snickers. Morino taps the document wallet. ‘Everything about your father is in here.’ He fans himself with it. ‘You were buried deep, but my agent can dig up anything. I had you investigated – and your father crops up. We were surprised. Still. You can fuck off now.’ He tosses the document wallet into a metal trashcan. Lizard stands and kicks my chair.
‘Mr Morino?’
‘Are you still here?’
‘Please give me that document wallet.’
Morino narrows his eyes at Lizard and nods at the door.
‘Sir, if you don’t need that information any more—’
‘I don’t need it, no, but I enjoy causing you needless suffering. Son will escort you to the lobby. Your friend and mentor Yuzu Daimon is waiting for you. He is feeling drained. Now walk away from this room, or you will be beaten senseless and dumped in a skip.’ I follow Lizard, glancing back one final time at the trashcan before door 333 closes on my father.
I resolved to walk past Yuzu Daimon, to show my contempt by just ignoring him. That was before I saw his body slumped on the sofa. I have known a few people who died, but I have never actually seen one – so pale, so utterly still. What do you do? My heart is this manic, mechanical punch-bag. The sofa creaks as his limbs shift. His eyes flicker open. His eyeballs wander, then find me. ‘So – what did they – do to you?’
A sort of weird crunching of gears.
‘What did they do to you, Miyake?’
I can finally speak. ‘They let me go.’
‘Two miracles in the same day. Untouched?’
‘Scared shitless, but untouched. And not as scared shitless as I was a moment ago. I thought you were dead! What did they do to you?’
Daimon ignores this. ‘Why – you went to . . . Miriam’s – why?’
‘She dropped a library book when we, uh, met by accident in Ueno park the day after your dawn exit. I took it back. That was all.’
A laugh tries to twitch the corners of his mouth.
‘What did they do to you?’
‘One litre of blood.’
I must have misheard. ‘They took one litre of your blood? Isn’t that . . .’
‘Rather more . . . than a blood-bank tank, yes . . . I’ll live. It was only my first . . . offence.’
‘But what are they going to do with your blood?’
‘Test it – sell it, I imagine.’
‘Who to?’
‘Miyake . . . please. I have no – energy – for an – exposé of illegal markets . . .’
‘Can you move? I think you should get to a hospital.’
Speaking is costing Daimon a lot. ‘Correct, Doctor, yes. I had a sixth of my blood removed as a payment in a Yakuza vendetta. Awful, isn’t it? Yes, I know I’m lucky to be alive. Quite illegal, I agree. But please don’t contact the police because my dad is on the take, too.’
‘Okay, but hanging around in this building is a very bad idea.’
‘One minute – two minutes – let me – get some breath.’
I explore the lobby. The exit will let us leave, but not re-enter. The passageway back to the interview room is blocked by a grille locked by Lizard. The glass walls of the lobby are covered by taped plastic sheeting. I peel back a corner – a building site, the perimeter fence and California beach lido, only a soccer-ball kick away. Sunbathers roast on the boardwalks. The Pacific is as glossy as a monster-movie sea. I sneeze. Not a cold, not now, please. I am afraid Daimon could slip into a coma if I don’t haul him away. ‘Try to stand up.’
‘Leave me alone.’
‘I want to call your parents.’
Daimon half sits. ‘No, no, definitely, no. Believe me this once. Calling my parents is the very, very worst thing . . .’
‘Why?’
Daimon shakes his head as if avoiding a fly. ‘Politics. Politics.’
So now what? ‘How much money have you got?’
‘Every yen is yours if you leave me alone.’
‘Don’t tempt me. Near the entrance to Xanadu I saw a taxi rank. You and me are going to walk over there. You can either give in now or make me shout at you for ten minutes and then give in. Up to you.’
Daimon sighs again. ‘So masterful when you get roused.’
We get weird looks as we wade through the crowds, but everyone assumes Daimon is slouched on my shoulder because he is dead drunk. Atomic September sunshine drenches the day. My Japan Railway overalls are gluey with sweat. People flow