Weeds in the Jungle

by Stuart Parker

the park, just where the map had placed him.

  Taro considered putting the moment off until the dead of night when he and his target would have the park to themselves, but he doubted they would need that kind of privacy. It would take more than a few taps of the hammer to raise a concerted police response in the welfare of a homeless man.

  Taro waited for a break in the flow of smokers, his hands rubbing up and down the handle of the small hammer he had purchased on the way. A girl who was showcasing her thin legs in a miniskirt passed by the park and got Taro thinking in different directions. Not just to try harder to remember whether the girl from the night before was called Hiromi or Harumi but to actually call the number as well. Or perhaps he could go for the real Hiromi. Now that he had been with another woman, they might be back on equal footing. The foolishness of the idea had him angry with himself and put him in the right frame of mind to do what he was here for.

  He stepped through the bushes into the small pocket of space at the back corner of the park.

  ‘Get out of here!’ the homeless man from the photograph yelled furiously, springing out of his blue plastic tent with teeth clenched. ‘You don’t belong here!’

  Taro felt a pang of anger. It wasn’t a homeless man he was seeing now, but rather a company president, an employer who had no doubt terrorised, humiliated and belittled his staff into making him rich. He may have fallen down into this but he hadn’t fallen far enough for Taro’s liking. He punched him hard in the jaw. The pain shot up his wrist.

  ‘I was supposed to hurt your hands, and now you’ve gone and made me hurt mine,’ he gnarled.

  The punch, however, had put the old man flat on his back, enabling Taro to put his foot to work. But most importantly the blow had shut the man up.

  Taro had the peace of mind to hold back on his kicks. The average homeless body was about as fragile as the average blue plastic tent. Their internal organs could pop as easily as bubble wrap.

  Taro had drawn blood from the man’s nose and lip but there was no guarantee it was hospital worthy. And the thought of putting a hammer to use now seemed excessively gratuitous. Taro settled for snapping a shot of the felled man with his new mobile phone. On an afterthought he swept open his fly and proceeded to urinate over the man. ‘This is such a great spot for a drinker like me to take a piss, you should be willing to share.’

  He shook himself off, did himself up and went back to the cigarette disposal bins to light up his first of the afternoon. He smoked his cigarette in the company of a businessman who kept his back turned to him.

  24

  Taro kicked off his shoes at the doorway and ignored the house slippers. He hadn’t decided yet who he would call to try and fill the evening with, but there was time to consider that over a bath. He massaged his tender knuckles on his way into his apartment.

  There was a brief rapport of phone. Taro instinctively checked his red mobile. The screen was annoyingly dormant. He had sent word of his success at the park over thirty minutes earlier. No congratulations. No reply at all. He wondered if he should have included a brief mention of urinating on the victim. After all, this might not have been the kind of assignment where modesty was considered a virtue.

  ‘Excuses are more slippery than eel in chopsticks, so I don’t want to hear any.’ The voice was not raised but was strikingly clear. Taro felt a chill as he realised it was coming from inside the apartment – a man engaged in a phone call. Taro was tempted to turn and run from the apartment, but realised that anywhere else he went in the city it would be him becoming the intruder. And besides, the voice sounded somewhat familiar. So, he stayed and ventured forward. He followed the voice into the living room. Tokin Mikoto was on the other side of its glass balcony door. He was using an earpiece to his mobile phone and was looking out over the balcony railing at the hazy stagnant dusk skyline. He wore a blue silk shirt with the sleeves rolled up. A belt of soft black leather was holding up his trousers and there was a gold watch and a host of gold bracelets and rings lighting up his hands. He took a draft on a thin dark brown cigarette wedged between his middle fingers and turned to face Taro.

  ‘I’ve got someone here who doesn’t make excuses,’ he barked into the phone as the only recognition of Taro’s presence. ‘Do what you have to do to avoid embarrassing yourself with any more.’

  He cut off the call and slipped the phone into his breast pocket. He took a final draft of his cigarette and stabbed it into the ashtray on the balcony’s outdoor table. He didn’t seem comfortable with having his hands free, using both to slide open the door that led him inside.

  ‘I’ve made a lot of money out of Roppongi over the years,’ he said. ‘Looking down at it over a cigarette, I’d have to say it’s easy to conclude that’s its only virtue.’ He waved Taro to one of the living room’s oyster shell purple sofas. ‘It’s your apartment but it’s my meeting. Take a seat if you don’t mind.’

  Taro sat down promptly and with a straight back. Tokin sunk gradually into another. His hands lay flat on the armrests, relaxed but primed for movement. His eyes locked onto Taro. Like the wildest of horses, there weren’t many people who could ride that stare for more than a few seconds. It seemed Taro was barely even going to get on.

  ‘I hear all your tasks to this point have been completed with favourable outcomes,’ said Tokin. ‘Your most recent mustn’t have been easy. Only a coward would take joy in attacking someone so obviously weak as a malnourished homeless man.’

  Taro nodded tepidly, realising that it had been wise keeping the urinating element to himself after all.

  ‘You will find a generous increase in your bank balance when you check it tomorrow morning,’ added Tokin. ‘Nevertheless, it doesn’t quite reflect the value I put on the job you just did. Some of that money is to cover costs for your next job. That is what I’m here to talk to you about.’

  He gestured forlornly to the kitchen. ‘I would like to make the moment more sociable but I have noticed your refrigerator is devoid of sake. I would normally have my assistant do something about it. Due to the sensitive nature of the job, however, I have left her back in the office. That also explains why it is not Waneta doing this. Life is dangerous enough without the scorn of a passionate South American.’

  Tokin smiled charmingly, though a sneaked glance at his watch suggested there was somewhere else he wanted to be.

  ‘Waneta will meet you at Shinagawa Station. She’ll be holding an envelope and she won’t know what’s in it.’

  Taro nodded his head.

  ‘You’d better ask me what’s in it,’ said Tokin. ‘There’s an important job that needs doing.’

  ‘Okay,’ replied Taro.

  ‘That wasn’t a question. My son had the same problem. Kids today don’t know how to ask a question.’

  Tokin stared unblinkingly at the floor a long, hard moment.

  Taro wondered he was reflecting on his son. Had he really been shot by the police? That was a question he definitely wasn’t going to ask.

  ‘Politeness and stupidity can be as silent as each other,’ said Tokin, straightening back up. ‘But you know which is which when you see them. I’m opening a new bar in the Kabuki-cho district and I need the right kind of girls for hostesses. More than just the kind of girl you’ll find wandering the fashionable streets in Tokyo with shopping lists for IQs. Do you understand what I’m getting at?’

  ‘I think so.’

  ‘Did your mother ever take you to see a Takarazuka Review?’

  Taro shook his head.

  ‘Oh, well,’ said Tokin. ‘A single mother is no doubt hard pressed to even attend a cinema let alone a live musical production. But it would have helped you understand my interest in these girls. Thousands of them audition every year for the forty spots at the Takarazuka Music School.’ He stood up. ‘The ones that make it might be the most beautiful and talented, but the ones they turn away aren’t all that bad, either. In the envelope you will receive from Waneta there will be a list of names and address
es. Girls living in the Osaka area. You’ll also find a description of the job I’m offering. I want you to bring back the girl you consider most willing and able.

  ‘Waneta would not necessarily find fault with this course of action, although there is one aspect that would most likely raise her ire.’ Tokin paused for emphasis. ‘Under no circumstances are you to return to Tokyo empty handed.’ His eyes solidified into an intimidating stare. ‘This is non-negotiable. And I would strongly discourage any sense of over-confidence or arrogance. The more tactful and alert you are from the start the better your chances will be. But do whatever it takes.’

  ‘What if I bring someone to Tokyo on the back of false promises?’

  Tokin smirked. ‘At last a question. And a respectable one at that. I wouldn’t concern myself with that issue, however. A lot of out-of-towners come to Tokyo with their bags packed full of misconceptions. Most of them successfully adapt to their new reality. If your chosen recruit cannot, you will simply take her back to Osaka and try again. There will be no obligations on anyone’s part. The list I am giving you has been carefully researched and compiled. We believe any one of those girls would be well suited to the position we have available. Let us worry about making the successful feel comfortable when she gets to Tokyo. We haven’t done such a bad job with you, have