Missing in Tokyo by Graham Marks Page B

girlfriend for the first time.
    â€˜So,’ Suzy’s dad put three mugs of freshly brewed coffee on the table and sat down opposite his daughter, ‘where is Adam? His parents are already having to deal with their daughter going missing. They don’t need any more stress right now.’
    Suzy spoke to the tablecloth. ‘He said he was going to leave you a note.’
    The two fathers exchanged glances and Tony shook his head. ‘Where is he, Suzy?’
    â€˜I promised not to say anything …’ Suzy looked up ather father, chewing her lip. ‘Adam said I wouldn’t be involved.’
    â€˜Well, like it or not, you are, sweetheart.’
    Tony could tell the girl’s loyalties were being torn apart and he felt almost sorry for her, but he needed answers. Watching the scene unfold, he was having the greatest difficulty in keeping his mouth shut and letting her father do the talking. But that was the way he’d want it played if the boot was on the other foot and it was Adam in the hot seat.
    â€˜OK, look, maybe I should have told him not to go, but he was desperate to do something about Charlie …’ Suzy put down her bag and reached for one of the coffees, took a sip and looked at Tony. ‘He said he couldn’t stand to watch his mum cry all the time, talking about her – about Charlie – like she was dead, and, you know, wait for other people to do things?’
    Tony leant forward. ‘And?’
    â€˜And he, um, he went there … to try and find her …’
    Tony, mouth open, looked from Suzy to her father and back again. ‘He did what?’
    â€˜Where did he go, Suzy?’
    â€˜Tokyo, Dad. He went to Tokyo …’

    Walking down the street, back towards the capsule hotel, Adam saw a sign for a bar up on the fourth floor of a building; it had beer, it had cocktails and widescreen TV and it also had free Internet access. Adam stopped, remembering he’d promised Suzy that he would send her an email as soon as he’d arrived. Better do it now, rather than wait till tomorrow.
    He looked up at the building, another one with signs advertising businesses on every floor – hairdressers, dentists, clubs, restaurants, beauticians – thinking how in London you’d think twice about going to some bound-to-be-scuzzy bar up off the street. He shrugged and started up the stairs, which, he was glad to note, did not smell like a toilet, figuring he’d probably have to buy a beer to get ‘free’ access to the Net. But what the hell, after scaring himself half to death in that back alley in Roppongi he thought he probably deserved a drink.
    The place up on the fourth floor was called the Alfa, which apparently stood for All Life Feels Ace. Adam kind of almost knew what they meant. He walked into a small, dimly lit place with a bar running down one side, three computer terminals along the opposite wall, chairs and table in the centre and a tiny stage at the end. The place wasn’t packed out, but it wasn’t empty either, and the mostly suited crowd seemed to be enjoying the efforts of the guy up on the stage with the microphone. The widescreen TV was behind him and the lyrics to the song – bizarrely, ‘Last Train to Clarksville’ by The Monkees – came up as he sang, ‘… and I don’t know if I’m ever coming home’. Which sounded to Adam way too much like the soundtrack to what he was doing.
    He walked up to the bar, shaking off the feeling that he was in some weird movie, and waited until he was noticed by one of the barmen.
    â€˜Beer, please.’
    â€˜Biru?’
Adam nodded hopefully. ‘Asahi? Dry?’
    â€˜Sure, whatever …’ Adam hoped he’d understood what the man had said and waited to see what he was getting.Nodding his thanks when a bottle of beer was put on the bar in front of him, he paid, then pointed over his shoulder. ‘Can I use the