“We have real estate lawyers,” said Kyoko. “New York real estate lawyers. Only Tokyo real estate lawyers have a sharper bite. But we might, in the future, have need of a bankruptcy lawyer with special talents.”

“Are you having trouble paying your bills, Mr. Takahashi?”

Carol kicked me under the table. Takahashi stared at me as Kyoko translated. When she was finished, his eyes widened for a moment, and then he laughed in quick, angry spurts.

“It is not my bills I am worried about,” he said through Kyoko. He stared at his wife for a moment and then said, “One of my investments is on the edge of failure. I would like to save something of it. We might have to push the business into bankruptcy court.”

“I’ve never done bankruptcy law before, but I’m sure I can figure it out. Not much to it, from what I understand.”

“It might not be as simple as you think.”

“There’s a book, isn’t there?”

“You mean the Bankruptcy Code?”

“That’s it. I’ll just follow the recipes. A pinch here, a dash there, and bam, we have ourselves an involuntary bankruptcy.”

Mr. Takahashi spoke and then raised his sake and smiled as Kyoko translated. “Excellent,” she said for him as he bowed his head. “Then it is settled.”

I lifted my own cup and bowed my head back. “To our future relationship,” I said.

“To our success,” said Kyoko.

“To the Bankruptcy Code,” I said.

Carol put her hand on my knee, leaned her lips close to my ear. “He likes you,” she said. “I didn’t know you could be so effective in a sales environment.” She leaned even closer and whispered, “I find business so hot, don’t you?” before she squeezed.

My little reflexive leap was noticed. Nick stared balefully into his sake glass. Velma smirked.

Kyoko pursed her lips at me, tilted her head. “I like your tie,” she said.

“Tell Mr. Takahashi I like his tie, too,” I said.

“I wasn’t translating,” said Kyoko.

“I know,” I said.

Kyoko giggled.

Later in the evening, I was in the bathroom, moaning softly as I drained the sake from my system, when the door opened behind me. I looked around. Takahashi.

I zipped up, turned, did the little bowing thing. Takahashi locked the door.

“Thank – you – for – the – dinner,” I said slowly and loudly.

“You don’t have to shout,” said Takahashi in flawless English. “I’m not French.”

I was so taken aback, I almost backed into the urinal.

“I went to Stanford, actually,” said Takahashi, avoiding my eyes as he talked, staring at my still-clasped hands as if they were the maniacal tools of a homicidal strangler. “But when it comes to business, I’m more comfortable in my native language. This little meeting,” he said, indicating our environs, “is personal. You know my wife.”

I stammered something, but he waved me quiet.

“Don’t bother denying it,” he said, still staring at my hands. “I have her followed at all times. She has been in your office on two occasions. It is why I agreed to meet with you. Have you slept with her?”

“No, of course not.”

“But you would like to. Of course you would, she has been sculpted to evoke that very desire. And, Mr. Carl, let me say this. You would do me the greatest favor if you did.”

“Excuse me?”

“Between you and me, it is quite the experience. She is very talented. A night with her is enough to drive sane men to do insane things.”

“Like marrying her?”

He laughed his hard laugh. “Why don’t you wash your hands while I talk? Your standing there with them in front of you is enough to give me the…” He paused to get the slang just right. “The willies.”

My hands were still clasped, and I realized that in all the surprise I hadn’t washed them after urination. I jumped to the sink.

“Thank you,” said Takahashi as I soaped and scrubbed. He took a paper towel from the dispenser, placed it against a tiled wall, leaned his shoulder onto the paper. “My marriage is over. Our differences are irreconcilable. Or maybe I should say our differences are existential. She continues to exist in my life. It happens. I would be upset at the prospect of losing her, but Kyoko is quite slim, don’t you think? The lawyers are already involved. All that remains is determining the amount of the settlement.”

“And you are telling me this why?” I said as I dried my hands.

“There was, of course, a prenuptial agreement,” said Takahashi. “In the event of infidelity on my wife’s part, her settlement is greatly diminished. It’s not that the amount actually matters to me, it is the principle of the thing. And, I suppose, the amount. So any way I could prove infidelity would be most advantageous.”

“What does your private detective say?”

“He has suspicions, but no specific proof.”

“Then you need a better detective.”

“You represent the chef she was sleeping with before she met me. Did she sleep with him after the marriage? Or does he know of someone with whom she did? If the answer is yes, and you have proof, it could be quite valuable to both of you.”

“I don’t want any part of this,” I said. “It’s your business.”

“That is almost admirable, Mr. Carl, but if things go as we both hope, my business will soon be your business. I must say, I am somewhat surprised. Your reaction seems so out of character.”

“And what do you know of my character, Mr. Takahashi?”

“You’re a lawyer, for one thing,” he said. “And you haven’t cultivated the reputation of a priest.”

“No, I suppose I haven’t.” I paused for a moment, thought. “Just out of curiosity, how much are we talking about?”

He laughed again. “Now I see before me a man with whom I can do business. Think about it. I am sure a clever man like yourself can come up with sufficient proof. You would not be disappointed in the result. As for the bankruptcy case, I will have one of my people send around the file shortly. I am certain you will be able to turn the entire situation around in no time. Will you be needing a retainer?”

“Oh, yes, indeed.”

“As I expected.”

“What kind of business are we talking about?” I said.

“My wife asked me to invest with an old friend whose business was failing.”

“Are there assets?”

“A building, a business. Pots and pans. It is a restaurant, you see. My wife seems to have a thing for restaurants, but they never work out. This one is in an old bank building. It is called Marrakech. Maybe you’ve heard of it.”

“Yes,” I said, trying to remain inscrutable, even as my heart fluttered like that of a guy who has just hit trip aces on the flop. “I’ve heard of it.”

“Good. The financial slide is getting more precipitous, and I have been having some disagreements with my partner, an oily little man who runs the place. His name is Sunshine. He is of the opinion that he has done me a great favor by taking my money. You must understand the way I do business. Financial success is only the penultimate goal.”

“What could be more important in business than money?”

He smiled. “Spite.” Takahashi shifted away from the wall. The paper towel drifted to the floor. He showed no intention of picking it up. “It would be quite acceptable for you to save my investment. It would be even more acceptable if you could cut off Mr. Sunshine’s testicles.”

“That,” I said, bowing once more, “would be my pleasure.”