LITMIR.BIZ

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and before Hazzard realized it himself, he was asking her if she would like to see his apartment. Her answer almost floored him.

      "Yes," she said. "I would like to very much. I have wanted to see where you live for long time."

      All the way across town in the taxi to Shibuya, Hazzard held her hand. Everytime he squeezed, she squeezed back.

      When they arrived, Hazzard began to worry if he had left the apartment in its usual mess. As the door opened and the light went on, he heaved a sigh of relief. He thought it looked quite presentable, then he saw Michiko's face. She was frowning and shaking her head.

      "Yappari," she said, "You can tell a man lives here."

      Hazzard shrugged his shoulders. Well, you can't win them all, he thought, and he followed her meekly around the apartment. She was interested in everything. She puttered around the kitchen, peered into the cupboards, stuck her head in the Japanese-style bathroom, glanced at all the books, ran her finger along the window sills, wanted to know if he had a maid, and who did the cooking.

      When she learned that there was no maid, and that he did the cooking, she smiled.

      "It is very nice," she said as she turned around from inspecting the bedroom.

      "Very nice," said Hazzard, only he was looking at Michiko. Suddenly the perfume of her hair became intermixed with the Scotch and waters he had had at the Mikado and he reached out for her. She was in his arms and they were kissing. Hazzard could feel the fast beat of her little heart as he crushed herto him. Then, still holding her tight, he snuggled his face into the side of her neck and took the lobe of her delicately shaped ear between his teeth. Michiko stiffened and rose up on her toes against him.

      "Michiko," he whispered, "Will you stay here tonight with me?"

      "I do not know," she answered, and pushing herself away she walked past him to the living room.

      Hazzard could not understand this piece of Oriental female logic. Either you do or you don't, he thought, but Hazzard still had much to learn of a woman's heart, especially if the woman was Japanese.

      "Why don't you know?" asked Hazzard.

      "Do you like me?"

      "Yes," said Hazzard, wondering where this conversation was leading. "I like you very much."

      "Do you like me enough to marry me?"

      He looked at her for a long time. So that was it. Be careful Mike.

      "I—I don't know," he answered truthfully.

      "Then I cannot stay," she said with a smile.

      Damn these women, thought Hazzard. Always got the hook out for a man.

      "You mean if I say I like you enough to marry you, then you'll stay here with me?" he asked. "I could lie to you, then what would you do?" That ought to take some of the wind out of her sails, he thought.

      She shook her head. "No, you would not lie, especially about a thing like this. I see you every day for six months. I know you, I know your heart. You are not the kind of man who tell lies. I never stay with man before, but with you I will stay. But only if we become married."

      "Okay," said Hazzard. "I understand what you mean. Will you stay if I say I will marry you?"

      "Oh, I Will stay, she answered. "But I will not sleep with you, or make love with you. I will kiss you if you want, but we cannot make love with each other."

      Hazzard was more confused than ever. "But you just said . . ."

      "When you want me for your wife, I will make love with you. But if you say this now, I will not believe. You spoke truth first when you say you do not know how much you like me, desho? Someday maybe you ask me to marry, then I be very happy. If you do not ask me, I wait. If you marry someone other girl, I be sad."

      Hazzard shook his head and a broad grin spread across his face. "Michiko, come here." She came, and he took her face in his hands and said, "Kiss me," and she did. Then he held her at arms length. They were too complicated to try and figure out, these lovely Oriental female creatures, and from now on he was going to stop trying. Take them just the way they are, they are magnificent.

      "Come on," he said, "I'll take you home."

      It was two o'clock in the morning and it took them twenty minutes to find a cruising cab. All the way to Ikebukuro he held her hand.

      Michiko directed the taxi driver in and out of the usual maze of small streets and finally told him to stop in front of a small alley. When she got out, she turned and squeezed his hand. "Goodnight," she said, and hurried away.

      Hazzard told the driver to take him back to where he had picked them up, and settled back in the seat to wonder what was happening to Michael Hazzard. He knew why he had asked Michiko up to his apartment, and so did she. He had failed, and she had laid it on the line. The one requirement. Marriage. Well, just like the man said—don't mix business with pleasure.

      Marriage. She wanted a husband. She wanted Michael Hazzard. He thought about it. If he married Michiko it would mean coming home every night. No more beer busts. No more parties with the willing girls of Atami and Ito. No more night life. Just coming home to Michiko every night. She would be at the door, throw her arms around his neck, kiss him, and then serve tea. They would take baths together and she would scrub his back. They would eat together, in fact, they would be doing everything together. And for the rest of his life, too. No more cold lonely nights in bed, no more . . . whoa—hold up here Hazzard old man. What the devil are you thinking about now? For thirty-eight years you have been doing fine. Now suddenly this.

      Hazzard shook his head and rolled down the window of the taxi to let the cool night air in and revive him. Thank heaven for good old Greenstreet-Brown. Soon he would be off to Saigon, and if he ever needed a trip, he needed it now.

      The cab had stopped and the driver was looking back at Hazzard with a weird expression on his face. It suddenly dawned on him that the driver had been saying something and that they had been stopped for two or three minutes. Hazzard snapped out of his dreaming. They were back from where they started!

      He paid the driver and walked up the road to his apartment. He was still thinking about Michiko when he pushed the key toward the lock and a warning signal went off inside his brain. Springing back, he flattened himself against the wall. When the key had touched the lock, the door had moved. It was open now, and it had been locked when they had left.

      Reaching instinctively inside his shirt, he suddenly remembered that he had left Sam hidden in the bedroom. He was learning lessons in what not to do very fast these days. He made a mental note to kick himself for being stupid and pushed the door open with his toe. He waited and listened. Nothing. Slowly he slid his arm in through the door and flicked on the light. Still nothing. He squatted down and peered around the edge of the door. No one, but the place was a shambles. He stood up and stepped into the room, closing the door softly behind him. He checked all of his rooms. Whoever had been there was gone. There must have been three or four of them. No one person could have done all this in such a short space of time. Hazzard had only been gone for about forty-five minutes.

      They had ripped up everything. The tooth paste was all over the sink, the soap was in crumbs, all the boxes in the kitchen had been ripped open and their contents dumped on the floor. Every book had been leafed through and tossed about. The cushions and furniture had all been cut open and the stuffing was all over the rooms. Drawers had been spilled, clothes were thrown in a heap, the mattress on the bed was an unbelievable mess. The only thing they had not done was knock down the walls. What the hell were they looking for?

      The money he had left in the apartment was strewn about on the remains of the mattress. Then he remembered Sam. He went to the closet where he had hidden the revolver, but it was gone. This was one theft he could not report to the police. In fact, if the police caught the thieves with Sam, and they talked, it would mean the end of Hazzard's visa.

      He glanced down at the money laying on the bed. But they were not thieves. They had not taken the money. What the devil were they after? His foot hit something

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