Three days had passed since that night. Jack's warning, Mueller's request, the one-legged operative—three points kept spinning in Seiichi's head, refusing to form a line. Seiichi wiped the counter with a cloth, watching them without yet seeing the pattern. Steam rose from the oden pot and dissolved white into the September night. The noren curtain swayed. It was Tadokoro who entered. A general practitioner in his mid-fifties with a clinic on the south exit street of Ogikubo. He came here three or four times a month. Usually he'd sit on the raised threshold, drink a cup of local sake, grumble about his troubles, and leave. But tonight his complexion was different. Pale. His mouth was set in a tight line. The moment he sat at the counter's edge, he glanced quickly around. There were only two factory workers in the raised seating area. "[whispers]Sugiyama-san, could we talk for a moment?" Seiichi silently set down a warmed sake bottle. Tadokoro began speaking without touching the dr