Bullet Train

by Kotaro Isaka

  Nanao swoops in, leans down, breaks her neck.

  He grabs the pen-shaped device. It looks like it’s designed to deliver an injection, just like the ones he would use to help the old lady in his neighbourhood with her insulin shots when he was younger. Normally he would fuss over whether this one worked the same as the ones he was familiar with, but right now he doesn’t have the breathing room. He hooks his finger into the hole at the left knee of his cargo pants and roughly tears it further open up the leg. As soon as he can see his thigh peeking through he pushes the tip of the pen-injector into his skin, wondering wildly whether it will work as an antidote, whether he’s administering it correctly, whether it isn’t already too late. The doubts and fears bubble back up inside of him, but he sweeps them aside.

  The prick of the needle doesn’t hurt as much as he was bracing for. He holds it against his skin for a few moments, then pulls it away. As he tries to stand he feels like his heart is thumping harder than it should, but it may just be nerves.

  He lifts the neck-broken woman, carries her into the multi-purpose room and sets her back down, propping her against the wall with her legs extended so that they prevent the door from being opened fully. Then he squeezes out through the gap.

  It may not be a perfect solution, but he guesses that if a passenger tries the door and it doesn’t open easily they’ll assume that it’s out of order or in use. He also sets the placard to read Occupied.

  Then Nanao replaces all the fallen refreshments on the cart. He doesn’t want there to be any signs of a struggle. After tidying up the scene he pushes the cart into one corner of the gangway.

  He takes the clip out of the gun and tosses it in the trash. Knowing his luck, it seems quite likely that he would lose the gun and end up in even more trouble. It almost just happened with the woman. He decides that it’s safer for him not to carry a loaded weapon.

  Now emptied, the gun returns to its place in his belt. Even without bullets, it could work to threaten someone.

  He leans back against the wall beside the trash bin and sinks down, bringing his knees up in front of him.

  He takes a deep breath in, then out. Then looks at his hand, where the needle had gone in.

  A middle-aged man enters the gangway from car number ten. Just a passenger. He glances at the snack trolley off to the side, but doesn’t seem perturbed that it’s there unattended, and he disappears into the toilet. That was close, thinks Nanao. A minute earlier and he would have seen everything. He keeps asking himself if he was lucky or unlucky, keeps checking to see if he’s still there. Still alive. Still alive. Aren’t I?

  The shaking of the Shinkansen radiates upward through his body.

  Kimura

  ‘COME ON, LET’S GO. I’m sure there’ll be good stuff happening.’ The Prince pushes Kimura from behind. The bands on his hands and feet are off, but Kimura still doesn’t feel free. Of course hatred for the Prince suffuses his entire being, but he knows he can’t let it burst forth. The part of him that’s trembling with rage, muttering I’ll fucking kill you, feels hazy and indistinct, like it’s being viewed through smoked glass, like it’s someone else who only looks like him, like the animosity belongs to a stranger and Kimura is just imagining what it feels like.

  They head up the aisle of car seven. He knows that the person behind him is just a schoolkid but he keeps getting the unsettling feeling that he’s being followed by a monster that could devour him at any moment. Am I afraid of this kid? That question too feels like it’s obscured by mist. Does this kid really have the power to threaten people, to make others fear him? Kimura shakes his head, pushing the thought aside.

  When they enter the gangway they find a tall man standing there, leaned up against the wall next to the door, arms crossed and looking bored. His eyes are hard and mean, and his hair is sticking up in a halo, like how a little kid might draw the rays of the sun.

  Kimura recognises him as one of the two men who had just walked through car seven. ‘If it isn’t Percy,’ the man says lethargically. Kimura has never heard of Percy but he guesses it’s some character from a show.

  The Prince asks, ‘What are you doing standing around here?’

  ‘Me? I’m waiting for the toilet,’ he says, pointing to the closed door. It’s too far to see the placard but it must be occupied. ‘I’m waiting till the person in there comes out here.’

  ‘Is that your friend in there?’

  ‘Tangerine is heading to the front.’

  ‘Tangerine?’

  ‘Yup,’ the man says proudly. ‘I’m Lemon, and he’s Tangerine. Sour and sweet. Which one do you like better?’

  The Prince doesn’t seem to get the point of the question, and just shrugs silently.

  ‘So, what, you and your dad always go to the toilet together?’

  Oh, right, Kimura realises, it must look like this horrible kid is my son. And then he finds himself imagining it.

  The Shinkansen rattles and sways. It feels like the train is being buffeted by furious winds. The sensation reminds Kimura of when he gave up drinking cold turkey, when it took every ounce of will to fight off the urge. During those days he would shake even more than the Shinkansen is right now.

  ‘He’s not my father,’ says the Prince. ‘I’ll be right back, Uncle Kimura, okay?’ As the Prince heads for the urinal cubicle, he flashes a smile of dazzling innocence that makes Kimura’s chest feel warm just looking at it. He knows the reaction is just instinctive, not coming from any place of reason, but it makes him want to forgive the Prince for everything. ‘Wait here for me.’

  Kimura knows that what the Prince really means is wait here and don’t say anything you shouldn’t be saying. He suddenly feels awkward standing there as the wild-haired man eyes him irritably.

  ‘Hey, buddy,’ Lemon says with no overture, ‘you’re a drunk, right?’ Kimura looks away.

  ‘You are, aren’t you? I’ve known a lot of drunks, so I can usually tell. My ma and pa were both drunks. Both parents with the same addiction, no one holding the other back, neither ever hitting the brakes, they just got worse and worse. Like in Thomas and Friends when Duck was being pushed by the freight train and couldn’t stop and crashed into the barbershop. Like that. Help me-e-e, I can’t sto-o-op, you know. Whole life goes down the tubes. There was nothing I could do so I just kept my distance, hid in the corner. My buddy Thomas helped me survive.’

  Kimura doesn’t get half of what Lemon’s saying, but he answers, ‘I don’t drink any more.’

  ‘Well, yeah. When a drunk has a drink, that’s it. I mean, look at me. You can’t fight against your genes, so I never ever drink. Just water. Funny, water and alcohol, both are wet and see-through but they’re so totally different.’ He lifts the bottle of mineral water in his hand with a flourish, unscrews the cap and takes a swig. ‘Alcohol messes up your head but water does the opposite, it gets you thinking straight.

  Kimura doesn’t notice it at first, but the more he looks at the liquid in Lemon’s bottle the more it seems to be alcohol, sweet and delicious, disappearing down Lemon’s throat. Kimura recoils.

  The train doesn’t shake rhythmically or mechanically, it writhes like a living creature, every so often bucking upwards, seeming to float for a moment. The sensation of being in mid-air, then the sudden jolts, they threaten to dislodge Kimura from reality.

  ‘I’m back,’ says the returning Prince. ‘Let’s go and check out the green car,’ he suggests to Kimura, neither shy nor brazen, just perfectly even. ‘I bet we’ll see some rich people!’ He sounds exactly like an eager kid on holiday.

  ‘Not necessarily,’ answers Lemon. ‘I mean, sure, the people in the green car are probably a little more comfortable than other people.’

  The door to the toilet opens and a man in a suit steps out. He registers Kimura and the others but pays them no special mind, just washes his hands in the sink and returns to car seven.

  ‘Huh. Guess it wasn’t Nanao after all,’ says Lemon.

  ‘Nanao
?’ Kimura has no idea who that might be.

  ‘We-e-ell, guess I’ll be moving on,’ Lemon sighs, and starts towards the front of the train.

  The Prince gives Kimura a look that says they’ll be going too. Then he calls out, ‘I’ll help you look for your suitcase.’

  ‘Won’t be necessary, Percy. I already know where it is.’

  ‘Where?’

  Lemon closes his mouth and stares at the Prince. His gaze is chilly, suddenly wary of the kid. He doesn’t look like he would make any special allowances just because he’s dealing with a schoolboy. Like a predator in the wild that doesn’t care in the least how old its prey might be. ‘Why should I tell you? You after the bag too?’

  The Prince doesn’t appear rattled. ‘No, not at all. It’s just fun, like a treasure hunt.’ Lemon still looks dubious. He glares razor-sharp, like he’s trying to stab through the Prince’s exterior to scratch at the psychological level.

  ‘Never mind,’ the Prince sulks, ‘my uncle and I will look for it ourselves.’ He’s just putting it on, Kimura knows, to seem childish, to show that he has no agenda.

  ‘You stay out of it. Nothing good ever happens when Percy tries something out. Like when, you know, when he rubbed chocolate all over his face so he wouldn’t have to get coal-stained. He’s always up to something and it never turns out good.’ Lemon turns to leave again.

  ‘Well, I hope you’ll be happy when we find it first!’ The Prince is being as petulant as he can. ‘Right, Uncle Kimura?’

  Kimura responds without thinking, ‘Yeah, I want a share of that cash.’ He doesn’t even mean it, he just said the first thing that came into his head when the Prince threw the ball to him. Though it’s also true that somewhere in his mind is the memory of seeing of all those notes and cash cards.

  ‘How d’you know what’s in it?’ Lemon swivels round, his eyes stony. Kimura can feel the air crackling.

  Even now, the Prince looks calm. He shoots Kimura a thorny look, contempt for failure, but he doesn’t seem otherwise concerned, and says to Lemon, ‘Whoa, the bag is full of money?’ His voice is guileless.

  There’s a pause in conversation, when all they hear are the vibrations of the barrelling Shinkansen.

  Lemon glowers at Kimura, then at the Prince. ‘I don’t know what’s inside it.’

  ‘Then it’s not what’s inside, it’s the bag itself that’s worth so much! That’s why everyone’s looking for it.’ Standing there listening, Kimura has to admire the Prince’s guts and cleverness. They’re being interrogated, but little by little the kid is trying to deflect the scrutiny off them. Not everyone could do that, lower an opponent’s defences with a mask of innocence.

  But Lemon’s suspicion is harder to dispel than most people’s. ‘How do you know that everyone’s looking for it?’

  For a split second the Prince’s face goes rigid. It’s the first time Kimura’s ever seen the kid look like that.

  ‘That’s what you said when I first met you,’ the Prince says, once more a carefree schoolboy. ‘You said everyone’s looking for it.’

  ‘Did not,’ Lemon puffs, thrusting his chin out. ‘I don’t think I like you.’ He scratches his head in annoyance.

  Kimura is paralysed between choices. If only he could he’d say Hey, this kid is dangerous, get rid of him before he gets you. But he can’t do that. If the Prince gets in touch with his accomplice then it could mean Wataru’s life. He doesn’t know for sure if that’s even true, but somehow he feels it is.

  ‘Uncle,’ the Prince says, but Kimura is in a daze. ‘Uncle Kimura!’

  ‘Uh. What?’

  ‘I think we said something bad. I think Mr Lemon is angry.’

  ‘Sorry about that. We didn’t mean to upset you.’ Kimura bows his head.

  ‘Uncle Kimura,’ Lemon says abruptly, ‘you don’t look to me like a regular hard-working citizen.’

  ‘Well, I am a drunk.’ Kimura is starting to worry what Lemon will do next. He feels sweat seeping down his spine. Back when he was in the business he’d been in this sort of encounter any number of times. Facing down someone who’s sniffing out what kind of a man he is. He can sense a band of tension stretched between himself and Lemon, pulling tighter.

  ‘Got a question for you, unc. You hate being woken up?’

  What? The question sounds totally random.

  ‘You get angry when you’re sleeping and someone wakes you up?’

  ‘The hell does that mean?’

  ‘So you’re okay with being woken up?’

  ‘No one likes being woken up.’

  Stars burst. Kimura’s head snaps back.

  The punch had slammed directly into his mouth. He never saw the arm move or the fist fly. Something small and hard is between his tongue and gums. He moves his tongue around: one of the front teeth is missing. A hand goes up to his mouth, wipes the blood. Then he fishes out the tooth and deposits it in his pocket.

  ‘Hey, why did you do that? Uncle Kimura, are you okay?’ The Prince sticks with his naive schoolboy routine. ‘That wasn’t nice. Why’d you punch him?’

  ‘I figured if you were a proper professional you’d have been able to dodge. But I got you easy. Looks like I guessed wrong about you.’

  ‘Of course you were wrong, my uncle’s just an ordinary guy!’

  ‘Huh.’ Watching the blood drip from Kimura’s mouth, Lemon seems suddenly deflated. ‘My gut was telling me this old man was in the business, same line of work as me and Tangerine.’

  ‘Your gut was wrong,’ Kimura replies truthfully. ‘I used to get into some rough work, but I retired years ago. Now I work as a security guard. To be honest, I’m pretty rusty.’

  ‘Nah, it’s just like riding a bike. Even if you take a couple years off your body knows what to do.’

  Bullshit, Kimura wants to retort, but he holds it in. ‘Did you say you were going on towards the front of the train?’ More blood spills from Kimura’s mouth.

  ‘Uncle, are you all right?’ The Prince shrugs his backpack off and pulls out a handkerchief from the front pocket, offering it to Kimura.

  ‘Ready with a handkerchief,’ Lemon says with a little smirk. ‘You’re a high-class little dude.’

  The Prince slides his backpack on again. That’s when Kimura remembers that inside the backpack is the gun he brought with him. He could just reach out and unzip the bag, just like that, and pull it out. That’s what he tells himself.

  Then two questions flash through his head.

  The first is what he would do once he had the gun. Threaten? Or shoot? And who should he aim for, Lemon or the Prince? Of course what he wants to do most is point the gun at the heartless teenager and pull the trigger, and that’s absolutely what he would do if he could. But nothing has changed with Wataru’s situation. His life still hangs in the balance. Don’t worry about that. Just do it. The train seems to be striking at him with each little jolt, chipping away at his self-restraint. You’ve always done things nice and simple. If you want to do something, you do it. Life gets shorter every day. Why hold yourself back? Make this fucking kid suffer. He deserves it. He’s just bluffing anyhow. There’s nobody waiting by the hospital, Wataru isn’t in any danger. He’s been keeping a tight lid on the part of himself that wants to take the easy way out, but now he feels the seal starting to loosen.

  And then his second question: Am I just playing into his hands?

  The backpack is right there in front of him. He is hyper-aware of the gun inside.

  Could the Prince have planned that? Is he hoping I’ll grab the gun and take on Lemon? Is he just controlling me?

  The more he thinks about it the more Kimura sinks into the mire. Doubt piles on doubt. He grasps at a nearby stick to pull himself out of the swamp, but he isn’t even sure he can trust the stick to support his weight. And then there’s that other Kimura, loosening the lid bit by bit, who wants to act and doesn’t care about the consequences. He feels like he’s on the verge of being torn to pieces.

  ‘And now
we will be inspecting your baggage.’

  It’s a play-acting voice, and before Kimura realises what’s happening Lemon snatches the Prince’s backpack away. The Prince gawks. He hadn’t seen it coming either. The hand just floated out, traced a gentle line in space and then had the bag.

  Kimura feels himself go pale. Even the Prince looks shaken.

  ‘Okay, Percy and his uncle. I don’t know what’s in this bag, but from how Uncle Kimura was looking at it I bet there’s something in here that could give you an advantage in your current situation.’ Lemon lifts up the backpack, undoes the zip and looks in. ‘Ooh,’ he squeals. ‘I found something good.’

  The gun appears, and all Kimura can do is stare.

  ‘If I had to say how I’m feeling in six words, it’d be Daddy, Santa Claus is real! Or wait, is that five words?’ Kimura can’t tell if Lemon is talking to himself. The man looks appreciatively at the gun in his hand, with silencer attached. ‘If you fire a gun inside a train it’d be so loud everyone would notice. That was exactly our problem. But look, you can get a silencer on board! Didn’t even have to ask Santa!’

  The Prince’s eyes are glued to the gun. The situation is deteriorating too quickly for Kimura to even react.

  ‘Now listen up. I got one question for you.’ Lemon flicks off the safety and aims at Kimura.

  ‘Me?’ Kimura blurts it out, but can’t quite say the rest: Don’t shoot me, this kid is the bad one.

  The Shinkansen thrums, amplifying Kimura’s anxiety.

  ‘The two of you have a gun. And a silencer, which means you’re no amateurs. I never heard of an adult–kid team before, but it’s not crazy. There’s all kinds of weird team-ups in our biz. What I want to know is, why are you two here? I wanna know, was it your idea, or did someone send you here? What are you after? What’s your connection to me and my partner?’

  The truth is that there’s no direct connection between Kimura and Lemon or Tangerine. Kimura had brought the gun to kill the Prince, and getting involved with the suitcase was all the Prince’s initiative. But he doesn’t think it’s likely that Lemon would believe him.