By the elevators, a uniformed Japanese private security guard looked us over carefully. "These two are with me," Graham said. The security man nodded, but squinted at us suspiciously.

We got on the elevator.

"Fucking Japanese," Graham said, as the doors closed. "This is still our country. We're still the fucking police in our own country."

The elevator was glass walled and we looked out on downtown Los Angeles as it went up into the light mist. Directly across was the Arco building. All lit up at night.

"You know these elevators are illegal," Graham said. "According to code, no glass elevators past ninety floors, and this building is ninety-seven floors, the highest building in L.A. But then this whole building is one big special case. And they got it up in six months. You know how? They brought in prefab units from Nagasaki, and slapped them together here. Didn't use American construction workers. Got a special permit to bypass our unions because of a so-called technical problem that only Japanese workers could handle. You believe that shit?"

I shrugged. "They got it past the American unions."

"Hell, they got it past the city council," Graham said. "But of course that's just money. And if there's one third we know, the Japanese have money. So they got variances on the zoning restrictions, the earthquake ordinances. They got everything they wanted."

I shrugged. "Politics."

"My ass. You know they don't even pay tax? That's right: they got an eight-year break on property taxes from the city. Shit: we're givingthis country away."

We rode for a moment in silence. Graham stared out the windows. The elevators were high-speed Hitachis, using the latest technology. The fastest and smoothest elevators in the world. We moved higher into the mist.