Hotel on the Corner of Bitter and Sweet by Jamie Ford

report about a man posing as a federal agent, then accosting two Japanese women in their apartment.
    ‘You finding anything?’ Ms. Pettison came down, flashlight in hand, startling Henry, who’d grown accustomed to the lonely silence of the basement.
    He set the paper down and stood up, brushing himself off a bit, wiping his hands on his pants, leaving two palm-size streaks of dust. ‘Well, I haven’t exactly found what I’m looking for. There’s just so much of … everything .’
    ‘Don’t worry, we need to close up for the day, but you’re more than welcome to come back next week. The dust needs to settle so we can clean up, and we’re sealing the brick tomorrow, but after that all clears, feel free to come back and keep looking.’
    Henry thanked her, disappointed that he hadn’t found anything belonging to Keiko or her family. But he didn’t give up hope. For years he’d walked past the hotel. Decades even – never suspecting anything of value remained. He’d assumed that everything from the war years had been reclaimed long ago, accepted that fact and tried to move on. Tried to live his life. But looking at the mountains of boxes he’d yet to search, he felt Keiko’s presence. Something of her remained. Inside. He strained to hear her voice in memory. Lost among his thoughts. It’s in there. I know it.
    He thought of Ethel too. What would she think? Would she approve of him snooping around down here, digging into the past? The more he thought about it, the more he realized what he’d known all along. Ethel would always approve of things that might make Henry happy. Even now. Especially now.
    ‘I’ll be back this time next week, if that’s all right?’ Henry asked.
    Ms. Pettison nodded and led the way back upstairs.
    Henry squinted, allowing his senses to adjust to the daylight and the cold, gray Seattle sky that filled the paned windows of the Panama Hotel lobby. Everything, it seemed – the city, the sky – was brighter and more vivid than before.So modern, compared with the time capsule downstairs. As he left the hotel, Henry looked west to where the sun was setting, burnt sienna flooding the horizon. It reminded him that time was short, but that beautiful endings could still be found at the end of cold, dreary days.

Marty’s Girl
    (1986)
    T he next day Henry spent the afternoon in Chinatown, at the barber, the bakery – any excuse to walk by the Panama Hotel. He peered in the open windows, each time seeing nothing but construction workers and clouds of dust everywhere. When he finally found his way back home, Marty was waiting for him on his doorstep. He had a key, but by all appearances he’d locked himself out. Sprawled across the cement steps, Marty tapped his foot, his arms folded across his chest, looking nervous and expectant.
    Henry had sensed that something was bothering Marty at lunch the day before, but had allowed himself to be distracted by the thought of finding something – anything – of Keiko’s in the basement of the Panama Hotel. Now he was here. He’s here to have it out with me. To tell me I was wrong in how I cared for his mother, Henry thought.
    Ethel’s last year had been a rough time. When she’d beenlucid enough to engage the both of them, he and Marty had seemed to get along famously. But once her health declined, and the word hospice came up, the real disagreements had begun.
    â€˜Pops, you can’t keep Mom here – this place smells like old people,’ Marty argued.
    Henry rubbed his eyes, weary of the discussion. ‘We are old people.’
    â€˜Have you even been to the new Peace Hospice? It’s like a resort! Don’t you want Mom to spend her last days in a nice place ?’ As Marty said it, he rolled his eyes to the ceiling, which was a dingy yellow color from Ethel’s years of smoking cigarettes. ‘This place is a dump! I don’t want my mom to be stuck here when she could be at a