Asami

by Richard James

more fun.” The girl turned Asami round so they were face to face then loosened her grip allowing her hands to slide down Asami’s hips before releasing her completely. Asami stood with head bowed looking disconsolately at the floor but the girl reached out one slender finger, placed it under her chin and lifted it up. For the first time Asami realised this girl was much too old for school. She must be in her early twenties at least. About the same age as Asami herself.

  “You heard father,” drawled Masako as she unbuttoned her blazer. From the inside pocket she withdrew a bulging manila envelope. “This contains everything you’ll need. Date. Time. Location… Method.”

  Asami reached for it but the girl skipped back pulling it away from her grasp. “Uh uh uh. Careful. It’s sharp.” She slinked forward again and reached one hand down to the waistband of Asami’s trousers. She slid the package in against Asami’s hip where it was held tight and cold against her. Asami repressed an urge to shudder but although she didn’t want to think about what was pressing against her it was the touch of the girl’s fingers against her skin which had really unnerved her. The girl clapped twice and the screens were brought away revealing the restaurant.

  “I’ll walk you out,” she informed Asami matter-of-factly.

  They walked between the tables and wine buckets and climbing plants and at the door Masako took both Asami’s hands in her own and leant in to kiss her once on each cheek. “Until next time. My little angel.”

  Asami threw off her heeled boots and lurched in to her kitchen where she threw the knife into the sink. It clattered and grated horribly against the polished steel basin. She turned the tap on full power and watched numbly as the water ran red. Leaving the tap running she turned and ran her hands through her hair and noticed spots of dried blood on her white shirt cuff. She peeled it back and saw more specks on her wrist. Tearing off her shirt she threw it in the bin. She looked again at the splashes on her wrist. Soon the rest of her clothes joined the shirt but it still wasn’t enough. Taking them out again she squashed them in to her biggest cooking pot then placed it on the stove. She threw in a match but all it did was singe a small hole in her skirt before going out. She found a bottle of cheap sake, undid the lid with trembling hands, and poured it in. Why me? she asked the silence. Why did they need me? The lights in the apartment were all off but the flames leapt so high they illuminated the whole room. Asami turned to the window and in it saw her own usually pale white body lit with a flickering orange. Her face was hidden behind dancing shadows.

  She stayed in the shower for over an hour scrubbing herself over and over with the hottest water she could stand before eventually coiling up in the corner. When the water began to run out she emerged in to a dense cloud of steam. She looked at herself in the mirror but could barely make out the shape of her head let alone the details of her face. Instead of wiping away the mist she stared at this formless shape for a long time and remembered.

  You will meet your contact on Friday night at ten thirty p.m. precisely. He will be waiting for you outside Space Jam pachinko parlour in Hanamiya. You will recognise him by his Angel’s baseball cap and the fact he has only one eye. He will instruct you further. Do as he says. And bring the knife.

  Your loving friend xxx

  She had read the letter several times in the days that followed the meeting at Raison d’etre. She had imagined various ways of escaping. She would kill the contact. Knife him in the street in full view of the crowd. She would turn up without the weapon. She would seduce him and drag out of him the location of his master and then hunt him down. She would…she would…

  She would go. She would do as she was told.

  She had recognised him instantly, no one else was loitering with such intent, and watched him for a moment from the darkened car park. Every so often the glass doors behind him would hiss open and the insanely cheery music would increase in volume as pachinko players hurried in or out. The digital display above the door recorded the temperature as fourteen degrees and the time as ten twenty-eight. She made her move.

  There had been no spoken greeting. He had merely nodded as she approached then indicated for her to follow him as he entered a covered arcade and walked away with purpose. Asami had hurried after him, sound assaulting her from all sides.

  The thumping bass from a retro clothing store.

  The constant pinging of convenience store welcome bells.

  Boisterous salary men stumbling out an izakaya.

  Loud girls in loud clothes shrieking laughter into their mobiles.

  A siren letting everyone know that someone had won big.

  A siren letting everyone know that someone had fallen low.

  Outside a ‘Mister Microphone’ karaoke studio he paused and gestured for her to enter first. In the small, brightly coloured lobby he conferred quietly with a young member of staff who then led them to the lift and accompanied them to the fourth floor.

  Room 423 had a New York theme. They entered noiselessly during one young man’s rendition of I Want To Be Free by Queen. It had taken the small crowd a moment to notice the intruders but when they did they filed out quietly with heads lowered. Asami had been wondering what they were possibly going to do in an empty karaoke booth when she noticed a thin figure huddled into himself in the shadows at the end of one bench. The contact closed the door and removed his jacket which he then spread out on the table in the centre of the booth. The figure on the bench had drawn back as the contact then approached him but didn’t struggle as he was man handled on to the table and lain out on the jacket.

  In the light from the TV screen which was still flashing up the words for the next song selection Asami had seen the face of a frightened young man. Barely more than a boy. He wore a plain, white T-shirt and pale blue jeans and his smooth, black skin glistened where it caught the light. Asami stared into his eyes which were wide, white and wet but not a single tear rolled from their surface.

  “The knife.”

  For the first time Asami heard the contact’s voice. It was a low rasp without a trace of emotion. Although quiet there was no mistaking its authority. Asami quivered as she studied the boy’s face but he didn’t look back focusing instead on some point deep within the ceiling.

  “The knife,” repeated the contact turning to look at her. Still watching the boy’s face she took it out from inside her boot and laid it on the table. The corner of the boy’s mouth trembled at the sound of the blade. Asami tore her eyes from his face and stared at the contact who was still watching her.

  “No,” he said. “No. I want you to give it to me.”

  The weapon was easily within his reach but by now Asami knew the drill. She looked at the knife. The images from the screen danced along its curve before being cut off raggedly by its serrated edge. She returned her attention to the boy who was still staring straight up. A thin lingering wisp of tobacco smoke hung in the stale air. She reached for the handle and lifted it slowly before offering it to the contact. His leather gloves brushed her fingertips as he took it gently from her and leant over the boy. Asami took a deep breath and tried to numb her senses. The contact raised the knife and Asami had to summon all her resolve to stop herself from turning away. Suddenly the contact paused. She flinched but he stayed unmoving.

  Just do it! she wanted to scream. Just get it over with and let me go! But the contact remained still. Poised but still.

  “Why do you do it?” he asked turning his head. “Why do you always watch them?” He spoke slowly and deliberately, drawing out each word. Asami swallowed a hard lump in her throat and blinked her eyes. She had never met this man before. How did he know anything about her.

  “He told me you would but…I didn’t believe him. The others…” others? “…the others, they never watch. They never even look. They just do as they’re told then they run home but you…he told me you always watch.”

  Asami didn’t look away from the boy and kept her lips pressed tight together. Even if she’d wanted to she couldn’t have answere
d. She didn’t know how to articulate this feeling deep inside. This feeling that someone should watch, should see, should bear witness. This feeling that someone ought to know what happened. It would be so much easier to leave right now. She knew she would be allowed to, but something inside just wouldn’t let her go.

  “I said I thought you probably enjoyed it. Is that it? You like to watch, eh? I’ve heard there are some who do but…then again…I don’t know, you don’t really look the type.” He stared for another moment then shook his head as if clearing it of sleep. “Hff. Who cares?”

  He returned to the boy and raised the knife above his head. Asami felt tears welling in her eyes but blinked them away. A light whisper across her fingers attracted her attention and she looked down to see the boy stretching out his hand to her, his eyes staring imploringly in to her own. She grasped his fingers tightly and fell to her knees as the contact gave a howl and plunged the knife down in to the boy’s chest. The orbs of his eyes shook then rolled upwards as his body shuddered and spasmed. Asami’s tears flowed freely as she raised his trembling hand to her mouth and brushed it with her lips.

  The steam had now dissipated and the mirror’s surface revealed her face. She searched her eyes for any trace the boy might