“Our cellphones?” asked Laura.

“I am sorry. They will be provided to you later, after you meet with Fukushima-san. Should you need anything, there will be two attendants outside your door.”

Jack smiled and gave a short bow to the squat, burly-looking attendants wearing kimonos who stood in the hallway. They politely bowed back and Jack caught a partial glimpse of tattoos rising toward the backs of their necks as they bowed. He noticed one of the men was missing his little finger, as was their chauffeur earlier. A self-mutilation he knew, made by some of the Japanese mafia, or the yakuza as they are called in Japan, as a symbol of their loyalty. Tattoos are generally seen as anti-social in Japan and are also strongly associated with the yakuza. Attendants my ass. Thugs is what you mean.

As soon as they were alone, Laura sat on one of the futons and said, “Ouch, I think a bug bit me.”

“Wouldn’t be surprised,” said Jack, nodding in agreement. “You should get out of those clothes. Lots of bugs in Thailand. Hope you didn’t bring any hitchhikers.”

Laura then went to the washroom and closed the door.

“It will certainly be nice to meet Fukushima-san,” said Jack, loud enough, ostensibly for Laura to hear. “From what I have seen, I am suitably impressed with what he has accomplished. I am looking forward to doing business with him.”

“That’s nice, honey, but I’d respect him a lot more if we could use a phone. I promised my sister I would call her last night. She’ll be worried.”

“You’re right,” replied Jack. “Rose isn’t the type to sit back and wait. She’s liable to end up calling the authorities. Hopefully this afternoon we can rectify that.”

Jack walked to a window and looked out. Directly on the ground below, another “attendant” sat staring back at him on a small bench amongst a clump of cherry trees.

Jack retreated back into the room and looked around. He saw a phone jack, but no phone. Rose will be freaked out. Sammy and his crew will be tearing Koh Samui apart looking for us. Too bad they’re looking on the wrong island, let alone the wrong country.

He heard the shower running as Laura got in, but her voice still carried, “Jack, would you be a dear and bring me my kimono? I’m all wet and don’t want to come out.”

Jack found Laura standing in the shower stall with her head sticking out the sliding door. She had a towel wrapped around herself and the shower head was pointed at the wall.

“Here you go, hon,” he said, before flushing the toilet.

“Make it quick,” he whispered.

“What are we going to do?”

“Meet the boss and get details on the shipment.”

“He’ll want money.”

“At that point he’ll have incriminated himself. I’ll tell him I need to use a phone to make plans to get the money. When I do, I’ll call Rose. She can trace the call back to us. I’ll also demand to see the dope put on a ship before the final transfer of funds. When that happens, if we haven’t already been rescued, we’re bound to be in a public place. We escape the first chance we get and call the cavalry. In the meantime, we’ll show respect, but we want him to respect us, as well. Maybe keep him a little off balance.”

“Good idea, as long as he isn’t insulted and decides to kill us.”

The sound of the toilet died down and Jack said, “Here, honey, let me soap your back.”

Laura slammed the door shut and smiled when Jack left the bathroom. They often used humour to relieve stress. Right now she could use a truckload of it.

Both Jack and Laura felt a little refreshed from their showers and each put on the kimonos and slippers that had been supplied.

At twelve-thirty, Lee came to their room. “Laura, you look great. Jack, you should have the left side of your kimono overlapping on top of the right side. The way you are wearing it is how it would be worn if you were dead.”

I might be, soon.

Lee saw Laura with a tissue in her hand, about to shove it inside the sash holding her kimono. “And Laura, kimonos do have pockets inside the sleeves.”

Jack and Laura each held an arm up and realized that the large drooping sleeves were sewn in a fashion to form pockets, easily accessible by the opposite hand.

“Everything okay?” asked Lee, as Jack rearranged his kimono.

“Fine,” replied Jack, “except for the slippers.”

Lee nodded when he saw Jack’s heels extending well beyond the length of the slip-on slippers. “Not made for Westerners,” he said. “Come, follow me. Fukushima-san is prepared to meet you. We will then have lunch, after which he would like to visit with you in private.”

“You mean, talk business?” asked Jack.

“Yes, after he gets to know you a little.”

They were brought back down to the first floor where Lee led them to a double set of doors comprised of thin, dark wooden slats forming squares of wood over rice paper. Two more attendants stood outside, but both bowed and one opened the door.

They stepped inside and Lee immediately bowed deeply to a man standing inside the room, wearing a black silk kimono. It was emblazoned with five family crests. Jack and Laura took their cue from Lee and also bowed slightly.

“Fukushima-san,” said Lee, solemnly, while automatically avoiding direct eye contact with his master. “This is —”

“Jack and Laura,” said Jack, maintaining his best poker face as he stared brazenly at the man and held his hand out. He guessed Fukushima to be in his early fifties and presumed that his straight, black, collar-length hair had been dyed. He was shorter than Jack, with the top of his head about as high as Jack’s chin.

“It is okay,” said Fukushima, walking forward and extending his hand. “I went to university in Los Angeles when I was a young man. I am somewhat familiar with your Western culture.”

Jack accepted his firm grip and noted that Fukushima moved gracefully as he walked. From behind, Fukushima could have passed for a man in his thirties. It was his rugged face that betrayed his real age. He appeared gentle, but Jack knew appearances were deceptive. The reality is that he finds killing to be an amusing pastime.

“Have either of you been to an onsen before?” asked Fukushima.

“Never,” replied Jack and Laura.

“I think you will enjoy it. After lunch, I will give you a tour and introduce you to the pleasure of soaking in the hot springs. I think you will find it relaxing. We will then talk.” Fukushima glanced toward the door and said, “Oh, let me introduce you to Sayomoi-san, my personal attendant. Khlot-san, I believe, you have already met.”

Jack turned to see Da Khlot, wearing a black kimono, entering the room with a strikingly beautiful Japanese woman beside him. Her black hair hung halfway to her waist and she was wearing a red silk kimono that contrasted with a pattern of branches adorned with cherry blossoms. She was in her late twenties and, unlike other Japanese women he had seen, she held her head high and had no qualms about maintaining direct eye contact. She gave the impression and air of confidence, of having been raised in a wealthy family. Her smile, Jack decided, looked contemptuous, particularly when she stared at Laura.

Introductions to Sayomi were made and Fukushima said, “Laura, I understand that you and Sayomi-san have something in common. Sayomi-san has achieved a black belt in karate and kick-boxing.”

“Black belt?” said Laura, with a smile. “Sorry, my achievement in the sport was limited to yellow. Only one step up from white.”

“I see,” replied Fukushima. “Perhaps on some occasion Sayomi-san would be willing to teach you so that your level of skill will improve.”

“It would be a pleasure,” added Sayomi. “I have taught many older women.”