Barry Eisler - Rain Storm aka Choke Point

I paused, thinking, then said, “There’s something I want you to do.”

“Name it.”

“You’ve got a file about me. The file mentions Rio de Janeiro. It mentions Naomi Nascimento.”

“Yes.”

“I want those references deleted.”

“I can do that.”

“Good,” I said. “I’m going to tell you something now. And the information comes with responsibility. Heavy responsibility.”

There was a pause, then, “All right.”

“I care about that woman. It’s over between us, but I care about her. I owe her something. If someone from your organization, or through your organization, hurts her or even just tries to follow her to get to me, and I learn about it, I will make you pay.”

“I understand.”

“Good,” I said again.

There was another pause. “I hope you’ll let me know when you’re ready for the next job,” he said. “There’s a lot of work to do.”

“There always is,” I said, and hung up.

BEFORE I LEFT Hong Kong, Dox told me he couldn’t take the money I’d wired him. Told me a deal’s a deal, and we had said 50/50. I told him I couldn’t give him less than a hundred percent after what he’d done for me, after what he’d walked away from to do it. I couldn’t convince him.

“We’ll have another opportunity,” he told me, patting me on the shoulder, suddenly avuncular. “Just you wait and see.”

“I thought you said it only knocks once.”

“It does. This one wasn’t our time, that’s all.”

I nodded. “All right. You win. Send it back to me.”

“I will. Just give me the account number.”

I scratched my head. “Damn, I can’t remember it.”

“C’mon now, that’s not fair.”

“If it comes to me, I’ll write you.”

“Damn, you are a stubborn one, I’ll say that for you.”

I smiled. “Thanks, Dox. You’re a good man.”

He smiled back. “You’re just saying that ’cause it’s true.”

I held out my hand. He took it, then pulled me in for a hug.

Jesus Christ , I thought. But damn if I didn’t hug him back.

I WENT BACK to Rio.

The city was warm. It was summer there, south of the equator, and it felt good to be back, to walk the beaches and wade in the ocean and listen to choro and drink caipirinha s and live, for a while, as Yamada again.

I knew there were people now who might think to look for me in Rio. But I’m not that easy to get to, even if you know the right city. And, strangely enough, when I thought about the people who knew, I didn’t feel threatened.

Of course, a secret isn’t a secret once other people know about it. I thought I could trust Kanezaki to doctor the file as I had instructed, but you never really know. And, even if he did what I had asked, there might be other copies. I’d made a few new enemies with my latest escapades. If they looked hard enough, who knows what they might find.

But I felt all right for the moment. I’d just keep my nose to the wind, see what I could learn from Tatsu, from Kanezaki. Think about what I wanted to do next.

My wrist and leg took their time healing. My ribs took longer. The protein shakes and other supplements didn’t seem to be helping the way they should. I wanted to get back to my workouts, to jujitsu in Barra. But for a long time all I could reasonably manage was slow walks in the tropical evening air.

The long healing process was probably good for me, though. It reinforced something I needed to come to grips with: I was getting older. Time was, I would have ripped through a guy like Belghazi before he could have damaged me in return. But now, although my skills, my tactics, were better than those of my younger self, my quickness, and my resiliency, were declining. If I had been working alone that night at Kwai Chung, as I ordinarily do, I would have died there.

I tried to tell myself that it would have been all right, that it wouldn’t have been a bad death and you have to die of something. But that was bullshit. Almost dying had been a powerful reminder that I wanted to still be alive. I couldn’t articulate why, exactly. But it wasn’t just the sight of sunsets or sound of jazz or taste of whiskey.

What had Delilah said, both dismissively and sympathetically, when I had ticked off those items? All things .

And: If you live only for yourself, dying is an especially scary proposition .

The walks got longer. I began to supplement them with bike rides. My wounds lessened, but their presence continued to serve as a paradoxical reminder both of certain mortality and of continued life.

My city by the sea was still beautiful. But over time, I noticed that Rio no longer relaxed me the way it once had. In fact, in the oddest way, I found myself longing for Tokyo, for something I once had there, although at the time I hadn’t properly appreciated it for what it was.

Tokyo’s suddenly renewed presence in my thoughts was strange, because I had never thought of the city as home while I lived there. Strange, too, because, despite a childhood spent partly in the city and twenty-five subsequent years there as an adult, the associations that had welled up when I had returned were all about Midori.

Well, maybe that’s what home would always be to me-the place I’d miss when I had to move on. Love seemed like that, too. Because the woman I loved was the one I couldn’t have.

What had most defined Tokyo for me, I realized after Kwai Chung, was that it had always made me feel like there was something there, something I might find that would fulfill me, some answer to a question I couldn’t quite pose. Whatever that thing was, though, if it existed at all, it had always eluded me, frustrated me. It took without giving back.

But I realized now that the thing’s elusiveness didn’t mean I should stop seeking it. Life after Kwai Chung felt like a reprieve, a second chance. What a waste, not to make something of that.

I wasn’t sure how much longer I would stay in Rio. But I was equally unsure of where else I would go. I was like a kite suddenly cut loose from its line: for the moment exhilaratingly free, yet certain now to lose the wind that had borne it aloft and plummet back to earth.

I needed to find that line again. But I didn’t know where to reach for it.

There was Naomi, of course. Sometimes I thought about going to see her. But I never did. Maybe she was getting over the way things had ended between us. Maybe she was moving on. I didn’t want to interfere with any of that. Most of all, I didn’t want an association with me to be the thing that got her hurt, or worse than hurt.

Still, there were nights when I would lie in bed, listening to “ De Mais Ninguém ,” the song that had been playing in Scenarium the night I had gone to see her, or listening to some of the other music she had played in her apartment while we made love there, and the thought of how near she was would be almost unbearable.

I thought of Delilah, too. I wondered how things had turned out for her. I wondered how much of what she had told me had been true. I asked myself inane “what if” questions. I found myself wanting to believe her, wanting to believe that something was there, or could have been there, and I found this reaction weak and somewhat foolish.

Yeah. But look at Dox. He surprised you.

Yeah, he did. But not enough to reverse my whole view of human nature.

I’d been back for about two months when I found a message on one of my bulletin boards. The message said, “I’m vacationing in a wonderful city. Every morning I swim at the most famous beach there. The older beach, the one further north. I wish you could join me.”

It was the bulletin board I had been using with Delilah, password Peninsula. No one else knew of it.