style="font-size:15px;"> Hazzard shook his head and a broad grin spread across his face. "Michiko, come here." She came, and he took her face in his hands and said, "Kiss me," and she did. Then he held her at arms length. They were too complicated to try and figure out, these lovely Oriental female creatures, and from now on he was going to stop trying. Take them just the way they are, they are magnificent.
"Come on," he said, "I'll take you home."
It was two o'clock in the morning and it took them twenty minutes to find a cruising cab. All the way to Ikebukuro he held her hand.
Michiko directed the taxi driver in and out of the usual maze of small streets and finally told him to stop in front of a small alley. When she got out, she turned and squeezed his hand. "Goodnight," she said, and hurried away.
Hazzard told the driver to take him back to where he had picked them up, and settled back in the seat to wonder what was happening to Michael Hazzard. He knew why he had asked Michiko up to his apartment, and so did she. He had failed, and she had laid it on the line. The one requirement. Marriage. Well, just like the man said—don't mix business with pleasure.
Marriage. She wanted a husband. She wanted Michael Hazzard. He thought about it. If he married Michiko it would mean coming home every night. No more beer busts. No more parties with the willing girls of Atami and Ito. No more night life. Just coming home to Michiko every night. She would be at the door, throw her arms around his neck, kiss him, and then serve tea. They would take baths together and she would scrub his back. They would eat together, in fact, they would be doing everything together. And for the rest of his life, too. No more cold lonely nights in bed, no more . . . whoa—hold up here Hazzard old man. What the devil are you thinking about now? For thirty-eight years you have been doing fine. Now suddenly this.
Hazzard shook his head and rolled down the window of the taxi to let the cool night air in and revive him. Thank heaven for good old Greenstreet-Brown. Soon he would be off to Saigon, and if he ever needed a trip, he needed it now.
The cab had stopped and the driver was looking back at Hazzard with a weird expression on his face. It suddenly dawned on him that the driver had been saying something and that they had been stopped for two or three minutes. Hazzard snapped out of his dreaming. They were back from where they started!
He paid the driver and walked up the road to his apartment. He was still thinking about Michiko when he pushed the key toward the lock and a warning signal went off inside his brain. Springing back, he flattened himself against the wall. When the key had touched the lock, the door had moved. It was open now, and it had been locked when they had left.
Reaching instinctively inside his shirt, he suddenly remembered that he had left Sam hidden in the bedroom. He was learning lessons in what not to do very fast these days. He made a mental note to kick himself for being stupid and pushed the door open with his toe. He waited and listened. Nothing. Slowly he slid his arm in through the door and flicked on the light. Still nothing. He squatted down and peered around the edge of the door. No one, but the place was a shambles. He stood up and stepped into the room, closing the door softly behind him. He checked all of his rooms. Whoever had been there was gone. There must have been three or four of them. No one person could have done all this in such a short space of time. Hazzard had only been gone for about forty-five minutes.
They had ripped up everything. The tooth paste was all over the sink, the soap was in crumbs, all the boxes in the kitchen had been ripped open and their contents dumped on the floor. Every book had been leafed through and tossed about. The cushions and furniture had all been cut open and the stuffing was all over the rooms. Drawers had been spilled, clothes were thrown in a heap, the mattress on the bed was an unbelievable mess. The only thing they had not done was knock down the walls. What the hell were they looking for?
The money he had left in the apartment was strewn about on the remains of the mattress. Then he remembered Sam. He went to the closet where he had hidden the revolver, but it was gone. This was one theft he could not report to the police. In fact, if the police caught the thieves with Sam, and they talked, it would mean the end of Hazzard's visa.
He glanced down at the money laying on the bed. But they were not thieves. They had not taken the money. What the devil were they after? His foot hit something hard. Picking up a coat that had been thrown on the floor, he saw Sam. They didn't want money, and they didn't want a gun. He reached inside his shirt and felt the bulge of the beads inside the money belt. "I wonder?" he said out loud.
| 3 |
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A Boring Trip |
THE NEXT DAY Hazzard spent visiting the various embassies of the countries he would be traveling in. The letters Mr. Brown had supplied were like magic keys. Doors opened, people bowed, and visas were stamped in his passport. He bought a few clothes, a new suitcase, and spent the rest of the day in the office with Michiko arranging for the bills to be paid. There was still a lot of money left over and he gave her more than enough to take care of herself and keep the office open for another six months. By that time he would certainly be back.
Nothing was said of the night before, and Michiko tried hard not to show her feelings about his leaving, but little tears popped out anyway. Hazzard did not want an emotional scene at the airport, and insisted on saying good-by at the office. He kissed her quickly and then he sent the sniffling Michiko home early.
The following day, for lack of anything better to do, he went to Haneda in the morning, had lunch, and then checked in with Civil Air Transport (CAT). His plane left at two fifteen, and he was a little surprised to find that he was booked on a propellor-driven plane and not a jet, but his arrival in Formosa would give him more than enough time to make connections and board the coastal steamer.
Tokyo International Airport at Haneda is a very boring place for people waiting to board the various planes for world travel. Especially for a foreigner who is not accustomed to the Japanese habit of trying to bluff their way through by ineffectually copying what they think are Western ways. Souvenir counters with indifferent, lazy, and somewhat surly clerks, a dining room with bad food and worse service, and Japanese midget-size furniture sparsely scattered in the waiting room.
Hazzard took refuge in the small bar, that for some odd Oriental reason, was hidden off in a corner of the dining room. Here, amid the smoke and smell of stale beer, were two sport-shirted American tourists and their overdressed wives. Hazzard could not help but listen, and found himself agreeing with the opinion that prevailed in all foreign countries—America certainly was a country of loud mouths, women included.
Finishing his Scotch and water, he escaped to the observation deck that overlooked the runways and ramps. He walked along slowly, and when he came to the far end, he glanced at his watch. One forty-five, time to go. As he turned to walk back, a hand grabbed his arm, and a familiar voice called out.
"Mike-san!" and Michiko stood before him, radiant in a new dress and high heels. She thrust a small bouquet of flowers into his hand as she breathlessly-said, "I thought I would not see you."
Hazzard took a long look at this cute little thing that was his office girl. Then he reached out, grabbed her firmly, and kissed her hard on the mouth.
"Thanks for the flowers. I'll see you when I get back. Bye-bye now, my little Lotus Blossom," and he walked quickly away.
Michiko watched him leave. She was speechless, and highly embarrassed from being kissed in public, but she was also happy, lonely, and very much in love.
Later, as Hazzard
