Loud

Chapter 1 - Loose Lips

If you read my previous work, please don't add any spoilers in the comments. Thank you!

Just outside of the concert venue, drunk revelers jammed the neon-lit sidewalk. A circle of young businesspeople, mostly men, in identical suits bowed to each other. Rob and Nobu sidestepped around them and waited at the zebra stripes of a pedestrian crosswalk. A Porsche, its red surface glistening like animation, cut the corner with a smooth purr.

The time Rob spent in Boston was necessary, but he had missed this, being in another country and the cultural confusion of difference and sameness. The evening had gone great: Naoko's scream-singing, Fumiko's melodic punk guitar chops, and the rhythmic rush of their bandmates, one with a thumping bass and one on drums. "Maybe we should have stuck around inside a little longer?" Rob said.

"Go back if you want," Nobu said. "Naoko and Fumiko would love it."

"No." Abandoning the girls left Rob heartbroken, but he wanted to get to know Nobu too. Besides, Sylvester's comments about women under a certain age applied. Naoko's exuberance and Fumiko's geeky intelligence were charming, but they were a little like children to him too. Young women shared the same physical space with him but not the same world, and Rob did not want to feel like a vampire or an aging satyr. He was determined to... turn the page on all that.

Rob stopped at the beginning of an alley lined with girly clubs. Posters of women dominated the walls of the alley, as did the color pink. Horny men strutted back and forth with the chutzpah of horny men strutting back and forth. "Hey, if we're headed toward the train station, isn't this alley the fastest way?" Rob said.

"Could be awkward. I don't want to bump into runaways I know." But Nobu led the way, head down.

"How long have you spent nights ministering around here?"

"Not ministering. It's social work and has nothing to do with religion. Besides, I work in Shibuya and Ikebukuro, not Roppongi."

In January, Rob had attributed Nobu's glowing skin and vitality to the vegetarian diet and daily meditation of a devout Buddhist. Around here, his shaved head, thick arms and massive neck transformed him into a bosatsu, a Japanese term Rob thought was roughly equivalent to an avenging angel. He caught up to Nobu where the alleyway ended at a wide thoroughfare. "Getting runaways off the mean streets, that's a form of ministering."

"If you say so." Nobu pointed at a small storefront made of white panels and square windows. "Unfortunately, I have to eat and run, but do you like ramen?"

Ramen was a noodle soup dish with various kinds of broth and ingredients. "Yeah, let's eat." Rob had hoped to join Nobu on his rounds, but that did not seem likely tonight. Nobu's graduate education in the United States made his English impeccable, including slang, but he avoided direct conflict like most Japanese people. That did not mean he would give in to Rob's wishes though. "Is ramen vegetarian?"

"No, I must make exceptions sometimes. Otherwise, life is too difficult. Besides, ramen and the world is an illusion, so what does it matter?" He smiled.

Inside the tiny shop, Nobu bought a meal ticket from a machine by the entrance. Rob chose a plate of fried gyoza - Chinese dumplings stuffed with meat - and the same ramen Nobu ordered. They handed their tickets to the cook behind the counter and sat on circular seats bolted to the floor. Metal siding lined the counter edge and metal and glass condiment containers crowded the countertop. A man squeezed through the space between Rob's back and the wall, bumping him as he scraped by. The cook behind the counter ladled oil into a large, sizzling wok. He placed a scoop of rice into another hot wok. His clockwork movements were hypnotizing. "Sorry," Nobu said. "I'll show you my work someday. Tonight, I can't."

Trust took time, same with Makiko. "I understand," Rob said. "No pressure." The cook placed a steaming bowl of ramen in front of him, then another in front of Nobu. A plate of greasy gyoza followed. Nobu pulled wooden chopsticks out of a box on the counter and handed Rob a pair. They ate in silence. The muscles on the side of Nobu's face rippled with the chewing motion of his jaw. He seemed to contemplate something, so Rob left him to his thoughts. Margot - the woman from the talent management company who was coordinating Rob's schedule - had warned him that a flood of media commitments would begin next month. It was probably best that any adventures with Nobu waited until after the Gears toured Japan.

Nobu pushed his bowl to one side. Only broth remained. Rob ate slowly. He slurped his noodles, Japanese style. Nobu laid his chopsticks across the bowl and folded his hands in his lap. "Naoko told me you photographed Brian Keating last time you were in Tokyo. In his hotel room."

Rob froze. A rope of noodles stretched from the bowl to his mouth. Had he told her? He had no precise memory of that. It must have been when he was photographing her band, Mizu Baka. He sucked up the noodles. "That girl. Loose lips." He was thinking of himself really.

During a trip to photograph a band in Los Angeles, Rob had met with a couple of journalists, hoping one could help him develop the story about Brian Keating, one of Hollywood's last superstars, and young girls. Neither journalist gave him good vibes. In the end, Rob did not bring up his reason for meeting them. To an idealist like Nobu, leaving a pervert like Brian Keating on the loose was probably inexcusable. Rob's reasons for waiting would not make sense to him. However, it took time to develop a story, a story that would do justice and stick. He needed someone on the ground in Los Angeles, someone who could do the legwork effectively and write it up. After making his peace with Makiko, he would give it a shot himself, if necessary, but he was not a writer.

"So it's true?" Nobu said. "You photographed Brian Keating. In secret?"

"It's true-"

"That was January. It's almost June," Nobu said.

"I don't remember what Naoko knows. What exactly did she tell you?"

Nobu scowled. He glanced at the other patrons of the ramen shop. None of them seemed to listen to their English conversation. He lowered his voice. "She told me enough. Are you just sitting on those photographs? Keating's big. Do you think what he did is okay?"

"Of course not." Rob thought of Nobu's ministering on the streets. He might have heard things about celebrities at the hotel, maybe even Brian Keating. Maybe he knew girls who were abused there. And did he suspect that the Yakuza-looking patron of his family temple was connected to the abuse? Maybe.

"What do the pictures show?" Nobu said. The flaming eyes of righteous wisdom. He picked up his ramen bowl with both hands and drank some broth before putting it back on the counter and speaking evenly. "I've heard about celebrities, but don't have proof. Do you?"

"The pictures might have some value-"

Nobu's face contorted. "Value?"

"I meant they're not great, not conclusive. Keating could claim the girls were old enough."

"So you'll forget about it then?"

"No, I'm hoping to link up with someone competent who can sniff out the story and give it context. I'm just a photographer. I could sell them for a quick buck, but I don't need the money. I want to do this right. I want this to destroy Brian Keating."

Nobu crossed his arms. "I read that Keating is coming to Japan next month. What do you think he's going to do when he's here? Then he's off to Southeast Asia probably."

Rob stuffed the last greasy gyoza dumpling into his mouth. No way Nobu was going to let this go. Or understand that moving slowly was necessary. "Next month the Gears will be here."

"So?"

"I'll invite Keating to one of the concerts."

"Why?"

Rob slapped Nobu's back. "I don't know yet, but don't look so glum. We'll figure it out. We'll get him. Give it time."

Rob took potentially damaging photos of Brian Keating, a famous Hollywood actor. Nobu thinks Rob is afraid to get them published somewhere and prods him to action. Was that clear?

Do you feel that is the right thing to do?