Текст книги "Jack Taggart Mysteries 7 - Book Bundle"

Автор книги: Don Easton

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 78 (всего у книги 141 страниц)

35

At four o’clock that afternoon, Sammy realized something had gone wrong. He sent one car racing north while he took the road south, back to Lamai. The van was not located until five o’clock, parked at the Pavilion resort.

Another tense meeting took place in Sammy’s room.

“Goddamn it! Goddamn it! Goddamn it!” Sammy cursed as he paced back and forth. “I knew I shouldn’t have let them do it! It’s my fucking fault!”

“What are —”

“Shut the fuck up,” muttered Sammy to his subordinate. “I’m thinking.” He turned to the Thai policemen and said, “Is there a local police officer you trust completely?”

“Yes, several,” replied the men.

“I want the driver of the van questioned. Find out what he knows.”

“I understood from Jack,” said the LO, “that the driver doesn’t really know anything. If Jack is wrong, then grabbing him would alert the bad guys. Jack and Laura could be killed.”

“Yeah, and maybe they’re already dead or dying,” said Sammy, turning to the Thai policemen. “Use a hit-and-run scenario.”

“Hit and run?” they asked in unison.

“Have the driver interrogated and tell him his licence plate was taken as the result of a hit-and-run accident. Find out everywhere he went today. Please hurry.”

It was six o’clock when the Thai police reported back. The driver had been interrogated.

“He swears he was not in any accident and the only trip he made was to pick up two men from the Pavilion and a man and woman from Bill Resort and drop them all off at the Cliff Bar and Grill a couple of kilometres north of Lamai. He thinks they were getting in another van when he left to return to the Pavilion, but cannot recall anything about it. The police officer who questioned him believes he is telling the truth.”

“Would you like us to have him question the people at the Cliff Bar and Grill?” suggested the other Thai policeman. “He could pretend to be checking the driver’s story that he was not in an accident.”

“Yeah, good idea,” said Sammy quietly. “Other than that, where would you go to dump some bodies?”

“Hey! What’s the fuss?” yelled Jack, still sitting in the chair.

“You lied!” shouted Lee. “You are working for the police!”

“I didn’t lie,” said Jack. “Sato! Do you think I lied?”

“No,” replied Sato, “I could tell that you weren’t lying,” he said, adamantly.

“What?” yelled Lee, grabbing Sato by his arm. “You told me Jack worked for the police?”

“That’s right,” said Jack. “I told him I did. I wasn’t lying.”

“You work for the police!” said Lee, astounded.

“Of course I work with them. You know that,” he chuckled. “So do you. How do you think I learned about Goldie becoming a rat if I didn’t have friends on the inside?”

“Oh, my friend,” replied Lee, shaking his head. “That is not what we were thinking.”

“Jesus! You mean you thought I was really working for them? Christ, what kind of guy do you take me for? Sure, sometimes we have to scratch each other’s back a little, but come on! If you’re trying to find out if I really work for the police, let me prepare a few questions of my own that you can have Sato ask me. They should alleviate any doubt.”

Jack was brought a pen and paper and quickly jotted down four questions:

Have you ever purposely lied to, or deceived the police?

Have you ever committed crimes that you could be jailed for?

Have you ever disposed of and hidden a body of a murdered man?

Have you ever orchestrated or committed murder?

Sato soon appeared in the bedroom doorway again and motioned for Lee to come over before whispering the results of his findings.

“You are certain?” asked Lee.

“He answered yes to all four questions. With some of the earlier questions, my findings were inconclusive, but with these questions I am positive he is telling the truth. I also asked him how many murders he had been responsible for. He told me he had lost count. I believe him.”

“Which questions were inconclusive?” asked Lee. “Anything significant?”

“His answer to transferring money. He believes it to be available, but has some hesitation about his colleagues delivering it. It could be a simple control issue. He likes to have absolute control and lacks faith in others.”

“That, or he doubts our ability to deliver,” replied Lee. “He did not climb to the top by completely relying on others. What else was inconclusive?”

“The first question when I asked him his name brought an inconclusive result. I asked him if he has used other names. He admitted he had, but refused to say what they were.”

Lee smiled and said, “In his business that is not unusual. The important thing is he sounds like he is suited to work with our organization. Come, it is time to leave.”

Moments later, Jack gave Laura a heartfelt hug and looked over her shoulder at Lee and said, “Satisfied? Can we meet the boss now?”

“Your suitcases are still in the van,” said Lee. “All we need is you.”

At seven-thirty that night, Jack and Laura looked out the passenger window of a Falcon 50EX private jet as it lifted off the runway, leaving the twinkling lights of Koh Samui far behind. They were not told their destination and were still not being allowed to use their cellphones.

Laura felt Jack’s reassuring squeeze on her hand. She looked across at Sato and Da Khlot who were both staring at them. Oh, man …

In a seat toward the front of the cabin, Lee relaxed while sipping on a Grand Marnier. Tomorrow Jack will complete his final test. That will not be a problem. He has obviously murdered many times before.

36

They were in the air seven hours, but with the time difference, it was actually five-thirty Saturday morning when the jet touched down on a foggy, wet runway.

Lee came to the back of the plane, grinning like a Shakespearian theatre mask. He bowed deeply before Jack and Laura and with a flourish of his arm he said, “Welcome to Osaka!”

“We’re in Japan?” asked Laura, giving Jack a look like she was accusing him.

“Kon-ni-chi-wa,” said Lee, carefully annunciating the word. “It means hello.”

“Really?” replied Laura. “How about sayonara instead?”

“Come on, sweetie,” said Jack. He looked up at Lee and said, “She’s tired.”

A van picked them up and took them to a private room where a customs official quickly stamped their passports. Moments later, they boarded a chauffeured stretch limousine. Once more, Jack and Laura found themselves sitting across from Da Khlot and Sato.

“How long before we’re there?” asked Jack.

“About three hours,” replied Lee, smiling understandingly at Laura’s tired groan.

Jack tried to pay attention to the roads and signs they passed, but had little success, due to his lack of familiarity with Japanese characters. The only two signs he recognized were NISSAN and TOYOTA. He felt uncomfortable under Sato’s constant gaze and decided to feign sleeping. But minutes later, he wasn’t feigning.

Jack and Laura each awoke about two hours later. The limo was driving through a mountainous area on switchback roads. Sato and Lee were asleep, but Da Khlot sat silently, staring blankly at them.

Eventually the limo arrived at a resort and slowed down, waking those who had been sleeping.

“It is an onsen,” explained Lee. “A resort that incorporates a mineral hot spring to soak in. Extremely popular in Japan. The food served is also exquisite. Multiple courses, including a wide variety of dishes. Later, you both must try it.”

The limo drove past a public parking area and took a small lane up a steep incline behind the resort. The area they drove through looked like an immaculately kept park, dotted with a selection of both bonsai and cherry trees.

“I’ve heard of onsens,” replied Jack. “You bath nude in public hot springs, correct?”

Lee pursed his lips in a grin and then said, “I understand that Westerners dislike bathing naked in public. I should tell you, that for the most part, men and women are separated, each with their own private facility to bathe in.”

“For the most part?” asked Laura.

Lee pointed to a small structure of wooden screens and clumps of bamboo strategically located halfway up the hill from the resort. A small stream that billowed steam bubbled out from the ground higher up the hill, flowed down through the structure, then disappeared into the ground again before reaching the resort below.

“There,” said Lee, “is a private location for a man and a woman. Popular with honeymooners, but perhaps we can reserve some time for the both of you.”

“I would really like that,” said Jack, ignoring Laura’s heel as she stepped on his toes.

At the top of the incline, the limo parked in front of a four-storey mansion built in traditional Japanese style with an intricate gabled roof and tiled ends.

“This is the home of Mister Fukushima,” said Lee. “He owns the onsen that you see down the hill. He is the man we refer to secretly as The Shaman.”

“And how should I address Mister Fukushima?” asked Jack.

“You should refer to him as Fukushima-san.

“I have heard of the title sensei following a name in regard to a teacher,” said Laura, “or someone teaching karate simply being referred to as sensei. I am not familiar with San.”

“San is used in Japan to show respect,” replied Lee. “Sort of like Mister or Missus, except with the Japanese it can also be used after either the first or last name. San is not gender specific. You are also right about sensei being used in regard to someone like a teacher or perhaps a lawyer. Actually Fukushima-san is a master of kenjutsu, a form of Japanese martial art involving sword fighting. He does not teach kenjutsu, so the use of sensei with his name would be inappropriate.”

“Handy guy to have in the kitchen,” suggested Jack.

“Be careful, Jack,” warned Lee. “He is familiar with Western culture, but he is old school when it comes to honour and respect. What may be humour in your culture, may be considered a slap in the face here. If you insult Fukushima-san it would be a … fatal mistake.”

They were ushered inside into an elevator and brought directly to a bedroom on the third floor. Here, two futons were laid out on bamboo mats, and there were two silk kimonos and slippers at the entranceway. An ensuite off the bedroom offered a bath and shower.

“When do we meet Fukushima-san?” asked Jack.

“At twelve-thirty for lunch, after you have bathed and had a chance to rest,” replied Lee. “Leave your clothes by the door and they will be taken and cleaned. It will be appropriate to wear the kimonos around the building. Laura, the pale green kimono is yours. Jack, the blue.”

“Our cellphones?” asked Laura.

“I am sorry. They will be provided to you later, after you meet with Fukushima-san. Should you need anything, there will be two attendants outside your door.”

Jack smiled and gave a short bow to the squat, burly-looking attendants wearing kimonos who stood in the hallway. They politely bowed back and Jack caught a partial glimpse of tattoos rising toward the backs of their necks as they bowed. He noticed one of the men was missing his little finger, as was their chauffeur earlier. A self-mutilation he knew, made by some of the Japanese mafia, or the yakuza as they are called in Japan, as a symbol of their loyalty. Tattoos are generally seen as anti-social in Japan and are also strongly associated with the yakuza. Attendants my ass. Thugs is what you mean.

As soon as they were alone, Laura sat on one of the futons and said, “Ouch, I think a bug bit me.”

“Wouldn’t be surprised,” said Jack, nodding in agreement. “You should get out of those clothes. Lots of bugs in Thailand. Hope you didn’t bring any hitchhikers.”

Laura then went to the washroom and closed the door.

“It will certainly be nice to meet Fukushima-san,” said Jack, loud enough, ostensibly for Laura to hear. “From what I have seen, I am suitably impressed with what he has accomplished. I am looking forward to doing business with him.”

“That’s nice, honey, but I’d respect him a lot more if we could use a phone. I promised my sister I would call her last night. She’ll be worried.”

“You’re right,” replied Jack. “Rose isn’t the type to sit back and wait. She’s liable to end up calling the authorities. Hopefully this afternoon we can rectify that.”

Jack walked to a window and looked out. Directly on the ground below, another “attendant” sat staring back at him on a small bench amongst a clump of cherry trees.

Jack retreated back into the room and looked around. He saw a phone jack, but no phone. Rose will be freaked out. Sammy and his crew will be tearing Koh Samui apart looking for us. Too bad they’re looking on the wrong island, let alone the wrong country.

He heard the shower running as Laura got in, but her voice still carried, “Jack, would you be a dear and bring me my kimono? I’m all wet and don’t want to come out.”

Jack found Laura standing in the shower stall with her head sticking out the sliding door. She had a towel wrapped around herself and the shower head was pointed at the wall.

“Here you go, hon,” he said, before flushing the toilet.

“Make it quick,” he whispered.

“What are we going to do?”

“Meet the boss and get details on the shipment.”

“He’ll want money.”

“At that point he’ll have incriminated himself. I’ll tell him I need to use a phone to make plans to get the money. When I do, I’ll call Rose. She can trace the call back to us. I’ll also demand to see the dope put on a ship before the final transfer of funds. When that happens, if we haven’t already been rescued, we’re bound to be in a public place. We escape the first chance we get and call the cavalry. In the meantime, we’ll show respect, but we want him to respect us, as well. Maybe keep him a little off balance.”

“Good idea, as long as he isn’t insulted and decides to kill us.”

The sound of the toilet died down and Jack said, “Here, honey, let me soap your back.”

Laura slammed the door shut and smiled when Jack left the bathroom. They often used humour to relieve stress. Right now she could use a truckload of it.

Both Jack and Laura felt a little refreshed from their showers and each put on the kimonos and slippers that had been supplied.

At twelve-thirty, Lee came to their room. “Laura, you look great. Jack, you should have the left side of your kimono overlapping on top of the right side. The way you are wearing it is how it would be worn if you were dead.”

I might be, soon.

Lee saw Laura with a tissue in her hand, about to shove it inside the sash holding her kimono. “And Laura, kimonos do have pockets inside the sleeves.”

Jack and Laura each held an arm up and realized that the large drooping sleeves were sewn in a fashion to form pockets, easily accessible by the opposite hand.

“Everything okay?” asked Lee, as Jack rearranged his kimono.

“Fine,” replied Jack, “except for the slippers.”

Lee nodded when he saw Jack’s heels extending well beyond the length of the slip-on slippers. “Not made for Westerners,” he said. “Come, follow me. Fukushima-san is prepared to meet you. We will then have lunch, after which he would like to visit with you in private.”

“You mean, talk business?” asked Jack.

“Yes, after he gets to know you a little.”

They were brought back down to the first floor where Lee led them to a double set of doors comprised of thin, dark wooden slats forming squares of wood over rice paper. Two more attendants stood outside, but both bowed and one opened the door.

They stepped inside and Lee immediately bowed deeply to a man standing inside the room, wearing a black silk kimono. It was emblazoned with five family crests. Jack and Laura took their cue from Lee and also bowed slightly.

“Fukushima-san,” said Lee, solemnly, while automatically avoiding direct eye contact with his master. “This is —”

“Jack and Laura,” said Jack, maintaining his best poker face as he stared brazenly at the man and held his hand out. He guessed Fukushima to be in his early fifties and presumed that his straight, black, collar-length hair had been dyed. He was shorter than Jack, with the top of his head about as high as Jack’s chin.

“It is okay,” said Fukushima, walking forward and extending his hand. “I went to university in Los Angeles when I was a young man. I am somewhat familiar with your Western culture.”

Jack accepted his firm grip and noted that Fukushima moved gracefully as he walked. From behind, Fukushima could have passed for a man in his thirties. It was his rugged face that betrayed his real age. He appeared gentle, but Jack knew appearances were deceptive. The reality is that he finds killing to be an amusing pastime.

“Have either of you been to an onsen before?” asked Fukushima.

“Never,” replied Jack and Laura.

“I think you will enjoy it. After lunch, I will give you a tour and introduce you to the pleasure of soaking in the hot springs. I think you will find it relaxing. We will then talk.” Fukushima glanced toward the door and said, “Oh, let me introduce you to Sayomoi-san, my personal attendant. Khlot-san, I believe, you have already met.”

Jack turned to see Da Khlot, wearing a black kimono, entering the room with a strikingly beautiful Japanese woman beside him. Her black hair hung halfway to her waist and she was wearing a red silk kimono that contrasted with a pattern of branches adorned with cherry blossoms. She was in her late twenties and, unlike other Japanese women he had seen, she held her head high and had no qualms about maintaining direct eye contact. She gave the impression and air of confidence, of having been raised in a wealthy family. Her smile, Jack decided, looked contemptuous, particularly when she stared at Laura.

Introductions to Sayomi were made and Fukushima said, “Laura, I understand that you and Sayomi-san have something in common. Sayomi-san has achieved a black belt in karate and kick-boxing.”

“Black belt?” said Laura, with a smile. “Sorry, my achievement in the sport was limited to yellow. Only one step up from white.”

“I see,” replied Fukushima. “Perhaps on some occasion Sayomi-san would be willing to teach you so that your level of skill will improve.”

“It would be a pleasure,” added Sayomi. “I have taught many older women.”

Jack looked at Laura and thought, Sayomi, you are going to pay for that one.

Minutes later they were led to another room through another double set of sliding rice-paper doors. The room was large and spacious, with a large, rectangular black marble table in the middle, which was low to the floor. The table was prepared with six table settings placed upon bamboo-thatched mats. A variety of multicoloured silk cushions scattered around the table on the floor substituted as chairs.

Jack was glad to see that a rectangular pit under the table had been made to allow room to put in his legs so that in effect, although he was sitting on the floor it was like sitting on a bench once he put his feet under the table. The Japanese were raised since children to sit on the floor with their legs tucked under them while resting their body on their ankles. Most Westerners found the practice too uncomfortable.

They were each directed to a seat, with Jack, Laura, and Lee on one side opposite Fukushima, Sayomi, and Da Khlot on the other. Two attendants stood quietly at the door while servants appeared, first with hot towels for everyone at the table to wash their hands.

Laura was pleased to see that her setting lacked chopsticks and had been replaced by a fork and tablespoon.

“Thai style, as you prefer,” winked Lee.

Laura smiled, but found the knowledge of how close they had been observed a little unnerving.

Their courses consisted of several entrees, including miso soup, rice with prawns, crab cakes, noodles, sea urchin, and tofu dishes. Later, bowls of ice cream were brought, along with a bowl of mandarin oranges, apples, and bananas for everyone to share.

A cultural tradition that Jack and Laura each discovered was that you did not fill your own glass of refreshment. To show respect for each other, it was the responsibility of the person you were dining with to fill your glass for you. They soon realized that when they had enough sake, they had to leave their glasses half full. Any less than that invited someone to replenish it.

Despite leaving the sea urchin on her plate, Laura complimented Fukushima on the fine cuisine.

“Thank you,” he replied. “Dining to me is a delight that I feel should enrich one’s life and not merely be something one does to survive. In Osaka, I own, amongst other things, a catering business that employs one of Japan’s top chefs. I am pleased that you have enjoyed the meal.”

Jack glanced around the room. Across from him, behind Fukushima, were the double set of doors and rice-paper wall, where he could see the shadows of the servants come and go as they entered and left the room. Beside and behind him, two more rice-paper walls enclosed the room, while the wall at the far end of the room was made of wood, painted a flat black. There, a potted bonsai tree was in each corner, but a focal point on the black wall was a rack containing two samurai swords, both in bamboo scabbards.

“They are my prized possessions,” said Fukushima, realizing what Jack was looking at. “I will show you one of them. Please, remain seated.”

Fukushima brought one samurai sword over and held it for Jack and Laura to see more closely. On the scabbard was an intricately carved design of a dragon with its tail wrapped around the scabbard while its mouth breathed fire toward the sword handle.

“Note the craftsmanship on the tsuba,” said Fukushima, pointing to the hand guard between the handle and the blade. The flat, donut-shaped metal guard consisted of an open design of a miniature samurai soldier in combat with a dragon. “It was made during the Edo period, likely in the early 1800s, by a master swordsmith named Suishinshi Masahide.”

Fukushima drew the sword from the scabbard and pointed to some Japanese symbols on the blade and proudly said, “Here is his name, chiselled into the blade.”

“Exquisite,” commented Jack.

“You may remove it from the scabbard and hold it, if you like,” offered Fukushima.

Jack stood and slowly removed the sword while Fukushima held the scabbard. Jack noticed that both attendants, Da Khlot, and Sayomi quickly came around to his side of the table.

“It is held with both hands,” said Fukushima, as Jack held the sword awkwardly, away from his body.

“I have never held a sword,” said Jack, honestly. “I’m afraid my knowledge is limited to what I have seen in Hollywood movies.”

“There are several different styles of sword fighting,” said Fukushima. “The type I engage in is called kenjutsu. Unlike other types, such as iaijutsu, where the sword starts in the scabbard and incorporates the speed of the draw to defend oneself, kenjutsu is different. After the formal bow to show respect, you retrieve your sword and start the challenge with the sword already in your hand. The emphasis is more on attacking, as well as defence.”

“I’m afraid I prefer a rifle or a shotgun,” said Jack.

Fukushima laughed and said, “So little honour in using a gun, but I know your Western culture reflects that unfortunate trait.”

“And I understand your culture finds honour in falling on your sword,” said Jack. “What is it called? Hara-kiri? We call it suicide.”

“Hara-kiri is more of a slang expression,” replied Fukushima. “The proper term is seppuku. It is called oibara if it is performed because of the death of one’s master.”

“People would kill themselves because their boss died?” asked Jack.

“Loyalty is admired and respected.” Fukushima shrugged. “Either way, the ritual involves plunging the samurai sword into the left side of your abdomen and slicing through to the right side.”

“Oh, gross!” said Laura.

“Imagine the degree of honour one must have to perform such a ritual,” said Fukushima. “Historically, the samurai were renowned for their code of honour. The true samurai may be gone, but their legacy of honour and loyalty is very much a part of our culture.”

“I also believe in honour,” replied Jack. “A man’s word is extremely important to me, as well, but I must confess, I do not believe I would ever have the courage, or desire, to perform such an act.”

Fukushima smiled and said, “By that admission, it does show that you are honest. I believe that few Japanese people would also complete such a ritual. It would take tremendous courage.”

Or a complete lack of respect for your own life … “Please, I realize it is valuable … also very sharp,” said Jack, as he dangled the weapon with his fingers on the handle while gingerly passing it back to Fukushima.

“It is very sharp,” said Fukushima, while returning to the far end of the room, where he replaced the scabbard in the rack, but held the sword with both hands. “Khot-san! Lee-san! Demonstrate for our guests!”

Da Khlot and Lee each snatched an apple from the table and threw them simultaneously at Fukushima, who severed both apples in one single swoop of the sword. His speed, agility, and hand-eye coordination was nothing short of phenomenal.

“Holy Christ,” Jack muttered to himself. By Laura’s open mouth and wide eyes, he knew she was also stunned by the speed and skill of what they had just witnessed.

Lee turned to Jack and Laura and said, “Now you see why I told you he is a master in kenjutsu.”

Jack watched as a young man who had been serving them food quickly approached Fukushima and bowed with his hands held before him. Fukushima gave him the sword and the servant bowed again and left the room to clean it. Not a word had been spoken to the servant. There was little doubt Fukushima had performed the demonstration many times before.

After lunch, Fukushima said, “Come, I will show you what other pleasures you may enjoy while you are my guests.”

Next to the banquet room there was a steam room, with wide, cedar planks making up the walls, floor, and ceiling, along with a cedar bench. Opposite that was another door which led to the outside and a private patio used to cool down, if one should desire.

The next room down the hall was smaller, but contained two massage tables. Fukushima turned to Sayomi and said, “You and Laura will now enjoy a massage.” He looked at Jack, smiled, and added, “It is time for us to talk. Only the two of us. I have a private spa that the two of us can use. It will be more relaxing.”

Jack walked with Fukushima to a change room. Fukushima gave an order in Japanese, and Da Khlot, along with two attendants, sat on a bench while Jack and Fukushima stripped completely naked. Jack followed Fukushima’s lead and picked up a face cloth and followed him through another door.

Fukushima’s spine was completely covered in a tattoo that resembled a spinal skeleton. Jack took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. He knew the yakuza had huge memberships. The largest yakuza clan based out of nearby Kobe was reputed to have 39,000 members. What are we doing here? This is insane. Get some conversation from him and get the hell out!

Jack discovered that the next door led to an outdoor pool. The pool, easily large enough to accommodate twenty people, was billowing steam. Hot water, fed from a mineral spring, poured in from an overhang close to the roof. At the opposite end of the pool, a hole covered by a grate allowed water to continue outside into a small stream, where it disappeared into the ground.

Part of the pool was protected by the overhang from the roof, but if one chose, you could also sit in the open. Tall clumps of bamboo, along with wooden screens, provided privacy.

Jack stuck his head out past a screen. He could see the well-manicured grounds. The clusters of bamboo, along with the bonsai trees, made it exotic. The hot springs reappeared a short distance away, revealing its route down the hill with a rise of steamy mist. The stream disappeared around some large boulders into the private honeymoon spa before reappearing farther down the hill and travelling on to the public resort. Normally he would have thought it beautiful. A romantic and tranquil setting, decided Jack, had it not been for the situation they were in.

He followed Fukushima into a small alcove beside the pool, containing a row of six shower heads no higher than Jack’s waist. Small wooden stools were in front of each shower head. Jack followed Fukushima’s example of sitting on a stool and soaping and washing his entire body before entering the pool.

“Is there a Missus Fukushima-san?” asked Jack.

“Yes, she lives with my two sons in Tokyo. Both of my sons are in university there.” Fukushima eyed Jack carefully and said, “You and Laura do not have any children yet?”

“We both want to.”

“I feel more comfortable doing business with a man who has a family. I believe him to be more stable.”

Right, someone you can go after if things go wrong. “Does Lee-san have a family?”

“Yes, also in Tokyo.”

Jack felt the hot water soothe his body. Had he been there with Natasha, it would have been wonderful. Sitting in a mineral spring with a mass murderer who was the head of an organized crime syndicate was much less appealing.

“Are you enjoying it?” asked Fukushima. “It may interest you to know that you are the first Westerner to ever step foot in my private spa.”

“I would enjoy it more,” replied Jack, “if business was out of the way. I have not had access to any communication for over twenty-four hours. There are people who will be concerned, not to mention financial arrangements that need to be made.”

“As far as financial arrangements go, I am a patient man and would expect that such arrangements may take a week or so. The product you are purchasing will be available for you to view within two days. It will be loaded on a ship in Kobe, not far from here. Naturally, you and Laura will be my guests until such time as I have received the first payment.”

“Viewing a ton of heroin makes me nervous,” replied Jack. “I would hate to end up in a Japanese prison, or any prison, for that matter.”

“I would never dishonour myself with your arrest if I was not absolutely certain,” replied Fukushima. “I guarantee your safety. You have my word on that, although I understand that you come from a culture where people lack honour. Should you not want to view the product yourself, you may choose a representative who will be taken to see it. However, I must stress that such a representative would be blindfolded coming and going from where the product is located. We may trust each other, but it is more difficult to always trust one’s employees.”