by Nick Hurst
I climbed in reluctantly and he closed the lid with a thud. I was immediately cocooned in silence broken only by the beating of my heart. Then, the sound of the engine drowned it out and the car started to move. I tried to manoeuvre into a less uncomfortable position but the angle suddenly elevated, rolling me backwards in the dark. Just as abruptly, we flattened out and then came to a stop. I heard a muffled Sumida speak – I presumed to a guard – and we started to move again. Shortly after that something changed, either in the vibrations or the sound, maybe both, and I realised we were no longer inside. Within moments there were new sounds, people shouting and thumps on the side of the car. Then we accelerated and the noise died away.
The last time I’d been in a boot was when I was a teenager and there were too many of us to fit in the seats of our group’s only car. I’d lost at paper, scissors, stone. I hadn’t been too happy about it at the time, and even less so when I found out later the exhaust had a leak and was slowly releasing fumes. But I’d lived. The air was fresher in Sumida’s, but I felt my chances of survival weren’t nearly as good.
As we drove on my sense of foreboding grew worse. Sumida’s reasoning had been plausible, but there’s something about being stuck in the pitch-black boot of a yakuza’s car that gives rise to doubt. And if I’d been ready to accept an end to things a week or so earlier, I wasn’t any more. The situation had changed. Whatever happened in the AGM had sent shockwaves coursing through the affair. I hoped they might shake Tomoe loose. That alone was worth fighting for.
I felt around me. Sumida was a practical guy – there had to be some kind of tool should he break down. Perhaps a wrench, or anything else that was metal or hard. There was nothing. The boot was pristine. There weren’t even any crumbs or bits of dirt on the floor.
I felt the car slow and pull to the left. If this was the time of reckoning I needed a plan quick. A random image flashed before me – Mr Chow from The Hangover. It wasn’t a thought I wanted to be my last and I wasn’t planning to strip. But I was equally sure I wouldn’t go down without a fight.
The car eased to a standstill and I heard the driver’s door open and thud shut. I shifted around and moved onto my back, curling up so I could plant my feet on the floor. Facing the opening, I coiled my body as much as the limited space would allow.
I heard him press the button to release the lock and light streamed in from a crack. He started to raise the lid and the crack grew into an opening through which I saw a strip of blue sky. Then the opening widened to reveal Sumida, his arm raised, his body open to attack.
That’s when I leapt.
I sprang at him ripping at his eyes and throat, ready to take advantage of his surprise and pound him into the floor. Then I’d take the keys, start the car and make my latest great escape.
In reality I leapt straight into the registration plate overhang. It smacked a lump into an as yet unblemished part of my head and sent me crashing back into the boot.
Sumida had flinched and staggered backwards when I jumped up. Now he’d regained his balance he fell about in gales of laughter that almost succeeded in putting him to ground where my attack had failed. I’d never seen him so animated but I wasn’t in a position to admire his emotional liberation. I was flat on my back again, trying to stem the flow of blood gushing from my head.
‘I told you I’m not going to hurt you, you silly fuck,’ he said when he stopped laughing long enough to speak. ‘Look what you’ve done to yourself.’
I looked at him through the blood and my fingers and swore at the boot lid.
‘Come on – get out,’ he said, more serious now. ‘You’re going to get blood all over my car.’
He helped me out and I looked around. We were in a non-descript car park off a side street. There was no one to be seen. He grabbed a cloth from inside the front and gave it to me so I could clean up my head. When I’d done the best I could he let me in the passenger side, opening and closing the door so I wouldn’t mark it with blood.
‘Here, use these,’ He threw me a pack of wet wipes. ‘I thought I’d let you sit in comfort now we’re out of the way. If I’d known you were going to attack me I would have left you where you were.’
‘Thanks. And sorry,’ I said, cleaning myself enough that I only needed to hold the cloth to my head to stop any more blood. ‘So what happens now?’
He gave a nod of satisfaction. ‘Now the feinting and faking stops. Whatever this is, now’s the time the endgame begins.’
The endgame. We sat in silence contemplating it. For him it meant danger, but also excitement and opportunities to learn and gain. I approached it partly in hope but with an equal amount of dread. I held tightly to the thought it would bring back Tomoe but doubts and worries darted in from the corners of my mind. Nothing had come without cost in the last month. What horrors would the endgame bring?
TWO
‘Throw some stuff in a bag and tie up any loose ends. I’ll be back in half an hour.’
‘What?’
‘There’s too much heat on you,’ said Sumida. ‘You need to stay somewhere safe.’
‘My flat’s not safe?’
‘Not any more. Get your stuff – I’ll be back soon.’ He drove off.
Fucking great. My only place of respite was being taken away from me too.
I made my way up and down the small stairway bridge that separated the end of the alley from my block of flats. I went through the entrance of the building and hauled myself up the stairs to my front door. I wondered where I’d be going next. I opened the door, took off my shoes and started to take off my jacket. I didn’t do anything else because at that point everything went black.
I came to, face down on my sofa, my legs hanging over the end, my face in a puddle of drool. I started to lift my head but gave up when I felt a hammering pain.
‘What the—?’
I put my hand to the back of my head to find a huge bump oozing blood. That brought it up with a start. The last time something like this happened, I’d found myself facing two yakuza and lost a finger soon after that. But the room was empty. I groaned, wheeled my legs around and heaved myself up. I looked around the room to check again. Apart from the back of my head, there was nothing to suggest anyone had been there at all.
‘What the fuck?’
I was in no way happy with the amount of times I’d been hit in the last month but at least with the rest of them there’d been a point. Who the hell knocks someone out in their own flat and then leaves without doing anything else?
I put my hand to my face. It was slathered in dribble. I forced myself up from the sofa and went to the bathroom off the short hallway at the entrance to the flat. I stopped outside it to steady myself on the handle when I started to sway. They’d have to start using my head on marksman sights – as far as I could make out it was impossible to miss.
I opened the door.
And that’s when I realised my recent journey had seen me floating in paradise. Only now would I know what it was like to be dragged through hell.
I dropped to my knees, my efforts to steady myself nullified by the sight. I didn’t even notice when one of them cracked against the small step, even though it would bother me for another week. It was as though all the feelings and senses had been ripped from me, leaving just the shell of my body behind. A body that was numb and unresponsive. A body almost as lifeless as the one curled in the small space of floor under the basin, between the toilet and bath.
Then the pain hit. It may have started at my knee but I only felt it when it had coursed through my body and taken hold in my heart. From there it rose through my chest seeking escape, clawing its way up my throat. But even though my throat contracted and my head rolled back, and even though my mouth opened and my lips drew wide, no sound came out with the silent scream and the pain remained within.
I looked back at the body, forced by the small space into the foetal position in which it had entered life. A body that had once been a person. A person who had liv
ed a gamut of emotions and had an energy force of their own. An ex-person, who was now just an object under my sink, its previous fluidity mocked by the rigid tangle of limbs it had become.
I was transfixed by it and my paralysis forced me to drink in the full horror of the sight. The white of the body’s rubber skin was broken by a shadow of pubic triangle, just visible from the way it was curled. A brown nipple protruded from a breast pressed unnaturally against the floor. And a deep red welt ran around the neck of what would once have been an exceptionally attractive girl. Except now her face was propped forward on its chin, facing me, her death mask holding me with its eternal stare.
I couldn’t look away, even though I wanted to more than anything I’ve ever wanted in my life. But it was impossible to break from her haunting gaze. For as difficult as it was to reconcile the lifeless body with a vibrant, living person, I had no choice.
I’d been looking for the person the body belonged to.
I’d known her.
I’d loved her.
It was Tomoe.
THREE
I retched violently. It broke the spell that had me bound to the floor and rocked me into the wall behind. I swallowed back the sick that rose up. I retched again and jumped for the front door. I couldn’t lean over Tomoe to throw up in the toilet.
Mine was the last apartment on the corridor with only the caretaker’s utility room beyond. I burst into that, grabbed a bucket and emptied my guts. Or at least I thought I did. After a pause I threw up again. And then once more. I fell back from my crouch, my head bumping closed the press lock in the centre of the door handle as I did.
I couldn’t believe it. It couldn’t be Tomoe. She had too much life for her to be dead. I closed my eyes. I must have been mistaken. There couldn’t be a dead body in my bathroom. And even if there was it couldn’t be Tomoe’s.
But I knew there could and it was. The sweetest, most beautiful girl I’d ever met was lying cold on my bathroom floor. Never again to brighten my soul with the sparkle in her eyes, never again to melt my heart with the tender warmth of her love.
I knew I had to go back into my apartment, to face her, to see her one final time. I had to go back to make sure she was treated with the respect she deserved before she physically departed the world.
The door rattled behind me and I jumped.
‘It’s locked. We can check in with the caretaker when he gets here.’
That wouldn’t be for another week – he was on leave.
‘No sign of the suspect,’ said another voice from the direction of my apartment. ‘The body’s here though.’
The police? How could they have known there was a body in my flat? I’d only found out a few minutes before. And what would they know about a suspect?
No answers came, but before long more people arrived. Radios crackled and official voices spoke in their own languages and codes – policemen, forensics and doctors. I was stuck in a small, dark, windowless room with the acrid smell of my sick; unable to move, unable to leave, able only to think about the dead body of my girlfriend on the other side of the wall.
‘OK, if it’s all taped up you might as well come down and keep an eye on the building from downstairs.’
The radio clicked off and I heard the policeman make his way down the corridor to the stairs. I looked at my watch. It was nearly six. I had no idea what had happened in the last few hours – it was like my mind had shut itself down. Now it had started up again I needed to pull myself together and work out what I was going to do.
It was easier said than done – my mind was pinballing in every direction. I closed my eyes and went to the most crucial question first.
Who would have done this?
It had to be the Ginzo-kai, with Onishi orchestrating. It made sense – they’d got themselves rid of a snooper and were having her shadow take the fall. I wouldn’t be free to do any meddling for decades, and that was only if I escaped being put to death.
But something didn’t feel right. How had they found me so quickly and reacted so fast? How could they have known where I was and when I’d be there?
‘Throw your stuff in a bag – I’ll be back in half an hour.’
The words came back to me. But you hadn’t needed to return, had you, Sumida? Whoever it was – probably Kurotaki – was already here. They’d been playing me all along. The coldness, the callousness. Sumida had just been joking with me. Takata had endlessly sung Tomoe’s praises. How can you go from one thing to another with such little regard?
I stood up quickly to prevent my mind returning to the ‘if onlys’ that might have saved Tomoe’s life or the images of what I’d seen a few hours before. I needed to focus.
I had two tasks. The first was to get the out of the building and find somewhere the country’s two largest yakuza and its police force couldn’t track me down. It wouldn’t be easy but it was probably the simpler of the two. Because something had changed when I saw Tomoe’s body. I had no idea how I was going to do it and the chances were it would be beyond me anyhow. But I couldn’t hope for survival as the best outcome any more. It was no longer enough. I had to find out who killed Tomoe. Then I’d either get revenge or I’d go to hell trying.
*
I opened the door of the caretaker’s utility room the tiniest crack and peered down the corridor. It was empty. I opened it wider, put my head out and took a lungful of untainted air. All was quiet. I stepped out and tiptoed to my apartment next door. I looked at it and then regarded my feet.
My front door was taped up thoroughly. It might have been possible to open but it would have been a noisy and time-consuming task. I was wanted for murder. I needed to get out of there quickly and quietly and minimise any risks. The only reason I was contemplating one was because of my feet. They were bare but for a pair of broad-striped socks that were acceptable from a sartorial perspective but not suitable for outdoor escapes.
I broke from my hesitation and walked quickly on – it was better to be free in socks than imprisoned in shoes. I made my way past the stairwell, turned left at the end of the corridor and descended the other set of stairs. These led to the front door via an identical corridor to the one on my floor. I imagined the police had scoped the place and were aware of that. What I was hoping they didn’t know was if you climbed over the small side-wall at the foot of the stairs, you could edge between my block of flats and the next building to reach a road on the other side. At least I hoped you could. I’d seen the gap before but it was extremely narrow and not part of a normal route.
I burst out the other side gasping for breath and quickly dusted myself down. When I felt I looked relatively normal again I made my way back to the bridge, all the while keeping an eye out for the police. There weren’t any. It made sense. If I’d escaped the building as they must have believed, the chances weren’t high I’d come back.
I made my way to Sakae Dōri. It was bustling now but I cut straight off it on the other side, weaving through alleys to the main road. I knew there was a chemist with bathroom flip flops on display outside.
I’d have preferred a pair of trainers, but once I’d darted into the lanes on the other side of the road I felt better for having something on my feet. I was out of the immediate danger zone. But if the beating of my heart was anything to go by, I had a way to go before I was safe.
I wanted to get out of Tokyo but I thought the police would be watching nearby train stations so it made sense to give them a wide berth. A taxi would have been a welcome alternative, but if there was a bulletin out on me, my blood, bumps and bruises meant I wouldn’t be difficult to spot.
If I couldn’t travel I needed to get out of sight and it would have to be somewhere close. The question was where?
I swiped the card key and opened the door. It was as seedy and trashy as I remembered, just ten years more rundown, its air thick with the memories of past occupants’ smoke.
I’d stayed after a night out soon after I first came to Japan. I was living in Chiba
then, around to the east and down from Tokyo Bay. Once you’d missed the last train, the only thing to do was drink through it and not think about the hangover that would hit you when you woke with a start, having overshot your station on the first morning train.
Or you could pull and go to a love hotel. Which is exactly what I’d done. We’d been at a drum ‘n’ bass night at The Liquid Rooms in Kabukichō. Once we’d fumbled our way out and into a taxi, she’d told the driver to head to Shin Ōkubo before we locked in an alcohol-fuelled embrace. Quite why we’d gone there I didn’t know – I later found out the whole of north Kabukichō was wall-to-wall with love hotels – but for some reason she’d wanted this place. The passion hadn’t outlasted our sore heads in the morning. But it had been a memorable enough night for me to have retained something of it in my mind.
It was the kind of love hotel that had little to do with romance. Some cater to couples having a special night out, others to youngsters enjoying the bells and whistles of themed establishments.. This was aimed at the illicit. There was no receptionist or any visible staff – everything was done at a vending machine once you’d gone down the steps and behind the screen discreetly covering the front. It was ideal for a man cheating on his wife. It was equally well suited to someone wanted for murder by the police and wanted for murder by Tokyo’s gangs.
I took off my no-longer-best clothes and went into the bathroom, hoping to clean off some of the events of the day. Afterwards I towelled myself dry, numbly revelling in my cleanness and the welcome change the smell of soap and shampoo made to sick. I hugged a bathrobe around me and climbed onto the bed.
I longed for sleep so I could escape the horrors that confronted me when awake. But my mind was a mess. While I’d been in danger, it had focused on escape. Now I’d found safety, it forced images of Tomoe at me, images I wished I’d never seen, ones I wished I could banish forever from my brain. As though without them I’d have forgotten the events of the day and my failure to keep my beautiful girlfriend alive.