The taxi crisscrossed yesterday's bus route from Shibuya and Roppongi. It glided across avenues with recognizable landmarks like a pastry shop with a blue awning. They bounced into unfamiliar neighborhoods too, where vistas opened up like gnome villages tucked behind hillocks. If the driver veered completely off course though, a toddy of the enemy, Rob planned to slit his throat with a credit card, like a Brian Keating action hero might.

The Yakuza would probably be angry about photographs of Brian Keating, since he was their client, and they had long-term interests to protect. They didn't order Nobu to encourage Rob to blackmail Keating. He must have wanted the blackmail money for himself.

Maybe Mr. Young threatened to inform the Yakuza unless Nobu did them a favor, possibly against Rob. A weasel could lure Nobu to the Mizu Baka concert and turn him over to the Yakuza there, but Rob wasn't a weasel. Worrying about Nobu made him a sucker, at least according to bad guy logic, but they had to work something out.

When Nobu did not answer his phone, Rob tried Fumiko. "Did you catch the cowboy?" she said.

She did not beg for post-coital sweet nothings, which reminded Rob of Lynn. A flicker of disappointment froze his thoughts momentarily. "Yes, but now I have to contact Nobu, and I can't reach him. Can you?"

"Why?"

"From what the cowboy said, Nobu's in more danger than me."

"From who?"

Rob explained that Keating's people were probably going to tell the Yakuza that Nobu hoped to get the blackmail money from Keating. "Nobu should cut and run. Tell him that. Let him know I'll be at your concert tomorrow night if he's stupid enough to stay in Japan."

"You be careful too."

Rob put away the phone and stretched his arm along the back of the taxi's black vinyl seat. First, he would try to defuse the situation. If things looked nasty, he had no problem handing over the photographs to the media. Or the FBI. Alan Lord would arrive in Japan today for Rob's exhibition. Alan would have good advice.

***

The next afternoon, Rob and Alan waited for Brian Keating's entourage to appear at the museum, which occupied the top part of a skyscraper. The museum director and the exhibit curator had cleared the floor of staff to ensure Keating's privacy. The actor's schedule gave them fifteen minutes.

Rob put his arm around Alan's shoulders. "I like having a partner. I should have joined the FBI."

"You wouldn't be in this situation." Alan aped a wrestler's snarl and pretended to head butt him. "I'd much rather meet Makiko today than Keating."

"Cheer up, you'll see her at the opening tomorrow." Despite the impeccable blue suit and silk tie, Alan's steely eyes and linebacker build screamed law enforcement or military. Depending on what happened, Alan had agreed to identify himself as an FBI agent and maybe even fib about an investigation. Champagne, breads, crackers, and spreads covered a table, but Rob did not expect Keating to schmooze. "What do you think Keating would do if I had his photographs on the walls?" Rob said.

"Look for someone in his entourage with a briefcase. It might be stuffed with cash." Alan laughed. "I'll keep his retainers here, if I can. Ask Keating directly about Nobu and Mark, speak normally. Even if he's stupid, he'll be suspicious of odd behavior."

Rob touched the tiny recording device attached to the interior of his suit. Maybe he'd record something helpful. "You'll keep Makiko hidden if there's danger?"

"Of course. It's already gone too far in my opinion. Stick to the plan, admit there are no photos."

Alan thought none existed, because Rob had lied. Otherwise, Alan would want them. Rob's conscience hammered away but that did not stop him from looking Alan in the eye. He'd turn them over in a heartbeat, just not yet. He attached the recording device under his clothing. "Too bad you didn't bring a gun too."

"If we need one, you're holding something back."

Instinct or habit, it didn't matter. The FBI had trained him to be suspicious. "If Keating doesn't believe me about the pictures, he won't back off."

"I arranged for some firepower from friends in the military, but you'll be funding our retirements if we use them in Tokyo."

"Deal." Not knowing Mr. Young's plans for Nobu made Rob nervous. On the other hand, Mr. Young had never called back. Nobu's favor could be unrelated to him, though Mark's presence in Tokyo was a big warning of something on the horizon. "Mark knows I'm in Japan to see Makiko. I want her safe, at the drop of a hat."

The curator entered the room. "Mr. Keating's on the way up."

Margot walked in too, cradling an open laptop, and Makiko followed with a clipboard. "Makiko can't be here," Rob said.

Margot placed the laptop next to the guacamole. "If she's accompanying you to New York, she's basically my trainee."

Makiko pressed the clipboard to her chest. Rob did his best to twist his mouth into a smile. "I'm glad to see you, it's just... There's a problem."

Alan teetered around him and grinned. "Makiko, remember me? It's been too long."

She smiled. "Hi, Alan." When he hugged her, she beamed.

"I understand avoiding your father seven years, but me?" A flash of jealousy at Alan's ability to put even Makiko at ease blew up like a grenade in Rob's chest. "You remember what I do, don't you?" Alan said.

"Yes."

"Great, I'm here on business. We need to talk privately, now, I'm afraid." Makiko followed him through a back door, just like that, away from the gallery and the elevators that carried Keating.

"What's going on?" Margot said. "That's Anna Lord's father, the FBI agent, right?"

"Do you work for Brian Keating?"

Margot looked puzzled. Rob touched the cloth of his suit coat and felt a letter he had pocketed there. It was for Brian Keating, in case conversation was impossible.

"Vigilante Rob!" Wearing jeans and a tight-fitting maroon sweater, Keating shouted from the doorway. Hollywood's reigning actor, fifteen years straight, strode across the floor, hand extended. "Love your stuff, can't wait for a close up."

He probably had no memory of their first meeting. "Good to see you again," Rob said. They shook hands and backslapped. A tall European woman with a familiar face and a model's slim figure trailed him. She surveyed the room with weary elegance. A man behind her tipped his dark green cowboy hat.

"Long time no see," Rob said.

Keating twisted his thumb at Mark. "You've met?"

"In Boston."

"I thought he was from Texas." Keating spoke without looking at Mark. He pointed through a wide doorway at Rob's exhibition. "Time's money."

Most of Keating's employees lingered near the food. Suddenly, Margot took Keating's elbow. "Mr. Pirone will be your guide." She led the two of them to the edge of the gallery. "It's a private tour. The rest of you must wait here. Enjoy the champagne." The model frowned, but Mark slapped his hat against his thigh and hooted. Keating walked to the center of the first gallery. Pivoting, he surveyed the photographs, all from Rob's early years in Boston. Without a word, he entered the second room. There, he lingered on each photo a little longer. They spotlighted five years of war coverage.

"What do you think?"

"You took chances. Bet you've got only one life left." Keating held up an index finger. "How many more rooms?"

"Two."

"Will I see something I want to buy?"

"Hope so. Take a look." At most, five minutes had passed. Keating nodded at some photographs in the third room, frowned at others, taking a little more time. "Do you remember the last time we met?" Rob said.

"No."

"Is Mark carrying money in case you want something?"

Keating kept his eyes on a photograph of soldiers kicking in the door of a building. "You're a celebrity now, not a photographer," he said. "Act like it."

"What does that mean, chief?"

"Blackmail is B-list. It also means I don't know if anyone is carrying money. That's not my job." He splayed his fingers across his heart. "You want to be a star? Observe." He snapped his fingers and pointed at the next gallery. "Last room?"

"Yup." It featured recent photographs of rock bands. Keating completed half a rotation. "The pictures you're looking for aren't here," Rob said.

"Then why a private tour?"

"Why'd you bring the idiot?"

"She's my girlfriend."

"I meant Mark. I refuse to work with him. He shot my friend in Boston and I don't trust him. I'll only negotiate with Mr. Young."

Keating rubbed the corner of his eye with a finger. "You know about Mr. Young..." He put his hands behind his back.

"Hook me up with Mr. Young, maybe we can settle this."

Keating left the room. Together, they retraced some of their steps. "Mr. Young flew home. You'll have to talk with the Texan."

"Not happening. We'll have to settle this in a couple of months, when I return to America."

"Arrange it with Mark."

"I won't talk to Mark. Get Mr. Young on the phone."

Keating's brow shot up. "Huh?"

"Call him. He works for you, doesn't he?"

Keating smiled. Genuinely? It was impossible to tell. "When I set parameters, Mr. Young respects them. You're Vintage Rob, so you're safe enough." He flashed that famous smile again. "You're stalling because there are no pictures. That's what I think."

"You're smarter than I heard." This time, Keating's eyes lit up when he smiled. "No hard feelings I hope." Rob reached out. They paused at the divide between two galleries and shook hands. "Tell Mr. Young to cancel his plans for Nobu, okay?"

"No-who?" Keating stared at a photograph of burnt bodies. "You're a slow learner, Rob. Remember, I don't know any details. I'm a star."

"Order Mr. Young to stop what he's up to."

"You do it." He pulled out a phone, pressed a button, put it to his ear, and blinked a few times. "Got Vigilante Rob here. He wants to talk to you."

Mark leaned on the doorframe, watching them. He munched on chips and salsa. Rob did not want to make it easy for him, so he took the phone to another gallery. "Congratulations, Mr. Young, Mr. Keating called my bluff. There are no photographs."

On the other end of the line, someone sipped a liquid. "None?"

"You guys make me sick, but there's nothing I could do except lie."

Keating peeked into the room. On the other end of the line, Rob heard another gulp of a refreshment. "Bluffing, you say?"

"That's why Mark didn't find pictures in Boston."

The bottom of a glass whacked a surface. "What's the point then?"

"It's all I could do." Keating entered the room and re-examined some of the photographs on the wall. Rob enjoyed making him wait for the phone.

"That's not good news." Mr. Young said. "Greed's an easy motive to deal with. Just add money. But your motives are goody-good. That's more difficult."

"Listen, there are no pictures, you won."

Mr. Young cleared his throat. "Maybe."

Brian Keating sat on a bench and crossed his legs. He tapped his wrist, though he didn't wear a watch.

"Your job is to protect Keating," Rob said. "Think twice about how you go about it. I don't know what you're up to with Nobu, but call it off. I'm not exactly a law-abiding citizen, as you know from my blackmail attempt. If-"

"Mr. Pirone, sorry to interrupt, but I'm not so law-abiding myself." With that, Mr. Young cut the connection.

Makiko is safe with Alan, or so Rob believes. Rob also assumes that Mr. Young will call off any evil plans if Keating orders it. Therefore, Rob tries to help Nobu and even Mark when he warned him in Chapter 16 that Mr. Young doesn't trust him. Should Rob bother, or should he let Nobu and Mark suffer whatever comes their way?

FYI: The scene in the museum takes place from Makiko's point of view in Ch. 20 "Story Time is Over" of QUIET, though Rob and Makiko aren't in the same room long.