Last Stop Tokyo

by James Buckler

  ‘I’d do it for you,’ Patrick pleaded. ‘You know I would.’

  They waited in the kitchen, Patrick looking weary with anticipation, checking out of the window each time he heard a car pass by. It had started with prescription pills. Just a few Valium to help smooth out the pressures on the ward, the long night shifts and jet-lagged days. The endless procession of sickness and death. Soon the pills grew stronger and the doses higher, until he discovered pethidine. Then everything began to go very wrong. He had always been the responsible older brother, free from parental scrutiny when they were growing up because of his age and academic achievements. The education their parents had provided hadn’t included the survival instincts required to avoid his current predicament. Alex knew how devastating it would be for them to see their elder son so broken down. But then he also knew they weren’t entirely blameless either. Even as a child, Patrick had borne the weight of the family’s ambitions. It was always obvious that him becoming a doctor had been their parents’ wish. They had pushed him into medicine as a way to show that their prejudices had always been correct. But Patrick had never been cut out for it. It had seeped into him over the years by a slow osmosis, like water eroding stone. At least it had made the family happy. It certainly hadn’t done any good for him.

  When the buzzer sounded, Patrick hurried to the entryphone and clicked the front door open and waited. He tried to act composed but couldn’t contain his excitement. The unhurried pace of the feet creaking on the wooden staircase seemed excruciating.

  He came into the flat as if it belonged to him. It wasn’t far from the truth, Alex thought. He had probably taken enough of Patrick’s money in the last year to put a down payment on the place. He wore a heavy puffa jacket buttoned under his chin and white trainers fresh from the box. He looked young and healthy, as if he had never had any inclination to sample the product he sold. He stopped when he saw Alex and flashed him a dark look.

  ‘Who the fuck is this?’ he asked Patrick.

  ‘No one you need to worry about.’

  ‘You didn’t tell me you had company when you called.’

  ‘He’s my accountant,’ Patrick said. ‘I’m putting him in charge of all of my future transactions.’

  ‘Very funny. Where’s the cash?’

  Alex stepped forward and reached into his coat pocket. ‘That’s fifty pounds,’ he said, fanning out the notes before him. ‘How much does that buy?’

  ‘It’s in twenty-pound bags.’

  ‘So we’ll take three,’ Alex said.

  ‘Not much of an accountant, are you?’

  ‘Surely there’s a discount for weight?’

  He shook his head. ‘Three bags is a long way from weight.’

  Alex nodded towards his brother. ‘Come on. Look at him. He must have paid all your bills for the last year.’

  ‘It’s twenty pounds a bag,’ he said, taking his time to enunciate clearly.

  Alex took out his wallet and added a ten-pound note to the money in his hand.

  ‘There’s no more after this. Do you understand? I want you to stop selling to my brother. If he calls you, ignore him. Or I will become someone you will need to worry about.’

  He looked Alex up and down for a moment, sizing him up to decide if there was any disrespect he needed to challenge. He could see Alex was serious but not threatening. He took the money and handed over three small bags of powder.

  ‘Fine,’ he said. ‘He’s your problem now.’

  When he was gone, Patrick settled back into his chair. It seemed to take a long time. His eyes were fixed on Alex’s hand.

  ‘Here’s what we’re going to do,’ Alex said. ‘I’ll give you enough to straighten you out for now but I’m keeping the rest with me. And you’re going to hand over the needles and other paraphernalia. That way, you can only get more when I think you need it. When you’re done, we’ll go over and see the family for an hour or two. We’ll tell them you’ve been finding a cure for cancer or something. Then I’m taking you home with me so I can keep an eye on you until we can find someplace where you can get some help. No arguments.’

  Patrick nodded eagerly, barely listening. ‘Okay. Whatever you want.’

  Alex tapped out a fraction of the powder from one bag on to a scrap of paper. He folded the paper and handed it to Patrick and bundled the bags inside the pocket of his overcoat. He waited as his brother went into the bathroom and locked the door. He had no desire to see how a doctor administered his own dosage.

  The roads were deserted as they drove past the common, the lane markings obscured by a blanket of snow. Alex followed the deep tyre tracks leading down the long hill back to his parents’ house. They would be squeezed in together in the small living room now, he thought, watching a black and white film or arguing over a board game.

  ‘I’m sorry about this,’ Patrick said. ‘I wasn’t sure if I could get to the New Year without killing myself.’

  He was wrapped up in his coat and scarf, even though the heater was turned up. He had lost his sickly pall and his eyes had regained some vitality.

  ‘I don’t want your apologies,’ Alex said. ‘I’m never doing this again. I won’t help you kill yourself in small steps just to stop you doing it in one go. This has to be the end, Patrick. You have to get help now.’

  ‘I know. I wish I never got started. Seven years of medical school should have taught me something.’

  ‘As soon as we find a place for you at rehab, you’re going. Just like we agreed.’

  Patrick held up his hands, as if in mock-surrender. ‘I’ll go. I’ll go.’

  There was something insincere in his tone that was jarring. ‘You promised me,’ Alex said. ‘That’s the only reason I helped you.’

  ‘It’s not that simple. I’m a doctor, Alex. I’ll get struck off.’

  ‘That doesn’t matter. I want you as a live brother, not a dead doctor.’

  Patrick turned in the passenger seat to face Alex. ‘But what about Mum and Dad? It’ll kill them if they find out. It’s funny. Everyone would have predicted it would be you in my place. Maybe that’s why they were so hard on you. Trying to save you from a fate they always assumed I was never in any danger from.’

  ‘I need you to promise me you’ll end this.’

  ‘I want to,’ Patrick said, smiling slowly to himself. ‘I’m just not sure I can any more.’

  Alex watched him, his arms clutched to his chest and his nose running. ‘If you don’t promise me now,’ he said, ‘I’m stopping the car and …’

  He noticed Patrick’s expression harden as something caught his eye. An incredible noise. The side of the Audi caved inwards on impact as the tow truck hit it at a right angle, the chassis folding in on itself like a hinge closing. Metal screeched against metal and the windows shattered into thousands of tiny granules that sprayed over the interior. The air seemed to disappear, sucked from lungs into a vacuum like a light bulb imploding. The crushing force of the air bags deploying. Rolling. Snow. Blood and darkness. Silence.

  9

  THE KIMURA GALLERY was lit up by floodlights that cast a glow across the square. The façade was white marble, with plate-glass windows either side of a set of brass-framed double doors. The entrance was covered by a striped awning that extended out to the kerb with a uniformed doorman welcoming guests. Alex walked up to the main window and cupped a hand against the glass. Inside, immaculately groomed people stood talking in groups while silent waitresses moved among them with trays of drinks and canapés. Alex scanned the room from face to face until he found Naoko.

  She was standing in one corner beneath an oversized action painting, a group of men in evening wear gathered around her. She was wearing an antique lace dress with a chrysanthemum pattern, her hair curled and lying across her shoulders. She looked serious and intent as she listened to the older man who was addressing the group, his hands gesticulating as he talked. She was holding a glass of champagne, clutching it close to her chest like a shield. When the older man fin
ished his speech, the group began to laugh enthusiastically. Naoko remained still, with her legs crossed elegantly beneath her, her body taut, as if poised to move. She seemed smaller somehow, her usual presence reduced, as if diminished by her surroundings.

  Alex approached the doorman standing behind the velvet rope in the entranceway. He held out a hand for Alex’s invitation.

  ‘I don’t have one,’ Alex said.

  He shook his head. ‘Then you can’t come in. This is a private event, for invited guests only.’

  ‘I’m here to see Naoko Yamamoto. She works here. I can see her inside.’

  The doorman stood his ground. He kept the velvet cordon in place and politely moved Alex aside to allow the next set of guests to enter. Alex was trying to think of an alternative when he felt a tap on his shoulder and turned around. It was Megumi.

  She gave him a quizzical stare. ‘I thought you weren’t coming?’ she said.

  ‘I wasn’t going to, but then I changed my mind. I just want to see Naoko.’

  Megumi raised an eyebrow sceptically. ‘She doesn’t know you’re here, does she?’

  ‘Please, Megumi,’ he said, trying not to sound desperate. ‘I just want to talk to her for a few minutes. That’s all.’

  ‘She’s working, Alex. If you do anything to upset her, it will be bad for me.’

  ‘I came all this way because I have something important to tell her. It will only take a few minutes, then I’ll go.’

  Megumi thought it over for a moment. ‘Just don’t tell her it was me,’ she said.

  The gallery was decorated with vases of bougainvillea and white lilies. The guests stood before the artwork, talking in hushed tones and milling from group to group. There was a high mezzanine above the main gallery, where soft white spotlights shone down, carefully picking out the smaller pieces and casting out shadows from the corners.

  Alex looked for Naoko in the crowd. He could see the group she had been standing with but she was no longer there. He peered around the room but she had disappeared among the strange faces. As he searched, he felt a moment of indecision as his recklessness started to desert him. He suddenly wished he hadn’t come. The air conditioning chilled his skin as his resolve drained away. He turned to leave.

  He saw her across the room, standing beside a plinth bearing a crystal-encrusted maneki-neko. She was lifting a champagne glass to her lips as a Japanese man touched a hand to her hair and drew his fingers gently down and rested them on her shoulder. She smiled softly at him as he talked.

  Alex approached without thinking.

  She saw him as he pushed his way through the gathering. Her eyes widened at the realization of his presence and her face seemed to show a thousand different emotions. She shrugged the man’s hand away quickly.

  ‘Alex,’ she said without surprise. ‘How nice to see you.’

  The man inched away and surrendered his space. Alex ignored him.

  ‘I need to speak to you.’

  ‘Can’t it wait …?’

  ‘I only want five minutes of your time. But I can see why you don’t want me here.’

  Naoko was struggling to keep her professional demeanour. She glanced quickly to her side. ‘This is Masakazu Sato,’ she said. ‘He’s one of the artists exhibiting tonight. Masakazu, this is Alex Malloy. Alex is my English teacher.’

  Masakazu’s eyes darted around inquisitively. He could sense the charged atmosphere and seemed intrigued. He extended a hand and Alex took it automatically, Naoko’s denial of him stinging to the core.

  ‘What do you think of the show?’ Masakazu asked.

  The change in subject left Alex flustered. ‘I … I haven’t seen anything yet,’ he said. ‘I’ve only just arrived.’

  ‘And you haven’t even got a drink. Please, allow me.’

  Masakazu disappeared into the next room, where a bar had been set up on a table draped with heavy white linen. Naoko’s calm was replaced with quiet fury now they were alone.

  ‘What the fuck are you doing?’ she said. ‘Are you high?’

  She was struggling to contain her emotions and the strength of her words. People standing close by glanced towards them curiously.

  ‘What was he doing with his hands on you?’

  Naoko shook her head in pity. ‘He doesn’t like girls, Alex.’

  All of his certainty had vanished and he felt washed up and stranded. He wanted to tell her about Hiro, that what he had told her was all wrong. He wanted to say that he was sorry, that this was a mistake, but his pride blocked any chance of an apology. He couldn’t back down now.

  He looked at her defiantly. ‘You say I never tell you anything – well, here I am.’

  Naoko was incredulous. ‘Now?’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Does it look like I have time to talk?’

  ‘You had time to throw accusations at me the last time I saw you.’

  ‘Don’t mess this up for me, Alex.’

  ‘Fine,’ he said. ‘I’m leaving.’

  Naoko held his arm as he turned to walk away. ‘You can’t go now,’ she said through gritted teeth. ‘It will look like there was a problem and that will only make it worse.’

  Masakazu was returning, his face lit up as if he had finally found something to amuse himself with. Megumi was walking beside him. Naoko gave a false laugh as they appeared.

  He handed Alex a glass of champagne. ‘I know Naoko is very captivating,’ Masakazu said, ‘but I hope you’ll find a moment to look at some of the beautiful work in this amazing show. She’s spent months organizing it.’

  ‘I’d love to,’ Alex said. ‘It looks very interesting, although I have to admit I’m no expert.’

  ‘You’ll have to see Masakazu’s new installation upstairs,’ Naoko interrupted. She gestured towards her assistant. ‘Megumi will take you. I think you’ll be very moved by it. Come back and find us when it’s over.’

  Megumi led him up a spiral staircase and through a blackout curtain into a darkened room. There was a Super 8 projector playing from the back of the room and Alex could see the silhouettes of heads picked out in the darkness. The sound of taiko drums echoed from the speakers.

  The screen showed a static camera shot of a teenage girl in a cheap hotel room, the film scratched and grainy. The girl had short dark hair and dry lips and her eyes were glassy and pinned. She was wearing a cut-off T-shirt and denim shorts. The furniture in the room looked worn and dirty and frayed curtains were pulled across the window, the daylight bright around its edges. There were several middle-aged Japanese men standing around, wearing cheap shirts and nylon slacks, some holding video cameras and others taking notes. The girl moved towards the camera and unbuttoned her shorts and stepped out of them and pulled the T-shirt over her head. She stood naked, listening to some inaudible off-screen instructions before she bent down and the camera followed her. On the greasy hotel carpet there was a kind of plastic garment bag with a hose attached. The girl wiped the hair from her eyes and stepped into the opening and crouched as the bag was pulled over her head and the zipper fastened. The air began to drain from the bag as it was pumped out through the hose, the plastic beginning to pucker around her frame. She remained crouched as it sealed tightly, the plastic forming over the contours of her body. The men in the room stood over her and she looked up at them through the frosted material as the hose was removed. The camera adjusted as she sucked the plastic over her mouth and looked down the barrel of the lens.

  Alex looked at Megumi in the darkness. He cleared his throat to speak but failed to find any words.

  Megumi glanced up at him and squeezed his arm protectively.

  The girl didn’t struggle. She just blinked rapidly as she stared out in close-up from the screen.

  Everyone in the gallery stood, watching silently. Someone walked in front of the camera and it refocused, picking out the cigarette burns on the hotel carpet. Alex felt Megumi’s fingers tighten around his arm. The taiko drums beat on.

  The thick plasti
c had soon stopped moving over the girl’s mouth. Small beads of moisture had formed on the inside of the bag as her breath condensed. Her eyes began to roll slowly back into her head.

  No one in the hotel room moved. The feet surrounding the girl’s cocooned body remained still. The sound of the film reeling through the projector rattled away, counting out the time in a sinister rhythm. Then a hand dipped into the frame and tugged at the zip and the bag opened and ballooned as it filled with air. The girl spilled out on to the floor listlessly. Her face was flushed and her mouth wide open as she sucked down oxygen. The men stood above her and continued to film as she heaved deeply and stared up at the camera. She tried to smile as the film tailed out to blackness.

  The house lights came up and a soft peal of applause passed through the audience.

  ‘I thought this night couldn’t get any weirder,’ Alex said.

  ‘You didn’t like it?’

  ‘Like it? I think that was the most disturbing thing I’ve ever seen.’

  Megumi shrugged. ‘Masakazu has already sold it to a gallery in Berlin.’

  ‘Who was the girl?’

  ‘She’s here somewhere,’ Megumi said, glancing around the room. ‘She arranges these events every weekend. Apparently, they’re very lucrative.’

  ‘You mean she does this for money?’

  Megumi looked puzzled. ‘Why else would she do it?’

  ‘Sometimes I don’t think I understand a thing,’ Alex said.

  ‘About this film?’

  ‘About this country.’

  They left the screening room and stood out on the mezzanine, looking down over the railing to the viewing space below. The voices of the crowd carried up through the ductwork and merged into one dull noise. A waitress passed and Megumi took two glasses of champagne. Alex placed his empty glass on the tray as she left. He motioned down at the gathering below.

  ‘Do you know all of these people?’

  ‘Some of them. They all look the same after a while. Rich people tend to blend into each other seamlessly.’

  ‘Do they all spend money?’

  ‘No. Just a few. Mostly they’re here to watch each other and pretend to enjoy artwork they have absolutely no understanding of.’