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ru products on their containers。 But it was not until 1979 that the Japanese Ministry of Health and Welfare； acting on the prolonged outcry not only from me but from the thousands who had suffered from the less than fatal kokuhisho； black skin syndrome； from the inclusion of Red 219； a coal tar dye； in some creams； established the act requiring the listing of all cosmetic ingredients。
〃Six months after Mariko's death； when I could think clearly again； I founded Keshohinkogai higaisha no kai； the Organization of Cosmetic Victims； using profits from Ikiru。〃
There was pain in Nicholas' heart at the enormity of what Sato had to bear。 Mariko had not been the sole victim of kokuhisho。 Other victims' suffering and death could be only slightly less painful to Sato。 And atonement； as Nicholas knew well； was not the same as never having sinned at all。
Sato turned his cup over and placed his palm across it。 〃Tell me； Linnear…san； have you ever felt anything other than pleasure at being in love？〃 His damp head bobbed。 〃Ah； yes； Buddha knows there is pain and suffering sometimes when there are arguments； when animosity lingers； perhaps； for a day or so。 But that is a temporary thing； surely。 It fades like the snow each winter and when the sun shines； the blossoms open up again。
〃I am speaking of something entirely different now。〃 His head was weaving； sunk down as it was onto his broad shoulders。 〃Experience means nothing in this realm。 Have you ever felt imprisoned by your love； Linnear…san？ As if you love despite yourself rather than because you wish to。 No； no； you must； do you see？〃 His hand came away； and Nicholas could see that the tiny porcelain cup that had lain beneath was now gone。 〃As if some cruel heart had cast a spell over you？〃
In the gloaming at the end of the day Lew Croaker sat slumped in the car that had taken them up the east coast of Florida。 Traffic rushed by him； the procession of crimson taillights like searching eyes。 Alix had just gone to the bathroom in one of the highway cafeterias。 He felt the vibrations of the road as if they had bee a part of him。
Just behind him was the Savannah River。 Up ahead stretched Georgia； then South Carolina； North Carolina； and so on as I95 snaked its way northeast。 They had not eaten since Jacksonville； there was no point in stopping in small towns along the way； leaving footprints for anyone to follow。 Big cities had a habit of swallowing new arrivals and transients； no one paid attention。
Alix had wanted him to slow down as soon as they had crossed the Florida border； but Croaker had kept his foot on the accelerator。 She thought he was being stubborn； but he didn't want to tell her what he had found in the Red Monster's Ford sedan。 It was a Phonix cipher transmitter/receiver that he had read about。 The sight of it had sent chills down his spine。 He did not think that anyone Raphael Tomkin would hire would know what to do with a Phonix let alone have one in his car。
The Phonix was a relatively new instrument that automatically turned the spoken word into a preset cipher。 It was the code alone that was broadcast between units； so that rapid transmission was virtually indecipherable to an eavesdropper。
Now； alone in the gathering Georgia night with the endless miles of dazed flight still thrumming through him； Croaker wondered again where his obsession with Angela Didion's murder was taking him。 He had forsaken his job； his friends。。。 and a woman he was just beginning to know and fall in love with。 His entire existence had been turned inside out； upside down。 And for what？
Vengeance against Raphael Tomkin。 For despite the gathering evidence； Croaker was still convinced that the industrialist had murdered Angela Didion。 How and why still had to be determined。 But he had his key now。 Alix Logan was the sole witness； and against all probabilities she was still alive。 And again he asked himself； Why？
With a shiver； he went over it again。 By all rights she should be deader than a doornail now。 He saw her emerging from the lit doorway and gunned the engine。 She was alive。 And being kept that way by a brace of very deadly creatures。 Why？ And why in one place？ Surely they could have moved her anywhere。 Who were they protecting her from？ Croaker？ But 〃Croaker〃 was dead； drowned and crushed beyond recognition when his car went off the road in Key West。 Who had instigated that？ Tomkin？
With a start； Croaker remembered Matty the Mouth。 He had been the fly on the wall who had delivered Alix Logan's name and address to him。 For a usurious price to be sure； but what the hell； he had e through； hadn't he？
〃Stay here；〃 Croaker said to Alix as he sprinted toward the cafeteria。 Inside； he dug out some change and made a long…distance call。 A woman answered。 At first she professed to never having heard of Matty the Mouth。 Croaker did some first…class persuasion。 Matty was out； the voice didn't know where； didn't know when he'd be back。 Since he got back from Aruba Matty'd gone low profile。 Croaker said he understood； it was the same with him。 He had no number to leave with her and under the circumstances wouldn't've left one if he had。 Said he'd call back。
〃Let's go；〃 he said as he slid behind the wheel and nosed the car out into traffic。
〃I'm tired；〃 Alix said； golden girl beside him。 She curled into a ball。
It was like having a dream e to life； sitting at his elbow。 Lithe； blond； beautiful。 Croaker had only seen women like this from afar。 This close； he had expected her to turn to garbage at any minute。 When she hadn't； he was startled。 It wasn't that he lusted after her precisely as the Blue Monster had； although he had to admit there was an element of sexuality about how he felt。
Rather there was this protectiveness thing。 Having her safe and with him made him feel warm and somehow more alive。 He did not want to take her to bed； but as a father will with his daughter when she es of age he longed to see her nakedness； to caress her with his eyes。 It was as if the presence of her nude in front of him； that acquiescence of vulnerability； would increase his feelings； fulfill them； even。
But this night his thoughts were not of the golden girl lying like a cat curled on the seat against his hip。 Rather his thoughts retraced the moment when he had first seen the Phonix and had broken out into a cold sweat。
The ultimate purpose of a Japanese drunk such as this one was reciprocity。 While it was true that the freedom the Japanese found in drunkenness allowed them to unburden their spirit； that could not be acplished alone。 A mutual unburdening； a clasping of warm hands； was what really mattered。
Nicholas knew that Sato was waiting。 This was a crucial moment between them； much would depend on what Nicholas next said。 If he lied now…for whatever reason； not trusting Sato being just one of them…there could never be anything between them。 Despite what Sato said before about their being friends。 Those were just words and the Japanese did not take much stock in words。 What mattered to them most； what they truly revered above all else； was action。 Because actions never lied。
For better or for worse； Nicholas suspected； he and Sato had to trust each other now