Mark Fishman - No. 22 Pleasure City

But he wasn’t anywhere near a result that might begin to satisfy him and he figured he might never see Angela again and if he did see her he wasn’t so sure she’d be interested in him since he didn’t have the slightest idea what made her tick. He told himself all of this like someone wrapped in a wet blanket talking to the world. He was still feeling very low. He stood up, paced the room, lit a cigarette and sat down at the desk again. He drummed his fingers on the desk.

The telephone rang. It was ten fifty-five. He listened to the voice on the other end of the line but didn’t register the words until after he’d put the phone down. He hadn’t said a word, just listened to Violet Archer who said she was at home and wanted to talk to him right away, it was urgent, she couldn’t wait, she’d be right over and it didn’t matter if he was undressed and in bed because that was where she wanted him.

He shook his head wondering how she’d got his number. She wasn’t drunk, her voice was clear and the things she’d said were organized into a plan and he couldn’t figure out what that plan was except that he knew that he was right in the middle of it. He swept the cigarette ash off the desk in front of him.

The telephone rang again at fifteen minutes past eleven. It was Shimura.

“I’ve got good news,” he said.

“Don’t tell me.”

“You want to know, don’t you?”

“I don’t think I can take any news, good or bad.”

“Sure you can. She’s coming home.”

The following morning at nine-thirty Shimura phoned Rand Hadley from the agency to let him know how things stood in the case of the so-called kidnapping of Angela Mason, which was drawing to a close more smoothly and easily than he’d anticipated now with Fitch’s complete cooperation and no pressure on the financial end from Kawamura, who’d given him a free hand.

“I can’t say which part satisfies me more, Kawamura’s trust or a problem on the verge of resolution,” Shimura said.

“How’s Pohl taking it?”

“Nervous as a cat.”

“Can you do anything for him?”

“No, he’s got to play the cards as they’re dealt him. I’ll be around when he needs me, you know that, Rand.”

“Of course you will. Have you got the place staked out?”

“There isn’t much left to do. Eto’s watching the house. I’m waiting for a call from Fitch.”

“By this time tomorrow she’ll be tucked safely in her own bed. And you can get a good night’s sleep knowing you’ve done everything possible to help a friend and there’s nothing like that feeling to give us a boost when there isn’t always a lot going our way on the order of satisfaction on the job.”

“I don’t like to hear that coming from you. You had a lot of good years with the county. When you were lead investigator there were arrests and convictions. But maybe there’s something you’re trying to tell me.”

“I don’t have any complaints,” Hadley said, scribbling the letter v with a circle around it, then s with a circle around it on a notepad in front of him. “The guys upstairs gave me a pat on the back plenty of times. I got promotions, acknowledgment from the detectives I worked with, and the victims who made it out of a tough spot because of the department thanked me more often in twenty-five years than I can remember, but there’s nothing like the feeling of having done something for the best reason in the world.”

“And what’s that?”

“When whatever it is that makes us tick tells us to go ahead and do something right for somebody even if it isn’t by the book, like you’ve done for Pohl, knowing it might not go down the right way with the people upstairs.”

“Noble principles, Rand — like how things ought to be instead of how they are. After all the years with the county you know that.”

“And you know I’m right or you wouldn’t have stuck your neck out for him.”

It was three forty-five in the afternoon when Fitch gave Shimura a call. He was going to Nightingale Lane to give Angela a drug to knock her out and then hand her over to Shimura if he was ready to take the responsibility for her, which was more than Fitch said he was willing to do because he’d had enough of playing out of his league with a nutcase.

“I’ll take the responsibility all right,” Shimura said. “What time should I be there?”

“Number four at five-thirty.”

Shimura put the phone down, looked at his wristwatch.

Aoyama came to his office five minutes later. Shimura pointed to a chair, Aoyama sat down, crossed his legs, offered Shimura a cigarette.

“No, thanks.”

Aoyama lit his cigarette, then sat up straight.

They sat there for some moments, not saying anything, just looking at the short distance of space between them.

Shimura smiled at Aoyama.

“Well,” he said. “Let’s wrap it up.”

“When do we leave?”

“Forty-five minutes.”

Aoyama took a deep breath, thought for a moment, then said: “What about Fitch? Can we count on him?”

“Of course, we can. He’s had enough of it to last him a lifetime.” Shimura pulled his chair close to the desk. “And he’s honest.”

“Quit kidding.”

“I’m serious. He’s one of the few left who’ve got a sense of honor. I told you what he told me last night.”

“Keep telling me.”

“If you can’t buy it—”

“I’m buying it,” Aoyama said.

“Good. You know where Eto is, don’t you?”

“On stake-out. I’m not babysitting Eto.”

“I know that. What’s eating you?”

“Sorry. It’s Eto.” He took a hard pull at the cigarette. “His bank account is low and he’s worried and he doesn’t know how to straighten it out.”

Shimura’s expression became solemn. “He’s gambling, and losing.”

“Of course he’s gambling.”

“You introduced him to it.”

“Maybe I did, but I do it to pass the time, and he does it because he’s got to do it.”

“His father was a gambler. Maybe not in casinos, but he lost plenty of money.”

Aoyama put his cigarette out, lit another.

“So what’s the difference between him and his father?”

“Don’t ask stupid questions,” Aoyama said. “You know as well as I do that they’re the same man, father and son, and it’s only the difference in age that separates them.”

“That’s right, but I’d like to help him.”

“I know, but he can’t change overnight.”

“Don’t make excuses for him.”

“I’m not making excuses for anybody.”

“And I’m not talking about twenty-four hours,” Shimura said. “It’s a long time that he’s been doing the same thing one way or another and I thought he wanted to quit and he’s in it now just as deep as he was then.”

“I’m not babysitting Eto,” Aoyama insisted.

“I didn’t say you were.”

“Okay.”

“You said it.”

“How’s that?”

“He’s got you in a lousy mood, again.”

“What’s that got to do with it?”

“Think about it.”

“Okay, I’m sorry. I just wish he’d lay off me.”

“Why don’t you tell him?”

“He doesn’t want to hear it. And he owes me money. I can’t piss him off because he won’t pay me back if he’s pissed off.”

“Then tell me this. Did you have to loan it to him?”

Aoyama blinked several times. “Let’s see, now—” He frowned up at the ceiling, then looked at Shimura. “Let’s not go into it, okay?”

“You’re trying to help him the wrong way, then you get fucked up by it,” Shimura said mildly.