Free The Crane Pavilion by I. J. Parker Page A

you spend time in the quarter? Do you listen to the women talking? I tell you, he was always there. Every day! He has his favorites and goes regularly to some of the houses. He’s got the money. Why shouldn’t he?”
    The conversation was getting away from Sachi. Saburo said, “Come on, Jinzaemon. You haven’t answered. Did Nakamura ask for Sachi because he wanted her to perform sexual services?”
    The bathhouse owner said sullenly, “He asked for her. I don’t know what he wanted. I told you, I run a decent establishment.”
    The other two promptly giggled again. The old man told Saburo, “Jinzaemon has an arrangement with some of the women from the quarter. If one of his customers asks for something special—he waggled his eyebrows—he sends for them and puts them in a private room. The girls share their fees with him, and the customers tip him generously.”
    Jinzaemon flushed with anger. “That’s a lie, Genzo! Don’t you go about telling such tales, you sorry piece of shit!”
    He started for the old man, but Saburo caught his arm. “Hold on. Jinzaemon. You don’t need any more trouble today.”
    Jinzaemon glared, muttered something, and went back into his place of business. The old man and the woman looked pleased with themselves. They had come for a gossip and had enjoyed it. No doubt, they would carry the information with them to entertain friends and neighbors. And gradually the story would become ever more outrageous. Saburo almost felt sorry for Jinzaemon.
    Still, those two had little to fill their days. The old man could not work any longer and spent his time talking to the women in the amusement quarter, no doubt a vicarious pleasure at his age. And the woman probably had a daughter-in-law or two at home and could leave the housework to them. It is said, if you gossip about a person, his shadow will appear. In this case, they knew a good deal about the victim, and Saburo wanted information about Nakamura. He asked, “Where did this Nakamura live?”
    “Above his shop on Gojo-Bomon,” the woman said promptly. “He’s a curio dealer, but that’s mostly just for show. Why do you want to know?”
    Saburo saw rekindled interest in her eyes and laughed. “Maybe I just want to see where the famous bull resided. Or maybe I want to pick up some tips on getting women.”
    They chuckled. Genzo said slyly, “My throat got dry from all this talking on a hot day. What say we have a cup of wine?”
    Saburo agreed eagerly. “I’m pretty dry myself. Allow me to invite both of you.”
    They looked at each other and grinned. The threesome walked to the same wine shop where Saburo has eaten and sat down outside on one of the benches.
    They proved how parched they were from all the talking by consuming three flasks of strong sake each, but the wine oiled their tongues amazingly. Putting aside their squabbles, they took pleasure in regaling Saburo with Nakamura’s habits, background, family, and business methods.
    The picture that emerged was very unpleasant. Saburo developed an intense hostility toward Nakamura. Men like that deserved killing. In fact, the killer had done his fellow citizens a big favor by ridding the world of the man. Perhaps a few, like Jinzaemon and a handful of aunties and harlots regretted his passing, but for the rest things must be looking up.
    And even the women in the quarter might feel a relief. According to Genzo. Nakamura had enjoyed inflicting pain. Mrs. Ozaki was well-informed about Nakamura’s household. He lived in the fourth quarter in a fine merchant’s house he had bought a few years ago. A small curio shop in the front catered to the nobility by offering high-priced art objects, but Nakamura’s money mostly came from the loans he extended to people.
    “Any chance he might have creditors among the good people?” Saburo asked Mrs. Ozaki.
    “Creditors?”
    “People who owe him money.”
    She looked vague. “Maybe. I wouldn’t know.”
    Genzo said, “He did most of