The Salaryman's Wife(65)

Richard had spoken the wrong body language.

“You a fag or something?” The tall sailor gaped, and his friend made a rumbling sound in the back of his throat.

“Let’s go,” I said in Japanese, fearing Richard might make a guns-of-pride response. We were down the block within seconds. I turned back to see the old woman looking after us anxiously while the two sailors hooted disparagingly.

“What if they come after us?” I panicked as we headed deep into a district of tiny bars and snack shops.

“Then we fight,” Richard said. “You two will defend wimpy little me.”

Old Salts was exactly where the sailors had told us. Richard opened the door to a smoky cavern decorated with the famous mid-seventies poster of Farrah Fawcett in an athletic swimsuit.

“Son, take your gals back to the A Club. This club is chiefs-only.” Our greeter was a balding man with a belly that strained at the confines of his Pepsi T-shirt. Still, his voice wasn’t as harsh as the captain who’d brushed me off.

“I know this is unorthodox, but Joe Roncolotta sent me.” I spoke up before Richard had a chance to inflict any damage.

“Joe’s doing all right for a guy who never made it past second class.” There was a scraping sound, and a second man spoke up from the darkness. “You’re from Tokyo?”

“Yes. I came all the way down to see Jimmy O’Donnell.” My eyes searched through the gloom and found a snowy-haired man with dark blue eyes fixed on me.

“Have a seat,” the man said with authority in his voice.

“I brought two friends,” I said, indicating Richard and Mariko.

“Okay. But you’ll have to pay for your drinks at nonmember prices.”

“Two Buds and a canned coffee for Rei,” Richard said, affecting a super-masculine octave. “My treat.”

“A gal named Ray? Your Mom and Dad must have really wanted a son,” the man who had let me enter said.

“It’s a Japanese name,” I said, handing him my business card. “Is Mr. O’Donnell around?”

Pepsi started to say something but the leader cut him off.

“The master chief is fairly hard to get hold of these days. Living the quiet life in the mountains.”

“Which mountain?” I didn’t believe him.

“A very distant one. We could give Jimmy a message. What’s the problem, exactly?” the leader asked.

As I hesitated, wondering how much was safe to offer, Mariko spoke up in accented but surprisingly good English. “The problem is me.”

“Not another one of them.” Pepsi, upset at having been left out too long, sat down next to her. “Looking for your husband, right? Shipped out on you?”

“Are you crazy? I’m too young to be married!”

“We’re looking for her grandfather. While he was stationed here in the early fifties, he fell in love with a woman named Harumi Ozawa. He had a daughter with her, then went back to America,” I said.

“Poor little cherry blossom,” Pepsi smirked.

“Give her some respect,” the leader snapped. “The girl could be yours, for all you know.”

“No way. My grandfather had money, and wouldn’t have ended his life in a run-down bar,” Mariko said nastily.

“What we know is he went back to the States and married there, although he continued to support Harumi and, even after she passed away, he kept sending money to Japan.”

“So where’s the problem?” The white-haired man sounded reasonable.

“The problem is Mariko’s aunt was the only living member of the family who was corresponding with him. She died recently, of unnatural causes. Her name after marriage was Setsuko Nakamura.”

“I saw that,” Pepsi said. “I’m surprised they didn’t say a sailor did it, we get blamed for every damn thing.”

“Okinawa, yeah, that was the damnedest thing,” Richard said with irony, referring to the horrific gang rape of a young schoolgirl committed in 1995 by three U.S. servicemen.

“Hey, watch it!” said Pepsi. “They were Marines anyway, at least two of ’em.”

“If you haven’t talked to your grandfather before, why start now?” The white-haired leader addressed Mariko directly. “Even if you are his granddaughter, there’s no guarantee he’d leave you anything.”

“I don’t care,” Mariko shot back.

“Tell me something more about your grandfather.” He was staying remarkably patient.

“Why? As rude as you are to us?” Mariko closed her hand over Richard’s arm.

It was time for me to step in. “I think we may have something that relates to the father, perhaps a military serial number.”