Tokyo Redux

by David Peace

  Hey, said Harry Sweeney, looking up from the reports, leaning back in his chair again, stretching and yawning. Then he turned to look up at Susumu Toda and said, How you doing, Susumu? You feeling better?

  I’m okay, said Susumu Toda. But how you doing?

  Not bad. Better, thanks.

  You seen the Chief yet?

  No, not yet. Just Colonel Pullman.

  How’d that go, asked Susumu Toda. Okay?

  Harry Sweeney smiled: Here I am.

  Right, said Susumu Toda, glancing at Harry Sweeney’s hands, looking away from Harry Sweeney’s knuckles. Right.

  Harry Sweeney sat forward in his chair again, his hands in his lap, under his desk, and said, Where’s Bill?

  Think he’s with the Second Investigative Division, said Susumu Toda. The Chief’s got him liaising with them.

  Thought they were off the case?

  For a day, laughed Toda. But I guess the General put some pressure on Chief Kita, so Kita sent them back up there, looking for union members and Reds in the area.

  Harry Sweeney nodded: Yeah, I saw that in the reports. They found anything then, anything concrete?

  Well, surprise, surprise, they’ve turned up some Railroad employees, all union members, couple of them possibly Commies, like you saw. But nothing to connect them to Shimoyama, not so far, last I heard.

  But Bill’s up there now?

  I guess so, nodded Toda. Least that’s where he told the Chief he was going. See, there’s these Koreans as well.

  Harry Sweeney turned in his chair, turned to look up at Susumu Toda, to look up and ask, What Koreans?

  Hang on, said Susumu Toda. He walked over to Sonoko’s desk, spoke with Sonoko, took a piece of paper from the top of the pile of papers on her desk, then he walked back over to Harry Sweeney and said, Here –

  Harry Sweeney took the piece of paper from Susumu Toda. He looked down at the translation of the most recent police report and read: At approximately 2200 hours, 5 July 1949, five Koreans stopped at a Japanese barbecue stand at Ayase station on the Jōban train line (lower track, approximately 10 minutes’ walk to the scene where Shimoyama’s body was found), where they drank 15 glasses of Japanese liquor (similar to gin). According to information received, the Koreans remained there until 2345 hours, when they were observed taking the last train from the station at 2350 hours. Prior to the Koreans leaving, two of the Koreans had gone outside at approximately 2330 hours and were gone for what seemed to be a short while and then returned. This matter needs to be checked into more carefully as there may well be a discrepancy in the time when the two Koreans left the barbecue stand and when they returned.

  It only came in last night, said Susumu Toda. But Bill seemed pretty keen to chase it up. The Chief, too.

  Harry Sweeney nodded: I bet.

  What do you think, said Susumu Toda, looking down at Harry Sweeney, at the piles of newspaper reports and police reports stacked up on his desk.

  Harry Sweeney put the report on the five Koreans on top of the other police reports, looked down at all the reports, the piles of reports, police reports and newspaper reports, and shook his head, then sighed and said, Figures of eight…

  Figures of eight, said Toda. What do –

  Harry Sweeney waved his hand across his desk, across the reports: We’re all going round in figures of eight, Susumu. Chief Kita and the First Investigative Division pushing the suicide angle, the Public Prosecutor and the Second Investigative Division pushing for homicide, the doctors at Tōdai saying murder, Nakadate at Keiō saying suicide, the Mainichi backing the suicide theory, the Asahi going for murder, back and forth, murder then suicide, round and round, suicide then murder, in figures of fucking eight…

  General Willoughby sure doesn’t see it that way. Chief Evans neither. They’re adamant it was murder.

  Harry Sweeney looked down at his hands, looked down at his knuckles, at the scabs on his knuckles, and Harry Sweeney nodded, sighed, and said, I know.

  I know you know, said Susumu Toda, his eyes on Harry Sweeney’s knuckles, on the scabs on his knuckles. But what are you going to do then?

  Me?

  Yeah, said Susumu Toda. You.

  Harry Sweeney looked up from his knuckles, from the scabs on his knuckles, looked up at Susumu Toda, looked up into his eyes and said, So it’s “me” now, not “we,” yeah?

  Look, I’m sorry, I don’t…

  Harry Sweeney shook his head: No, don’t say sorry, Susumu. I’m the one who’s sorry, and I mean it, I am sorry, Susumu. I fucked up. End of the month, I’m gone –

  Harry, don’t say that…

  What else is there to say?

  We all make mistakes, said Susumu Toda, shaking his head, smiling at Harry Sweeney. You said so yourself.

  Harry Sweeney shook his head again, held up his knuckles, and said, Not mistakes like this.

  I’m sorry, said Susumu Toda. I’ve just made you feel worse, was maybe trying to make you feel worse…

  You’ve every right, Susumu –

  No, no, said Susumu Toda. That don’t help me, that don’t help you – don’t help us. So come on then, Harry, come on, what we going to do?

  * * *

  —

  They drove east up Avenue Y, through Kajibashi and Kyōbashi, through Sakurabashi and Hatchōbori. The young guy Shin at the wheel again, Harry Sweeney sat in the back with Susumu Toda. They crossed Takahashi Bridge, then turned left off Avenue Y and headed north along a straight narrow road, alleyways and houses off to the left and off to the right –

  Shinkawa, sir, said Shin, slowing down.

  Little further on, said Susumu Toda. The block at the end, where this road meets Eitai-dori, Avenue W.

  Very good, sir, said Shin, going a little further on, then pulling in behind another large black car –

  Shit, said Susumu Toda, looking at the car parked in front of them. You know whose car that is, Harry?

  Harry Sweeney nodded: Yep.

  You sure this is a good idea, said Susumu Toda. I mean, the Chief’s not going to like this…

  Harry Sweeney shrugged: Someone has to check it out. Doesn’t mean we have to believe what we hear.

  Just don’t like the guy, said Toda.

  Harry Sweeney laughed: Doubt his own mother likes him. Let’s just get it done –

  And Harry Sweeney and Susumu Toda got out of the car, closing the doors behind them, standing on the street, looking up and down the street, the alleyways and houses off to the left and off to the right, a thick, damp blanket of clouds overhead, the thick, rich stench of the river, the Sumida River in the air, part salt and part shit –

  Jeez, said Susumu Toda. Not the place I’d come to forget my troubles, to get away from the world.

  Depends on your troubles, depends on your world, I guess, said Harry Sweeney before the tiny, single-story wooden machiai with its shutters and its door, before another place of shabby, gloomy trysts and assignations, another place of secret rendezvous, this machiai known as the Narita-ya.

  After you then, said Susumu Toda, gesturing toward the solid, wooden sliding door –

  But the solid, wooden door was already sliding open, Detective Hattori stepping out of this machiai known as the Narita-ya, followed by a younger man, Detective Hattori jumping theatrically back, clutching his heart, blinking his eyes, and saying, What a fright!

  And a very good afternoon to you, too, detective, said Harry Sweeney, with a short bow and thin smile.

  Thought I’d seen a ghost, smiled Hattori. Heard you were no longer with us, detective.

  Harry Sweeney smiled again: Shouldn’t believe all you hear, detective. Don’t need to tell you that.

  Very true, said Detective Hattori. But how’s your hand, detective? Heard you hurt it, hurt them both, in fact.

  Harry Swe
eney held up his hands in front of Detective Hattori, turned them over, turned them back again, and made them into fists, then held up the fists and said, As you can see, they’re getting better, detective, thank you.

  That’s good to hear, said Detective Hattori, looking from the knuckles, from the fists into the eyes of Harry Sweeney. But you just be careful where you stick them, yeah? Never know, next time that somewhere might hit back.

  Harry Sweeney smiled at Detective Hattori and nodded: You’re right – you never know, detective.

  Ah, excuse me for interrupting your conversation, said Susumu Toda. But we need to get back, so…

  Of course, of course, said Detective Hattori, turning to Susumu Toda and smiling. I’m sorry, Mister Toda-san. Don’t want to keep the General waiting now, do we? But before you go in, in with your questions, can you spare me a few minutes more of your very precious time…?

  In the street outside the Narita-ya, under the thick, damp blanket of clouds, amid the thick, rich stench of the river, the Sumida River, Harry Sweeney nodded and said, Go on –

  See, I’m very pleased you’re here, detective, and Chief Inspector Kanehara will be, too, I know that. Pleased you’re obviously taking this lead so seriously. But I also know you’re going to be taking it even more seriously when I tell you what I’ve got to tell you, detective, I can tell you that…

  Harry Sweeney glanced at his watch, its face cracked and its hands stopped, sighed, and said again, Go on –

  Sorry, sorry, smiled Detective Hattori. I know you’re busy, detective, need to get back to the General and all that. But listen to this: minute we hear about this Missus Mori and her friendship with President Shimoyama, we get a couple of men over here, asking around, you know…

  Is this with the Yomiuri reporters, asked Susumu Toda. Or was it separately, detective?

  Mister Toda, smiled Detective Hattori. As I’m sure Detective Sweeney will agree, journalists, they have their uses. That is, if you know how to use them. Am I right, detective?

  Harry Sweeney sighed: Just go on, please –

  Of course, said Hattori, of course. So then, to cut a long story short, three years ago, after the surrender, this woman, this Missus Mori, this friend of President Shimoyama, she’s selling peanuts by the side of the road, that’s how she’s living. But look at her now, with her own place, and wait until you see inside. Don’t look much, right? But there’s a little detached back room, two separate telephone lines – I mean, how much does one telephone cost, right? So two? We’re talking big bucks, yeah? Someone’s paying for it, right? And it ain’t her husband, that’s for sure. So we start asking about, the Yomiuri, too, and we start to hear things, things like the minute President Shimoyama comes on the scene – and he’s on the scene almost every day, is what we hear – that’s exactly when her luck starts to change: this house gets built, the telephone lines…

  Harry Sweeney shook his head: We have read the fucking papers, you know? That’s why we’re here.

  Patience, detective, patience, said Hattori, smiling. Obviously, the question is: Who’s paying for all this? Like, Shimoyama’s got money – more money than me, that’s for sure – but that much money? That’s what I ask myself, right? So I start to sniff around his finances, that’s what I’ve been doing. And I tell you this, detective: they don’t smell too good –

  Harry Sweeney took out his handkerchief, wiped his face, wiped his neck, and said, Bit like this place then.

  Exactly, detective, said Hattori. Very much like this place, and because of this place, is what I reckon. See, we put the word out among the pawnbrokers and the like, to see if they had had any dealings with Shimoyama, and guess what? He’s been in and out of a place near here, owned by a feller name of Shōji Shioda, like it was the Bank of Japan. Antique vases, his wife’s kimonos, diamond rings, sapphire rings, you name it; he’s been trying to hock the fucking lot.

  In the street outside the Narita-ya, under the thick, falling blanket of clouds, amid the thick, clinging stench of the river, the Sumida River, Harry Sweeney looked at Detective Hattori and said, Is that right?

  You bet it is, detective, said Hattori, smiling, still smiling. But here’s the thing: stuff wasn’t selling. See, not being Japanese you wouldn’t know this, detective, but it’s a buyer’s market. You might want sixty, seventy thousand yen for your wife’s diamond ring, but you ain’t getting it, no, sir, no way. And so then you know what that means, detective? That means old President Shimoyama, he’s in trouble, big trouble, that’s what that means. The wife, the mistress; two households, no money. Enough to make any man think of –

  You got any evidence for any of this, detective, said Susumu Toda. Any actual proof?

  Yes, Mister Toda, I have, said Detective Hattori, not looking at Toda, still looking at Harry Sweeney, still smiling, smiling and saying, Aside from the books and ledgers that Shōji Shioda’s firm keeps, with the dates and the things that President Shimoyama brought in and tried and failed to sell, aside from that written evidence, the clerks also remember seeing President Shimoyama coming into the store, and remember him coming into the store with a woman – a very pale woman, a very thin woman, a woman with the very particular air of a geisha. Now you’ve met Missus Shimoyama, detective, and I’ve met Missus Shimoyama, and she is a madam, a lady of breeding and class, but I would not say, and with all due deference, that she is a very pale woman, or a very thin woman, and certainly not a woman with the very particular air of a geisha, would you, detective? What would you say?

  In this street outside the Narita-ya, outside this place of secret rendezvous, Harry Sweeney stepped toward Detective Hattori, looked into the eyes of Detective Hattori, and Harry Sweeney said, I’d say you’ve spent a lot of man-hours, and used a lot of manpower, digging up dirt, digging up shit on a man who the respected doctors of forensic medicine at the University of Tokyo believe had been dead for three hours before that train ran over his body and severed his face from his skull, that’s what I’d say, detective, that’s what I’d say.

  Well, the respected Doctor Nakadate of Keiō University begs to differ, as you know, said Detective Hattori, not smiling, just shrugging. But hey, look, I’m just telling you where the facts have led me, just telling you what I’ve found, that’s all I’m doing, detective. Because I just do what I’m told to do, go where I’m told to go. That’s me, detective.

  Harry Sweeney looked Detective Hattori up and down, then Harry Sweeney nodded and said, Yep, that’s you, detective, that’s you. And in a nice new pair of shoes, too.

  The fuck are you to speak to me like that, said Hattori, stepping up closer to Harry Sweeney, staring up at Harry Sweeney. Beating up elevator boys, sleeping in the drunk tank, then coming to me on the high horse, giving it to me with the high hat, the scabs still raw on your knuckles, the whisky still stale on your breath, while I been working the goddamn case, solving the fucking case. Fuck you and your fists –

  Hey, hey, said Susumu Toda, the other, younger man, too, both stepping between Harry Sweeney and Detective Hattori, pushing apart Harry Sweeney and Detective Hattori. Come on, we’re all on the same side here –

  Fuck you and your same fucking side, Toda, said Hattori, stepping back, walking away. Go talk to her or go the fuck home, what do I care? Politics and bullshit, is all this is.

  Leave it, Harry, said Susumu Toda, his hands on the chest of Harry Sweeney, on the arms of Harry Sweeney, the fists of Harry Sweeney. Let him go –

  Harry Sweeney watching Detective Hattori walk away, back to his car, hearing –

  Man fucking killed himself, said Detective Hattori, getting into his car. Wouldn’t be the first, won’t be the last – happens every day, detective, happens every day.

  * * *

  —

  A streetcar stop, a sudden rainstorm, a gentle hand on a damp sleeve, a proffered umbrella, a shelter shared, with a kind word and a sad smile
, said the pale, thin woman in the pale, thin yukata. That’s how I remember we met, Mister Sweeney.

  Not selling peanuts by the roadside then, said Susumu Toda. Peanuts or maybe some other charms, no?

  The neighbors, they do like to gossip, said Missus Nobu Morishita, on her cushion, on the mats, among the insect coils and the tobacco smoke, not looking at Susumu Toda, still staring at Harry Sweeney. And then the newspapers, they will insist on printing such gossip and rumors, the lies people tell. It ought to be a crime, don’t you think, Mister Sweeney?

  Harry Sweeney smiled, then said, It is a crime, Missus Morishita, telling lies. In the papers or under oath.

  You know, she said, when you smiled just then, just briefly then, you really looked like him.

  Looked like who?

  Well, like the President, of course, Mister Shimoyama, said Missus Nobu Morishita, lowering her eyes and her face, touching her hand to her cheek.

  So it’s all just bullshit then, said Susumu Toda. All these things the neighbors are saying, all these stories the papers are printing about you and President Shimoyama?

  In her single-story machiai, in this place of secret rendezvous, with its little detached back room, its two separate telephone lines, Missus Nobu Morishita placed her hand to her heart and looked back up, not at Susumu Toda, but at Harry Sweeney, and said, I just feel so sorry for Missus Shimoyama, the things people are saying, the stories the papers are printing, so very sorry for Missus Shimoyama, if she hears the things people are saying, reads the stories the papers are printing, the insinuations and the innuendo; how awful it must be for her, don’t you think, Mister Sweeney? I feel so sorry for her, Mister Sweeney.

  Then you should speak out, said Harry Sweeney. Describe clearly the nature of your relationship?

  The pale, thin woman clutched her pale, thin yukata, stared at Harry Sweeney, smiled at Harry Sweeney, and said, But how can I, Mister Sweeney? Could you, could anyone? Describe a relationship in words, use words to describe what was never said? What was never said, but only felt? Yes, I could say, “We were just friends, only friends,” but what do those words mean, what does “friends” mean, Mister Sweeney?