Zen Attitude Read Online Free PDF Page B

marked final sale.”
    “Please consider these special circumstances and the fraud involved.”
    “It is a shame about your unwise purchase, Miss Shimura. I must stress that Sakai-san’s name is on the receipt, not ours. All we did was rent him space. Now I must help the next customer in line. . . .”
    I had no chance to come up with a good rejoinder. I left Hita Fine Arts in such an unseeing, depressed haze that I bumped smack into a fishmonger carrying two buckets on a bamboo pole balanced over his broad shoulders. Water sloshed over the sidewalk, and the man had to dash after a crab that had escaped. As he grabbed the fiercely clawing creature back from the road’s edge I apologized, not knowing whether I should feel worse for the crab, who’d so briefly tasted liberation, the harassed fishmonger, or myself, wet and out two million yen.
    I was going to find Mr. Sakai if it killed me. The most obvious way was through directory assistance; surely he had a phone number and address. I headed for a bank of public phone booths plastered with stickers advertising escort clubs, wishing I were rich enough to afford my own pocket phone. Pocketo , as these phones were called for short, were cellular receivers that worked like cordless extensions to a home phone, for up to forty miles. Hugh carried one with him, in addition to the regular cell phone installed in the Windom. He had wanted to get me a pocket phone, but, trying to keep my finances separate, I’d said no.
    I was scrounging in my handbag for some small coins when a silver Windom pulled up.
    “ Onesan! Need a ride?” Like a knight in shining armor, Japanese Elvis had popped his gelled head out the sunroof so I could see him.
    I fluttered my fingers in a good-bye gesture and stayed by the telephone.
    “You never went home! Out partying last night, neh? Did you go to the bath I told you about?” Jun Kuroi was staying put. A few cars behind him honked.
    “Actually, I’m searching for a man,” I began.
    “I’m here, I’m here!” Jun chortled.
    There was a way he could be useful. I hopped into his Windom and asked if he would be kind enough to let me use his car phone.
    “Sure! My boss pays for it, so who cares?” Jun handed me the receiver and I dialed the operator. To my dismay, she said Nao Sakai’s home telephone had been disconnected. I pressed her but got nothing more.
    When I hung up, Jun asked, “That’s the antiques guy, right? Kind of skinny, with a girlish style?”
    “Vaguely,” I said, thinking that with Jun’s elaborate hairstyle, he was a fine one to talk.
    “I’ve seen him around town. He’s a middle-aged fool! Why do you want him?”
    “Sakai ripped me off,” I said tightly. “I’m trying to get restitution.”
    “I told you Hita Fine Arts was expensive! I could have shown you better stores! I know everyone in town!”
    “Do you think you could introduce me to some dealers who might know where he lives? His phone’s disconnected, and I can’t get an address.”
    “I’m a car salesman. It’s my job to find people who don’t want to be found. I like to sell my clients a new car every other year, so that means I call or visit them every month to maintain a strong relationship. They get sick of me sometimes.” Jun twinkled at me. “But I always find them.”
    That sounded good. As we ran in and out of various antiques stores, it turned out that everyone did know Jun by name. I also learned that he was the son of the Toyota dealership owner, a fact he had kept to himself.
    Nao Sakai wasn’t in flush circumstances, according to an antiques dealer who had a shop near Jun’s fabled mineral bath. Sakai had maintained pretty poor stock until recently. Since he had apparently abandoned his leased space within Hita Fine Arts, it was a good opportunity for others. There would probably be a bidding war to get into that prime second-floor location near the T-shirts and stamps.
    That made me laugh bitterly as we left the shop. Jun