Who is Kenji Nakamura?
“Welcome to my humble home, Mister Hattori.” A short, Japanese man bowed. He had a receding hairline and a round face. His gold-rimmed glasses were also round giving him an over-all appearance of being, well, round. He said his name was Kenji Nakamura, but everyone simply called him Ken.
Ken was an expat living abroad, a businessman who worked for Toyota as their regional finance officer. I was confused. I could not, for the life of me, understand how this little round numbers cruncher was going to help me. I was beginning to think I’d made a rather large mistake, or Tatsu had, which would be a first for both of us regarding the type of work we do.
I bowed. “Thank you for inviting me into your home, Mister Nakamura.” I waited for him to continue.
He smiled, seeming to be quite friendly. “It is my honor. When Tatsu-san called asking if I could put a dear old friend up for the night, I was happy to oblige.”
I could feel my eyebrow twitching, fighting the urge to rise. “I see.” I didn’t. “And what else did dear old Tatsu have to say?”
“Oh, my old friend said you are a most honored businessman and friend, and that your business brings you to this fair city for a night before traveling on. You are very welcome. My driver is at your disposal also, but for now, Rosa will show you to your room so you may refresh yourself before lunch. My daughter will be joining us.” Ken rambled on, grinning and gesturing. He waved, and a Mexican woman around the age of forty-five stepped forward. She wore a standard maid uniform consisting of a black dress with a white apron. Her dark hair, liberally streaked with gray, was pulled into a knot at the nape of slender neck but her lips were red, naturally so, and her welcoming smile felt genuine. She indicated I should follow her. I fell in behind her looking around as we made our way through the large, Spanish-style mansion.
The walls were stucco and the hallways were lined with expensive works of art that appeared to be local if their colorful compositions were to be considered. I noticed the same name painted into the corners of three of them; Marta Sanchez. One of the paintings hanging near the end of the hall, before we turned, was an original Frida Kahlo, one of her famous self-portraits, although a small one. I’d noticed what appeared to be a Picasso in the front entry hall. Ken definitely had a yen for art. When we reached another wing on the west side of the house, Rosa led the way into the first of three bedroom suites in that section. My bag was already laid out onto the four-poster bed of red Cherrywood with an intricately embroidered, gold satin bedspread. The design was of a Japanese Cherry tree in full bloom. Each blossom was hand-stitched in the finest white-silver thread against the gold background. This bed cover obviously came from Japan. Ken spared no expense for his guests. It resembled a Kimono that might have been worn by a Geisha from the past. Even the surrounding furniture appeared to be imported. Each piece was hand-carved, telling its own tale.
Rosa pointed out the ensuite and let me know there were fresh towels and complimentary toiletries. She then informed me lunch would be served at noon, and I should make my way back to the main living area where I would then be shown the dining room. Once she left, I stood with hands on hips wondering what I’d walked into. It was obvious Ken had no idea who I really was so perhaps Tatsu meant it when he said I would have full autonomy. Perhaps Ken was simply a cover for my visit in the states. This was fine with me. I unzipped my bag and pulled out my suit, hanging it in the teak wardrobe. After pulling out my personal items, I kicked off my shoes and walked into the spacious bathroom. Cool tile floors greeted my hot feet. I laid out my toothbrush, toothpaste, comb, and shaving kit. As I did, I glanced into the large mirror over the sink eyeing the garden tub and massive walk-in shower. It actually had a window facing out into the bathroom giving the shower itself the look of a carwash.
I stripped down, carefully hanging my shirt and pants on the hangars provided, and folded my underthings, placing them in a pile on the straight-back chair sitting facing the tub. Once unclothed, I felt immediately cooler, but the carwash beckoned. I stepped in noting not one, but two rain shower nozzles overhead along with wall jets at various levels. I turned on the first one adjusting the temperature. The lukewarm water cascaded down like a waterfall, and I walked under the spray. As the sweat washed away, I thought through my plan. There were still kinks to work out, like how I was going to get inside the jail. However, that could easily be accomplished, and the sooner the better. My plan would start as soon as I managed to get through lunch with Ken and the daughter he mentioned. I did not look forward to that. Children were not part of my daily life, but it was only lunch, and only a young girl. I could handle it. Then, I would leave to begin putting my plan into motion.
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