'Then what? Are you getting insurance or something?'
'No, of course not,' Yayoi stammered. 'He didn't have any insurance.'
'Then you're in the same boat as me: no husband and nothing but a part-time job to pay the bills. How do you think you'll get by?'
'To tell the truth, I haven't really thought about it much. I imagine I'll stay here and do the best I can. My mother thinks that's the best plan, at least for now.' This earnest answer to her rhetorical question irritated Kuniko.
'What about your parents?' she said.
'They'll help some, I'm sure. But there's only so much they can do.'
'That's not what Masako told us when she promised you'd pay.'
'I'm sorry,' Yayoi whispered.
'Well, I'm not asking for much. Your dad has a regular job you should be able to get something out of him now.' Desperate to extract whatever she could, Kuniko continued to wheedle, but Yayoi simply repeated that she would have to wait, and eventually, realising that she was wasting the price of the call, Kuniko hung up.
Masako was next. Kuniko saw her every night at the factory, but they hardly said a word to each other. Ever since she'd learned that Masako knew Jumonji, she'd been more than usually wary of her. Despite her money problems, she still somehow associated herself more with the elegant world of her fashion magazines than the back streets where the likes of Masako and Jumonji hung out.
Nevertheless, the due date on the payment was almost up and she had to do something, no matter how risky. She'd already forgotten that a similar attitude had just recently got her involved in Yayoi's mess. She dialled Masako's number.
When Masako answered, there was none of the background noise she'd heard at Yayoi's place. Kuniko wondered what Masako did all by herself in that big, clean house. A chill ran down her spine at the memory of the scene in her bathroom. Did she shower on those tiles that had been splattered with blood? And what did she feel like when she settled into a tub that had held those awful bags? The thought made Masako seem even scarier.
'It's Kuniko ... ' she said in a breathy voice.
'Your payment's due, isn't it?' said Masako, dispensing with formalities. Apparently she hadn't forgotten.
'That's right. I'm wondering what I should do.'
'Don't ask me. It's your problem.'
'But didn't you say we'd get another loan to cover this one?' she whined, feeling she'd been misled.
'So go get one,' Masako told her. 'I'm sure you'll find someone dumb enough to lend you more money. Use that to pay off Jumonji and then go find another to pay off that one.'
'How does that solve anything? I'll just be running in circles.'
'What do you think you've been doing?'
'Don't say that! I'm asking you what I should do.'
'You are not. You don't want advice, you want money.' Kuniko winced at her scornful tone of voice.
'Then why don't you let me have some? Yayoi just tells me to wait.'
'I don't have any to lend. When things settle down, I'm sure Yayoi will come through. You'll just have to make do until then.'
'But how?'
'You're young and healthy. You figure it out.'
Kuniko slammed the receiver down. Some day, she'd get back at Masako, figure out how to make her sorry for treating her this way; but at the moment she couldn't think how, and it made her so angry she wanted to spit.
Just then, the intercom rang. Startled, she crouched down, wanting to curl up in a ball and hide, if just for today. She wrapped her arms around her head, breathing hard.
The buzzer rang again. Probably another detective. Worse yet, it could be the same one, that nosy Imai who'd come three weeks ago. She thought she'd managed to avoid telling him anything important, but she hated the way he looked at her. What if he said they had a witness who'd seen a green Golf at Koganei Park? What would she do then? She just couldn't face him again right now. Deciding to pretend she wasn't home, she lowered the volume on the television; but as she was doing this, someone began knocking on the door.
'Jonouchi-san? It's Jumonji from Million Consumers. Are you in there?'
'Yes,' she stammered into the intercom. 'I know the payment's coming up, but I still have a few days, don't I?'
'Of course,' said Jumonji, sounding pleased to have caught her in. 'I actually wanted to talk to you about something else.'
'About what?'
'I guarantee it will be worth your while. Could I come in for a minute?' Kuniko was still wary, but her curiosity got the better of her and she opened the door, to find him standing there holding a box of cakes. She shrank back, conscious of her thick legs in a pair of shorts. He was dressed more casually than usual, in chinos, sunglasses and a loud Hawaiian shirt - birds of paradise on a black background. 'Sorry to bother you like this,' he said, handing her the box, 'but there's something I'd like to discuss with you.' She hesitated, but his smile was beginning to work its magic.
'Come in,' she told him. He peered about curiously before sitting down at the dining-room table while she hurriedly picked up the magazines she'd strewn on the floor.
'Shall we have the cakes?' she suggested, bringing out plates and forks and an almost empty bottle of oolong tea. Then she told a lie. 'If it's about the payment, I'm all set to make it, the day after tomorrow, I think it was?'
'Actually, it has nothing to do with your loan. It's something else, something that's got me very curious.' He took a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and offered her one. She nearly pounced on it, having been unable to buy cigarettes lately, and he watched as she lit it and took a long, satisfied drag. 'You're welcome to keep the pack,' he told her.
'Thanks,' she said, putting it down in front of her.
'I get the feeling things are rather difficult for you now.'
'You might say that,' she sighed, no longer bothering to keep up a front. 'I haven't heard from my husband '
'I assumed you'd be heading off to work soon, so I wanted to catch you before you left. Actually, I wanted to talk to you about the lady who signed your guarantor's form the other day Yamamoto-san.' Kuniko looked up at him with a start. He was watching her with a good-natured smile. 'I was reading the paper the next morning, and I got a shock when I realised she must be the wife of that guy who was found cut up in the park. And since then there's something that's been bothering me: why would she have signed as your guarantor when she was in the middle of all that?' His speech seemed well rehearsed.
'Because I asked her to. We're friends from the factory.'
'But why didn't you ask Katori-san? She worked at a credit union for more than twenty years, so she knows all about that kind of thing.'
'A credit union?' So that was Masako's secret past. Now that she thought about it, she could just picture her sitting at a computer terminal behind the counter at some two-bit bank.
'What I'd really like to know is why you'd choose Yamamotosan to be a guarantor.'
'Why do you want to know?' The question was natural enough. Jumonji laughed, running his hands through his brown hair.
'Plain curiosity.'
'Because Yamamoto-san is nice. Katori-san isn't - it's as simple as that.'
'And it didn't matter to you that her husband was missing?'
'I didn't know that at the time.'
'It was pretty generous of her to agree, considering what she was going through.'
'Like I said, she's a nice person.'
'Okay. Then why did Katori-san come to get the form back?'
'You've got me,' Kuniko said. He wasn't here out of 'plain curiosity', that much was obvious. Sensing trouble, she began to feel panicky.
'Katori-san must have known the husband was missing,' he suggested, 'and thought it might look bad if her friend's name turned up on the form.'
'No. She thinks I'm an idiot. That's why she went to get it back.'
'It just doesn't add up,' he said, folding his hands behind his head and staring at the ceiling, as if he enjoyed playing the detective like this
. Kuniko, on her side, was enjoying his company and soon forgot her earlier misgivings.
'I think I'll have a piece of cake,' she said.
'Go ahead, help yourself. This bakery's quite good. I have it on the best authority: a high-school girl.'
'Your girlfriend?' said Kuniko, a hint of coquetry in her voice. Fork poised, she stared into his dark-brown eyes.
'No, no,' he said, rubbing his face to cover mild embarrassment.
'I bet you could have any girl you want, even the young ones.'
'No, no, let's not exaggerate.' Kuniko concentrated on her cake for a moment, having already lost interest in trying to figure out why he'd come. Jumonji glanced at the date on his watch.
'How many payments do you have left on your loan?' he asked suddenly.
'.. . Eight,' said Kuniko, putting down her fork with a dismayed look.
'Eight payments? A bit more than ¥440,000, all told. I tell you what I'll do: if you tell me everything you know, I'll write off the loan.'
'Write it off?'
'Meaning you won't have to pay it back.' Kuniko pondered this inexplicable proposition for a second, until she realised she had a dollop of whipped cream on her mouth.
'Tell you everything I know about what?' she said, licking her lips.
'About what you ladies did.'
'But we didn't do anything.' She held her fork steady, but inside her head the scale on which she weighed everything in her life, calculating profit and loss, was going haywire.
'Nothing?' Jumonji said. 'Really? You see, I've had my people do some checking. They found out how friendly you are, you and Yamamoto-san and Katori-san, and one other lady, I believe. I'm guessing that the three of you felt sorry for Mrs Yamamoto and decided to help her out.'
'Help her out? No, we didn't do anything.' Kuniko put down her fork.
'You told me yourself that you had some money coming in soon,' he said, smirking. 'Did that have anything to do with this?'
'To do with what?'
'Don't play dumb with me,' he said - exactly what she'd said herself to Yayoi a while ago. 'With the Yamamoto murder.'
'But I read where they arrested that casino owner for that.'
'That's what the newspapers said, but something about the whole thing smells.'
'Smells? Like what?'
'Like a bunch of women helping out a friend.'
'But I told you, nobody helped anybody.'
'Then why did Mrs Yamamoto guarantee your loan at a time like that? Most people wouldn't want to do that even if they didn't have anything else to worry about. Why don't you just tell me, and then you can forget about the payments.'
'And what would you do if I did tell you?' The question slipped out before Kuniko could stop herself. For one second, his eyes shone with the satisfaction of having guessed correctly.
'I wouldn't do anything. I just need to satisfy my curiosity.'
'And if I won't tell you anything?'
'I still won't do anything. You'll just go on making your payments - when was the next one due? The day after tomorrow, wasn't it? Eight more payments of ¥55,200. You can handle that, I'm sure.' I'm sure too, thought Kuniko - that I'm flat broke. She licked her lips, but the whipped cream was gone.
'How can I be sure you'll cancel the loan?' she said. Jumonji opened the briefcase that was resting on his lap and pulled out some papers: Kuniko's promissory note.
'I'll tear this up as soon as we're finished,' he said. Instantly, Kuniko's internal balance tipped in favour of the cancelled loan. If she could wipe out the payments to Jumonji, she could keep all the money she'd be getting from Yayoi for herself. Once she realised this, there was really no other option.
'Okay, I'll tell you.'
'Really? That's great,' he said, laughing a mirthless laugh.
The rest was easy. Kuniko actually enjoyed describing how Masako and Yayoi had forced her to go along with their plan. She would worry about the consequences later, for right now she felt she was getting even with them. She'd never been any good at deferring her pleasures, but for the moment at least she could defer the pain.
2
Jumonji sat on the bench in the playground in front of the apartment building. He put a cigarette in his mouth, but as he pulled his lighter from his pocket, he noticed that his hand was shaking. Laughing to himself, he tightened his grip and lit the cigarette. After the first drag, he looked up at the building and located the balcony of Kuniko's apartment. Other than the airconditioning unit, it contained nothing but a messy stack of black garbage bags. So it all came down to the garbage, did it?
A dozen or so children, probably first or second graders, were playing tag in the fading light. They seemed almost frantic as they chased after one another, perhaps because they knew they'd soon have to be heading home, or because their summer vacation itself was drawing to a close, with the prospect of classes and endless homework awaiting them. Their cries pierced the air, and dirt flew in their wake. Finding all this youthful energy a bit overpowering, Jumonji slumped down on the bench.
Kuniko's story had excited him. It wasn't just that something he'd thought inconceivable was actually true; it was the shock of discovering that Masako Katori was at the centre of it all. Even with his own unsavoury background, he would have baulked at the job of getting rid of a body - let alone cutting one to pieces. He felt in awe of her. Who'd have thought a skinny old dame like that would have the nerve? It never once crossed his mind that she might have got herself into something she should have avoided.
'So cool!' he murmured to himself. His cigarette had burnt down and was about to scorch his fingers . . . the same way whatever he was getting into might burn him, too. He wanted to join up with her, do something risky - something cool. And profitable. He'd always hated working as a team, but he'd welcome the chance to team up with Masako. Above all else, he felt he could trust her.
He remembered catching sight of her years ago as he'd walked into a coffee shop near the credit union. The place was completely full and almost all the customers were fellow employees who had crowded around the tables regardless of who they'd come in with. But Masako had been sitting alone at a table for four by the window. He remembered thinking at the time that it was strange no one had joined her, and it was only later he'd learned that she was being ostracised. But there had been no sign then of the trouble she was going through. She'd sat alone, calmly sipping her coffee and reading the business paper she'd spread in front of her much as a man might. The other jerks crammed into their seats at the surrounding tables had looked stupid by comparison.
The memory of it made him clap his hands and laugh aloud. Startled, the children stopped for a moment and eyed him suspiciously, but he didn't care. Though he'd never felt the slightest hint of desire for an older woman, when it came to business, he had always trusted them far more than he did men. It occurred to him that this might even be the result of having met Masako at an impressionable age. He took his cell phone and address book out of his bag and, finding the number he wanted, pressed the buttons.
'Toyosumi head office.' They picked up almost immediately. 'This is Akira Jumonji. Could I speak with Soga-san?' The young man at the other end mumbled for him to wait and a recording of the 'Lovers Concerto' came on - not exactly what you'd expect from a yakuza office.
'Akira, is that you? They said it was somebody named Jumonji. Shit, boy, call yourself Yamada.' The tone was flat but Jumonji could tell he was being teased.
'I gave you my card, didn't I?' he said.
'Seeing the writing and knowing how to pronounce it are two different things.' Soga occasionally came out with the odd intelligent remark, despite the way he looked.
'There's something I want to ask your advice about,' Jumonji said. 'Could we get together some time soon?'
'Soon? How about now? We'll go for a drink. Ueno okay with you?' Jumonji checked his watch and agreed. He knew he was sticking his neck out, but he'd paid more than ¥440,000 for the information. He might as well
get on with it.
-
They had agreed to meet at a quiet bar in Ueno that had been around for a number of years. When Jumonji arrived at the low, ivy-covered building, he found the two young men he'd seen that day in Musashi Murayama standing guard at the door. The dyedblond, dense-looking one greeted him. Bodyguards - just in case; Jumonji remembered that Soga had always liked playing the mob boss, even back in their biker days. Still, it would be a mistake to think of him as some puffed-up punk. Jumonji braced himself for what was to come.
As he entered the bar, Soga, cigarette in hand, waved to him from a dark table in the back. The room was panelled in wood that smelt of wax. An older man in a bow-tie stood behind the counter, his face expressionless as he worked the cocktail shaker. Soga sat alone, legs spread wide on a soft, green velvet chair.
'It was good running into you the other day,' Jumonji said. 'Sorry to be bothering you so soon.'
'No problem,' said Soga. 'I was going to call you up for a drink anyway. What are you having?'
'A beer.'
'This place is famous for its cocktails. The bartender's waiting; do him a favour and order one.'
'Okay then, I'll have a gin and tonic.' He eyed Soga as he named the first drink that came to mind. Soga was wearing a palegreen summer suit over an open-collar black shirt. 'You're looking sharp,' he added.
'This?' Laughing with pleasure, he pulled the jacket open to reveal the label. 'It's Italian, but a brand nobody ever heard of. They say the boss is supposed to wear Hermes or something, but it takes real style to find something like this.'
'It looks great.'
'The Hawaiian shirt's not bad either,' he told him, obviously pleased by the compliment. 'Is it vintage?'
'Actually, I got it at a discount shop out there in the sticks.'
'With a baby face like that, you could wear just about anything and the girls would still come running,' he laughed.
'Hey - flattery.' Soga seemed in no hurry to get down to business, and Jumonji found it difficult to steer the conversation around to his proposal. Soga suddenly changed the subject. 'You ever read Ryu Murakami's Love and Pop?' he asked.