Hachirō went to the door, turned the key in the lock and pushed down on the handle. Milton raised the shotgun and slipped his finger around both triggers. Hachirō saw who was standing outside, scowled, and stepped back to allow the visitor to enter. It was a man, dressed in black, with a hood that covered his face.

Milton stepped away from the wall so that the man could see him and the shotgun.

“It’s all right,” Hachirō said. “I know him.”

The man removed his hood and turned to face Milton. It was the man from the tower block: Takashi Nishimoto’s lieutenant.

“This is Fumio,” Hachirō said.

“I know,” Milton said. “We’ve already met. What do you want?”

“I’m here about Sakura and the boy,” he said. “I want to help.”

115

Milton stepped forward, holding the shotgun level with his finger on the triggers.

“Turn around,” he said. “Nice and easy.”

“I’m not here to cause trouble,” Fumio said.

“No?”

“I have something Hachirō needs to hear. You, too, if you care about Sakura.”

“Put your hands on the table.”

Fumio did as he was told. “I’ve known Hachirō for many years,” he said. “We haven’t always seen eye to eye.”

Hachirō snorted. “You could say that.”

Milton frisked him.

“I’m not armed. I am an old man. I am not a threat.”

“You’ll understand if I want to confirm that for myself.”

“Of course.”

Milton glanced up at Hachirō. “How do you know him?”

“We grew up together in Sanya. Him, Takashi and me. But I haven’t seen him for twenty years.”

“Not since you left,” Fumio said.

Milton finished frisking Fumio. “Sit down.”

“We don’t agree on many things,” Fumio said as he lowered himself onto one of the stools. “But I have always respected you.”

Hachirō grunted disdainfully. “What do you want, Fumio?”

“Katsuro brought Sakura to Takashi this evening.”

“And?”

“Your brother is angry. He blames her for what happened to Miyasato. He always did. You know what she was doing in Bali?”

“I do now,” Hachirō said, looking at Milton.

“That wasn’t his first choice for her punishment. He wanted to sell her to Yoshio Wakasa. I persuaded him against that then, but I won’t be able to this time.”

Hachirō stiffened.

“Who?” Milton asked.

“He is a pimp,” Fumio said. “He has brothels in Kyoto. Takashi has ordered me to contact Wakasa.”

Hachirō stood; Milton held a hand out, cautioning him to stay where he was. “Where is Sakura now?”

“On the eleventh floor. Next to Yamato’s room. You’ve been there—I took you.”

Milton eyed him with suspicion. “Why are you telling us this?”