Remote Control

by Kotaro Isaka

  Aoyagi burst out laughing. "That seems to be what everybody wants to know."

  T he door closed and the back of the truck went dark around him. When doors closed now, he had the helpless feeling they might never open again.

  THE INCIDENT

  Masaharu Aoyagi

  The engine turned over and the truck began to move, Aoyagi stumbled to the front of the cargo bay, right behind the driver's seat, and sat down. The engine thrummed in his ears like the heartbeat of a large animal; a beast now awake, breathing evenly—with him like a tasty morsel awaiting digestion in its bowels.

  He climbed into a box as Iwasaki had suggested but left the top open. As his eyes adjusted to the dark, he opened his pack. He wasn't particularly hungry, but then again he wasn't sure when he'd next have time to eat. Unwrapping one of the energc' bars, he began to chew it. He knew it was supposed to be sweet, but the wad in his mouth was flavorless, like damp cardboard—though still an improvement over Miura's spiked ramen. But there was no escaping the fact that he was sitting in a box in the back of a truck eating pseudofood.

  As he poked around in his pack, his hand closed on the portable game unit he had bought the day before—which seemed already like the distant past. He inserted the batteries, punched a few buttons, and a TV picture appeared on the screen. T he clerk had not exaggerated about the reception: even in the back of a moving truck, the picture was exceptionally clear. He fiddled with a knob to adjust the volume.

  T here, on the tiny screen, as he knew it would be, was his own face. Unable to watch, he flipped through the channels, but he seemed to be on all of them. He finally settled on some footage that apj)eared to be from a security camera in a store. Shot from behind the register, the scene showed the back of the clerk's head. "T his is clearly Masaharu Aoyagi purchasing the helicopter," an announcer intoned.

  The man across the counter trom the clerk looked u|), and lor an instant his eyes stared straight into the camera as though he knew it was there. I hen he k)oked away, but that instant was enough to be sure: it was Aoyagi's lace. "What the luck?" he muttered.

  1 ie had never been to the model shoj). Koume Inohara had bought the heli-coj)ter and even put it together lor him, so the scene on the (a|)c* had tiever

  REMOTE CONTROL

  happened. Still, there he was—in a still extracted from the footage now filling the screen—or someone who looked exactly like him. It was mind-boggling.

  But come to think of it, he had seen the owner of a tonkatsii shop swear that he'd finished off a big lunch just before the parade. He had even shown the reporter Aoyagi's credit card. "What the fuck?"

  Yesterday, before the parade, he had had lunch with Morita: burgers, not toiikatsii. He hadn't so much as walked past a toukatsii shop. But someone— him, yet not him—had been there. He hugged his knees hard to reassure himself that the person balled up here in this box was Masaharu Aoyagi. But who was the man on the TV?

  The truck stopped periodically, apparently at traffic lights; then it moved on again. Aoyagi's eyes were glued to the miniature screen. They were now showing a video, identified as something a viewer had sent in, of a little league game at a ball field near the river. By the time he realized they were focusing on a lone figure in the background flying a remote-controlled helicopter—and that the face was his own—he was past the point of being surprised. The face was his, but it wasn't him. He had practiced flying the thing once near the river, but only with a group of fliers, including Koume, who was helping him get started. He had never been there alone. What's more, he had never seen the clothes the Aoyagi in the video was wearing.

  A double. The implications began to churn in his head. Someone built like me, surgically altered to look like me. At first it seemed like a ridiculous idea; but how else to explain these pictures? And then there was something Rinka had told him a couple of years ago.

  "Everybody seems so sure I've had work done." They had been sitting in a hotel room playing a video game when Rinka had suddenly brought up the topic. "And that my boobs are fake," she added, giving them a friendly squeeze. Embarrassed, Aoyagi looked away.

  In the wake of the incident at her apartment, Aoyagi had been mobbed by the media and by new fans; Rinka, too, had received extra attention, and the encounter had left her shaken. So they had not seen each other again until six months later, when Aoyagi had received a call from her saying she wanted to thank him in person. Her manager showed up soon afterwards and took him to the hotel.

  THE INCIDENT

  Since she had included the manager in the arrangement, Aoyagi liad no expectations—no, no hope, he told himself, that they would end up in bed— but he certainly wasn't expecting the first words out of her mouth when the door to the room opened. "Do you play?" She nodded at a video game console. "Will you play with me?"

  Her manager had urged him to, saying how much fun it was for her.

  Rinka laughed. "Don't get him wrong. I'm not sure he even knows what 'it' means." Then, for the next hour, as they played a martial arts game, she told him how grateful she was for what he'd done—while repeatedly beating the crap out of him on the screen.

  "You're killing me!" she screamed at the rare moment she was doing badly.

  While they played, Rinka had grumbled about the hardships of a celebrity's life, and it was then that she mentioned plastic surgery.

  "1 haven't had any work done on my face, nothing at all. But they said something looked different in a photo, and then there were all these rumors that Td had my eyes done, or my nose. T hey can be so cruel."

  Unsure what to say to this or even where to let his eyes come to rest on such a famous face and body, Aoyagi glanced around the room. As he did so, Rinka's avatar scored another knockdown, and the real woman pumped her fist in the air and let out a whoop.

  "Can they really change you that much with surgery?" he'd asked, lie wasn't particularly interested in the topic but it was something to talk about.

  "They can," she said. "Completely ... or at least that's what I've heard. But they say even a little work can make a huge difference. Of course, you have to have the right doctor. Did you know that one of the most famous ones is right here in Sendai?" She glanced at her manager. The conversation aj)j)arently made him uneasy, but he nodded. "You remember that super-famous singer who showed up in japan recently?" she said, pronouncing the foreign name with a tltmrish. "Well, they say he came to get this doctor to make him S(jme body doubles." Her hand |)layed with the game controller.

  "Body doubles?" he echoed, teeling as il he'd wandered into a spy movie.

  "Apj)arently the jwparaz/i hatl been giving him such a hard time, he decided he needed some look-alikes as a tliversion."

  "Would they really lool anyone?"

  REMOTE CONTROL

  "If the bone structure is close, it's almost impossible to tell the difference. ... 1 mean, I've heard it is," she added, glancing again at her manager.

  "So we've heard," he said, bringing the topic to an end.

  Aoyagi studied the image on the tiny screen more closely. An assassination like this was the result of a plan too big and sinister for one little person down here on the ground to comprehend. So it was possible that a double had been created—anything was possible. But this much was certain: when a giant moves, someone below is bound to get crushed.

  But what could he do? How could you fight back? How could he get out of this mess and get back to his life? No matter how hard he thought about it, no plan presented itself.

  What did they do in the movies? There were lots of cases of people being framed for crimes they didn't commit, sympathetic heroes running from the police while trying to prove their innocence. He tried to remember how these other poor dupes had managed to make it to the Happy Ending. Catch the real culprit—that was it. Keep one step ahead of the police, discover the truth, expose the plot, prove his innocence. Then everybody could go home more or less satisfied.

  The real culprit? The giant had planned carefully, planted
witnesses, faked credit cards, created a body double and perhaps even false friends ... all to prove he was the guilty party. How was he going to find the real villain, much less bring him to justice, as the formula required? For that matter, was there a "real" villain in a plot this big and intricate? Had there been a "real" assassin in the Kennedy case? If it wasn't Oswald, then who was it? Someone had pulled the trigger, but was he the real killer? Or was there a figure behind him, pulling the strings?

  What if, by some wild chance, Oswald had managed to survive long enough to stand in front of the cameras and shout that it was someone else, somebody lurking in the shadows? Would anyone have believed him? It seemed unlikely. It wasn't until decades later that other explanations began to seem credible—but even these were only speculation. Even now we don't know the full truth.

  So what could Oswald have done? What could he himself do now? He tapped his feet on the floor, unable to keep still. Iwasaki would help him get out

  THE INCIDENT

  of Sendai, but then what? Closing his eyes, he hugged his knees and hummed. "Sleep pretty darling, do iwt ciy." Morita's tune, the last time he'd seen him.

  Masaharu Aoyagi

  The truck veered left and stopped. At first he assumed it was just a traffic light, but this time they sat there until he realized something was different.

  He switched off the game unit and slipped it back in his pack. Something was about to happen, but he didn't know whether that meant he should crouch down deeper in his box or get out and get ready to run.

  Had they been pulled over for a search? Was Iwasaki still in front? Worst-case scenarios ran through his head as he shifted around to listen for sounds from the cab. If the police were questioning Iwasaki, he might be able to catch a bit of it. It suddenly occurred to him that the truck might already be parked at a police station somewhere and surrounded by men with guns. But he reminded himself of Morita's motto: trust and habit.

  A moment later, when the door at the back began to rattle, he instinctively put his hands together and bowed his head, like a boy praying in church—though he had no idea whom to pray to. He |)rayed the only prayer he had ever prayed—the one that came to mind as his father was beating up the man on the platform—for it all to end soon.

  But maybe this stoj) meant no more than the earlier ones. Maybe Iwasaki would appear any second now and a|)ologize for the delay. Maybe he had one package he abs(jlutely had to deliver. The door rattled again and then fiew open. Aoyagi's stoiiiach lurched.

  Light poured in from outside, and he strained to keep his eyes from squinting shut. He was j)rej)ared tor a phalanx ol policemen silhouetted in the door, but it was just Iwasaki who jumped in with him. The worried look (jn his face made it clear that something had happened.

  "You know how much I like rock?" he said. "One guitar chord and everything wrong in the world seems to come right. No complicated message—it is what it is." Aoyagi stared uj) at him. "So I'll give this to yon straight, like rock,

  REMOTE CONTROL

  without beating around the husli." He stopped for a moment and smoothed back his hair. "There's been a change of plans. We're headed for the subway station at Yaotome. Tlie police are coming and I'm going to hand you over there."

  He didn't even feel as though he'd been betrayed; Iwasaki must have his reasons.

  "1 had a call just now," he said. "Who do you think it was?"

  Glancing down at his pack, Aoyagi muttered "The police?" though it wasn't really a question.

  Iwasaki shrugged. "That guy back at the cafe must have called the company, told them there was something funny about the pickup. Not hard to figure out—it's his building, no other tenants."

  "Clever guy," said Aoyagi.

  "Despite appearances."

  "So then the company would have called the police."

  "And the police called me. Asked if I knew the penalty for 'harboring a criminal.'"

  "Tm not a criminal."

  "I believe you, but somehow they'd found out about a little secret I've been keeping, and they are basically blackmailing me. You see. I've been doing some business on the side, moonlighting. On days off, I make deliveries for especially good customers on my own, charge them a lower rate, and everyone makes out—except the company. The guy on the phone said they knew all about it, and they would tell the company if I didn't cooperate. Feels like a fucking grade school tattletale, except they'll get me fired right when my daughter's starting all those expensive girlie lessons. I hate to put it this way, but it looks like I'm selling you out—I had no choice."

  "I don't blame you," Aoyagi said. "Just make sure you get a decent price."

  "I'm sorry," said Iwasaki.

  "It's okay. I don't think I could stand making things any worse for you than I already have."

  "I told them I'd turn you over in front of the subway station up ahead."

  "And you stopped here to ask how I felt about it?"

  "Something like that. To see how the lamb looks going to the slaughter, 1 guess." He paused for a moment. "Or not," he added.

  "What do you mean?"

  THE INCIDENT

  ''Why should I do what those assholes tell me?" he snorted.

  Aoyagi reminded him how dangerous it would be to do otherwise.

  "Save it," said Iwasaki, smiling and scratching his ear. "1 know 1 don't look like the type, but 1 cried my eyes out when 1 saw Schindler's List. I figure there are two kinds of people in the world: the ones who play it safe and the ones who'll take a risk to help a friend. 1 guess 1 decided which kind 1 want to be."

  "But what can you do now?" Aoyagi asked.

  "Well, for starters I'll do just what they told me to do. I'll take you to the subway station. 1 hope you don't mind, but I'll tell them this was all your fault, that you forced me into it. That should let me cover my ass." Then he went on to explain his plan. It was very simple—true to form for Rock Iwasaki, but Aoyagi realized it was his only chance of getting away without implicating his friend. When he finished, Iwasaki clapped twice. "Let's do it," he said, heading toward the back door of the truck. "Showtime!"

  "How do I thank you?" said Aoyagi.

  "Just get your part right." As he was closing the door, he called back one more time. "You know, a few rounds with the cops isn't half as scary as tangling with my wife."

  Masaharu Aoyagi

  Even inside the box locked away in the back, Aoyagi could follow their route in his head as though he were driving the truck. So he knew when they arrived at Yaotome Station. There was no time to think about what was going to happen, but he realized he wasn't particularly nervous. As he looked back at the cargo door, the boxes seemed to be holding their breath in the dim light, waiting with him for whatever the world outside had in st(jre. It occurred tf) him that a man who thought ol cardboard boxes as his friends was losing his grip, but at that moment the rloor begiUi to rattle. Someone pulled on the lever and released the lock; he could heiir voices outside, shouting. "Stoj)! Stay there!"

  Sunlight Hooded the back ol the truck, and Iwasaki's voice rose above the

  REMOTE CONTROL

  others. ''Relax/' he called. "1 can handle this." With a grunt, he leapt into the back of the truck.

  "Get down!" somebody yelled from behind. "Get away from there!"

  "Don't get all excited. 1 know him, 1 trained him. He'll listen to me," Iwa-saki called over his shoulder as he came toward Aoyagi. He had foreseen exactly this moment when he explained his plaii: "As soon as 1 get the door open. I'll come in to bring you out. They'll try to stop me, but I'll get the jump on them. Even the most badass cop isn't going to shoot me in the back when Tm trying to help them catch you." He marched through the boxes with his arms out wide—to block their line of sight, Aoyagi realized. Still crouching in his box, he slowly shifted his pack to his shoulder. Then he slid a butterfly knife from his hip pocket—the one that Iwasaki had given him just a moment ago. "1 keep it in the dashboard. Comes in handy sometimes. When I get close, you jump up and
hold it to my neck. Then slide around behind me and take me hostage." The choreography had been exact. "No, scratch that. It'll look staged if you just grab me without a fight. You'd better hit me or knock me down or something first."

  "Hit you?"

  "Or something. It'll be more convincing that way."

  So Aoyagi followed instructions. When Iwasaki approached, he jumped up and grabbed him. Then he lashed out with his leg in a sweeping circle— the judo move again. As Iwasaki pitched forward, Aoyagi could see Kazu, all those years ago, falling in identical fashion with Morita poised above him.

  More angry shouts outside the truck. "Aoyagi!" someone called. He glanced at Iwasaki lying at his feet, and then looked up to find he was staring down the barrels of a lot of guns. "If you knock me over, you've got to pull me up right away and use me as a shield. Wait around and they'll shoot you right there." He remembered Iwasaki's instructions.

  Bending over, he grabbed Iwasaki, pulled him to his feet, and pressed the blade of the knife to his neck. Iwasaki slowly raised his hands, assuming the pose of a proper hostage. "Aoyagi! No!" he shouted.

  Iwasaki had originally proposed that they stop short of the station; Aoyagi could then tie him up and get away. But they both knew the police were unlikely to buy this. So they had decided that Aoyagi would have to take him hostage right in front of their eyes.

  THE INCIDENT

  Hiding behind his friend as best he could, he moved slowly toward the door of the truck. When he could see outside, he realized there were at least a dozen men—with more on the wav, no doubt. Sirens wailed in the distance. A line of police cars had pulled up at the bus stop to the right. The sight of all those guns made his heart pound, his head swim. For a second he thought he might fall hack into the boxes.

  "Don't shoot!" Iwasaki screamed. "He's got a knife!" As they hopped down from the truck, the men drew back.