“You really feel it that much, huh?”
“You bet I do.”
“You’re bringing me out in a cold sweat,” said Shinobu, slipping the Makarov back into the carrier bag.
Only twenty-four hours remained until the decreed time of
Kita’s death.
As they passed the “Tokyo Thirty Miles” sign, Kita recalled the face of Yashiro, the first to have leapt out of the Pandora’s box. Suddenly he was filled with hatred for this man who’d dogged his footsteps this past week, meddled continually, and tried to buy his life. The nausea in his belly wasn’t all due to the caviar and vodka, he thought. Yashiro was also to blame. OK, he decided, he’d follow the yakuza rule. It was payback time.
“Dr Killer, it was Yashiro who sent you after me, wasn’t it? How much did he give you for the job?”
“Five hundred thousand.”
“That’s pretty cheap. If I pay you the same, would you undertake to kill him?”
“OK.”
“And could you make it straightforward, please? No bringing him back to life after you’ve killed him.”
There was a short pause before the doctor spoke. “One must commit sin to atone for sin.”
At this, Shinobu swallowed a yawn and remarked, “Seems to me this guy goes about things in a pretty funny way. He’s a doctor but he kills people. There’s a contradiction here.”
“No, it’s Yashiro who’s full of contradictions. Kita would’ve died just the same if I’d left him alone. But that would make my duty as killer meaningless, see? That’s why I killed you. I fulfilled my duty, then my duty as doctor took over, and I saved you. There’s no contradiction in that. I’ve atoned for my sin.”
“OK. If that’s how you do things, that’s fine by me. But there’s no contradiction in what I’m asking you to do, is there? All I’m asking is that you kill Yashiro.”
“If that is what you wish…”
Kita’s idea was that if Yashiro was dead, he could at least get back to the way he felt last Friday. Right, he decided, for this one day I’m going to live free.
“I might get you to do something for me too,” Shinobu mused. With a wink to Kita, she asked the killer for his cell phone number. Business was suddenly booming for him, it seemed.
Thursday
Organs Please
Yashiro woke from a truly horrible dream, in which he’d been blindfolded, bound to a chair, had his mouth forced open, and been made to swallow salted and fermented squid. The slimy taste still lingered on his tongue. He needed water. But when he tried to sit up from where he lay on the sofa, he tumbled to the floor. His arms and legs had been bound with rope, he realized. For a moment he thought he was still in the dream, but the pain in his back and this raging thirst were most definitely real.
“Good morning.” The doctor’s face gazed down at him.
“What’re you doing here? Do you know what you’re doing?”
“Sure. I’ve been sent by Kita to kill you.”
“Stop messing around. Did you kill him? Shinobu’s safe, isn’t she?”
“You’d do better to worry about yourself.” The doctor rummaged around in his Boston bag and brought out a tennis ball and a phial of medicine.
“What did you eat last night?”
“You’re not serious about this, are you?”
“I never lie to my patients.”
“I never said I wanted to die. Are you planning on killing a patient who doesn’t want to die?”
“My duty as doctor is to save patients who want to die. And my job as killer is to kill people whose death will benefit the world.”
“What have you got against me? Tell me!”
“Nothing. I’m just helping the world become a better place.”
“Whaddya mean, ‘a better place’? You’re sick!”
“You’re sick, and so’s Kita. He’s going to die without any help from me. I’ll put an end to myself sooner or later too. But not you. You don’t want to die, so it has to be execution.”
“What the hell are you on about? You’re saying you’ve got a license to kill?”
The doctor wiped an area of the tennis ball with a fluid, and put it to Yashiro’s mouth. “Open your mouth,” he instructed. Yashiro locked his jaws together and glared up at the killer. Yashiro could see the plan. The crushed ball would be pushed into his mouth, where it would swell until it couldn’t be removed. The emetic on it would soon begin to work, and he’d vomit up last night’s food. The ball would block the vomit and send it down his windpipe, and he’d choke to death. Yashiro clamped his mouth shut – but this prevented him from begging for his life. The killer pressed the lethal gag down harder. Yashiro drew his lips into his mouth, and twisted his face away.
“You’re scared of dying?” The doctor waited patiently for an answer. But Yashiro just lay there rigid as stone, suffering the extremity of his situation. The doctor tried again. “You’re scared of dying?” Yashiro, his mouth still clenched tight, gave a little cough in response. The doctor persisted. “Is that a yes or a no?” This time, Yashiro coughed twice.
The nightmare was all too real, in fact. He’d woken too late. Who’d have thought that not locking the office door before he lay down for a snooze would cost him so dear? But no, his luck had run out when he had trusted this guy in the first place.
The doctor was rummaging in his bag again. Had he given up on the idea of choking him to death, and decided on some other way to kill him? He had to free himself from this rope as quickly as possible, and run out the door for help. Or better still, shout for help… But it wouldn’t do to startle the killer, he’d be sure to choose the quickest means to kill him off if he did. OK then, talk him out of it. Brute intimidation wouldn’t work. But what about money?
The doctor was preparing to leave. He zipped up his bag, and bowed deeply. “Please accept my apologies for being so rough with you,” he said, then added, “But you needed to be shown just how it feels to be murdered.”
“What the hell’re you on about?” The guy must be stark raving mad, thought Yashiro. Only someone in a dream could be as absurd as this. This guy shouldn’t be left to roam free in the world. He was dangerous. Get out of my sight, and make it quick! Yashiro prayed.
“How much do you want? Name your price.” What should have been a yell came out as a hoarse whisper. What wouldn’t he give for a glass of water!
“You want to buy your life back? No, my friend, you can have it for free. I’ll make sure Kita gives me back the two hundred thousand I fronted him, plus the two hundred fifty you still owe me. Right, I’m off.”
The doctor leaned close to Yashiro where he lay on the floor, gave a couple of derisive snorts through his nose, and left. Was the nightmare over at last? But if so, this was the worst waking Yashiro had ever had. It took him fifteen minutes to free himself from the rope, heaping curses all the while on this bumbling killer. Then he rushed to the refrigerator and gulped down a bottle of chilled Mt. Fuji spring water. Now he remembered why he was so thirsty. Last night’s meal. He’d dropped in to the Korean grilled meat joint next door and had salted tongue and grilled rib meat on the bone, plus two helpings of kimchi and a bottle of soju. But that alone couldn’t account for the thirst. Quite likely people’s throats went dry when faced with death. He’d been soundly beaten. How could he have let the guy sneak up and tie him up while he lay there asleep? And how could he have gone snoring on, believing it was a dream?
Yashiro couldn’t stand it any longer. He had to ring the yakuza boss who’d put him onto the doctor in the first place, and tell him the story.
“He’ll murder you in your sleep if you let him! Take my advice and rub him out ASAP, for your own safety.”
The boss was an early riser. “What’s this? He tried to kill you, eh?” His tone was mocking.
“The guy’s crazy. He was trying to throttle me!”
“Hmm. How’s your back? No pain there?”
Suddenly, Yashiro felt a sharp, pincer-li
ke pain shoot from his side around to his back. Pain also stabbed his stomach. He’d been so focused on not getting himself killed that hadn’t been aware of the pain until this moment.
“I seem to have strained my back.”
“Really? Take a look at your back in the mirror. Check if there’s any sign of stitches there.
Still not comprehending, Yashiro put his hand to his left side. “Nope, just the usual flab there. What’s this about stitches?”
“Seems you’re lucky. That guy can steal your kidney while you’re asleep. But sounds like you’re OK.”
“Man, the guy’s got no scruples!”
“That’s a killer for you.”
After the phone call, Yashiro drank more water. His body felt so heavy he could barely stand, so he sank back onto the sofa again. His stomach churned, and his head swam. Surely the guy couldn’t have stolen a kidney while he slept? Surely the pain would have made him leap to his feet! But what if he’d put him under? Yashiro glanced at the time. Two o’clock. Was his watch mad as well? But the wall clock gave the same time. It’d been about four in the morning when he’d settled down for a doze. Surely he couldn’t have slept for ten hours.
With an effort he heaved himself from the sofa, and went and stood in front of the mirror. A grey-faced old man stared back at him with bloodshot eyes. That couldn’t be him! Had the killer poisoned him, or something? He rolled up his shirt and turned to check his back. There along his right side, the side he hadn’t checked before, he saw seven staples buried in the flesh.
“He got me!” he thought. Instantly the energy drained from his body and his head swam scarlet.
Yashiro had no memory of selling his own kidney. All he’d done was arrange for Kita to sell his organs. What kind of crazy mistake had this bastard made? It had to be just a continuation of the nightmare. He’d go back to sleep, he decided. When he woke up again, his usual plump red face would be restored, and he’d go off and have himself a breaded pork cutlet on rice for breakfast. There was just no way all this could be real.
The Grave of Yoshio Kita
Once back in Tokyo, Kita chose to return to the hotel where last Friday he had revelled in his first feast with Mitsuyo and Zombie, the place with the private pool and karaoke bar. It had an automatic check-in system and room service, the perfect set-up for a kidnapper and his victim to hide away in. Here he would spend his final hours with Shinobu. The moment he left this hotel would mark the end of the kidnapping escapade, and their final parting. They both knew it, and neither felt the need to speak of it. Tired out from the long drive with the killer at the wheel, they took a hot shower, then lay on the bed, and after necking a little, sank into a light sleep.
Kita dreamed that he was walking alone through an empty desert at dusk. There he came upon a little gourd-shaped mound of sand. In it was stuck a long, thin board reminiscent of a broken grave marker, with the name YOSHIO KITA written there in a child’s clumsy hand. So this is my grave, here of all places, thought Yoshio, clasping his hands before him. Then there was a cry of “Kitaaa!” and when he turned to look he saw in the distance Mizuho Nishi with a little boy. She was clad in a bikini, and smiling shyly. The child held her hand, while in his other hand he carried a little fish scoop. He ran up to Yoshio. “Papa!” he cried.
At this, Kita awoke. Perhaps he’d overindulged in the caviar or vodka, for his throat was terribly dry, and his breath rasped. He gulped down a can of Oolong tea. “Me too,” murmured Shinobu, holding out a naked arm. He propped her in his arms and fed the tea to her.
They turned on the television. Immediately, an image of Shinobu against a background shot of Niigata Port leapt from the screen. It seemed the police and the press had swarmed to Niigata on the evidence of an eyewitness there, and were busy scouring the place for them. They must have passed them going the other way on the expressway as they’d headed back to Tokyo. There was also a shot of the Russian ship where they’d hidden for a few hours the evening before. It felt like ages since they’d gone on board and negotiated with the captain. It was only three days ago that Shinobu had read the Bible to him, but the memory had receded like some distant event in the past. Everything was coming to an end.
“It’s twelve. I’ll leave here in another hour,” Kita said.
“And what will become of me I wonder?”
“You’ll have heaps to talk about, that’s for sure. Use your tongue as your shield. Don’t let things prey on your mind. Jesus is with you.”
“That’s true, but still…” Shinobu looked unhappy. She buried her face in the pillow. Kita took a handful of her hair to his nose, wanting to remember the scent of it. If this scent filled his nostrils at the moment of death, he’d die happy, he was sure of it.
“I don’t want to go anywhere,” Shinobu’s muffled voice emerged from the pillow.
“You have to. The show must go on, but it can’t unless you go out onto that stage, you know.”
“OK, I’ll retire then.”
“You don’t have to do a thing. Just go out into the crowd with your Bible in your hand.”
“What about you, Kita?”
“I’m leaving the crowd behind.”
Shinobu abruptly sat up and hugged him. Let me not forget the feel of these breasts either, thought Kita. He felt again that tingling he’d experienced as Shinobu held the pistol to his head while the killer drove. He longed to drown in the softness of her breasts and the scent of her hair.
“Hold me. Hard. This is the last time you’ll embrace a woman. Sear this feeling into me, as proof that I lived. Hurt me if you like. You can bite me if you want to. My body will be your grave, Kita.” Tears trickled from the corners of Shinobu’s eyes. Kita licked them gently with his tongue, took her two arms inside his and squeezed. He sucked at her neck, her nipples, then slipped into her. Shinobu was half sobbing, half moaning with pleasure, and shaking her head as if desperately resisting something.
The face Kita saw before him was one he’d never seen before, not on television or in photographs, nor in the four days they’d been together. She might be in pain, or trying to dispel her fear, or about to burst out laughing. Her eyebrows were drawn down either side, her brow was wrinkled, and her lips curled.
“Let’s die together.” The heat of sex was over and the sweat-soaked bed was beginning to grow chilly when Shinobu suddenly spoke. Her tone was casual.
“No,” Kita said flatly.
“Why not? You’re going to die, aren’t you? Why should you care whether I want to die too? I’ve got a pistol right here, after all.”
“Don’t you dare. Your parents would be devastated.”
“And what about yours?”
“My father died four years ago. My mother’s gone senile.”
“Well I’ll be sad if you die, Kita. I’ll be so sad I’ll die too. So come on, let’s die together.
“You’d regret it.”
“There’s no such thing as regret once you’re dead.”
“I’m saying this for your own good, so please just live a bit longer. Another ten years or so. If you do that, you’ll find you’ve changed your mind.”
“Don’t you understand, Kita? I love you. How can I just stand by and watch the man I love die?”
“It’s sheer fancy. Just watch this man go, and you’ll be sure to find another fine guy out there in the crowd. Once you’ve fallen in love with him, you’ll forget me in no time.”
“I’ll never forget you,” she muttered. Then she crawled out of bed, and pulled the Makarov out of the carrier bag.
Kita leapt to his feet. “Give me that,” he said, his hand extended, but Shinobu placed the butt between her breasts and glared at him. Maybe he should just get Shinobu to shoot him right now, Kita thought. It would save him a lot of trouble. And Shinobu’s sudden urge to die was really just because she didn’t want to face going out into the crowd again.
“You can kill me, but don’t kill yourself,” he told her. “If you die too, who’s going to rememb
er me? Who can I visit in dreams?”
“Well stay alive, if that’s what worries you.”
“OK, say we die together. How do we do it? What’s your plan?”
“You lie on top of me, then I shoot you through the back. That way the bullet will get us both.”
“You’re the heroine of a tragedy right now, but this is going to be a joke later, you know. Come on, get dressed. I’m going out to bring this thing to an end.”
But for all his urging, Shinobu stayed put on the bed clutching the pistol, her finger poised over the trigger. Kita put out his hand and attempted to lift it from her grasp as if seizing a butterfly, but she continued to glare at him, and pointed the gun at her jaw. Her finger was still on the trigger.
“If you’re going to die, do it next Friday. You’ve still got lots more things you’ve got to do in this world. It won’t matter if you give yourself an extra week to do them. There must be things you’d love to do before you die. I’m into my seventh day here, and I’ve satisfied all my desires. But you haven’t yet.”
Shinobu heaved a deep sigh, took the barrel of the gun, and held it out to Kita. Then the corners of her mouth turned down and she fled weeping to the bathroom to take a shower.
Shinobu emerged in a better mood, with a smile ready for Kita, but he was no longer there. She searched under the bed, in the toilet, and out in the pool, but there was no sign of him. She stamped with vexation. Here she’d just decided to live a bit longer, and look what he’d gone and done! Fancy running off while she was in the shower! “I hate you Yoshio Kita!” she yelled, and began to throw whatever was to hand – pillow, towel, coffee cup. She came to her senses abruptly when the glass table shattered. Perhaps she would still be in time catch him, she thought. She flung on her clothes and rushed out of the room, her hair still wet. The moment the elevator doors opened onto street level, she dashed out into a street teeming with businessmen and office girls sauntering back from lunch.
People turned to watch, tittering as Shinobu flew along the street, drops flying from her hair and breasts flopping. Hadn’t they seen that face somewhere? Then a cry went up: “It’s her!”
Death By Choice Page 20
