The two men crowded around the address book, shutting us out. When they broke apart, the white-haired man spoke.
“This isn’t a serial number. There are too many digits.”
“Are you positive?” I felt deflated.
“Serial numbers are social security numbers, right? Nine digits. You’ve got ten if you count the long number and the code.”
“You’ve been very helpful, but couldn’t we just telephone Mr. O’Donnell?”
“He’d know nothing more than us.”
“But don’t master chiefs take care of their sailors?” I tried catering to their egos. “If a sailor loved his Japanese girlfriend but had to go back, wouldn’t he have asked the master chief for advice?”
“It’s not that big a deal, really. You’re talking about a situation that literally thousands of sailors were involved in. We ain’t proud of them. After all, I stayed here and married my girl.” Pepsi told me.
“Did you, now? How caring.” Richard’s voice had a dangerous level of sarcasm and from his smile, appeared ready to start some kind of confrontation.
“Births and deaths are registered with city hall,” the white-haired man offered.
“Thanks.” It would mean a trip back on a workday, but I could swing it.
“Do you know where Missouri is?” Mariko asked unexpectedly when we stood up to leave.
“Between Kentucky and Kansas,” said Pepsi, a real wise guy.
“No, the bar,” Mariko said. “There used to be a bar around here called Missouri.”
“Oh, sure!” Pepsi said. “Bar Missouri. A real whippersnapper of a gal ran it, smart-mouthed like you wouldn’t believe.”
Mariko nodded. “Where was it?”
“Where the JaBank is now, on the street that we call the Ginza because it has all the department stores. Not that it compares with the real thing in Tokyo. Why?”
“I want to see the place where I grew up,” Mariko said, startling me.
“How about that!” Pepsi looked speculative. “So tell me what happened to the gals who worked there?”
“The rent went up, so we moved.” Mariko’s eyes flickered to me, as if she worried I might say something. I didn’t. I wanted to hear more about her childhood, but I knew it would come bit by bit, on her own time.
To appease Mariko, we went straight to the Yokosuka JaBank. My annoyance at the way she’d sabotaged things in Old Salts had given way to self-criticism. Bringing her to Yokosuka had been a bad idea, given her trauma only a few hours earlier.
Standing outside the glassed-in vestibule where the cash machine was located, I watched Mariko walk around restlessly. Then while Richard was punching in his access code to withdraw cash, she hovered behind. She appeared to be reading over his shoulder.
I tried to catch Richard’s eye when he came out, but he was full of talk about a curry restaurant Mariko remembered from her girlhood. We walked twenty minutes until we found a grimy little shop with no Indians in evidence. Instead, a moon-faced Japanese woman in late middle age doled a soupy mixture over a scoop of sticky Japanese rice, slapping a fried egg on top.
“This place sucks.” Mariko was speaking Japanese again, now that it was just us three. “I want to get out of here.”
“I thought you wanted to come here,” I reminded her. “This isn’t my taste, either. For real Indian food, you have to go to Moti in Ropppongi.”
“Don’t be a control freak, Rei,” Richard chided. I blew up. “What kind of crap is this, the second you have a new friend I metamorphose into some kind of villain? Watch your back, Richard. That’s all I’ll say.”
Mariko cleared her throat. “Richard-san? What did it mean when those sailor boys called you that thing—fag?”
“It’s slang for guys who like guys. You know, homosexuals.” Richard raised his eyebrows teasingly.
“Well, why did they call you that?” Mariko sounded cross. “What did you say to annoy them?”
“Nothing, really. Sometimes people can just tell.”
“Poor, poor Richard-san!” She put her arms around him. “You can change if you want to. I know a girl who specializes in boys who like boys.”
“But I don’t want to,” Richard said. “Ask Rei. Life’s too good the way it is.”
If she were to ask me, I could tell her his video collection had Debbie Does Dallas and Harry Does Hong Kong. But I was sick of them both.
“I can’t eat this, and I want to stop in Kawasaki to follow up on that address Mariko showed me,” I said.
“I’m not going there, I’ve done enough for you today. Talking to those disgusting old men was like being at work!” Mariko grumbled.