What did women see in those guys? Time after time he watched perfectly attractive girls go off with fops who’d approached them on the street with breathtakingly insincere pickup lines. No proper introduction, no background information, nothing! And the most outrageous thing of all was that women actually paid to spend time with those peacocks.
“Please have a seat, Nakamura-san,” said the manager, shutting the door and gesturing toward the chair in front of his desk. It was similar to the office of his counterpart at Cherry’s club, except the crates stacked against the wall held high-end champagne. A credenza behind his desk was lined with decanters of hard liquor and bottles of mineral water. Masato scooped up two glasses in one hand and a cut-crystal flagon with a silver neck tag in the other. Alcohol was the unofficial lubricant of even the most official business. “Drink?” he offered.
“Sure,” Kenji said, wondering what “VSOP” meant.
The manager poured them each two fingers of Very Special Old Pale brandy and queried, “Water? Ice?”
“Whatever you’re having.”
Masato poked his head outside the door, exchanged a few words with the bartender, and returned with a bucket and tongs, placing two crystal-clear cubes in each drink. He slid a glass across the desk, then raised his politely to Kenji. They both took a sip.
A flamethrower blasted Kenji’s throat. It was all he could do to keep from coughing. His eyes watered. This stuff burned worse than scotch, which he’d also tried exactly once. Kenji hastily set down his glass.
“Are you new at the Kabuki-chō station?” Masato asked.
“No, I work out of Komagome. I’m investigating an incident that happened there last night.”
“And you think Hoshi had something to do with it?” The manager frowned. “That’s impossible—he was here all night, working. He couldn’t have been anywhere near Komagome.”
“One of his customers had an accident.”
Masato slowly set his drink down. “A Club Nova customer? Who?”
“Sakura Endo.”
“Cherry-san? What kind of accident?”
“She fell down some stairs.”
“Is she all right?”
“No.”
“She’s in the hospital?”
“No.”
Masato stared at him as the meaning of that sank in. “She’s dead? But—”
Like Cherry’s boss, he clamped his mouth shut before revealing any more. Kenji was sure he’d been about to admit she’d been at Club Nova; it was a common response after hearing that someone you’d seen alive yesterday was dead today. But like the Club Heaven manager, Masato was too much of a pro to let slip any personal information about his customers. Fortunately, Kenji’d had two hours to think about how to deal with that.
“I’m just tying up a few loose ends before closing the case,” he explained. “Hoshi-san isn’t a suspect—I heard that Cherry-san and he were…friends. I just want to confirm she was here last night, find out if he noticed anything out of the ordinary—maybe she drank a little more than usual, for example? And I need to ask him what time she left.”
Masato sipped his drink thoughtfully. Kenji was counting on him to calculate that as long as there was no danger the police would drag his employees or customers into a messy investigation, it wouldn’t hurt to cooperate.
The manager set down his glass and said, “You won’t mind if I sit in, I hope? It’s my job to look out for our employees; many of them are from small towns and have little experience with the police. I’m sure Hoshi will feel more comfortable answering your questions if I’m here.”
And less inclined to say anything that would reflect badly on his employer, Kenji thought. But since this wasn’t an official investigation and Hoshi wasn’t an official suspect, he had no choice but to agree. “Of course. Is he here?”
“I’ll get him.” Masato rose and slipped sideways out the door, careful not to taint the club’s atmosphere with more than a sliver of fluorescent reality.
Kenji took out his notebook and pen. He stood, taking the opportunity to examine a patchwork of framed photos on the back wall. Most were shots of hosts at raucous-looking Kabuki-chō events. He spotted a much younger Masato dressed in a summer yukata, playing taiko drums on stage at the Romeo Club. A few shots over, he was among a quartet of hosts crooning into a microphone. A more recent Masato appeared among the entire staff on group getaways, up to their necks in steaming water at famous hot spring inns, gathered on a beach around a lifeguard tower stenciled “Waikiki.” Kenji resumed his seat as the manager returned with a host whose glossy suit and sparkly accessories looked overly bling-y in the brightly lit office. Masato offered him the chair behind the desk, then took up a position against the wall behind Kenji.
Kenji heard a lighter rasp behind him as the manager lit a cigarette. Great, now his new suit would smell like an ashtray. There weren’t many places left in Tokyo where people could be subjected to tobacco smoke against their will, but apparently host clubs were among them. He couldn’t very well object to the manager smoking in his own office, though, so he tried to ignore it as he introduced himself and showed Hoshi his ID.
“Manager-san told me Cherry’s dead,” Hoshi blurted. “That she was in an accident. What happened?”
“First of all, could you please tell me your full name?”
“Hiro Amano.”
So Hoshi wasn’t his real name, blond wasn’t his real hair color, and he certainly hadn’t been born with blue eyes. Was there anything about this guy that wasn’t a lie?
“When was the last time you saw her?”
Hoshi looked past him toward his manager, who must have nodded approval, because he answered, “She was here last night. She came in around twelve thirty.”
“Did you notice anything out of the ordinary? Was she worried? Angry? Upset?”
Again, the quick glance at Masato. “Yeah. She’d had a bad night. Her manager made her leave work early with a regular customer who bought her out.”
“Bought her out?”
“Paid the club to let her leave with him before closing time. Supposedly it makes up for the money she’d be making her club if she stayed and entertained other customers. It probably set him back about a hundred thousand yen.”
“So, she had sex with someone last night before she came here?”
“No! Of course not. Cherry wasn’t a prostitute. The money was just for…accompanying. Drinks. Maybe a late dinner if the customer had come straight to the club from his office. But some guys think they deserve special privileges. The girls have to set them straight.”
“And last night’s client was one of those?”
“Cherry told me they went to Slipknot.”
“Haven’t heard of it.”
“It’s an entertainment place. An S&M bar. In the front room there’s a stage where artistes tie each other up in classical style. I’m sure you’ve seen pictures—looks like something a Boy Scout would do if they gave badges for bondage. Slipknot’s pretty well known, rather tame as those places go. An underground tourist attraction.”
“And is there a back room?”
Hoshi looked away, embarrassed. He felt in his pocket and drew out a silver cigarette case.
“Did Cherry-san go to one of these back rooms with her customer last night?” Kenji asked.
Hoshi flicked his lighter. “All I know is she ended up fighting him off. She was pretty upset when she arrived last night. Had bruises on her arms and a broken fingernail.”
“Was this customer the one the girls at her club call The Zombie?”
“Yeah.”
“So she’d mentioned him before?”
Hoshi leaned back in the chair and drew on his cigarette, then expertly tapped the ash into a battered pewter ashtray. “He was one of her regulars. Had been since April. I remember the night she told me he’d requested her—he ordered a bottle of Hennessy Richard cognac, the most expensive liquor in the club. She was thrilled at first; the guy spent over a million and a hal
f yen that night, and she went from number seven to number one. After that, whenever he came in, she made the top five.”
“But?”
“I could tell which nights he’d been to her club because she’d be on edge afterward.” He took another puff. “She didn’t usually talk about work with me—girls like Cherry come here to forget what they do for a living—but I got the impression this guy was pressuring her to do stuff she didn’t want to do.”
“He must have been annoyed when she ran out on him last night,” Kenji said. “You think he followed her here?”
“I didn’t see him when I walked her out around one.”
“A half hour’s not a long time to wait, especially if he was drunk and feeling slighted.”
“I’m pretty sure no weird guys were hanging around. I always check when I walk a client out to her cab.”
“Did you go home with her?”
Hoshi gave him a pained look. “I provide companionship, not sex, Detective. I took her down in the elevator and saw her off. Period. And by then she was fine, even joking about it a little.”
“So after Cherry left, what did you do?”
“When I came back upstairs, I saw Shinya’d had too much to drink. I’m his sempai and he’s still learning the ropes; it’s easy to overdo it in this business until you know your limits. I offered to take him back to the club dorm and make sure he downed some sports drinks so he wouldn’t be too hung over when he woke up.”
“Club dorm?”
“The one Shinya lives in is a flat, about ten minutes away. The hosts here come from towns all over Japan; when they’re first starting out, they can’t afford anything close by, so the club helps them out by renting big, shared places with futons. It’s a lot cheaper than getting an apartment.”
“Do you live there, too?”
“No, I have my own place.”
“So you dropped Shinya off—did you take a cab or drive?”
“I have a car,” he said. “And I’ve been doing this a long time, Detective—I’m good at not getting drunk while I’m working.”
Hoshi was telling him he knew he could lose his license for having even one drink within four hours of getting behind the wheel.
“Then where did you go?”
“I stayed with him until he was feeling better, then fell asleep on the extra futon in the kitchen. Didn’t get back to my apartment until midmorning.” He looked at Kenji. “Why are you asking me all this? I thought Cherry had an accident. You’re acting like I had something to do with it.”
“Just being thorough.” He flipped his notebook shut and stood. “Thank you. I appreciate your cooperation.” He watched Hoshi’s shoulders relax and wondered what he’d missed. Or what the host was lying about.
The manager said, “Thank you, Hoshi. You can return to your customer now. I’ll see Nakamura-san out.”
Kenji rode the elevator down to the neon-lined street, unsatisfied, even though Hoshi had answered all his questions. Tomorrow he’d go back and talk to Cherry’s neighbors, see if anybody had heard something that would tell him she wasn’t alone when she fell. He’d also try to track down this Zombie character. He wished he knew someone more reliable than Hoshi who’d been near Club Nova last night, someone who might have seen a guy lurking around, waiting for Cherry. He didn’t believe hosts actually cared about the women they entertained; their business was to siphon as much cash out of their customers’ pockets as possible. Hoshi might have given the street a glance, but Kenji bet his mind was elsewhere, already adding up the night’s take.
Kenji had planned to play ball with some friends on his day off tomorrow, but now he had legwork to do. And Goddamit, he smelled like a walking pack of Mild Sevens. He’d have to take his new suit to the dry cleaner.
Two women were having a heated discussion in the glow cast by the Club Nova sign. He glanced at them with distaste. One of them looked like a hostess, and the other…no, it couldn’t be.
“Yumi Hata? What are you doing here?”
Chapter 9
Saturday, November 9
9:00 A.M.
Yumi
Yumi sipped moodily at her green tea and decided it wasn’t too early for one of the red-bean-filled cream puffs that she and Coco had been devouring at the Tea Four Two café since they were in middle school. She pushed the bell button on the table to summon the waitress.
9:05. Coco was late. Not surprising, considering the state she’d been in last night.
Yumi shifted on the hard metal chair. She wished Coco didn’t smoke, so they could sit inside at one of the more comfortable booths. On the other hand, at least the eau de tobacco her hair had absorbed at the host club last night wasn’t as offensive out in the courtyard. She was looking forward to visiting her main man Ito-san that afternoon for a full wash, style, and makeup session before tonight’s kimono design event. Fortunately, he was only going to have to perform minor miracles today.
Shrill laughter erupted from a nearby table, where two Goth-Lolitas were huddled together over a cell phone, looking at snaps from last night’s Golden Bomber concert at Shibuya-AX. A crow landed on an adjacent rooftop, cawing.
Yumi went back to considering the problem at hand. Which of Ichiro’s single, male friends were going to be at the event tonight? Last time she checked, Coco didn’t have a date. Thank God she hadn’t completely lost her mind and invited Hoshi. Yumi shuddered at the idea of the two of them waltzing through the receiving line, shaking the hands of…no, it was too horrible to contemplate. She had to find someone for Coco, pronto. Some nice, attractive guy from a good family. A nice, attractive guy who wasn’t Kenji Nakamura, that is.
What a disaster, running into him in Kabuki-chō last night! Not at all like she’d imagined it would be, in those lonely moments late at night when she wondered if she was really doing the right thing, marrying Ichiro. After Coco had blithely admitted to Kenji that they’d just come from a host club, he’d completely ignored Yumi, peppering Coco with questions. But she was in no mood to give him straight answers—half a bottle of champagne past tipsy, she was still feeling thwarted at being dragged away without saying good-bye to Hoshi and had flirtatious energy to spare. Kenji soon realized he wasn’t going to get any information from her in the condition she was in, so he’d pulled out his phone and suggested they exchange numbers so he could call her later.
Yumi had managed to drag her friend away before she made a complete idiot of herself, but didn’t get a chance to question her further about her involvement with Hoshi because Coco promptly fell asleep in the cab.
Yumi spent the ride home staring out the window and trying not to think about Kenji, denying that the bitter taste in her mouth was regret. Coco had never guessed what had happened between them last spring. Yumi hadn’t told anybody, not even her oldest friend. She could never let it happen again. The marriage arrangement with Ichiro involved not just her own future, but her family’s as well.
She’d been avoiding Kenji for months, ducking into alleyways if she saw him on the street, abandoning her shopping basket and fleeing the market if she spotted him deliberating over which detergent delivered whiter whites. She’d almost convinced herself that the attraction had been a passing thing, a reaction to the shock of agreeing to an arranged marriage, but last night, watching him fix his attention on Coco, she’d wanted him again so badly it was all she could do to not step between them and find out if he’d spent as many late nights thinking about her as she had thinking about him.
At home in bed later, staring at the ceiling, she’d probed her feelings like a sore tooth. The only way to make sure she didn’t fall back into the black hole of temptation was to continue avoiding him, at least until after she was safely married.
But that would be nearly impossible if Coco went after him. If only she could find someone in Ichiro’s circle of friends who had a thing for Princess Gals…
The phone in her hand vibrated. Text.
Sorry sorry sorry overslept. Be there in 5.
Need aspirin BADLY.
Yumi smiled grimly, set her phone on the table, and ordered two cream puffs. They arrived just as Coco burst through the door to the courtyard, wincing as she dropped into the sunny seat opposite. As her friend rummaged for a pair of dark glasses, Yumi dipped into the side pocket of her handbag and pulled out a packet of Bufferin. She slid it across the table as the waitress brought a second cup of tea. Coco downed the tablets and pulled out a cigarette. It was halfway to her lips when she looked at it, made a face, and poked it back into the pack.
Yumi stared at her friend’s new purse. “Hey, isn’t that one of the new Prada designs for fall?”
It cost more than Yumi made in a week. Where was her friend getting that kind of money?
Coco hesitated, then said, “No, silly, it’s a fake.”
But it wasn’t. Yumi had seen one just like it in the Mitsuyama window on her way to the Tea Four Two, and nobody knocked off purse designs that fast.
Yumi nudged the second cream puff across the table, but Coco ignored it. She groaned. “Did I make a total ass of myself last night? Tell me the truth.”
“Look, Coco-chan, I’m sure that hosts are used to…”
“I’m not worried about Hoshi and Shinya.” Coco gave her a pained look. “I meant Kenji Nakamura. I’d totally forgotten he got rid of that big mole and turned out to be such a hot property. Did I say anything really stupid? Do you think he’ll call me?” She pulled out her phone and checked for messages, then sighed and set it down next to her teacup.
Yumi renewed her efforts to recall tonight’s guest list. The Suntory chairman’s son would be there; he was still unattached, she was pretty sure. And what about that classmate of Ichiro’s who’d just been hired as the wine buyer for the Mitsuyama department stores? The two guys from Ichiro’s golf club were still playing the field the last time she saw them at a party, and the cellist from Ichiro’s string quartet was definitely single. He might be gay, but until she knew for sure, a possibility.
She leaned across the table. “Coco-chan, you haven’t asked anybody to the kimono event tonight, have you?”
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