The men from the lobby led Patrick and the girls to the elevator and rode down with them from the fortieth floor. When they arrived at the ground floor, a dark blue six-seater SUV idled in the drop-off circle. The man in camel hair opened the door for them.
Patrick picked Jenna up and set her inside, and then picked Kiri up, tickling her as he put her into the seat. He buckled them in carefully. Patrick had a good idea what they wanted. He just hoped it was all they wanted.
The man held his hand out until Patrick realized he wanted his cellphone. He gave it to him. The other two men climbed in the back seat. The camel hair coat got in front telling the driver to lock the doors and drive. “Please keep your masks on until we arrive,” he advised.
Patrick leaned forward. “My girls haven’t had breakfast yet.”
The man turned around, frowning. “What do they like?”
Patrick turned to the girls. “What do you want to eat? These guys are going to buy us breakfast.”
“They don’t have pancakes?” Kiri asked.
“I don’t think so.” Patrick looked at Jenna.
“What about donuts?” Jenna smiled, pleased with her suggestion.
The man in front made a call.
“Poppa, why are the windows so dark in this car?” Kiri asked.
“It keeps out the sun.” Patrick tapped on the window. “You don’t want to get sunburned, do you?” That seemed to satisfy her and they rode the rest of the way in silence.
Patrick tried to keep an eye on passing landmarks, but the car veered into tangled streets with a blur of ramen places, print shops, pachinko parlors, Chinese and Indian joints, and clothing stores that could be in any part of the city. The dark windows removed all detail so each street was tinted the same. The SUV slowed to navigate narrow blocks of one-way streets before pulling into the entryway of a shabby building that just fit the vehicle’s width.
A guard came out from a small glass-fronted cubicle. One of the men in back got out and held the door open for Patrick and the girls. They stepped onto an oily circle of metal set into the concrete floor.
The driver pressed buttons on a control panel on the wall and a grinding of gears erupted behind the inner door. The door opened and a Ferris wheel mechanism rotated down. The driver eased the car onto the lift, got out, and sidled back to the panel to press a large red button that rolled the doors shut and the SUV rotated up and away.
The man in the camel hair coat waved them into a cramped concrete area with metal stairs and an elevator. Kiri and Jenna held hands. The elevator creaked down. Not everyone could fit in so Patrick and the girls got on with two of the men.
“What is this place?” Jenna whispered.
“Today’s workplace,” Patrick whispered like he was reading them a bedtime story.
The girls giggled. “It’s not like your office with the dragons and all the windows.”
The elevator let them out in front of a door. Inside was a neat room with long, flat tables resting on horizontal cabinets but no windows. A row of open white shelves ran along the wall, strangely empty. Wide flat drawers lined the space below a wide countertop. Overhead, air ducts and support beams were painted white.
Three women in white blouses and black skirts stood and bowed. One of the women hurried over, holding out her hand toward two sliding doors. She pulled the doors open to a Japanese-style room with tatami and a low table that could seat ten or twelve people.
In the center of the table was a box decorated with bright red donuts, some drawn with smiley faces and sunshine rays. Bottles of juice in different sizes, shapes, and colors were set together like a cheery set of dollhouse skyscrapers.
Kiri and Jenna looked at Patrick for permission. He waived them on. What else could he do? They sat on the edge of the tatami and pulled off their shoes, then hopped up, polite but excited.
“Save me one, will you?” Patrick said.
“We’re going to eat them all,” Kiri said, giggling.
The woman kneeled down and opened the donut box. Inside were two dozen donuts of every glazed, sprinkle-covered, and food-colored description.
Kiri and Jenna lost themselves in their sugary decisions.
The woman turned to Patrick. “Your girls are so cute.”
“Yes, they are.” Patrick nodded. “But they need to wash their hands.”
The woman led the girls to a small sink at the other end of the room.
The other two women finished what they were doing and came over. One of the women asked Patrick in English if he’d like some coffee.
He had enough adrenaline, he didn’t need caffeine. After the girls washed their hands, Patrick made sure they sat down.
“We’ll watch them,” the woman said in English, pulling the sliding doors shut.
The man in the camel hair coat waved Patrick to the other side of the office. He knocked on a Western-style door and pulled it open without waiting to a room with a high ceiling, clean design, and ergonomic chairs. Behind the desk sat a man in his sixties.
Patrick recognized Kosugi instantly. His face was as tanned, rugged, and focused as a boat captain’s, but his clothes were a pro golfer’s. He wore a tight-fitting lime green polo shirt over his taut, stocky frame. He was on the phone and motioned for Patrick to sit.
The shelves were filled with golf trophies, a golden golf ball, framed certificates, and square boards signed by famous athletes.
Patrick started running through what he imagined Kosugi wanted done. He tried to think of Kosugi as just another client, but he was clearly a guy who could order anything done without a second thought.
Kosugi glanced at Patrick and kept nodding and humming into the phone without saying anything. He twisted in his chair, listening, until he wrote on a pad of paper and hung up.
Patrick sat up.
“I’m Kosugi. You’re the guy who did everything for Leung, who knows how to seal the money airtight. In Wyoming, wasn’t it? Any golfing there?”
“I don’t know. I was too busy.”
“I had my girls out there trying to break in, but they couldn’t. And they break into all kinds of things. That’s why I hired them. And that’s why I’m hiring you.”
“Hiring me?”
“Unfortunately, the compensation is not the monetary kind, but rather the going-free kind. Your girls are comfortable?”
“They’re eating donuts. Where are we right now?”
“Near Kanda. I picked up this place from an architect who went, well, bankrupt. He gave me a deal on his computers. He used them for design, 3-D modeling, that kind of thing. They’re high speed, they tell me. My staff set them up for you.”
Patrick tried to hold Kosugi’s gaze, but he couldn’t. He had to look away. “I want you to promise my daughters will be safe. I won’t do anything until I’m sure they’re going to be safe.”
Kosugi chuckled. “Ah, you Americans. Always imagining the world is infinitely negotiable.” His voice was as deep-throaty and dry as a smoker’s, but Patrick didn’t see any ashtrays. “You’ve got it backwards, I’m afraid. It’s your daughters who are keeping you safe.”
Patrick took a breath.
Kosugi continued. “I trusted Leung with important investments. But that’s over. For obvious reasons. So I need you to move them for me.” Kosugi spoke slow, steady, accented English, as if translating every word in his head into commands that wouldn’t be misinterpreted.
Patrick sat forward. “Do you know what happened to Leung? Do you know who…killed him?”
Kosugi shrugged. “I know he handled money for a lot of people who, like me, don’t like their accounts played with. So, let me give you some hard-won advice. When business colleagues disappear, you’re on your own. You should learn from them, find out what makes them tick, when they’re alive. You apparently didn’t do that with Leung, did you?”
Kosugi was right. He should have paid attention.
“You just took your pay and did your work, right? You missed the chance to learn how not to do things. Leung toyed with things he shouldn’t have.”
“Toyed with?” Patrick had the feeling of being measured, inside. “I had nothing to do with that.”
Kosugi leaned back, nodding. “But you’re still the guy who set things up. And more importantly, you’re the guy who can fix things. Like my money. Right?”
“If I can get in, I can do that.” Patrick was far from sure he could do that, but he’d worry about alternatives later. Leung might have put Kosugi’s money out of reach. He doubted he could ask Kosugi to go with them to Honolulu.
“Then what I need you to do for me is straightforward. I never caught up with the computer age. Why I have to hire those women out there. They’re smart as whips, but even they couldn’t get into Nine Dragons. That’s how I know you’re good.”
Patrick tried to remember the last time he checked on Kosugi’s accounts. He’d reset them carefully in Wyoming, layering them into a trust fund packed inside shell companies run through various countries. Leung had urged special care with Kosugi, but he’d never told Patrick why. And he hadn’t asked. Now, he knew why.
“My staff will, what’s the word? Ah, babysit your daughters while you transfer the money from my Nine Dragons account into this new one.” He pulled the top sheet from the notepad and slid it across the desk.
The paper had a golf ball with “Great golf quotes” and a quote from Sam Snead: “Of all the hazards, fear is the worst.” Below were the numbers of Kosugi’s accounts.
Patrick fingered the sheet. “And if I do this for you?”
“There’s no ‘if.’”
“When I do it.”
“We’ll give you a ride back. I’ll cover your hotel bill for the inconvenience. I’ve found that positive motivation works better. Maybe I’m getting old.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
Patrick looked at Kosugi and back at the account numbers. Patrick took a breath. “What happened to Leung?”
“You know, I sent a lot of clients his way. Some were long-time associates.”
“To Nine Dragons?”
“That’s what really hurts—the damage to my reputation.” Kosugi shook his head.
“You’re threatening my daughters.”
“Right now, they’re eating donuts. I’m sure they’ll save you one.”
“And if I don’t help you?”
“Like I just said, there’s no ‘if’ here. And I don’t do circular conversations. We’ve talked enough.” Kosugi nodded at the numbers in Patrick’s hand. “Is that all you need to get this done?”
Patrick stood up with the account numbers in hand. “That and a high-speed internet connection.”