Redback. Lindy Cameron
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Now there's an idea. He could go back to writing about the things that people really care about, instead of the things they should. Or think they should. He could be a travel writer instead of a foreign correspondent, a tourist instead of an analyst, an anonymous chronicler rather than a famous reporter. Hell, take up active participation, instead of objective bystanding. Yeah right. Scott tasted the noodles, burnt his tongue and reached for his beer. He could give up the political and live the personal. Now that'd be an adventure worth telling the world to get stuffed over. He'd be bored in a week.
And someone is watching me.
He pretended his attention had been caught by a passing curiosity and casually swivelled on his stool. He still couldn't see anyone who resembled the magazine photo he'd seen of his contact, but twice now, when the passing crowds allowed a view, he had glimpsed someone staring his way.
Ah, there. A woman? Now that's a surprise.
She caught him catching her out, looked startled and stepped back out of view.
Scott kept his gaze on the doorway across the street, casually dangling his beer bottle between his fingers. Sure enough, a moment later, she reappeared. She pulled the collar of her huge coat up around her ears, glanced around nervously, and began crossing the wet street towards him.
He'd assumed she was Japanese but on ever-closer inspection it was apparent she was something else as well, something Western. Without a word she sat down on the stool next to him and turned her gaze, as he had, to the street. She was attractive. She was nervous. And she'd been crying.
Scott offered her his beer.
'Thank you, Mr Dreher,' she said, 'but I would prefer Vodka: double and neat.'
Scott took care of the drink order, and then remained facing the counter. The woman didn't turn to join him until her drink arrived.
'May I see some identification please?' she finally said.
'You already seem to know who I am,' Scott noted.
'No. I only know who was meant to be here.' Her English was good, but with a bar-mix accent of French, Japanese and, bizarrely, Australian. Or maybe Kiwi - he still had trouble picking the difference.
Scott shrugged. 'You, however, are not who I was waiting for,' he pointed out, loosening his belt one notch so he could get his hand inside the front of his jeans. 'Money belt,' he added, catching her frown, as he retrieved his passport.
She opened his warm and well-worn official ID and compared the photo with the actual face of Scott Andrew Dreher, born Boston, Massachusetts, 40 years ago.
'You need a shave.'
'That I do,' Scott agreed, scratching his bristly chin. 'I also need a name, and a reason: yours, both.'
'I am Kaisha. And we should not stay here too long.'
'Really,' Scott said flatly, 'and why is that?'
She glanced, nervously, up and down the street.
No, not nervously, melodramatically. He smiled, indulging her. I've seen this movie, sweetheart!
'The man you were to meet…' Kaisha let her sentence hang, as if still not sure Scott was kosher.
Or maybe she's not kosher. Scott cocked his head, waiting for her to name the person he'd been expecting. After several seconds he realised she was swallowing more than the vodka. She was choking back emotion. And fairly heavy-duty stuff too, judging by what her right index finger had done to the drink coaster.
'Okay, I'll bite. 'Are you all right?'
She shook her head and turned to face him. 'Hiro - he is dead.'
Hiro? Scott frowned, not understanding. But a shake of his head and 'Who' was all he managed before his incoming-bad-feeling sense started kicking him like a frigging mule. Oh shit.
'Hiroyuki is dead?' he whispered. 'Hiroyuki Kaga?'
She nodded.
'How? What happened?'
Kaisha's chin was trembling. 'He was murdered. I,' she took a breath, 'I found him.'
'Oh Christ! When?' Several bad thoughts jostled for Scott's attention, making it difficult to grasp her statement as reality. He'd never met the man, but this was too terrible. The ramifications were, were…
Fuck, what where they? Was this part of the conspiracy? Or was it unrelated to the Plot?
Kaisha checked her watch. 'About an hour ago,' Her hands were shaking. 'I found him bleeding. I could do nothing. There was so much blood.'
Scott leant in, close enough to get a scent of jasmine. 'Forgive me Kaisha, but who are you?'
I am,' she wiped her teary eyes with her coat sleeve, 'I was his mistress. I couldn't help him.'
'Did you see who killed him?'
She shrugged. 'Possibly, but after - you know, and before I found him. Hiro said a gaijin with no hair and blades killed him.'
A gaijin with no hair! And blades! Scott raised an eyebrow. Okay, now entering serious B-movie territory.
'What do you mean by 'after'?' he asked.
'Our room is in the Wild Lotus. Many westerners also have regular girls there. When I returned I saw maybe three not-much-haired gaijin, among the many men departing.'
'Is it your place? Do you live there?' Scott asked.
'No. It is a living-in hotel, but our place is for meeting only. Normally I would not go again until lunch tomorrow. But today I went back to get my iPod.' She patted the pocket of her overcoat.
'So you saw a bunch of men leaving the hotel, and then you found Hiroyuki? Um, Kaisha?' Scott waited until she was looking directly at him. 'Why are you here?'
She looked puzzled. 'Hiro sent me.'
'He sent you?' Scott squinted at her. 'I don't get it. Your lover just died…'
'Yes Mr Dreher,' she frowned, 'I was there.'
Scott frowned back at her. 'Hiroyuki Kaga, according to you, has just been murdered and yet here you are with me, and not the cops.'
Kaisha nodded then shook her head. 'Yes. Is that the wrong thing?'
'Um, you tell me,' Scott said.
'I don't understand, Mr Dreher.'
'It's a bit suss, Kaisha. You know, suspicious.'
'I understand suss-picious, Mr Dreher. But Hiro sent me to warn you. With his last words, he sent me to you.' She touched his elbow. 'And we should go now.' She stood to leave.
'Warn me about what? And where should we go?'
'Away from here,' Kaisha stressed. 'In case someone followed.'
Resisting the urge to copy her earlier behaviour and do his own histrionic scan of the street for potential killers, Scott smiled politely instead. 'Look Kaisha, I don't mean to be rude, but I have only your story that Hiroyuki is dead. Why would I go anywhere with you?'
Kaisha waved her hands all around her. 'Is he here? The man you were to meet?' She began crying and propped herself back on the stool. 'No, he is not. And I called the police, Mr Dreher. But I was Hiro's mistress, not his wife. It is not for me to be seen to be the first to know of his death.'
'Well now, that's stupid. He died in your love nest. And in your arms, if what you say is true.'
'If it is true?' Kaisha stamped her foot and glared at Scott. She undid her coat buttons and offered him a flash of what she wore underneath: long black boots; strangely-patterned green slacks and a red and white shirt.
'Oh man.' Scott exclaimed.
Blood-stained green slacks, and a bloody white shirt.