Evil and the Mask (13 page)

RUNNING MY HAND along the wall, I climbed the stairs of the dingy tower block. Sand and dirt clung to the soles of my shoes and every step made a rough, gritty sound. The narrow landings were cluttered with cardboard boxes blocking the way. I couldn’t tell what was inside them. When I opened the heavy, black door, I was hit by a blast of loud music. The bar was overflowing with people, more foreigners than Japanese.

It held a counter, too long for the room, and tables with crude chairs. One corner was closed off with a heavy green curtain. I passed a laughing, shouting group of Chinese, stepped over the outstretched legs of some Arabs engrossed
in serious conversation. The club was white with cigarette smoke, perhaps because the ventilation system wasn’t up to it. A dark-skinned woman began kissing a long-haired guy. A group of black men in the back were watching them and arguing about something. I sat at the bar and ordered a gin and tonic. A Japanese woman with tightly braided hair and wearing a tank top was looking at my black suit with raised eyebrows.

As I looked around my vision lost its focus. All the people standing in their dark clothes suddenly appeared as vertical lines, and beyond them I noticed a young woman dressed in green. She was asleep, face down on the table. My eyesight wavered again, and the tall black lines of the men and the green of the woman turned faintly red. I seemed to be on the verge of remembering something, but it wouldn’t come. Then a black man moved in front of me and the vision ended abruptly. He tried to lift the woman, his thick, bare arms glistening with sweat under the powerful lights. Another Japanese girl who was with her spoke to him in English. The woman woke up and cried out, trying to get away. Her eyes were big, her short skirt hiked up. I realized that I’d been staring at her face for ages. The people around were laughing, and so was the man as he tried to soothe her.

Yajima was at the end of the counter. I finished my drink and stood up, pretending I was going to the toilet. He was really drunk, accusing the Arab behind the bar of something. The bartender didn’t argue, just spread his arms and smiled. I approached and quietly took the seat next to him. He glanced
at me briefly, lost the thread of what he was saying and fell silent. I ordered another gin and tonic and lit a cigarette.

“You’re Takayuki Yajima, aren’t you?”

Sluggishly, he turned his face towards me.

“I’d like a word with you.”

“Who the fuck are you?”

People were shouting to make themselves heard over the music. Three slim young Japanese women who I hadn’t noticed before were sitting at the table at the back with the group of blacks. Smiling ambivalently, they were lounging against the men, who kept giving them long kisses and touching their bodies with thick fingers as though they were toys.

“If you need a name, call me Sato. Suzuki would do just as well.”

“What do you want?”

The music grew even more intense.

“It’s about Kaori Kuki. If we work together there’s way more than thirty million in it for us.”

“How do you know about her?”

“From Moriyama, who worked in the Kukis’ lawyer’s office and killed himself. He and I were friends. Plus I’ve got a bone to pick with the Kukis. We can get hundreds of millions from her. You interested?”

“I’m listening.”

The women with the black men all laughed at once.

“Before that, how far have you got?”

He drained what was left of his whiskey and asked for a beer. His eyes flicked towards me.

“It’s a straight-forward con. If I can get her hooked, that thirty million will be a piece of cake.”

“I see. That’s good.”

He smirked slightly. He was wearing a plain white shirt and a cream jacket.

“But is it safe? If you get caught with drugs on you it’ll be all over.”

“No problem. I’ve never been arrested, so I’ll be treated as a first offender. First-time users don’t go to prison, they get put on probation. They’d soon let me off, so I could pick up where I left off. I’m the sort of guy, if I get interrupted in the middle I get even more determined.”

“Even though she’s just an adopted daughter, she’s still a Kuki. So what’s your plan after that?”

“Plan?”

He laughed drunkenly.

“Who cares? It’s the danger that makes it exciting.”

His voice suddenly grew louder, but I was careful not to change my expression. From up close, his eyes were hollow, his cheeks sunken.

“I need cash. I’ve got debts coming out my ears. But more than that, that girl Kaori, she’s a looker, eh?”

“Yeah.”

I sniggered coarsely, and his voice went up another notch.

“That’s right. And she’s good-natured and naïve. Women like that really turn me on.”

He laughed again.

“I’ll keep feeding her drugs till she sinks right to the depths of lust and corruption. Do you know how attractive a bitch
is when she’s abandoned all goodness and kindness and morality, just begging for a fix? It’s the most beautiful thing in the world.”

His rough skin caught the light and seemed to glow with vitality.

“Clinging to you as she takes off her clothes, weeping hysterically, crying give me some please, give me a fix. Naked, pleading, desperate, I’ll do anything, as many men as you like, do whatever you want to me. At that moment a woman shines from inside. It’s the truth. I swear it.”

The black men had started sliding their fingers between the women’s legs. The girls were still smiling, but they were getting more and more embarrassed, tugging weakly at their skirts to try to prevent anyone from seeing what was happening. They lowered their voices but all the other customers were staring. The lights continued to spotlight them through the white cigarette haze. The men’s hands grew even bolder, and their laughter drowned out the women’s feeble resistance.

“OK, tell me about your plan,” said Yajima, giving me a twisted grin. “I could use a bit of extra cash too.”

“At the Kukis’ estate there’s a document, a single sheet.”

Yajima pushed his face closer to mine.

“I want you to ask Kaori to get hold of that paper. If you can, I’ll buy it for fifty million yen. How about it?”

“But are you reliable? How do I know I can trust you?”

“I’ll pay you half up front. We make the transfer in a crowded bar. As soon as I get it, I give you the other half. I’m not after money. It doesn’t interest me, and I’ve got a personal vendetta against the Kuki family.”

“Is that so?”

Yajima lit a cigarette and raised his eyes lazily to the ceiling.

“What’s the document?”

“It’s better if you don’t know. It’s safer that way.”

“I told you I don’t care about safety, didn’t I? Nothing can stop me.”

He laughed.

“Fine. You don’t have to tell me. Even our world has its rules. I like you, you’re funny. You’ve got a dishonest face, same as me.”

The black men vanished behind the heavy curtain at the rear, taking the blushing women with them. A drunk couple at a nearby table, perhaps inspired by them, draped their arms around each other’s necks and started tongue-kissing.

“Can we meet here at the same time next week? This is big business. I’d like you to move slowly on Kaori.”

“I get it. I’m a pro.”

“Here’s a token of my appreciation.”

Under the counter I handed him a crumpled cigarette packet. A small plastic bag filled with white powder rustled inside.

“This is top quality stuff, completely different from what you get around here. It’s really pure.”

“You’re pretty smooth, aren’t you?”

Yajima opened the packet a crack, keeping it out of sight. After checking the contents, he put it in the inside pocket of his jacket.

“That’s really wicked shit,” I said, “so to start with you should only take about half a normal dose. It’s bloody dangerous if
you get it wrong. It’ll be hard to get the job done if you’re dead.”

I laughed and so did he.

“Yeah, it’s that good? Could you get me some more?”

“I will next week,” I said as I got up to leave.

It was a minor incident, and articles appeared once or twice in a few newspapers, buried on the inside pages, but after that the information dried up. I thought that was the mark of a true con artist—even in death they couldn’t figure out who he was. In front of me the detective was drinking his coffee. For some reason the surroundings seemed to stand out sharply, as if the air was crystal clear. I contemplated that unusual sight for a while.

“This man is definitely Takayuki Yajima,” said the detective, “but I don’t know yet if it was suicide or murder.”

It was like he was reading from a script, and I grinned slightly. He continued.

“We can assume that it will be impossible for the police to track down the culprit. They don’t know Yajima’s true identity, and the best they’ll be able to do is look for people who had a grudge against him. Then they’ll try to find out his normal suppliers, and that will be as far as they can go.”

“I think so too. But please keep watching Kaori.”

My eyesight was still unnaturally sharp. I could clearly see the dust on the table, the seams of the sofa he was sitting on.

“This man’s death is extremely fortunate for Ms. Kaori,” he said, looking at me.

“It is, isn’t it? Extremely fortunate.”

I wondered why it was so quiet and glanced at the clock. It was already after two in the afternoon. The movements of the second hand were crisp and precise.

“Here are some photos and video of Ms. Kaori from last week, in a bar she went to with Azusa Konishi. She’s managed to make friends with her quite quickly.”

“Great. I’m really glad I hired you. The next thing that’s bothering me is this firm that’s been investigating her.”

The detective bowed slightly and left the hotel room where we always met. After he left the room was still.

I TOOK TWO taxis and got out part-way, in a residential area. The plastic surgeon had an unwritten rule that I couldn’t go straight there by car, because cars were conspicuous and people would notice that he had lots of visitors. Although it was a clinic, from the outside it looked like an ordinary house.

When I pressed the buzzer and gave my name, the door opened silently. A woman of about forty with no make-up ushered me in with a smile. She was the doctor’s assistant, but wasn’t wearing the usual white nurse’s uniform, just an apron over her clothes.

The doctor stood up from a white sofa as I entered the room, giving me a neutral smile. Several plants were arranged
in white pots and sunlight seeped through the blinds. The walls were stark white, not a speck or stain on their antiseptic surface. My room had been upstairs, and the operating theater was farther to the back.

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

“Not too bad.”

The doctor pushed an ashtray towards me and I lit a cigarette. The clear glass of the ashtray reflected the light. It looked white, as if it was trying to hide something.

“I want you to keep taking the anti-inflammatories for a little while longer. Just to be on the safe side.”

“Okay.”

In his sweater and cotton trousers, he didn’t look like a doctor. For some reason the stickiness of my rubber slippers was bothering me.

“It fits nicely. Your face. Though whether it’s your face that’s adjusting to you or you that’s adjusting to your face, I don’t know.”

“It feels like there isn’t any ‘me’ any more. Like there’s no such thing as me.”

“Are you still getting those flashbacks?”

“I’ve already ceased to exist.”

He passed me some tea. The room was warm, and the clink of cup on saucer rang out in the quietness. The tea was as strong as ever.

“My wife found a dead baby.”

“A baby?”

“Yes. In the toilets in a department store. A corpse.”

He sipped his tea.

“Floating in the bowl with the umbilical cord still attached. Isn’t that cruel?”

“Yeah.”

“They called an ambulance and apparently there was a huge uproar.”