The Bridge Trilogy Part 69

"Come," Yamazaki said, then lowered his voice. "Something exrraordinary. She is here. She dines with Rez. Rei Toei."

The idoru.

24. Hotel Di In this tiny cab now with Masahiko and Gomi Boy, Masahiko up front, on what should've been the driver's side, Gomi Boy beside her in the back. Gomi Boy had so many pockets in his fatigue pants,

and so many things in them, that he had trouble getting comfortable. Chia had never been in a car this small, let alone a cab. Masahiko's knees were folded up, almost against his chest. The driver had white cotton gloves and a hat like the hats cab drivers wore in 1940s movies. There were little covers made of starched white lace fixed to all the headrests with special clips.

She guessed it was such a small cab because Gomi Boy was going to be paying, cash money, and he made it clear he didn't have a lot of that.

Somehow they had ascended out of the rain into this crazy, impressive, but old-fas.h.i.+oned-looking multilevel expressway, its steel bones ragged with bandages of Keviar, and were whipping past the middle floors of tall buildings--maybe that s.h.i.+njuku again, because there went that Tin Toy Building, she thought, glimpsed through a gap, but far away and from another direction-and here, gone so fast she was never sure she'd seen him, through one window like all the rest, was a naked man, crosslegged on an office desk, his mouth open as wide as possible, as if in a silent scream.

Then she began to notice other buildings, through sheets of rain, and these were illuminated to a degree excessive even by local stan

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dards, like Nissan County attractions in a television ad, isolated theme-park elements thrusting up out of a strata of more featureless structures, unmarked and unlit. Each bright building with its towering sign: HOTEL KING MIDAS with its twinkling crown and scepter, FREEDOM SHOWER BANFE with blue-green mountains flanking a waterfall of golden light. At least six more in rapid succession, then Gomi Boy said something in j.a.panese. The drivers s.h.i.+ny black bill dipped in response.

They swung onto an off-ramp, slowing. From the ramp's curve, in the Hat, ugly flare of sodium floods, she saw a rainy, nowhere intersection, no cars in sight, where pale coa.r.s.e gra.s.s lay wet and dishevelled up a short steep slope. No place at all,like it could as easily have been on the outskirts of Seattle, the outskirts of anywhere, and the homesickness made her gasp.

Gomi Boy shot her a sidewise glance, engaged in the excavation of something from another of his pockets, this one apparently inside his pants. From somewhere well below the level of his crotch he fished up a wallet-sized fold of paper money, secured with a wide black elastic band. In the pa.s.sing glare of another road light Chia saw him snap the elastic back and peel off three bills.

Bigger than American money, and on one she made out the comfortingly familiar logo of a company whose name she'd known all her life. He tucked the three bills into the sleeve of his sweater and set about replacing the rest wherever it was he kept it.

'There soon," he said, withdrawing his hand and refastening his suspenders.

'Where soon?"

They took a right and stopped, alL around them a strange white fairy glow, falling with the rain to oil-stained conctete neatly painted with two big white arrows, side by side, pointing in opposite directions. The one pointing in the direction they were headed indicated a square opening in a featureless, white-painted concrete wall. Five-inch-wide ribbons of s.h.i.+ny pink plastic hung from its upper edge to 170 William Gibson the concrete below, concealing whatever was behind and reminding Chia of streamers at a school dance. Gomi Boy gave the driver the three bills. He sat patiently, waiting for change.

Her legs cramping, Chia reached for the door handle, but Masahiko quickly reached across from the front, stopping her. "Driver must open," he said. "If you open, mechanism breaks, very expensive."

The driver gave Gomi Boy change. Chia thought Gomi Boy would tip him, but he didn't. The driver reached down and did something, out of sight, that made the door beside Chia open.

She climbed out into the rain, dragging her bag after her, and looked up at the source of the white glow: a building like a wedding cake, HOTEL DI spelled out in white neon script edged with clear twinkling bulbs. Masahiko beside her now, urging her toward the pink ribbons. She heard the cab pull away behind her. "Come." Gomi Boy with the plaid bag, ducking through the wet ribbons.

Into an almost empty parking area, two small cars, one gray, one dark green, their license plates concealed by rectangles of smooth black plastic. A gla.s.s door sliding aside as Gomi Boy approached.

A disembodied voice said something in j.a.panese. Gomi Boy answered. "Give him your card," Masahiko said. Chia took out the card and handed it to Gomi Boy, who seemed to be asking the voice a series of questions. Chia looked around. Pale blues, pink, light gray. A very small s.p.a.ce that managed to suggest a hotel lobby without actually offering a place to sit down. Pictures cycling past on wallscreens: interiors of very strange-looking rooms. The voice answering Gomi Boy's questions.

"He asks for a room with optimal porting capacity," Masahiko said quietly.

Gomi Boy and the voice seemed to reach agreement. He slotted Chia's card above something that looked like a small pink water fountain. The voice thanked him. A narrow hatch opened and a key slid down into the pink bowl. Gorni Boy picked it up and handed it to Masahiko. Chia's card emerged from the slot; Gomi Boy pulled it

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out and pa.s.sed it to Chia. He handed Masahiko the plaid bag, turned, and walked out, the gla.s.s door hissing open for him.

"He isn't coming with us?"

"Only two people allowed in room. He is busy elsewhere. Come." Masahiko pointed toward an elevator that opened as they approached.

"What kind of hotel did you say this is?" Chia got into the elevator. He stepped in behind her and the door closed.

He cleared his throat. "Love hotel," he said.

"What's that?" Going up.

"Private rooms. For s.e.x. Pay by the hour."

"Oh," Chia said, as though that explained everything. The elevator stopped and the door opened. He got out and she followed him along a narrow corridor lit with ankle-high light-strips. He stopped in front of a door and inserted the key they'd been given. As he opened the door, lights came on inside.

"Have you been to one of these before?" she asked, and felt herself blush. She hadn't meant it that way.

"No," he said. He closed the door behind her and examined the locks. He pushed two b.u.t.tons. "But people who come here sometimes wish to port. There is a reposting service that makes it very hard to trace. Also for phoning, very secure."

Chia was looking at the round pink frirry bed. It seemed to be upholstered in what they made stuffed animals out oil The wall-to-wall was s.h.a.ggy and white as snow, the combination reminding her of a particularly nasty-looking sugar snack called a Ring-Ding.

Velcro made that ripping sound. She turned to see Masahiko removing his nylon gaiters. He took off his black workshoes (the toe was out, in one of his thin gray socks) and slid his feet into white paper sandals. Chia looked down at her own wet shoes on the white s.h.a.g and decided she'd better do the same. "Why does this place look the way it does?" she asked, kneeling to undo her laces.

Masahiko shrugged. Chia noticed that the quilted International 172 William Gibson Biohazard symbol on the plaid bag was almost exactly the color of the fur on the bed.

Spotting what was obviously the bathroom through an open door, she carried her own bag in there

and closed the door behind her. The walls were upholstered with something black and s.h.i.+ny, and the floor was checkered with black and white tiles. Complicated mood-lighting came on and she was surrounded by ambient birdsong. This bathroom was nearly as big as the bedroom, with a bath like a miniature black swimming pool and something else that Chia only gradually recognized as a toilet.

Remembering the one back in Eddie's office, she put her bag down and approached the thing with extreme caution. It was black, and chrome, and had arms and a back, sort of like a chair at the stylist's. There was a display cycling, on a little screen beside it, with fragments of English embedded in the j.a.panese. Chia watched as "(A) Pleasure" and "(B) Super Pleasure" slid past. "Uh- uh," she said.

After studying the seat and the ominous black bowl, she lowered her pants, positioned herself strategically over the toilet, squatted carefully, and urinated without sitting down. She'd let someone else flush that one, she decided, while she washed her hands at the basin, but then she heard it flush itself.

There was a glossy pink paper bag beside the basin with the words "Teen Teen Toiletry Bag" printed on it in swirly white script. It was sealed at the top with a silver stick-on bow. She removed the bow and looked inside. Lots of different little give-away cosmetics and at least a dozen different kinds of condoms, everything packaged to look more or less like candy.

There was a s.h.i.+ny black cabinet to the left of the mirror above the basin, the only thing in the toom that looked j.a.panese in that old-fas.h.i.+oned way. She opened it; a light came on inside, revealing three gla.s.s shelves arranged with shrink-wrapped plastic models of guy's d.i.c.ks, all different sizes of them, molded in weird colors. Other

objects she didn't recognize at all: k.n.o.bby b.a.l.l.s, something that 3

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looked like a baby's pacifier, miniature inner-tubes with long rubbery whiskers. In the middle of it all stood a little black-haired doll in a pretty kimono made of bright paper and gold cloth.

But when she tried to pick it up, the wig and the kimono came off in one piece, revealing yet another shrink-wrapped replica, this one with delicately painted eyes and a Cupid's-bow mouth.

When she tried to put the wig and kimono back on, it fell over, knocking over everything on its shelf, so she closed the cabinet, Then she washed her hands again.

Back in the Ring-Ding room, Masahiko was cabling his computer to a black console on a shelf full of entertainment gear. Chia put her bag on the bed. Something chimed softly, twice, and then the surface of the bed began to ripple, slow osmotic waves centering in on the bag, which began to rise slightly, and fall .

"Ick," she said, and pulled the bag off the bed, which chimed again and began to subside.

Masahiko glanced in her direction, but went back to whatever he was doing with the equipment on the shelf.

Chia found that the room had a window, but it was hidden be-hind some kind of softscreen. She tried the clips that held the screen in place until she got the one that let her slide the screen aside on hidden tracks. The window looked out on a chainlinked parking lot beside a low, beige building sided with corrugated plastic. There were three trucks parked there, the first vehicles she'd seen in j.a.pan that weren't new or particularly clean. A wet-looking gray cat emerged from beneath one of the trucks and sprang into the shadow beneath another. It was still raining.

"Good," she heard Masahiko say, evidently satisfied. "We go to Walled City."

174 William Gibson IIiIlllsl__ "How do you mean, she's 'here'?" Laney asked Yamazaki, as they rounded the rear of the Sherman tank. Clots of dry clay clung to the segments of its ma.s.sive steel treads.

"Mr. Kuwayama is here," Yamazaki whispered. "He represents her-"