Free Collector of Secrets by Richard Goodfellow Page A

housed in the area. Young men with a combination of testosterone and money spawned the growth of cabarets and nightlife. Post-World War Two American troops fueled the party tradition, and the district now teemed with Western shops, restaurants, and nightclubs. Roppongi Street’s eight lanes were lined with traffic, while overhead the roar of vehicles on the multistory Shuto Expressway intensified the congested feeling of the overpopulated area.
    The distraction of the swirling circus helped Max drown out his growing feelings of unease. How much longer could he keep chasing after Yoko for his passport, and now that he had resigned, would she ever give it back? Soon enough, he was going to have to consider more drastic measures.
    Max’s pulse quickened as two hands covered his eyes from behind. “Finally! The Geisha I ordered. It’s about time.” Reaching back, he grabbed the wrists pressed against his ears and spun around to see Tomoko’s lovely face. She laughed while they wrapped their arms around each other, melting together. It was at just such moments, when he was warmed by her glow, that Japan felt the most like home.
    He whispered, so only she could hear. “Is this like ordering a pizza? More than twenty minutes late and the next Geisha ’s free?”
    Tomoko pulled back, smiling. “Speaking of pizza, I’m so hungry. They didn’t give us anything on the plane. Come on.” She grabbed his hand, dragging him around the corner and down the street. Directly ahead, the glowing figure of Tokyo’s “Eiffel Tower” soared into the night sky. The ambient noise changed as they fought their way through clusters of barking salesmen balanced on the sidewalk, pressing on past the folding tables covered in a smorgasbord of cheap clothing and silver jewelry.
    “I have so much to tell,” Tomoko shouted.
    A hawker waved a reggae T-shirt as they made a sharp right turn into a quieter side street. “Let me guess.” He pulled back against her arm and rolled his eyes. “Tony Roma’s again? How about sushi instead? Or even shabu-shabu ? Heck, I’d settle for Okonomiyaki .”
    Tomoko tugged him forward. “I’m the one who hasn’t eaten today. I should get to choose.”
    “Kenji got time off from the school and we’re supposed to meet him and his friends for drinks in an hour.” He watched her mouth shape itself into a little frown and he found himself grinning defeat. “Okay. If it’s what you want. But you need to get us past that lineup.”
    “Not a problem.” She squirmed her way to the front of the dozen waiting people. The flash of her business card and a brief dialogue with the hostess had them moving inside within moments. The place was packed, so they sat in the back under a sign blaring BEST RIBS IN AMERICA .
    Onion rings, ribs, and beers arrived while Tomoko described the Sapporo television shoot in detail. Max licked sweet barbecue sauce from his fingers while listening intently. He loved to hear her talk, especially about work. Her eyes would grow fiery with passion while her cheeks would flush, and although it seemed impossible, she was even more radiant than usual.
    Finally full, Tomoko stopped and took a deep breath. “I have to explain . . . there’s something I need to tell you.” She bit at her lip.
    Max pushed away his now decimated plate. “What do you mean?” He hated confessions―they usually meant bad news.
    Unsure of his reaction, she began cautiously. “I have a university friend who works for the government in Sapporo, and she did some research for me. Well, I mean that . . . I asked her to investigate Mr. Murayama and Yoko.”
    Stunned, Max gaped at her for a moment before speaking. “Are you kidding? If she works in government, that’s a massive invasion of privacy.” He fought to temper the agitation he felt flaring up. “And why would you do that without talking to me?”
    “I know, I should have, but Miki found out some very interesting things.”
    “Such as?” His