Chapter Twelve:

Quinn felt like she was in a dream. The traffic beside them stopped and started, and the smell of exhaust and burning oil filled her nostrils. After a while they were walking beside a road that had another road above it. The sound was tremendous, echoing off the various ramps and bridges. It clanged and groaned to its own hidden melody as though it was all somehow directed at her. She felt small in the strange city. She had caught the train with Stevie all over the place, but it was always a completely different experience when they had walked through the teeming metropolis. Beside the artist, without the familiarity of her best friend, she felt like a leaf drifting away from the shore of a pond in the middle of a storm.

Robert had been very quiet after she cried in the tunnel. She’d managed to make a fool of herself again, but she didn’t know how to fix it. Every so often he would look around as though checking for a landmark or a street name, and when his eyes passed over her he would smile sadly. She had made herself something that he could pity and feel sorry for. She had ruined any hope that he might take her seriously.

Not too far from the Grand Hyatt building, Robert lead Quinn into a new apartment block that looked out of place surrounded by the older architecture of the area. It was jagged, built with abnormal angles and defiant edges that were at odds with the box housing that it dwarfed. As they passed into the building’s foyer, Quinn looked up at the white and grey structure with open-mouthed awe. Robert ushered her forwards, through the entranceway and into a glass elevator where she stood quietly waiting for him to select the floor. 

The glass walls were disconcerting but kind of exciting, and she watched with interest as the counter-weight sank alongside them as they rose. Robert was rubbing the bridge of his nose with his eyes closed. She was standing behind him, looking at his reflection in the glass. The muscles at the top of his jaw were clenched and his eyebrows were creased with thought. When she touched him on the shoulder he gave her another sad smile in the reflection and apologised for no apparent reason. 

She was worried about him. Something was going on that she didn’t understand but she couldn’t get inside his defensive barrier to find out. She wanted to help if she could – even if she was just a person he could confide in. Quinn figured that the fact that she would probably never see him again made her the perfect candidate. Just as she was trying to think of how to suggest the idea to him the clear walls gave way to a wide view of Roppongi above the fifth floor and her eyes widened with awe. 

The sun was shimmering against reflective glass and solar panels that seemed to cover almost everything they could see. Buildings and roads and cars were all defined in high contrast with the light acting like a spotlight that had been directed specifically over Tokyo. She uttered a word of amazement and Robert nodded sullenly as the elevator came to a halt. When he stepped out into the small hallway he had to touch Quinn on the arm to draw her away from the view.

“I can’t believe this is where you live,” she said the words distractedly, craning her neck to catch one last glimpse of the luminous city.

“There’s a better view inside,” he replied without much conviction. 

He hadn’t lied.

The artist’s apartment was spectacular. The white polished floor made the space spread out like a blank canvas before them. A coat hung by the door and on the wide kitchen bench there was a grey steel bowl filled with fruit. Robert gave her a hand gesture tour of the main room, pointing out his bedroom on the mezzanine over the open-plan lounge and kitchen area, and a set of stairs that lead upwards. Quinn stared out the window at Tokyo, her mouth agape. She felt like she could reach out and touch the city – as though there was nothing stopping her from stepping out of the apartment and walking amongst the buildings like a giant. The heat and urgency of the place seemed to almost emanate off the bustling footpaths and busy streets. 

The room was gloriously extravagant in the way she imagined a suite in one of the finest hotels would look. He lead her up a thin set of stairs that curved around the wall of the room onto the upper floor. There were several doors peeling off a small hallway. He pointed out the bathroom and two other bedrooms beside the archway which lead onto the mezzanine. At the other end of the small hall Robert directed Quinn through a door into a studio space that was vast and empty. A blank easel waited to be put to work, and a workbench that looked like it had never been used sat beside it. 

Something about the room didn’t look right to her, it was certainly not the kind of space that she had imagined Robert Chaff would work in. She had expected spilt paint, cutouts, half-finished ideas, bottles, and rubbish. His work was pristine but emotionally charged, not something that she could imagine being created in a vacuum of cleanliness. 

Back downstairs in the kitchen, Robert offered her some whisky before pouring two quarter glasses. She accepted out of politeness rather than because she wanted the drink, but as Robert knocked back his glass in one swift movement she was reminded that there was something really bothering the artist. The liquid was oily and thick in her mouth before filling her throat with heat and forcing a cough from her lips, which she tried to cover with several extra coughs that quickly got out of hand. He placed his glass in the sink before rounding the bench to pat her on the back. 

“How do you–?”

“With lots of practice…” He looked at her as though he wasn’t seeing her, his eyes searching for something in another world. “Quinn–”

“I really like your place,” she said, cutting him off because she was afraid that he was going to tell her to leave. “Though, it’s not really ‘you’. I mean… Sorry, that sounded rude. It’s not what I would have thought your place would look like.” She felt like she was offending him again so she stopped speaking, took another sip from her glass before remembering just how hot it tasted, and walked to the enormous window. 

“Quinn–”

“You have an amazing view of the city…” She didn’t want him to tell her to go. She didn’t want the day to end. Something was bothering Robert and it had to be her and she thought that if she could just push through it he would see that she wasn’t just some weak and annoying girl desperate for his attention. 

She wanted him to know that she was more. Her heart started to thrum with an idea. She could feel the alcohol like a skin covering her body with a tingling sensation and her limbs moved with a sudden distance and smoothness that she wasn’t used to. Anything seemed possible for just a moment – as though the whole world was waiting for her to shape it. Quinn closed her eyes, her conscious mind sloshing around freely while her subconscious propelled her into action. Without even realising it she swallowed the remainder of her drink – a burst of fire crackling down her throat and into her belly, and she fought back surprised tears that the heat brought to her eyes.

“Quinn, I–”

Before he could finish she turned around and pushed her glass onto the bench, closing the space between them. She wouldn’t let him pity her. She wouldn’t let him send her away to be forgotten. The alcohol sent warm tendrils through her chest and down to the tips of her fingers and toes. She placed two fingers on his lips and looked into his eyes with her tongue pressed hard against her teeth inside her mouth. He needed to understand that she was more than a silly girl who fainted on him and told him all about her silly little life. She wanted him to know that she was alive and warm and that she understood him even if it seemed like it was only through his art – but she knew that on some level she truly understood him. She wanted him to remember her.

Quinn bit her lip and let her fingers slide from the older man’s mouth down his chin to finally rest against his chest. It was then that she leant forward, tasting the salt of sweat and the sweet heat of the alcohol on his lips. For a second he gave in to the kiss, his mouth parted and accepted her – tasting her slowly – and then he stepped backwards abruptly and put a hand on her shoulder. His mouth was still open and his eyes were filled with surprise and something else – something that Quinn didn’t understand.

“We have to go!” 

He looked at her urgently. The words confused her. Why would they go? They’d only just arrived. 

“Now! We really have to go. I’ll find…” He grimaced and she saw his jaw tighten again, the muscles working their way all the way up to his temples. “There will be another way–”

There was a noise from the entrance to the apartment and Robert’s eyes widened. Quinn heard an electronic click that sounded like a hotel lock. He pulled her towards him into the kitchen and put a finger to her lips just as she started to speak. He then pressed her back against the oven and turned his head to listen. She didn’t understand what was happening. What was going on? What did he mean ‘another way’? 

“Mr. Chaff? We’re here for Mr. Takami…” The voice was American, cautious. 

The artist’s eyes told her not to speak and he dropped his hand from her mouth and glanced around the kitchen erratically. Quinn felt a knot begin to tie itself in her stomach. Robert looked genuinely distressed and she wondered if ‘Mr. Takami’ had something to do with the Yakuza man they had met at Starbucks. The American called out again and then conferred with someone else in a voice too low for her to understand. It sounded to Quinn as though they were still near the front door, waiting. Robert reached across and opened the door to the pantry before taking her arm and pushing her into the walk-in space.

“Stay here. Don’t speak.” The artist’s voice was a hiss. His eyes lingered on her until she nodded once, her teeth gripping her bottom lip as her heart changed its rhythm from the pounding of excitement following their kiss, to the machine gun of fear. Robert closed the door and she was plunged into darkness.

Quinn strained to hear anything in the silence that followed. Before long, Robert’s voice called out a clear ‘hello’, but after that she couldn’t quite catch what was being said. She tried to visualise the room in order to place the people within it. Robert must have rounded the end of the kitchen into the hall that lead from the front door. 

Who were the men? Robert had said that he had no idea about the Yakuza. Was he in some kind of trouble? Were they debt collectors? Or more Yakuza? Or something else entirely? Quinn’s palms were sweating and she had an uncomfortable desire to go to the bathroom. The voices moved closer again. She heard one of them tell the other to stay with Robert. 

It didn’t make sense for them to be Yakuza – why would the Yakuza have American men working for them? She pressed her ear against the door, trying to shut out the thumping of her heart, so that she could hear what was being said.

“…said you weren’t being very helpful, Chaff.” It was one of the strangers. She couldn’t hear very well but Robert didn’t seem to respond. “He’s not someone you want to disappoint,” the man continued.

“He’s made that abundantly clear, Mr…?”

“Bills. What are you doing?”

“I’m having a drink. Would you like one?” 

“You got Bourbon?”

“Old Rip?”

“Van Winkle? Jeez you must be living pretty flush in the art world to afford that.”

“I bought it the other day. It’s my special occasion drink…”

Did he mean the exhibition opening? She could hear a glass clink on the bench and the sound of a cork top being pulled from a bottle. There was silence for a few moments while she imagined Robert pouring the glasses and leaning back on the bench to drink the liquor. 

“Slow down, Mr. Bills. You’ve got to breathe this one in. Go on, give it a moment, then have a sniff, then a taste. You’ve got to savour something like Old Rip because who knows when you’ll have it again.”

The other man laughed. “You’re alright, Chaff. Jeez it does smell ‘full’, don’t it?” He said the words with a kind of awe before yelling out to his partner in response to something Quinn couldn’t hear. “What’s that Hammett? No, no. I’m just having a drink with Chaff, here… He’s fine…” 

Quinn’s phone started to ring in her purse. Her heart leapt into her throat and she gasped, clawing at the bag and searching to silence it. What would happen if they found her? Had she just endangered Robert? 

She wasn’t sure what she heard after that. The sound was like something heavy and hollow was being dropped on carpet, but it was quickly followed by the crash of breaking glass. Quinn managed to silence her phone.

“Fuck! Why’d you do that? You’re friend just dropped a crystal glass!” Robert was yelling the words even as he opened the pantry and pulled her out into the kitchen with his hand up to her mouth. 

Quinn’s eyes widened in horror when she saw the body of a hulking man spread out on the floor in the broken glass and spilt Bourbon. He was bleeding from his head but she could see him breathing. She wanted to scream but the expression on Robert’s face told her that that would be a terrible idea.

The man upstairs called in response. “Don’t give him any more, Chaff. Where the fuck is this girl?”

Quinn’s eyes locked with Robert’s and she felt her head begin to spin very slowly. Her breath grew short, and her hands pulled away from the artist. 

Was the man talking about her?

“If you’re wasting our time, Chaff…”

“I said the studio. She was there just before you arrived!”

He looked down at the man sprawled on the ground. Quinn saw shame in his eyes, but she didn’t understand. Who were the men looking for? Had Robert lured her to his apartment? Had he planned some kind of kidnapping? She thought her heart was going to burst as she remembered the conversation with the Yakuza man – Robert was the last person to see his sister… Had he done something terrible to her that these men were cleaning up? Had Robert given the other woman to them? Was he planning to give her to them as well?

The room was suddenly very bright – all of the white leaked into her vision, washing the space clean. She thought she would faint but the artist squeezed her arms, forcing her to stay in the moment. His eyes were lit up as though two little bulbs had turned on behind them. 

He was scared. 

He was scared and she felt a vacuum opening inside her chest. What did it mean? What was he involved in? What was she now a party to?