Virtually True (20 page)

“It’s the poison.”

“You’re not careful, you’re going to get fat.” She scrolls True’s physique. “Well, you still have a ways to go. Like ten kilos.”

True’s appetite since coming to Japan has been out of control. All he wants to do is send cascades of drink over and around his tongue, rockslides of food down his gullet, vaporous clouds of smoke to his brain. It takes a full complement of will power not to palm another piece. “Tell me more about this guy Hatanaka we’re waiting to see.”

“As you can see, he’s rich. Très rich. And he likes to be called Hot. He’s like a million years old and bed-ridden now. But he’s had an incredible life, and there’s no better source if you want to know what’s really happening in Japan.”

“How’d he get so inside?”

“His family’s story goes back a ways. His father was a POW guard in World War II in what was once the Philippines, so he knows your stomping ground pretty good. Digging graves, one of the prisoners stumbled onto some treasure.”

“Yamashita’s gold?”

“That’s a myth. Another treasure. Hot’s father commandeered it as the Allies swept in, wandered around Asia for eight years dressed up as a monk.”

“And the treasure?”

“He got it in. I don’t know how, but he did. When he returned to Japan, the Occupation was in full swing. He built a corporate empire from the ground up.”

“With the help of some Filipino treasure.”

“Things went well for his family for a while, until it became clear that Hot, the son, couldn’t have a son. Impotence equals impotence here. Blood ties are everything. Not long ago, his son-in-law took over.”

“Why didn’t his wife go in for artificial insemination? Or DNA home-shopping?”

“They don’t go for that shit here. Now here comes the soap opera. When his wife’s family took over, they spread rumors he’d gone insane. Moved him here to this condominium in Chiba. Mental illness here is unforgivable, so he thrill-seeks by being my deep throat.”

“Who’s the son-in-law?”

“Can’t say. Strictly off-the-record. Don’t bother checking. Records were erased long ago.”

“Sounds familiar.”

The door hums open. Reiner pushes herself upright. “That’s our cue.”

They wind through the house, the hallways narrow and cedar-scented, and wash up in a large hospital-white room with a lonely bed in the middle. IV tubes drip drugs into a withered man, his face the color of a spent cigar-ash, his hair in splotches, like desert sagebrush. He looks up. Slow-motion blinks. “You are?”

“True.” He’s struck by how familiar the man looks. Since arriving he’s been confusing people, faces reminding him of other faces, J-versions of friends, relatives, or cultural icons.

The man breathes slowly and shrilly. “Interesting to have a name that is an adjective.”

“Hello, Hot.” Reiner kisses his cheek. Even though his expression doesn’t change, True sees he’s delighted.

“Ah, Reiner. A pleasure. Apologies for the delay.” Hot unpricks the tube from his arm and hangs it over the side of the bed. “My youth-bearing injection, a concoction of hormones, really. It’s hard to believe I’m so old. But on the inside I feel as young as you. That’s the greatest injustice.”

“The earthquake must have been frightening.” Reiner leans on the bed’s edge.

“As you can see, this house is well-constructed. There was a moment when I worried, but then it was all over. Quite exciting.” Another breath. “Reiner, what is it you wish with me?”

“Some weird things have been happening. First of all, a company called MedTekton has begun marketing untraceable plastic for assassinations weaponry. You know of any Japanese companies with access to this technology?”

“Phaseplast, is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“But it is not possible to know which companies. I have heard many things regarding this plastic. It can’t be traced,
ne
. Every weapons contractor in Japan wants the technology, not only for casing, but for other products, such as self-destruct spy tools for corporate espionage.”

True steps forward. “But you can’t say who has it?”

“No.”

Reiner’s turn. “Have you heard anything about someone buying up large tracts of Tokyo land now?”

“There is an old Chinese proverb:
A peasant would have to stand a long time on the side of a mountain before a roast duck would fly into his mouth.
What I mean to say is that if you wish to prosper in Japan, or anywhere for that matter, you must seize the initiative. Of course someone is buying land. That is forward-thinking. Buying when the price has hit bottom. That is how my family earned its fortune.”

Reiner ahems. “I thought it was from some Filipino treasure.”

Hot’s cheeks brush the pillow. “At that time my father did not want people to know the real path to his fortune. Before he returned after the war, he had my mother purchase land right after the Tokyo fire bombing. She approached families and offered next to nothing. Then with some money our family had stashed abroad, they hired men to secure our land—they worked for practically nothing. Soon, we were the most powerful company in Occupied Japan.”

“Then someone has learned the lessons of history well,” True says.

“Corporations are as unique as people. Some shrink when forced to confront adversity, some faint, some hold their own, still others thrive. We thrived, and after my brother died, I thrived. Although no one, not even the mightiest corporation, can predict what is going to happen. Smart, aggressive corporations can adapt to anything.”

Reiner rubs her eyes. “But this land will be worthless once they move the capital.”

“Why do you feel the capital will relocate?”

“Why wouldn’t they relocate?”

Hot shuts his eyes, ponders. “Politics is money. Follow the money, Reiner, and you will understand Japanese politics. On every issue there is something at stake. Winners and losers. If the capital relocates, then it is safe to assume that the persons or people who are purchasing land will not reap the rewards of their investment. And if someone is collecting land, it is also safe to assume that he or they have extraordinary assets. There are few with that kind of clout these days.”

“You’re saying whoever this is, they’ll make sure the capital doesn’t relocate.”

“Politicians are also affected by this earthquake. They have their investments, their homes, their families. If someone were to offer them sufficient compensation, I am sure they would help block relocating the capital. And a vote of such major importance would require a two-thirds majority.”

True cuts in. “Wouldn’t other corpsters benefit if the capital moved to Osaka or Kyoto?”

Hot moves his neck. There’s a good old-style camera-shutter click. “Of course. The question, then, is, who has the greater influence? Remember: To move the capital would require many more votes, and therefore a great deal more money, than doing nothing. Will those who stand to benefit have the resources to prevent the capital from remaining here?”

“But won’t representatives from places where the capital could relocate bring pressure to bear?” True asks.

“It would depend on who provides the most money. I would assume representatives from Sapporo and Kagoshima, cities with little chance in the capital relocation sweepstakes, would come cheaply.”

True and Reiner lock eyes.

“Uncover whoever it is that is pressuring the government to hold the capital here, and you will discover the answers to many of your questions.” Hot is slipping into sleep, his voice now tinny and distant. “This I guarantee.”

CHAPTER 16

Tokyo’s Parliament was not spared. Although constructed on solid rock, buildings heaved and ho’d with the prevailing winds, finally sighing, but not buckling, from the quake’s insistent rumblings.

Reiner rearranges the dress that hugs her as a lover. “You know, one of the reasons they didn’t move the capital before was because these government bureaucrats thought they’d be safe, so who cares what happens to the masses?”

Hutches of politicians aping concern for the nation’s plight. Already renovation is underway. Workers buzz, paint over cracks, reseal joints between the floor and walls, install glass panes, polish what’s left, replace what isn’t. Telelinks are out until power’s restored city-wide.

“Morita-san!” Reiner calls after a figure clad in black, and Morita makes a face like Reiner’s an ebola carrier. “He loves me. I’ve nailed his boss five times for corruption and the fucker’s reelected every time.” She tramps over while True stays put.

Seeing he can’t avoid her, Morita talks in pursed pitches. “Reiner. What is it now? I am extremely busy.”

Reiner answers in Japanese and True turns on his wrist-top, catching the tail of her response as displayed on his air-screen:
...it moving? And if not, why not?

True pretends he doesn’t hear. The aide answers in English. The language power play. “Really, Reiner. I can’t be seen talking to the likes of you after the last story you ran on Parliamentarian Takeshita.”

Reiner’s head dips in an unmistakable bow, albeit a shallow one.
Was I not accurate in everything I reported? Because if I was not absolutely one hundred percent correct, then please accept my apologies and tell me where I have erred.

True’s struck by how different she acts while speaking Japanese. Reiner bows, her hands held delicately at her sides, fingers together in perfect symmetry. True imagines her facial expressions turning Oriental, as if she’s taking on a whole new psyche—a cultural schizophrenic.

“Many of his constituents were extremely upset at what they heard.”

I included your official statement denying the charges. Was I not objective in my approach to this video-article?

The only word True catches while listening was
bee-dee-oh
. “Video” in Japanese.

“You were not.”

Then you have my deepest apologies. I will review my notes and if I can rectify the situation, I will.

After hearing this last bit, True decides somebody must be impersonating Reiner.

The man grunts. True can tell he’s pleased.

Reiner dips her head a little farther, her backside brushing the hall’s wall.
Now. Are there any bills that deal with the relocation of the capital?

“I can’t tell you these things in public, you know that.”

Reiner lowers her voice.
Do not be concerned by other politicians or spies. Everybody has a lot of other things on their minds right now.

Morita glances around furtively, then says something softly, in Japanese. Reiner wins that battle. True boosts the surveillance levels.
Of course this is so. I’ve missed you, Reiner. I haven’t been able to get you out of my mind.

What impending bills are there?

Can’t you at least acknowledge the evening we spent together was special?

Is there support to move the capital to Osaka?

The man sighs, and it hits True: He’s in love with Reiner. True almost pities him, even though it’s difficult to muster much sympathy for a politico.

You have a heart of steel, Reiner.

Don’t say such things.

And a pussy of gold.

The bills, Morita-san. The bills.