The Kizuna Coast: A Rei Shimura Mystery (Rei Shimura Mysteries Book 11) Page 7

“Make the dog seem like an asset, not a liability. You could tell them Hachiko’s a search-and-rescue dog or something.”

  “But that’s not really true—”

  “She’s going to help you search for Mr. Ishida, right?” Richard paused. “I suggest you say something, rather than nothing.”

  Feeling Richard’s eyes on me, I took a swig from my glass, picked up my phone, and rang Yano-san’s cell number. I was less hopeful than my friend about how the conversation might go. If Mr. Yano didn’t think people should bring contact lenses, surely he’d take the same attitude toward pets.

  Mr. Yano didn’t pick up; his voice mail recording was on. I was about to start my plea but suddenly realized leaving a message could give the volunteer organizer plenty of time to concoct a strong rejection. So I hung up.

  “I only got his voice mail,” I told Richard.

  Richard took a long sip of wine. “Getting back to the search-and-rescue idea. I think it could work. You could play some training games this afternoon, so at least the dog has the appearance of skill. You’ll need yummy treats, of course—”

  “I can’t train a dog,” I interrupted. “I’ve never had one.”

  “You said she has a beagle nose. Beagles are used all the time for searching suitcases in airports. People seeing those dogs expect them to be skilled.”

  It was true that appearances were important. I considered how I’d judged Mayumi because of her hair. “To make Hachiko look like a search-and-rescue dog to Yano-san, she needs to wear a red coat.”

  Richard had already picked up his cell phone. “I’m calling Isetan to see if they’re open for business today.”

  Richard and I hadn’t shopped together in a long time. Normally, we made pilgrimages to both the men’s and women’s departments, but today we headed to the famed department store’s pet fashion boutique, which occupied almost half a floor. On a winter-clothing sale rack, I found a quilted red coat from Rich Dog World that looked big enough for Hachiko. The children’s floor yielded two small Tory Burch T-shirts with appliquéd white crosses that would be easy to remove. One hundred dollars poorer, we returned to Richard’s apartment, where I sewed the crosses onto the dog coat and Richard put Mutsu in the Meowtize cloak he’d impetuously bought for an upcoming party.

  The fat cat did not look any better in black sequins, but I kept my opinion to myself and finished the last bits of packing. My duffel was quite heavy now. I decided to drop it off at Mr. Ishida’s store before going to the vet’s to retrieve Hachiko. With a kiss to Richard, I was off with my luggage by four o’clock.

  As expected, I received a friendly reception at Animal House when I made it clear I was taking Hachiko away with me. Too quickly, her leash was in one of my hands and a red shopping bag with sedatives, lemon-scented poop bags, and dog biscuits was in the other. Dr. Kubo had also written a list of daily care instructions, which would have been helpful, except they were printed in tiny eight-point kanji.

  Hachiko trotted out of Animal House alongside me. It seemed like her jaw stretched into a smile at the sight of the familiar Tokyo traffic. When we turned onto Mr. Ishida’s block, she surprised me by breaking into a run. She yanked me the rest of the way and barked joyfully while I opened the shop door. Once inside, she hurried everywhere looking for Mr. Ishida.

  “I’m sorry, Hachiko,” I said. “But we’ll find him soon, I promise.”

  Hachiko ran up the staircase in the back that led to Mr. Ishida’s private quarters. I followed her up and found this door was locked and required a different key than the shop’s entry. But I still had my lock-picking tools, so I was quickly inside. I’d needed to go into the apartment anyway to find clean, warm clothes to bring Mr. Ishida, who might have been wearing the same garments for a week.

  In the flat, all was neat, with the twin bed made and clothes all hanging in closets. Books and newspapers were everywhere, but in orderly piles. A few drawers had been rocked open by the earthquake. I wouldn’t know if anything was missing, so I didn’t undertake any kind of search but gathered two pairs of trousers, two sweaters and shirts, an extra coat, gloves, and four sets of underwear and socks. Everything went into a leather suitcase that was large enough to hold Hachiko’s dog supplies as well.

  I still had an hour to spare before leaving for the volunteer bus. Remembering what I’d said to Mr. Okada about cleaning up, I found the broom and dustpan and swept up all the china bits and put them in the empty lacquer box and returned everything to the safe. When that business was done, I called Michael. It was dinnertime in Tokyo, which meant it was late evening in Honolulu.

  After I explained my plan to take Hachiko, Michael did all but cheer. “What awesome news. Is she on the manifest, or are you sneaking her along in your bag?”

  “I wish I could, but she’s too big.”

  “Well, I can’t wait to meet her.”

  “I can’t possibly bring her to Hawaii. You know the quarantine laws, and Mr. Ishida’s going to get her soon, I hope—”

  “Which is fine. But I’m coming to Japan! My proposal for communication action during the continuing nuclear crisis got accepted. Two of the guys and I are flying out of Hickam Field as soon as space is available.”

  The brief pleasure I’d felt at hearing he was coming was immediately supplanted by worry. “But what is this proposal exactly? What could you do?”

  “We’ll fold ourselves into Operation Tomodachi, the US military effort to help relieve Japan. My role will be working with people in an attempt to improve communication.”

  “It sounds very noble, but that kind of talking has been going on for a week without success,” I said. “And you represent a think tank. How can someone like you influence the Japanese government and TEPCO?”

  “I’d like to think I can communicate with Japanese bureaucrats a touch better than the people sitting abroad yelling at them about the extent of the radiation spill.” Michael sounded aggrieved.

  “Are you going to do this from Tokyo?” When he didn’t answer, I added, “Knowing you, it will be much closer to the danger zone. You shouldn’t do it.”

  “So you’re worried about my health.” He snorted as if this were an irrelevant issue.

  “Of course I’m worried! Think about what going to Fukushima might mean for the rest of your life. My life, too, since we’re married.”

  “I hear you, but when I worry, it’s about the hundred people still crawling around that TEPCO plant trying to put out fires. They’re the ones who’re going to die, and if a solution isn’t found, thousands and possibly millions will also die. Really, I’ll be fine. If I go to Tohoku, I’ll probably be based on a ship near the plant.”

  “Probably.” I sighed, letting out all the fear and frustration in my breath. “How soon do they think there’s going to be a flight with space?”

  “Maybe tomorrow.”

  “So I’ll be in Tohoku. You might not be able to reach me when you land.”

  “I’ll call this number.”

  “Well, cell service is still pretty erratic, and I may have trouble keeping my phone charged while I’m out there. I tried to find a battery-operated charger, but the stores are sold out.”

  “How can you go without a charger?” Without waiting for an answer, he huffed, “You can’t leave the city until you have the necessary charger. I’ve got one packed.”

  “What do you mean, I can’t leave? The volunteer bus leaves in a few hours. But don’t worry, okay? I’ll be back in Tokyo soon.”

  “Don’t worry,” Michael repeated sarcastically. “I can’t be concerned about you, after all you said about my plans?”

  “It’s tough being apart. I wish I could make everything okay—”

  “I’m not going to talk to you,” Michael snapped. “You need to conserve power.” And with that, he disappeared.

  Great. I’d alienated him, just as I’d alienated every other man in my past. Now I was starting to think that maybe the problem wasn’t the guys—but the way I communicated with
them. Michael and I been married for less than a year. Fights like this—about travel and work and safety—were extremely painful for both of us. Maybe too painful for the marriage to hold.

  I shook myself. I needed to take my mind off of Michael and back to getting Hachiko on the volunteer bus.

  Dogs supposedly weren’t allowed in the subway system, but since it was after rush-hour, fewer guards were on duty. It was the first–and only–opportunity to test out whether Hachiko, in her new red coat, could pass as a working professional.

  Inside Sendagi Station, nobody stopped us. When I attempted to buy a ticket, the ticket-window man insisted that emergency workers and their pets could travel at no cost.

  “Search and rescue!” a mother explained to her her young son and daughter as Hachiko and I stood next to them waiting for the subway to Shinagawa, the volunteer bus’s departure point.

  “Yes,” I told the children. “We are going to Tohoku.”

  “Gambatte kudasai!”

  “Gambatte, neh?”

  Dozens of friendly requests for Hachiko to work hard at her duty followed us all the way onto the Yamanote line and out to Shinagawa Station. Feeling pumped up, I practically danced the remaining blocks to the designated parking garage, one of those sixty-dollars-an-hour places that always made me roll my eyes. This evening, not many cars were parked. Instead, the garage was dominated by a long tour bus with a sign over its front windshield that spelled out “Helping Hands” in English. Fifteen people were already loading up the baggage compartment with their own heavy backpacks and duffels. Those who were waiting in line to get near the compartment caught sight of Hachiko and began asking me if they were permitted to pet her.

  “Sure. She’s not on duty yet,” I said, striving to behave the way a professional dog-handler might.

  “Hello there, Shimura-san.” Miss Michiko Tanaka looked just as I remembered: pretty and petite, with a placid face that turned incredulous at the sight of Hachiko. “Oh! Your cousin did not mention a dog was with you.”

  “If it’s too much trouble, I suppose I could find another way to Tohoku—”

  “But we are the first civilian volunteers arriving. There is no other group going that could take you.” Tanaka-san bent to look closely at Hachiko, who was sitting with her head drooping like a disgraced schoolgirl. “I’m sure she could be very useful. I’m partnering with Yano-san on organizing this trip, so I’ll put in a word for her. But where shall she go during the ride? Surely she cannot fit into the luggage compartment.”

  “She could sit on my lap,” I suggested confidently.

  We both looked at Hachiko, who, lengthwise, was about the size of a human five-year-old.

  “I suppose.” She still looked worried. “But I don’t know who else would willingly sit with you and that dog…”

  “I will sit with them,” a male voice volunteered from somewhere in the crowd.

  “I’d certainly like to hold the dog,” an older lady cried out.

  “What is cutie’s name? She’s so sweet,” gushed two girls wearing Waseda University sweatshirts.

  The Hachiko hubbub finally brought around Yano-san. Now wearing a tattered army jacket and jeans tucked into knee-high rubber boots, he looked even more laid-back than during the orientation. Surely he would turn out to be a dog lover.

  “Yano-san, please excuse me.” Swiftly I began my white lie, because he had an expression even more dubious than Miss Tanaka’s. “Did you receive the phone message I left about this service dog?”

  Yano-san ran his hand through his unkempt hair. “Sorry, I’ve been so busy. I heard many messages on my phone but may have missed or accidentally deleted a few. I didn’t get any message about dogs.”

  “Dogs like this help find people. Please allow her to come,” the grandmotherly woman said in a softly authoritarian tone.

  “Which breed is she?” Yano-san looked dubious.

  “Hachiko is an Akita-beagle mix. She belongs to the gentleman called Ishida-san whom I mentioned I’m looking for—”

  “Helping Hands means human hands,” Mr. Yano said. “There is another volunteer group rescuing abandoned animals in Tohoku, not Tokyo.”

  A man in his twenties with a cockscomb haircut like Mr. Sato’s hurried up. “Excuse me?” he said, making a quick bow to Mr. Yano.

  Good, I thought, a distraction. As the director turned to hear the young man’s request, I gently brought Hachiko out of the garage for one last toileting opportunity. After returning, I encouraged anyone who hadn’t yet petted the dog to meet her. If Hachiko became part of the group, it would be harder for the Helping Hands leader to reject her. But after what he’d said, I knew I was in danger of blowing my chance to rescue Mr. Ishida.

  Shortly after I’d come back to the group, Mr. Yano’s voice came over a microphone reminding everyone to take seats on the bus, as he hoped to leave town within ten minutes.

  I took a deep breath and went up to him, Hachiko at my side. “What do you think? May I load my luggage and join you?”

  After a tense pause, Mr. Yano spoke. “Yes. But please keep him on your lap at all times, and if there is any incident on the way up, we will have to leave the two of you at the gas station. It’s a bit unexpected, you see….”

  I wanted to fist pump the air but resisted. I hid my smile, bowed deeply, and said, “Thank you very much. What a great kindness to Hachiko and her owner.”

  “This dog will have to work, too,” Yano-san said.

  “Of course, of course.”

  As I kept bowing, Hachiko nuzzled my leg as if to say thank you. But my gratitude was being supplanted by nervousness. Hachiko’s working-dog costume wasn’t a reflection of who she really was. Just as Richard’s red puffer jacket was hardly enough to shield me from the chilly uncertainty ahead.

  Chapter 10

  By the time I was cleared to bring Hachiko aboard, most people had already found seats. Hachiko and I wound up next to Mrs. Endo, the lady in her seventies who’d lobbied for her. Endo-san encouraged me to let Hachiko spread out over the two of us so she didn’t get cramped during the ride. As I thanked her, Mrs. Endo produced a terry-cloth neck pillow and a cotton sleep mask.

  “I shall sleep most of this journey, to conserve energy. Please excuse me.” Mrs. Endo rested with a hand on Hachiko’s back, and within minutes appeared to be in a more comfortable world.

  A young man seated several rows ahead of me, across the aisle, turned and winked at me as Mrs. Endo began snoring. He was the one with the stand-up hair and black leather jacket who’d arrived last minute and looked even less equipped to volunteer in a disaster zone than me.

  By the time the bus had proceeded up the Shuto Expressway to the Northeast, Mrs. Endo was murmuring in her sleep. After all that had happened, and my continued battle with jet lag, I tried to drift off, comforted by the heavy warmth of Hachiko’s body on my lap. Sometime later, I awoke to an incessant vibration against my stomach.

  Immediately I guessed that my buzzing cell phone held an incoming call from Michael. Instead, Tom’s picture flashed up on the screen.

  “Hi, Tom,” I said, trying to keep my voice low because so many passengers around me were sleeping. “How are you?”

  “Actually, that’s why I’m calling. Did you manage to get Hachiko approved for travel?”

  “Yes. Right now she’s resting on my lap.” I pressed the light on my watch. “We’ve been driving about four hours. Halfway there.”

  “I have a small update for you. I e-mailed someone at a hospital in Sendai who said that in Yamagawa there is a shelter for injured and geriatric patients. Perhaps this is the place from where Ishida-san called.”

  “Great. Is there an address?”

  “I heard they’re based in a recreation center. That shouldn’t be hard to find once you’re there. I hope you can get your friend out quickly and back to the city.”

  “Thanks,” I said, just as the bus started shaking like a blender on puree cycle. The phone fell in my lap, and I loo
ked frantically out the window to see what was going on, but all I could see was black sky and red taillights. It felt rougher than the earthquakes I remembered in California and Japan. Was it just because I was on a bus on the freeway rather than at home? I thought of Michael and how he’d already lost his first wife when she was traveling thousands of miles away. There would be too many parallels if I vanished.

  Other volunteers were awakening and gasping and murmuring.

  The driver had stopped the bus, and I could tell from looking at the brake lights of cars around us that they were also blindly riding out the awful, buckling experience. The bus jerked up and down, awakening all the sleepers. There wasn’t a sound, but I felt the stiffness of our group fear. Even Hachiko sat up, whimpering and shaking.

  “It must be an aftershock,” Mrs. Endo said, her hand bumping into mine as we both stroked Hachiko.

  “Rei-chan? Are you still there?” Tom’s voice reminded me

  “Yes, yes! Sorry about that.” I wouldn’t tell him about the aftershock, as it would only feed into his concerns. “Tom, thanks for calling, but I’d better hang up. People around me are trying to rest.”

  I was too anxious to let myself fall asleep again after signing off, even though the movement underneath the bus had subsided and traffic had started up again. After an hour’s worth of driving, the bus pulled off to a Jomo station for refueling. Despite the fact it was two a.m., more than a hundred cars were lined up waiting to enter the station. I worried about how long our fill-up might take before realizing that all those private cars were waiting for one pump, while buses and other official vehicles had sole access to the other.

  The bus rolled to a stop behind two others, and I disembarked along with everyone else who queued for the toilets while I took Hachiko aside for her potty break. After Mrs. Endo was through with the restroom, she offered to stay with Hachiko so I could take my own turn. I barely had time to get into the putrid facility before Mr. Yano was calling into his microphone, “Helping Hands, now departing!”

  Mrs. Endo was already seated with Hachiko when I jumped on, making apologies for my tardiness. I glanced at my cell phone and found Michael had sent a text. As usual, it was short on emotion. Where are u and what’s going on? Dog okay?