Ugly Americans by Ben Merzrich

Author:Ben Merzrich [Merzrich, Ben]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi, pdf
Tags: Ben Merzrich - Ugly Americans (2006) 289p 006057500X, ISBN 0-06-057500-X, ISBN-10: 0-06-057501-8 (pbk.)
ISBN: 0060575018
Publisher: William Morrow Paperbacks; Reprint edition (April 26, 2005)
Published: 2009-09-23T10:59:50+00:00

a final tug, making sure it covered all the important parts, and pushed through the curtain.

The first thing that struck him about the semicircular loungelike room was that it seemed much cleaner and more upscale than the rest of the decrepit building: warmly lit by a half-dozen Japanese lanterns hanging from the ceiling, well appointed with leather furniture and bamboo tables, and carpeted wall to wall with lavish Oriental rugs, all different hues of red. The air smelled faintly of perfume, but there was a cool breeze from somewhere up above, and soft Asian music played in the background, tugging at Malcolm’s ears.

It was easy to spot Carney and Bill, because they were the only two other Caucasians in the room. Aside from the two American traders, there were three groups of Japanese men in other parts of the lounge, all wearing the same white kimonos and cloth slippers.

There were no women in the room, not even waitresses, and Malcolm wondered if the playful shower that had been forced on him minutes ago was the only entertainment one could expect. He hoped so. He wasn’t a prude, but he hadn’t turned Japanese yet, either. He hadn’t yet dipped his foot into the Water Trade.

Carney saw him and smiled. When he waved, his kimono flashed open, revealing the vaguely yellowish skin of his chest. Malcolm hurried over to where Carney was sitting, a circle of three leather couches spaced around one of the little bamboo tables. Malcolm didn’t see any drinks, which was surprising. He didn’t think he’d ever been around Carney when alcohol wasn’t involved.

“You look like a fucking samurai,” Bill joked, grabbing the edge of Malcolm’s kimono as he lowered himself onto the empty couch. “Got almost as much hair on your legs as me.”

Malcolm laughed. Bill looked like a bear beneath the skimpy material, thick dark curls covering almost every inch of his skin. Carney put his bare feet up on the table, crossing his arms against his chest.

“Leave the kid alone. He’s had a trying week, cleaning up that fucking Leeson’s mess.”

Carney’s understated sympathy was well appreciated. Other than a brief conversation two days ago, Malcolm hadn’t had much of a 142 | Ben Mezrich

chance to get Carney’s opinion on what had happened. Carney had been too busy to talk; he’d simply invited Malcolm to Tokyo and given him a flight number and a hotel. The address of the strange establishment outside of Kabuki-cho had been left as a message on the hotel’s voice mail—again, no explanation, just a street name and a number. Obviously, Carney wasn’t big on small talk.

“You sure you guys still want to hang out with me?” Malcolm responded, settling into the couch. “I think I’m some sort of bad-luck charm. I’ve brought down two companies in eleven months.”

“Let’s just hope you don’t make it three,” Carney said, catching Malcolm off guard. He waited for Carney to elaborate, but Carney looked away, toward another curtain on the far side of the semicircular room. Red and black silk, it bore a pair of beautiful green dragons.

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