Dead Roots (The Analyst) by Brian Geoffrey Wood Read Free Book Online

satchel.
    “Of course. Cigarettes?”
    “Yeah.”
    “Perhaps you should get yourself a change of clothes, as well.”
    “Damn. Good idea.”
    “I'm in the market for a new cellphone. There is no hurry.”
    Great. A shopping trip? We really are dating. Tom and Keda set off down the hallway. As Tom leaned against the guardrail of a moving walkway, he admired the view outside of the terminal. From here he could see the Tokyo tower and a skyline of gray buildings, with the sun well and truly coming up. It was a clear day, save for a line of thick dark clouds on the horizon. Tom mused about whether there might be rain later. In spite of himself, he was looking forward to getting to do some sightseeing.
     As they approached the shopping area, he caught on that all the signs for bathrooms and directions were emblazoned with Japanese above the English. It was like something out of a hip science fiction novel.
    The circular shopping area was not as flashy as he might have expected. The high gray ceiling was devoid of any frills like billboards or neon signs, but the signs for the shops themselves were bright and inviting. Several upscale stores lined the diameter. Clothes, electronics, alcohol, souvenirs.
    “Treat yourself,” Keda said suddenly. “Harold will see that we're covered under business expenses.”
    “Within reason, though, yeah?”
    “You've not met Harold Saldana.”
    Tom grunted.
    “Go get your phone,” he said. “I'll meet up with you.”
    Keda nodded and gravitated towards the electronics store, the front window displaying several large flat-screen TVs. Tom wondered how people even got them out of here.
    “Who the fuck shops for a 50 inch LED screen at the airport?” he called after Keda.
    “Rich people.”
    Can’t argue with that. Tom set himself towards the closest clothing store, a men's chain. He couldn't read the sign above the door, but the inside was lined with gray and black suits.
    Tom refused help from the attendants. He wanted something practical and affordable. Picking out a couple of pairs of blue jeans in his size, his next stop was a plain light blue button-up and a three-pack of undershirts. He was on his way to the counter when his phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out and flipped open the screen. Margaret again.
    I’m lovely. Are you going to enjoy yourself?
    Ha ha. Tom bit his tongue as he thumbed in a glib response.
    Just want to get the job done and go home to relax.
    He stepped to the counter and a middle-aged Japanese lady smiled at him.
    “Good morning, sir,” she said in clearer English than he was expecting.
    “Hey there. Just these, please.”
    “Did you enjoy your flight?”
    “Not really,” Tom said, smiling. “You just start?”
    “Night shift. I finish in an hour,” the woman responded, ringing up his selections. His phone buzzed again.
    “That's 1000 yen...”
    “Just a moment.”
    Tom checked his phone as he pulled his wallet out.
    Try to live a little, Bell.
    Tom groaned. He handed his credit card over. The text message niggled in the back of his mind as he was getting ready to sign for his purchase.
    “Actually. Just a second, I'm getting something else.”
    “Of course.”
    The counter beeped a cancel as Tom walked away. He looked to the far end of the shop. There was a row of suits, ties; on a mannequin, he saw a sleek black leather jacket. The neck was raised how he liked it, with a zipper, no buttons. Very no-frills, but quite effective in its simplicity. He thumbed the price tag: ¥41,500.
    “How much is this in US dollars?” he asked a nearby attendant, a thin man who looked younger than him. The man looked at the tag.
    “Five hundred dollars.”
    “ Jesus. ”
    “It is a Yamamoto. Very high quality leather. Only two left.”
    “A what?”
    “A designer brand, sir.” The man looked at him with a somewhat condescending smile. Tom didn't like it. So he didn't know about some fruity Japanese fashionista. He didn't know French ones