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Bamboo Terror. William Ross
Читать онлайн.Название Bamboo Terror
Год выпуска 0
isbn 9781462913206
Автор произведения William Ross
Издательство Ingram
The more Hazzard thought about it, the more it began to smell like stale herring. Delivering the beads might not be as simple as it seemed. Then with a grunt, he rose and went to the small clothes closet in the corner of the room. Pushing aside his raincoat, a broom, and a few boxes revealed a small hole in the baseboard. Sticking his finger in the hole, he pulled, and the baseboard came away from the wall. Reaching in behind it he withdrew a small package wrapped in newspaper. The board, the boxes, and the other things were replaced, and Hazzard surveyed them for a moment to make sure Michiko would not become suspicious and discover the hiding place.
Returning to his desk he unwrapped the paper. Underneath was a layer of oilcloth which he carefully unfolded. Inside was a well-oiled snub-nosed Smith & Wesson .357 magnum revolver and a box of cartridges.
Hazzard smiled affectionately as he took a cloth from a desk drawer and wiped away the excess oil. Then holding the revolver in his hand, he said out loud, "Hello Sam, long time no see. You've had a long rest, and now you and I are going on a trip."
He placed the beads in a money belt around his waist. Then, as an afterthought, he put one hundred of the ten thousand notes in the money belt with the beads. Sam was loaded and stuck inside his shirt under the money belt. He put the remaining cartridges in a small leather bag and dropped them in his pocket. Looking in the mirror over the sink, he decided he needed a shave, and maybe a new shirt. He scooped the remaining money off the desk and walked out to stand in front of Michiko's little desk.
"I'm going out to the barber shop. Call the Mikado up and reserve a table for two next to the stage for the second show tonight," he said, trying to look nonchalant.
Michiko's heart almost stopped, "You are going out tonight?"
"Yes, and don't look so sad. Here,'' and he dropped the eighty bills one by one all over her desk. "Go get your hair fixed, and change your clothes, or whatever you girls do when you go to the Mikado. Meet me in the lobby of the New Japan Hotel at seven o clock. Tonight we dine, and tomorrow we start paying off a few bills."
Michiko's eyes went from Hazzard to the money and back again. "Oh, Mike-san . . ."
But Mike-san was already going down the stairs, grinning from ear to ear. He bounced briskly out the door and nodded to all the people who stopped to stare. 'Oh, I know what you're thinking,' he said to himself, 'There goes another one of those crazy foreigners. And this time you may be right.'
A barber shop is a good place to think, that is if the barber shop is in Japan, and you happen to be a foreigner. The barber figures he cannot talk to you anyway, and so he does not try. In America it would be the last place in the world that anyone would go to do his thinking. American barbers are all either baseball experts or frustrated politicians, and once they have you strapped in the tonsorial hot seat, they talk your ears off. Right now Hazzard was thinking, and for once he wished he was in an American barber chair. At least the talk would keep his mind from wondering about John Brown and the little string of beads.
He realized now that the deal had gone off too quickly. A thousand questions were running around unanswered in his still slightly aching head. Why was Brown willing to pay so much money to have an almost worthless string of beads delivered? If they were not important, they could be sent by mail. He had been too quick to grab at the money. Hazzard was mentally kicking himself for being stupid, until he remembered that this was the kind of weird business that a private investigator got himself into, and nobody had twisted his arm.
After the barber, Hazzard went home to his small three-room apartment in Shibuya. The business of the beads, and the ambush in the alley was now making him overcautious. He kept checking to make sure he was not being followed. When he arrived at the apartment, he eased himself through the door and systematically inspected the rooms, all the time keeping a hand inside his shirt ready to introduce Sam to any uninvited guests. He felt a little foolish when everything turned out as normal as it should be.
He took a shower and changed his clothes. Tonight was going to be the first time he had taken Michiko any place except for an occasional lunch. He remembered the way she had looked at him in the office when he had told her about the Mikado, and began to wonder if he was really doing the right thing. Mixing business with pleasure never had been a good idea, and a girl like Michiko might be a little more than he could handle once he got her out of the drab surroundings of the office and into the plush atmosphere of a night club.
It had taken longer than he had expected to catch a taxi, and it was almost seven thirty when Hazzard pulled into the driveway of the New Japan Hotel. He strode through the automatic doors half expecting to find a missing Michiko, but there she was, sitting wide eyed and pretty on one of the lobby sofas.
She saw Hazzard coming across the lobby and a fleeting expression of relief flashed across her lovely face. Then she smiled and stood up. Hazzard almost tripped on one of those idiotic rugs that the hotel had spread in the middle of the lobby. Michiko was a rather something in her office uniform of sweater, blouse, and skirt—but in a cocktail dress she was fabulous.
This had been Hazzard's office girl for six months, and he never even knew it. Her hair was swept back along the sides and up in back. A white feather tiara was fixed along one side and curved upwards over her jet black hair. The gold brocade cocktail dress was low cut and clung to every curve of her body like another layer of skin. High-heeled gold pumps accentuated the calf muscles to show a perfect set of legs.
Hazzard gulped, and found his voice as he came up to where she stood, and almost lost it again as he got a whiff of the perfume she was wearing.
"I'm sorry to be late," he mumbled.
"It's all right," she said.
Hazzard said nothing, and there was a long embarrassing pause.
"Well, ah, shall we go?" asked Hazzard.
"Yes," she said.
There was another pause as Hazzard just stood and stared at her. Then he caught himself and smiled.
"Shall we go?" asked Hazzard.
Michiko giggled. "That is the second time you say same thing."
Hazzard shook his head. So it was. He reached out, took her arm and guided her out to get a taxi. As they crossed the lobby Hazzard was conscious of the gawking tourists. Gripes, but he hated them. He could almost read their filthy little minds. The two-and three-week wonders going around the world before it was too late. Plane loads of doddering old busy bodies. Each one seeking out the place to buy silk, pearls, the book on flower arranging, and passing judgment on all foreigners with Oriental girls. He had seen them all before, every year it was the same, and he stuck out his tongue at one shocked lady who was leering at them through a pince-nez.
A little revenge for past insults, he thought.
Over dinner at the Mikado they watched the floor show that is always tops at this palace-like theater restaurant, and talked of many things; mostly Michiko. Hazzard was surprised that he knew so little about his office girl. From now on, he promised himself, he would spend more time thinking of personnel problems and less about unpaid bills.
Michiko had graduated from Doshisha University in Kyoto. Her father was chairman of the board of a large Kyoto bank. Her sister was an airline hostess and her younger brother was still in college. She had led a rather strict life at home; her father keeping a tight rein on all of her activities. She had to be home every night before ten, she could not go out with anyone unless her father approved beforehand, and at night she had to give a detailed account of everything she had done and where she had gone during the day.
One day she had gotten up courage enough to tell her father that she was going to Tokyo to find a job and support herself. To her surprise he had agreed and only warned her to be careful of the type of work she chose. It would have to be dignified and not be anything to disgrace the family name. She had been in Tokyo three days when she had seen Hazzard's small want ad in The Japan Times.
Watching her talk was