Weeds in the Jungle

by Stuart Parker

tossed away the head and wiped his hands on his silk handkerchief. The same pounding feet came at him again. It was the old man with that snow white beard. Incomprehensively he was back. The man kicked away Taro’s gun with a vicious force.

  ‘You think you’re so tough you can just walk out of this world,’ he said, ‘but I bet you can’t even hit an old man.’

  Taro sprang enraged to his feet, punching the man flush in the jaw. The man crashed back into a tree and slid down dazedly onto his knees. It had been a hard punch. With a flash of pain, Taro realised one of his knuckles was pointing the wrong way. He was clicking it back into place when the old man got up.

  ‘Good for you,’ said the old man, tasting the blood in the corner of his mouth. He spat out the rest. ‘It’s a better way to meet a stranger than worrying about who bows the deepest. Knock him down and see how fast he gets up.’ He brushed the leaves off his grey cargo trousers. ‘I’m not ashamed to admit I’ve lost my share of fights. The only reason I’m still alive is that I’ve always won the really dirty ones.’ He sent a brutal knee up into Taro’s stomach.

  Taro groaned as he keeled over. The man laughed. ‘No need to tell me how painful that was. The bad news is there is still plenty of that to come. I came to this forest to walk in my hiking boots and that’s exactly what I’m going to do.’ He lashed out with a kick to the kidneys, another to the head.

  Taro was left in a daze, trying to roll out the way. He spotted a cave in the distance and forced himself to crawl towards it. The cave entrance was a beautiful pure white and he lunged into it. It was a soft, warm marshmallow cloud. Taro dropped into it, feeling both free and helpless. He reached out his hands but there was nothing to grip onto. Was it the effects of the pills kicking in?Or was it the kick to the head? His whole body was becoming terribly numb. All he could feel was the descent. The marshmallow was transforming into an icy cold blackness. A blackness that engulfed him completely, and then, like it were the most potent of acids, he dissolved into it.

  46

  Taro’s tightly wound nerves had him reflexively springing upright, his limbs flailing. A fierce jolt of pain gripped him in the ribs and at the same time something went smashing against the wall. He realised that he was on a double bed. Small, spotlessly clean and devoid of any warmth in its appearance, it must surely have been a hotel room. He eased himself back down into a lying position and took in a little more. There was a television, wall mirror and on the bedside table a telephone and a room service menu. The airport mustn’t have been far away, for there was a jumbo jet flying overhead with a real kick in the engines.

  The toilet flushed and a man stepped out alongside the bed. Taro realised it was the old man from Aokigahara Forest. He wasn’t looking quite so old now, however. His slicked back hair and stylish black suit were helping considerably in that regard.

  ‘Good morning,’ the old man said. ‘You’ve slept in. I’m ashamed to say, however, you haven’t slept in so late you’re seeing me with my first drink of the day.’ He held up a glass containing a gold liquid. He must have had it with him in the toilet. ‘Whiskey on the rocks. I’d offer you one but you’ve just broken the other glass in the set. My fault for leaving it so close to the bed. Never mind, it only had ice cubes left in it.’ He sipped the drink in his hand.

  Tarowriggled up onto his elbows. He was expecting to find himself tied up. There was a cord around one leg but it was not attached to the other. His legs were bare. He was wearing a black and white striped yukata bathrobe and was naked underneath. The stray cord was merely a result of being loosely tied.

  ‘It wasn’t me who changed you into that,’ said the old man, following his gaze. ‘I’ve got an assistant with me. She shaved off your moustache and did a little hair trimming and colouring as well. Hope you don’t mind. We all need a little image update from time to time. Especially when we’re in the crime pages.’

  ‘Where am I?’ Taro queried.

  The old man shook his glass to engage the ice cubes. ‘Near Itami Airport. The airport hotel. Best place to take someone unconscious. Many of the guests are asleep or dazed when they check in. I would have brought you here even if we weren’t catching a plane. My name is Nobunaga. What’s yours?’

  ‘Taro Takeda. Taking a plane?’

  The old man dragged closer a plastic chair of modern design and sat down. ‘No, I’m sorry but that name will no longer do. When a name gets too soiled and worn, it is time to cut it loose. Your name now is Ichiro Sato. I hope you like it. I just came up with it now in the toilet.’

  ‘Are you some kind of social worker?’ murmured Taro.

  Nobunaga grinned revealing two gold teeth and shook his head. ‘People consider Aokigahara to be the Suicide Forest, but that is only half the story. To me it is a recruitment hub. There’s no better place to find disaffected youth with the fortitude to go all the way, who have already made peace with their mortality. The average aspiring gangster will join a bosozoku bike gang to prove his or her metal, but all they’re really proving is a knack for following the pack. People like me go looking in Aokigahara Woods for the bright sparks of Japanese youth. The protruding nailheads that refuse to be hammered down. It’s a well-kept secret with police and gangsters alike. If word got out, the forest would be overrun by a flood of pretenders. No one wants that.’

  ‘The other guy – ‘ started Taro.

  ‘The one you hit? The do-gooder? The forest has plenty of those as well. I generally endeavour to keep away from them. You were right to fatten his lip. You’re better off with me.’ He lifted his glass and let some more whiskey drain in through the gaps in his teeth. ‘You’re looking at me like I’m your jailer. I had a wife who did that. But it’s an inaccurate assumption. If you’re suddenly feeling reattached to the life you were trying to end a few hours ago, be my guest. On the other hand, if you’re interested in taking a plane ride, I’m taking the next flight to Okinawa. In about one hour. The nice young woman who undressed you will be on the flight, too. Want to come along?’

  ‘Did you pluck her out of Aokigahara Woods, too?’

  Nobunaga nodded. ‘Some time ago. The poor girl has her moments of darkness. You could say she knows a thing or two about pills. Fortunately for you it includes how to cleanse a stomach of them. Fortunate for the fat man too seeings you force fed him most the bottle. That was somewhat excessive, I thought.’

  Taro remembered the kicking he received and probed his head for lumps. It didn’t take long to find one and it was tender to the touch. Seeing how old and wiry the man was, Taro’s pride was hurt as well.

  ‘You can’t dress me up in a yukata like this and say I’m not a prisoner,’ he snapped. ‘Where are my clothes?’

  ‘With the girl who saved you.’

  ‘Where is she then?’

  ‘Off to find a recycle bin. Both you and your clothes are heading for a fresh start.’

  ‘Those clothes were expensive.’

  ‘What’s that got to do with anything?’ The old man left his chair, put the whiskey glass on the bedside table and with a couple of steps was at the door. ‘I am going to wait for her in the foyer. The bartender on duty has worked in several countries that I am interested in. He is an engaging conversationalist.’ He yanked open the door and paused. ‘Ichiro-san, you are not a prisoner. But I fear you may not live very long if you endeavour to prove it.’

  47

  The suit delivered to Taro by room service was a similar cut and soft black cotton to Nobunaga’s. Nobunaga did not broach the subject until they were twenty thousand feet in the air when, are double checking that the seats around them were still empty, said: ‘The only thing more inconspicuous than a man in a black suit is two men in black suits.’ There was a gin and tonic in his hands. With that customary jingle of the glass, he woke up the ice cubes. ‘That also explains why we are in economy class and my assistant is travelling first class. She is a little too beautiful. A fugitive really shouldn’t draw attention to himself.’

  Taro thou
ght the better of clarifying if it was only him he was referring to when he talked about fugitives. He shuffled uncomfortably in his seat. He hadn’t yet ordered any drink himself, but whatever painkillers Nobunaga had administered him with were starting to wear off, a dull throb building somewhere back behind his ear. The flight attendants patrolling the aisles of the twin prop plane were particularly charming and friendly. Taro looked to catch their attention.

  Nobunaga slapped him on the arm. ‘Let’s talk a little business. I’ve spent more nights than I care to remember camped out in that forest and I can assure you I didn’t save everyone I ran into. Let me give you my terms and if you don’t like them, you can throw yourself off one of Okinawa’s many suitable cliffs that unfortunately have had too much history with such deeds. Whether you do or don’t, I’ll go on enjoying the best seafood and finest whiskey Naha has got to offer. Get my drift?’

  ‘Yes.’ Taro scratched his cheek self-consciously. ‘I may have had similar offers in the past. I worked for Tokin Mikoto. Do you know him?’

  Nobunaga was agitated by the question. ‘No one has heard of the people you’ll be working with. And if you join us, no one will have heard of you either. Failure might lead to a funeral as lonely as the one you planned for