s bound to come out sooner or later, I’m afraid.”

  “But nothing really happened!” protested Meema.

  “Exactly what I am going to say. If you want me to break the ice with Mieko, I will say exactly what’s just happened, and say you want to talk to her about it, because you’re worried about what’s going on.”

  “I am worried, that’s right. I mean, nothing like this has happened before.”

  “Except when you were showing me the new computer system before we started,” Sharpe pointed out.

  “Oh yes.” Meema’s face fell. “I’d completely pushed that to the back of my mind, what with all the other things that have been happening.”

  “Maybe you do have an overpowering crush on me, after all?” Sharpe laughed, hoping she would understand he wasn’t serious.

  “I don’t think so. I really don’t know what came over me then. Or just today
. I suppose I was feeling sort of sorry for myself and …” She trailed off again.

  “I don’t think I’m the right person to talk to about this, Meema. Talk to Mieko tomorrow.”

  “You’re sweet, Ken-chan. Here I am, dragging you into this place—”

  “What sort of place is this, anyway?”

  “It’s a place where people come to do the sort of thing I thought I wanted to do. Look, none of the booths can see into any of the other booths, and the staff never come to your table unless you ring the bell, so you’re completely private.”

  “And you and Vishal came here?”

  “No. I read about these places in a magazine and found there was one close to here. This one. Anyway, as I said, you’re sweet.” She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. It was far from the ravenous assault she had made earlier, and Sharpe returned the favour. There was hardly anything erotic in the gesture.

  “You know, that felt almost … sisterly is the word I think I’m looking for,” he said.

  “Good, because that’s how I think I feel towards you now. Now, when you’ve finished your drink, perhaps you wouldn’t mind walking back home with me?”

  “I’m not going to finish it,” Sharpe decided.

  “Fine.” They got up, and Sharpe helped Meema on with her coat, careful to avoid touching her as he did so. “I’m paying. I chose this place, and I don’t want you to feel responsible,” she told him. The side of Meema that Vishal had once described as “steel wrapped in velvet” made an appearance. Sharpe wasn’t going to argue.

  The train journey and walk back together to Meema’s flat took place almost completely wordlessly in a companionable silence.

  As he left her at the door, and walked back home from her flat, Sharpe’s thoughts kept turning to what would have happened if he hadn’t resisted, and he had gone along with Meema’s desires of the moment. One thing was certain – it would have made the conversation he was about to have with Mieko much more difficult.

  -oOo-

  Chapter 14: Tokyo