by Vann Chow
“What about Andy?” Now he felt totally powerless. Even Andy knew more than him.
Misa laughed. “You didn't know? Andy...he is a fan.”
“A fan of what?”
“A fan of my movies.”
That made blood leave his limbs and shoot up his head at what felt like a hundred miles per hours. His face was immediately red with anger and embarrassment. It was as uncomfortable for him to think about these unseemly tapes which Misa was in, as knowing his good friends knew about them all along but did not find it necessary to disclose when he inquired.
“A cappuccino and a green tea latte machiato.” The waitress laid their drinks out in front of them. “Enjoy!”
“The piano improv is incredible. Sometimes I wish I have a piano so I could learn to play like that.” Misa stared at longingly at the musician behind the piano, swaying her body from side to side, humming along.
Smith could not help but notice how his entire being was captivated by the girl in front of him, and not the music. His temper died a little bit at Misa's every sway to the music.
“You're not sad?” He knew he should have shut up, but his curiosity won the wrestle. What kind of superhuman mental strength did Misa possess that enable her to live so carefree, despite everything that should not have to happen to a girl like her had happened? He would have thought it impossible if he hadn't known her personally.
“These things happened a long time ago. I am now like a lotus leaf on a rippling pond. I will float regardless of the the waves.”
“Nice analogy.”
“Beside I have my revenge.” She smiled again. This time a bit more genuine than the last.
“That's why darling it's incredible, that someone so unforgettable thinks that I am unforgettable too.”
49. An Interrogation
“Get to the point.” Miyazaki snapped, after hearing Misa's idle recollection of some Jazz festival he had no interest in. “What did you do with this person, Sumisu ? He is the same Sumisu who was in the TV commercial with you, isn't it?”
“You seem to have the answer already. Why do you ask me?” Misa said.
“Don't get cheeky!” The officer slammed his palm on the desk. Ashes in the cigarette dish tumbled to one side. “Did he pay you money to sleep with him?”
“No.”
“Someone caught you guys on photograph three days ago. You spent the night in his apartment.”
“Says who?”
“Says this photograph.” He pulled a photograph up on the display of his phone. It was dark and grainy, but Misa could tell it was she and Smith-san, posted on the forum now Misa would never visit again.
“Yes, that was us, so?”
“So you will be charged with prostitution. Do you admit to the crime?”
“We love each other. There was no money involved.”
“What about these ten dollars he gave you? They are tips aren't they?”
“They are in American dollars, as a keepsake, memorabilia from a faraway place. What could I possibly do with them in Japan? Besides they are token of his appreciation for the times, I taught him Japanese, in public. The security cameras in the museum cafe would have footage of it.”
“What about the 1.4 million yen in the visa debit card he owns we found in your house?” Miyazaki dealt his trump card. It rendered Misa speechless.
The police had raid Misa and Tatsu's apartment on grounds of suspicion over drug possessions. Revenge or prank, their house was turned upside down by an anonymous call made to the police, pointing at Tatsu for being in possessions of a large quantity of marijuana. The source had indicated that he was a leg in the intricate drug smuggling route around inner Tokyo high schools. Unfortunate for Tatsu, he fit the profile for the runner. A young, unemployed nobody who happened to have lots of friends still in school, who could, in turn, disseminate the product to a large number of fellow students quickly for profits. The police decided to pursue this tip and busted their apartment late this evening, with both of them in the house.
While they could not find the large quantity of weed they were hoping to bag, they did find a few ounces fit for personal consumption and a leather-bound diary full of recognizable names and numbers that were, to Miyazaki, a bigger treasure trove.
50. Lunch
“Don't be a child, Aily,” Andy whispered to Aileen, squeezing her hand under the table. “They are our friends.”
Despite the lack of sleep and overwhelming of senses by the twinkles of lights reflected by the restaurant's impressive ornamental gem stones murals of samurais on its four walls, Smith could tell that he was no longer the object of desire for Aileen. Not only that but there was an air of hostility between them which he could not explain.
It was not too much to ask for, he thought. He was handing her a case the entire Japan had their eyes on. Any lawyer who wanted to make a name for him or herself would covet a case like this to land in their lap once in their lifetime. Cheryl had been contacted by a few solicitors, whom he asked her to turn away for want of someone he knew he could trust, that being Aileen. She was to represent all three of them, Tatsu, Misa and himself, as their lawyers. Or at least that was the idea Smith had when he had made the tea appointment at one of the most extravagant location for a few pieces of sandwiches served on three-tier display on Andy's suggestion.
“I managed to bail him out by invoking international human rights laws. That's virtually unheard of for foreigners in Japan. Nobody gets bail under normal circumstances,” Aileen said. “I think I have done enough for...”
“A pedophile,” Andy finished her sentence.
“That's not what I was trying to say!” Aileen frowned and pulled her hand free from Andy's under the table. Its abruptness knocked the orange juice over. Smith caught it in time.
“I was just trying to lighten up the mood.” Andy gave everyone his signature smile of innocence.
“I know you will say something like that just to get it out of your system,” Smith said knowingly. After all, they had spent years together as pals and colleagues.
“This is not an InterHRLA case. You know I work for an organization, and not for clients who are not part of an InterHRLA case.”
“Then make a case file for us.”
“'No' is 'no', Smith,” Aileen repeated her stand. “As a friend, I do wish that you understand the gravity of the situation. They have found two and a half ounces of cannabis in the boy's room marked for three. It was opened and partly consumed, with stubs stained with his saliva found in his garbage can. The boy is done. Possession and usage of cannabis in this country is punishable up to five years in prison. It's only a matter of how long the judge will put him behind bars. For that, his family better start rounding up some character-witnesses and testimonials in his favors to put him in a better light, make it look like it was a momentary lapse of judgment. And not to mention they had better find him a native speaking lawyer who can deliver a plea so good the Gods tear up.”
She took a sip of her coffee and continued.
“As for you and Misa....” she paused to let out a withheld breath. “Did you two do it?”
“No! No, no, no.” Smith said, adamantly denying any wrongdoing. “How many times do I have to tell you guys? I let her sleep in my place because she was too drunk. I did not touch her.”
“Then why did Misa admit it?” Andy interrupted.
Aileen held up a hand to hush him up. “Her exact words were 'We love each other. There was no money involved.' That is technically slightly different from admitting to having intercourse with a man.”
“Is that what she said?” Smith questioned, not entirely trusting his ears.
“We had a few too many wines, and she was getting drunk. Instead of going home, she proposed to stay at my place that evening. I thought it was understandable, given how her relationship with Tatsu had worsened over the last couple of weeks. They had a row when she found him smoking.”
“Jeeze, Smith, save your explanation for the
federal prosecutor,” Andy said, twisting his mouth in disapproval. “That is one of the worse alibis I have heard. Have years of Detective Conan taught you nothing?”
“Detective Conan?” Aileen repeated, puzzled.
“The anime,” Smith replied. “Andy is reliving his childhood in Japan.”
“Come on people. There is a grainy photograph of you two going home together at three AM in the morning. Then there is a bunch of records for your rendezvous in her diary, as well as a debit card with a large sum of money that belongs to you in her house. Put two and two together and voilà , you're a paying customer.”
“Don't get yourself excited,” Aileen said. “Under Japanese law, the definition of prostitution is strictly limited to coitus. Any non-coital sexual acts do not fall within the scope of the regulation. They have no case unless you were arrested in the act or the prosecutor has managed to get clear evidence, like a video tape, of it in progress.”
“There was no case...yet they invite you for a day at the detention center...” Andy said.
“They have something in hand that we don't know,” Aileen said thoughtfully.
“We did nothing,” Smith grunted. “Absolutely nothing. I am so glad my wife is not here to witness this.”
“You're divorced,” Andy said sarcastically. “Show me the photograph,” He asked Aileen, who had the case files in her lap. They looked at it together. In the shadow of the street lamps, Smith was seen hugging with one arm an almost unconscious Misa from behind while he entered the pass code to his apartment building with another hand.
“Misa is a good drinker. She can easily out drink you and I, Cars.”
“You mean she was pretending to be drunk?”
“What's so surprising about it? That's straight out of Japanese television. Ninety-nine percent of television sex occurs in this scenario. Japanese women are too shy to ask for it.”
“Yet there was no sex.” Smith rebuffed his claim.
“Who can testify to it? Your neighbors who were deeply engrossed in their sleep cycles that were not awakened by your lack of noise? Too absurd.”
“My faith, my principles. They are the best witnesses to my soul.”
“I told you he was asexual,” Andy said to Aileen, who could not help but chuckle. She put her arm under the table on his leg and gave it a squeeze. Smith chose to ignore it.
“Then there was the anonymous call. The photograph and the call, these were both external evidence, collected almost as if intentionally to frame you and her.”
“The two of them are the hottest items on the internet. The photographer and the caller might just be one of their fans.”
“Yes, Misa had fans.” Smith glared at Andy, who looked away as if he was caught stealing.
“Given Misa's track record, nobody will believe Misa is innocent. The only point of contention is, are you a paying customer, or are you her boyfriend,” said Aileen.
“I am not her boyfriend.”
“Well, friends with benefit?” said Andy.
“You're not helping.” Smith glared at Andy.
“You did give her the money.”
“Her brother. For his medical bills,” Smith said. “That was also ages ago.”
“The siblings share their expense. We could argue this point, but this is not the weakest point in the chain of events.”
“What is in your opinion, Detective Conan?” Smith asked.
“Are you not curious why of all the names in her diary, you were the only one who was arrested?” he said.
“Well, that's what I was saying. The police probably got something on them.” Aileen said.
“Even if someone had installed a night vision video camera inside my apartment, there would be nothing to see,” Smith said with conviction. I made some hot tea and put Misa to bed. I went to take a shower and slept on the couch by myself. As simple as that.”
“What about body fluids?” Andy suggested.
“...in a used condom, for example.” Aileen finished his sentence. “They could have found it in garbage.”
“Garbage sweep. That would be saying that the police know what they were looking for and where they could find it.”
“Well, looking in someone's garbage for clues is detective work 101.”
“They wouldn't have let me have bail if they have confirmatory evidence,” Smith interjected on their preposterous speculations.
Andy's face turned blue.
“What's the matter?” Aileen asked.
“Someone wants you to stay away from Misa,” Andy said to Smith, his eyes brighten with enlightenment.
“What do you mean?” Aileen asked again, baffled.
“That's it!” Andy slammed his palm on the table. “It's a warning! It's a warning to you to keep you away from Misa.” He turned to Aileen and said, “You said it yourself. There is no case unless they have some fairly strong evidence which we would have heard of it already. The police are bluffing.”
“Why would anyone spend such huge effort to keep me away from Misa?”
“You're a public figure now, Smith,” Andy said. “You're dragging Misa into the spotlight by your association with her. Someone wants to keep her out of it, desperately.”
“The anonymous tip,” Aileen said thoughtfully.
“And the photograph. They were planted to give the police enough clues to go on, but nothing to get both of you into serious trouble.”
“Do you mean someone wants to protect Misa?” Smith asked. “That made no sense. How's getting her arrested protecting her? How's that keeping her from the limelight?”
“No, you still don't get it?” Andy sighed deeply. “It's not her that someone wants to protect. It was himself. There were all distractions from something that really concerned this person. Something must have happened in the last few days. We need to search the web.”
51. The Jail Cell
Misa heard muffled voices outside her cell. Her ears twitched, but she did not move.
The cell room was made for isolation. For someone with less mental strength, she would have already admitted to whatever crimes they pinned on her. Misa could, however, focused her mind on something other than her present circumstances, which other would consider as plight, on the passing of the time. An excellent distraction for someone with ample of it on hand. Still fourteen more hours to go till the end of her forty-eight hours’ detention.
Being locked in a jail cell was the perfect moment for meditation. Meditation did not require physical comfort. It did not require anymore physical space than a body took. It did not require external resource. Everything needed was vested already in her mind. She could practically bend walls with her mind, or pierce through them with the fire that spits out of her eyes. They felt sore from staring at the wall through the semi-darkness. The weak lamp shone only to one corner of the cell. Casually, Misa rubbed her eyes.
Outside, the row between a disgruntle fellow detainee and an annoyed jailer could be heard. Futile display of resistance, Misa thought to herself.
She exhaled.
Her energy pushed the whish of sound out at once, and the noise whizzed out of her cell as if it had been pressurized from the inside.
Peace, finally. This act required a certain level of mental concentration. What a beautiful feat she had achieved. She lauded herself on the inside.
It took about five seconds. Then she immediately got attuned to the room's lighting and its interior. The strangeness of the place no longer seemed strange. This was her stage today, she noted mentally. A quick scan proved that this would be an easy show to do.
As a priced skill that came from years of practice, she was always able to feel comfortable in the unknown. Much like a door-to-door salesman, it was essential to her to be able to perform at her best regardless of where and whom she meet. What she had witnessed as a working girl would likely set off days of nightmares for some one else. Misa, not, not her. And because even feelings were relative, in the absence of any immediate audience,
she felt almost relaxed. She might even be able to enjoy herself a little bit in the solitude. No one to watch her except the cursory glance of the video feed from the security guards who kept an eye on hers and many other's security cameras, she could be said to be having some near-privacy. A luxury.
The hardness of the block she was sitting on, the stiff muscle on her back from sitting in the same posture for way too long, the twitch in her toes from being cramped in the same shoes she had since yesterday, none of those bothered her. She could carry on with not a care in the world.
That was the trick that her mind and body knew well. She had acquired it without instruction from her brief entrapment by the dead man. That was years ago. She could barely remember it. The story that her reaction, or lack of, at the present moment told was one that Tanaka and Smith wanted desperately to uncover. Had they asked Misa directly, she would not be able to answer questions about what really transpired. Was she even there? The only thing that mattered to her was that no one should ever make her feel bad again. Everything else was better forgotten. And forget she did.
That was a couple of years ago. It was now nothing but a few flickers...
Entrapped, helpless, she was fatigued from resistance. Her mind finally tricked her into believing that she enjoyed her present status. Were there other sources of solace if not one that came from within her? Her brain had saved her from desperation, from dementia, from hurting herself. Instead of fighting her way out, she had suppressed the wish to escape. It had persuaded her whole being to live the moment, to relish the extraordinary of circumstances, the suspense, the surprise, the climax, the mess afterwards, the cleansing. The cycles she had become expectant of during those times. And then suddenly they were over. That left her hollow when she was let out.
She wanted more.
No, she did not enjoy it. She could not have been. That was what she kept telling herself so she could behave normally like other people. Deep down she knew she was a different person. There was no way she could keep herself away from temptation. The dead man had poisoned her soul with a craving she could not suppress. Worse than drugs, worse than a curse. It was the moment when Eve tasted the forbidden fruit. What she bit was not just an apple, but an apple dipped in golden caramel. It rotted her soul like unbrushed teeth. Bacteria grew all over it. The bacteria grew and grew into a colony until it was too thick to get rid of. She was one with sin.
