Hard Rain by Barry Eisler Read Free Book Online Page B

part of
    such a world.
    It took me less than ten minutes to walk the short distance to the bar.
    I paused outside, before the exterior stairs leading to the second
    floor, imagining, as I always do before entering a building, where I
    might wait if I hoped to ambush someone coming out. The exterior of
    Teize offered two promising positions, one of which, the entryway of an
    adjacent building, I especially liked because it was set back from the
    bar's entrance in such a way that you wouldn't see someone lurking
    there until after you'd reached the bottom of the stairs, when it might
    be too late for you to do anything about it. Unless, of course, before
    descending, you took the trouble to lean out over the bar's front
    balcony in appreciation of the quiet street scene below, as I had now
    reminded myself to do.
    Satisfied with the security layout outside, I took the stairs to the
    second floor and walked in. I hadn't been there in a long time, but
    the proprietors hadn't seen fit to change anything, thank God. The
    lighting was still soft, mostly sconces, floor lamps, and candles. A
    wooden table that had begun its life as a door before being elevated to
    its current, considerably higher, purpose. Muted Persian rugs and
    dark, heavy drapes. The white marble bar, confident but not dominating
    at the center of the main room, shining quietly beneath an overhead set
    of track lights. Everywhere there were books: mostly works on design,
    architecture, and art, but also seemingly whimsical selections such as
    The Adventures of Two Dutch Dolls and Uncle Santa.
    "Nanmeisama?" the bartender asked me. How many? I held up two
    fingers. He looked around the room, confirming what I had already
    noticed, that no tables were available.
    "That's fine," I told him in Japanese. "I think we'll just sit at the
    bar." Which, in addition to its other advantages, offered a tactical
    view of the entranceway.
    Harry arrived an hour later, as I was beginning my second single malt
    of the evening, a sixteen-year-old Lagavulin. He saw me as he came in,
    and smiled.
    "John-san, hisashiburi desu ne," he said. It's been a long time. Then
    he switched to English, which would afford us marginally better privacy
    in these surroundings. "It's good to see you."
    I stood up and we shook hands. Despite the lack of formality of the
    occasion, I also offered him a slight bow. I've always liked the
    respect of a bow and the warmth of a handshake, and Harry merited
    both.
    "Have a seat," I said, motioning to the bar stool to my left. "I hope
    you'll forgive me for starting without you."
    "If you'll forgive me for avoiding what you're having and ordering some
    food instead."
    "Suit yourself," I said. "Anyway, Scotch is a grown-up's drink."
    He smiled, knowing I was ribbing him, and ordered a herb salad with
    tofu and mozzarella and a plain orange juice. Harry's never been a
    drinker.
    "You do a good SDR?" I asked him while we waited for the food to
    arrive. An SDR, or surveillance detection run, is a route designed to
    flush a follower or team of followers out into the open where they can
    be seen. I'd taught the subject to Harry and he'd proven himself an
    able student.
    "You ask me that every time," he replied in a slightly exasperated
    tone, like a teenager remonstrating with a parent. "And every time I
    give you the same answer."
    "So you did one."
    He rolled his eyes. "Of course."
    "And you were clean?"
    He looked at me. "I wouldn't be here if I weren't. You know that."
    I patted him on the back. "Can't help asking. Thanks again for the
    nice work with that yakuza's cell phone. Led me straight to him."
    He beamed. "Hey, I've got something for you," he said.
    "Yeah?"
    He nodded and reached into a jacket pocket. He fished around for a
    second, then pulled out a metal object about the dimensions of a dozen
    stacked credit cards. "Check this out," he said.
    I took it. It was heavy for something of its size. There must have
    been a lot of circuitry packed in it. "Just