Clocktower Read online

  “Excuse me for a moment,” Johnny said, quickly abandoning his companions. He moved across the room, his eyes fixated on the high school teacher he had interrogated barely a day prior. The bartender had just poured him another drink, and was suffering from a sling of insults fired by the errant instructor.

  “Enjoying yourself?” Johnny asked, just as Zachary had begun to pour the freshly made beverage down his throat.

  “Wha—?” Zachary turned and immediately began choking on his drink.

  “You,” he managed between coughs. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  “I could ask you the same question. I thought this place was supposed to be for elites. Not for, well . . .” Johnny looked him over and gave him a plastic grin. He reeked of gin and vermouth, and even after the violent coughing had subsided, his slurred speech was more than a mild hindrance to his ability to converse.

  “Heh,” he laughed. “What do you know? Get out of here and go back to your little hidey-hole in Los Angeles.”

  “Maybe I prefer to stay here. Right here, next to you. I can ask you some more questions. Our conversation from the other day was so short, and I would very much like to know more about how a man of your stature affords such expensive tastes.”

  “You can’t touch me here, Mr. Tokisaki,” he chortled. “So why don’t you piss off with your tough-guy bullshit?”

  Johnny took the drink from his hands and took a long, drawn-out gulp until the glass was empty. He clicked his tongue a few times, then slapped the empty glass down on the countertop, causing Zachary to jump back with fright. It was a Negroni. Well made, but bitter.

  “I didn’t have you pegged for a guy who likes this fruity shit,” Johnny said. “Barkeep, make him another. Easier on the Campari this time.”

  “You got it, boss,” he replied.

  “We’ll be seeing each other around, Mr. Finch. Enjoy your night.”

  He left the bewildered teacher at the bar, and returned to his place at Mutsumi Baba’s side.

  “Friend of yours?” she asked.

  “Quite the opposite,” Johnny said. “Forgive me, let us continue.”

  They reached the bottom floor before he realized it. A beautiful lounge with two semi-circle sofas facing each other, and a large round table resting in between. The Sixth and her adopted son took a seat together on the far couch, and Johnny sat across from them.

  “Well, Mr. Tokisaki. Where shall we begin? Would you like a drink? Something to eat? A girl?” She motioned for one of the working girls to come over.

  “Scotch highball,” Johnny said.

  “Make it two,” Lady Baba added.

  “Yes, Mamasama.” The girl bowed and stepped back toward the bar.

  Johnny took out the picture of Mari that was sitting in his pocket and placed it on the table in front of him.

  “I’m looking for information,” he started. “About Mari Mishima and how long she was working here.”

  “Hmm . . .” She grinned. “Is that what you came here to do? Chase down ghosts, and then what? Put them to rest?”

  “Shouldn’t you know?” He tapped the pin on his collar. “This comes from you, does it not?”

  Johnny fixated on her face, watching for any changes.

  “The pin on your jacket marks you as a guest of the Indices, that is true. But not all of us need to sign off on an invitation. Each Index is free to bring in who they please.”

  The girl returned with their drinks and set them on the table.

  “Anything else for Mamasama or her guest?”

  “No, my dear. You may return upstairs.”

  “Very well.” She bowed and left the room.

  Johnny took a sip of his drink. It was ice cold and perfectly made. Whiskey of a brand he had never tasted before. He savored it as it ran down his throat and waited for her to continue.

  “Which leads me neatly to our little conundrum here, Mr. Tokisaki. I have information you want, and you have information I want. And since you’re in my house tonight, I hope you don’t mind if I ask first.”

  Johnny motioned for her to continue.

  “I’d like to know the name of the person who brought you into Sonnerie. The one who offered you the job, and the details of the job. In return, I’ll answer any questions you have regarding our slain little princesses.”

  Johnny smiled a facetious smile and set his drink down.

  “You should know better than to ask a man to betray his client’s trust so soon after meeting him. And even if I were willing to tell you, what guarantee do I have that you wouldn’t throw me into some iron-bound jail once you have what you want?”

  “A fair point. But I’d like to think that some . . . unpleasantries can be avoided if two people can be frank with each other from the outset. And if it had been my desire, you would have been dead back in the alleyway where the twins knocked you unconscious.”

  “How gracious of you.” Johnny set his cigarette on a waiting ashtray. “But from what I’ve learned about Sonnerie, I gather that you aren’t above murdering people to achieve your objectives. Take Mari’s father, for instance. A fine job making it look like a suicide.”

  “Ah-ha.” Lady Baba took a sip of her own drink and set it back down. “Your reasoning has merit, and in your position I’d be compelled to feel the same.” She looked him square in the eyes. “But in this case, you are mistaken. The late Mr. Mishima was, tragically, killed by his own hand. Gin found him there shortly before you arrived.”

  Johnny examined her expressions closely, but found no hint of deception in her words.

  “Quite the coincidence,” Johnny said. “But I wonder what business you had in the Mishima household to begin with?”

  Lady Baba took a sip of her drink. “Now, now, let’s not get distracted, Mr. Tokisaki. You’re in my house, and I’m the one asking the questions.”

  “Ah yes. Very well, I’ll tell you. My employer is a rotund gentleman. Mid-fifties. Goes by Nakahara and has quite the pungent body odor.”

  Her smile faded. “Jest won’t earn you any favor here, Mr. Tokisaki.”

  “And prying into me to divulge private information regarding my clients will earn you none as well, Mamasama.” Johnny kept his eyes on her and took another sip of his drink.

  “Hmm . . .” She licked her crimson lips before shifting her weight forward. “What could I offer you, I wonder, to get you to talk? Or, barring that, perhaps there is another arrangement to be made?”

  Mamasama signaled to Jack, who disappeared behind one of the doors for a moment before returning with something in his hands.

  “Is that . . . ?” Johnny watched the rectangular item in question pass from Jack’s hands to hers.

  “Mari Mishima’s journal. I believe this means something to you, does it not?”

  Johnny rubbed his index finger against his thumb and chewed on his options. The value of the diary was not lost on him, but even that had a limit. Feigning disinterest, too, would be a folly. Given a hint that the diary be of little consequence, she would almost certainly destroy it. He could not be positive of that fact, of course, but something in the picture he had formed in his mind of Mutsumi Baba made it ring true.

  “Have you read it?” Johnny asked.

  “I have. Its contents were quite interesting, to be sure, but nothing I was really surprised about. She did work for me, after all. Even if the time she spent here was quite short.”

  Johnny pushed his cigarette butt into the ashtray, crushing it. “So you admit that you were whoring out a high school girl?”

  “Oh, please.” The Sixth Index rolled her eyes. “She came to me, and I offered her a helping hand. It’s the same with every girl you see here. No one was forced. They all knew what they were getting into, and they were happy to do so. The Buckle is the epitome of good taste, after all.”

  John
ny recomposed himself, but there was still an anger in his voice that he couldn’t disguise.

  “So what’s the arrangement you’d like to make, then?”

  She took the diary in hand and passed it back to Jack, who once again disappeared into one of the back rooms.

  “First, there is somewhere I would like you to be. You don’t have to do anything. Just be present. There is something you should see. When you see it, perhaps things will become a bit clearer to you. After that, I can give you a job.”

  “A job?”

  “Oh, don’t worry, you won’t have to break people’s faces or kill anyone, though that seems like the kind of work you would enjoy. But we’ll talk about that after tomorrow.”

  “What happens tomorrow?” Johnny asked.

  Jack Amano returned, holding something different in his hands. A black, boxy object that Johnny didn’t immediately recognize.

  “Tomorrow is Wednesday, the day that the people of Sonnerie gather for church.” Mamasama leaned back on the sofa and took the blocky item from Jack’s hands.

  “Are you familiar with mobile phones?” she asked. “I can’t stand the things. Intrusive, loud, and so heavy. But useful. Here, take it,” she said, giving it back to Jack.

  Jack Amano came around the table and pressed the phone into Johnny’s hands.

  “Don’t fuckin’ break it,” he said.

  Johnny looked down at the phone—it had a Motorola logo below the words, “Micro TAC.” Johnny flipped it open and closed a few times before returning his eyes to Mamasama. “You don’t seriously expect me to carry this brick around with me wherever I go, do you?”

  She smiled from ear to ear, seemingly pleased with his dissatisfaction. “Attend mass tomorrow, Mr. Tokisaki. Perhaps you’ll find what you’re looking for among the great skyboxes of the cathedral.”

  With their conversation seemingly concluded, Johnny stood up.

  “You may enjoy our club as long as you like tonight, Mr. Tokisaki. When you have had your fill of drink and damsels, head to the lobby and the twins will show you an easier way back to The Wheel Bridge.”

  The Sixth Index and her adopted son turned to exit the room. When they got to the door at the far end, she turned around and let her cool brown eyes fall upon him once more.

  “Eight-thirty tomorrow morning, Mr. Tokisaki. We’ll be watching you.”

  Seventeenth Movement

  Cathedral

  It’s bright inside the elevator. Johnny looks down at the bouquet in his hand. Roses. Red. Her favorite color. He gave them to her when he proposed. He gave them to her again when he found out she was pregnant. The doctor next to him has something in his hand. A clipboard. He ticks off boxes one at a time, but never seems to look up or notice Johnny. Occasionally, he taps his pen against the wood, unsure of himself.

  The door opens. The doctor exits first. Seventh floor, hallway. The walls are toothpaste green. Nurses run back and forth. No one seems to notice him. He takes the first steps forward. Slowly. Cautiously. From down the hall, he can hear crying. A baby. Johnny grips the bouquet tighter.

  The hallway is different this time. It still extends farther than his eyes can see, but now there is someone coming toward him. A girl. Young. She is wearing a school uniform, and when she reaches him, she stops and looks up into his eyes.

  “Where are we, Mr. Tokisaki?” she asks, pushing strands of hair across her forehead.

  “We’re in the hospital, Mari,” he answers. The baby screams louder from down the hall.

  Mari circles around behind him. He turns to look at her, but she is standing on the ceiling.

  “You’re upside down,” he says, but Mari shakes her head.

  “No, Mr. Tokisaki. I’m right side up. You’re upside down.”

  He looks around. His feet are on a long stretch of fluorescent lighting, but the lights don’t break or shudder under his weight.

  “I’m on the ceiling,” he says.

  Mari nods. They are both silent for a time.

  “Do you ever get to the end of the hall?” she asks.

  “No,” he says.

  “Who’s down there?” she asks.

  Johnny looks down the endless hallway. Another nurse appears and disappears. The baby’s screaming stops.

  He can’t find his voice. There is a lump in his throat where it used to be.

  “Who’s down there?” Mari asks again.

  He chokes. There is something lodged in his throat. Heavy. Metallic. He tries to breathe, but air cannot enter him. He claws at his throat. His ears are ringing. The room is spinning. The light he is standing on begins to crack open.

  “Mr. Tokisaki?” she asks a third time. But he can barely hear her now. Something is pulling him back down. His insides are bursting. His chest, a canon. His heart, its iron payload.

  “Mr. Tokisaki?” Her voice is so distant now. He’s falling. The floor is right in front of him. He’s falling.

  It’s dark.

  *

  He awoke violently at half-past six, coughing up vomit that had pooled in and around his mouth. The smell of it was so repulsive that he began to upend the contents of his stomach a second time. The cuts and bruises on his head throbbed, and a sudden hollowness gripped him from the inside of his chest.

  After the heaving ceased, he ripped the sheets and blanket off his bed along with his soiled clothing and wrapped it in a pile on the floor. The smell was still atrocious, and after washing his face and mouth out, he threw the window open and basked in the fresh morning air.

  Once he had his fill of brisk January wind, he turned to the closet and removed his revolver from its holster. Its six bullets were all accounted for. He gave the cylinder a few spins before snapping it back into place and returning it to its leather home, then sat down at the desk in front of the window and picked up the phone.

  “Tell me everything that happened last night. Leave out no detail, no matter how small or insignificant.” Mrs. Saito’s voice was grim.

  Johnny recounted the events of the previous night with as much clarity as he could. The ryūma puzzle, his fight with the twins, and Mutsumi Baba. He made sure to leave out only one detail—the fact that he had drawn his pistol.

  “She wants to know who you are,” Johnny said after he had finished his story. “Desperately so.”

  “Do you believe her? About Mari’s father?” Mrs. Saito asked.

  “I don’t see what she would gain by having him killed, if that’s what you’re asking. I don’t know much about this Mutsumi Baba, but I struggle to think she was lying when she said he had done the deed himself.”

  Mrs. Saito hummed in agreement.

  “I have a question, if you don’t mind me asking,” Johnny said.

  “Go ahead.”

  Johnny leaned back in his chair and let the right words find their way to him. “She told me that she is the Sixth Index. That her domain is The Lugs and everything that happens there does so according to her will. Is that true? Does each Index have domain over a certain aspect of Sonnerie?”

  “It’s mostly true,” Mrs. Saito said. “Although I wouldn’t go as far as to say that her domain is the entirety of The Lugs. Just the red light district and her private club, The Buckle. As for the other Indices, the answer is yes. Each Index is in charge of some aspect of Sonnerie. The Second is the head of the Church and handles religious matters. The Seventh is our chief diplomat and the face of Sonnerie to the outside world. Dr. Tonimura, whom you’ve met already, is the head of medicine at Sonnerie Hospital, and is in charge of our health. You get the idea.”

  Johnny thought of the giant sundial he had seen outside the hospital his first day in Sonnerie, and the roman numeral XII that marked it.

  “And where do you belong?” he asked.

  “Don’t get distracted. You’re not here for a civics lesson. You’
re here to find the reason that two girls killed each other. Nothing more.”

  “So you’ve told me. But it seems to me there is a bigger game afoot here. Why would Mutsumi Baba be so interested in Mari?”

  “Mari was working for her. You said so yourself, right?”

  “That’s true.” Johnny tapped his finger on the desk and looked outside at the clocktower. It was nearing seven.

  “After the girls killed each other, who all was notified?” Johnny asked.

  “Aside from the people you already know about who were immediately involved, just the Indices. They were all informed that night.”

  Johnny stopped tapping his fingers and began flipping through his notebook. “Still,” Mrs. Saito said, “I can’t fathom why Mutsumi Baba would want you to be at the cathedral today. What game is she playing?”

  “There must be something that she wants me to see. It doesn’t matter. I’ll play along with her little charade as long as it gives me the chance to secure Mari’s diary.”

  “Just don’t forget who you’re working for.”

  Johnny twisted his neck around until it gave a satisfying crack and grunted in affirmation.

  “My driver will pick you up in an hour and take you into The Crown. Mass begins at eight thirty. It’s televised and broadcast over radio, but most citizens still prefer to attend in person if possible.”

  “Why Wednesday?” Johnny asked, the thought suddenly occurring to him.

  “The clocktower was completed on a Wednesday. Services have been held ever since the cathedral was built.”

  There was the faint sound of another person’s voice behind Mrs. Saito’s own, but it was barely a whisper.

  “I’ll have to cut the history lesson short, Mr. Tokisaki. I have my own business to take care of. Contact me when you learn more.”

  She hung up the phone and left Johnny once again in silence. He sat there, staring out the window at the clocktower until it began to chime seven bells, signaling the beginning of his third day in Sonnerie.