Blue Light Yokohama

by Nicolas Obregon

  “Inspector, you say this person has an issue with us. So what is it we’re supposed to have done? Any idea?”

  Yumi rolled her eyes.

  “Of course he knows.”

  Iwata held up his hand.

  “I’m going to get to that. First, I need you to answer my questions and then I’m going to need to talk to your wife. In private.”

  “I’ll be on the balcony.” Yumi stood. “I need some air anyway.”

  She left the two men alone.

  “Inspector, you can imagine how it looks to my employers for me to be mixed up in this kind of thing. And all this stress isn’t doing Yumi any good.”

  “I understand, sir. But I’m afraid I can only ask you to be patient. You’re safe here.”

  “But this can’t last forever. I mean, what if this is all just a misunderstanding?”

  “Mr. Tachibana, if that were the case, I’d be delighted.”

  He slapped the tabletop.

  “Then how long? You could take months to find him!”

  Iwata leaned forward, his tone now caustic.

  “Listen to me. This man is capable of doing things to you and your wife that you can’t even begin to understand. I want you to trust me here because this is what I do. If I were you, I’d just hope that I find him before he finds you.”

  Tachibana blinked.

  “I’m sorry. I’m just…”

  “Don’t apologize. Let’s get started. Have you noticed anything out of the ordinary lately?”

  “I’ve been wondering about that myself. But no. Nothing.”

  “Think carefully, sir. Anything at all.”

  Tachibana shook his head.

  “I really can’t think of anything, I’m sorry.”

  “No one following you or your wife? No phone calls or strange communications?”

  “No.”

  “What about at work? Even if it seems very minor, it could be relevant.”

  “I’m afraid not.”

  “What is it you do?”

  “Residential design—I’m an architect.”

  Iwata took out a photograph of the black sun symbol.

  “Have you ever seen this before?”

  Tachibana shook his head. No tangible flicker of recognition at all.

  “You’re certain?”

  “No, I would remember seeing that.”

  “All right, Mr. Tachibana. I may have more questions later.”

  Iwata stood. Outside, Yumi was sitting at the table, looking out over Rainbow Bridge. It twinkled in the cold night.

  “Take a seat.”

  Iwata sat and she searched his eyes.

  “He wants to kill us, doesn’t he? That’s why you’re here.”

  “Yumi, believe me. It’s not going to happen.”

  “Has he killed others?”

  “Yes. But before we knew what to look for. You have nothing to worry about now.”

  Yumi looked away with a sad smile.

  “You know I used to be married to a cop? You sort of remind me of him.”

  Iwata smiled and he wondered if it looked like Akashi’s smile.

  “All right, Inspector.” She sighed. “Ask your questions.”

  Iwata held up the photograph of the black sun symbol.

  “Ever seen that before?”

  Yumi shook her head.

  “What about this?”

  Iwata took out the photographs from the Ohbas’ 1996 holiday album. He spread them out on the table. She flinched and looked away.

  “Yumi?”

  “Yes.”

  “You need to tell me everything you can.”

  CHAPTER 26: JUST MOVING FLESH

  YUMI SPREAD OUT THE PHOTOGRAPHS like a tarot reading, moving them around the table as she studied them. She peered at the different faces for a long time.

  “It was so long ago,” she said quietly.

  “This is a ropeway, yes?” Iwata asked.

  She nodded.

  “Where?”

  “It’s not there anymore. It was a small attraction, about an hour from Nagasaki. It went from one of the little islands, across the water, on to the mainland, past the Michimori Shrine and up to … Mount Yahazudake. Yes, that was it.”

  “You were there with your ex-husband. Akashi. Why?”

  “We just stopped on a whim. It was such a beautiful day. I actually didn’t want to but Hideo was adamant. Absolutely adamant we had to go.”

  Iwata shifted in his seat. He had a floating feeling in his chest.

  “Something happened? Something out of the ordinary?”

  “There was a … disturbed woman. She stabbed the cable car attendant, then jumped out and killed herself.”

  Iwata pointed to the woman in unseasonal clothes in the background and Yumi nodded.

  “Nineteen ninety-six was a bad memory,” he said.

  “Excuse me?”

  “That’s why they hid the photos away.”

  “Who?”

  “Nothing, please go on. What happened?”

  “Hideo … my ex-husband, he tried to save her but he couldn’t. You can’t save someone who doesn’t want to be saved. I told him that over and over. Poor man. It was awful, truly.”

  “Tell me about him.”

  She looked at Iwata curiously.

  “It really affected him. He was like a different person overnight. It’s like the person who went up on that ropeway wasn’t the one who came down.”

  “How?” Iwata’s heart was thudding. “Akashi was different?”

  “He … just shut down. He was angry, sometimes violent. Sometimes he didn’t come home for days at a time. When he did, it seemed like he hated me. He would just stare at me, his mouth hanging open. I thought that maybe he was just looking in my direction, maybe he was deep in thought. But his eyes were tracking me.”

  Iwata sipped his tea to pace himself.

  “Did he talk about the ropeway?”

  “We never spoke about these things. He just wasn’t that sort of person. He wouldn’t discuss his childhood. He wouldn’t discuss the ropeway. He would never discuss us. He was a wall. After that day on the ropeway our marriage was as good as over.”

  “When did you divorce?”

  “In the spring of 1998.”

  “Did he react badly?”

  Yumi looked at the floor.

  “He seemed sad, but I think he understood. He apologized and he said he loved me very much. I never saw him again. But what has the ropeway got to do with our situation now? You clearly think there’s a link.”

  “Mrs. Tachibana, for some reason, somebody is killing the people who were on the cable car that day.”

  She blinked.

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know. But there are only two people in these photographs left alive today. You”—Iwata pointed to little girl in the background.—“and her.”

  Yumi peered closely at her face.

  “My God, there was a little girl.”

  “Do you know her name?”

  “I’m afraid not. Maybe I heard it … it’s just so long ago.”

  “Did Mr. Akashi ever discuss suicide with you?”

  “No.”

  “Never? He never talked about having nothing to live for? Or being a burden to you or others? Did he ever mention feeling trapped or unbearable pain?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

  “Did you ever hear him say good-bye to those close to him? Did he give away prized possessions?”

  “No. He seemed empty at times. He seemed full of rage at others. He would swing from ignoring me absolutely to then seemingly hating me. Like I say, I think the incident on the ropeway affected him very badly. But suicidal? No, he never seemed suicidal.”

  “Mrs. Tachibana, what do you think about Mr. Akashi killing himself?”

  “What kind of a question is that? Obviously, I think it’s awful. What does that have to do with anything?”

  “Let me rephrase. Does jumping
off Rainbow Bridge seem like something you could ever have imagined him doing?”

  Yumi chewed her lips.

  “… I hadn’t seen Hideo in a long time.”

  She exhaled shakily and raised her cup to her lips before realizing it was empty.

  Iwata’s phone rang.

  “Excuse me.”

  He went over to the end of the balcony to take the call. A cold breeze lashed up from the bay below. Distant clouds lit up with silent lightning, luminous cocoons about to split open.

  “Hatanaka?”

  “Coco La Croix has just gone into a club called Eclipse. Shall I follow him in?”

  “No. Stay by the exit and make sure he doesn’t leave. I’ll be there in fifteen.”

  * * *

  A storm had enveloped Dogenzaka. Iwata hurried past love hotels and shot bars. There were shabby Chinese palaces, Parisian bordellos, and Babylonian harems. Red lanterns bobbed in the wind. Graffiti crisscrossed grimy walls. A neon sign blinked at him:

  ENJOY YOURSELF—REST ¥4000—STAY ¥6000

  Overhead, a canopy of slick black cables. Empty blue crates had been stacked in all available gaps. Dying potted plants had become ashtrays. The buildings grew taller and the streets wider now.

  It was 11 P.M. and the crowd was beginning to thicken. Dogenzaka had no routine beyond light and darkness.

  Iwata saw the club’s entrance.

  A long line had formed already and young women huddled under umbrellas, clouds of breath floating out. The doormen pressed their fingers to their earpieces as though guarding the prime minister. Hatanaka was standing across the street, holding his jacket over his head. Iwata tapped him on the shoulder.

  “Fucking hell, Iwata. You scared me.”

  “Is he still in there?”

  “Yes. I’ve been sneezing my ass off for the past half hour.”

  “Is the club on only one floor?”

  “Yes. The doormen are aware of the situation. It’s up on the twenty-third floor.”

  Iwata looked up at the skyscraper, its peak shrouded by dark clouds.

  The lights of the city are so pretty.

  “Give me the number for your department head. As of tomorrow morning, you’re on my team. One-week secondment. He won’t say no to me.”

  “… You’re fucking with me.”

  “Would you rather be playing pachinko?”

  A smile spread across Hatanaka’s fried egg of a face.

  “Thank you, Iwata. I mean I just want to, uh, say that—”

  “You can rub my shoulders later. Right now I need you to do something for me. The Akashi suicide article gave me an idea. You find out where his body was taken after jumping off Rainbow Bridge. I need you to get on this first thing tomorrow.”

  Hatanaka cocked his head.

  “Iwata, are you thinking this wasn’t suicide?”

  “Just find out where he was taken.”

  He looked up at the silver skyscraper arrowing up into the purple and ash. His head swam.

  “Iwata?”

  “Huh?”

  “I said, do you need me to come up there with you?”

  “No. You go home. You’ll need the rest. Tomorrow I’m going to work you hard.”

  Iwata showed his ID to the doormen and took the elevator to the twenty-third floor. The doors opened to a short stainless steel staircase. Purple neon lit the way down. Techno music throbbed through the walls. An odd fear surged through his stomach as he looked across the dance floor. In the strobe lights, it was hard to make out the contours of the room. The entire back wall was a glazed view of Tokyo’s nightscape, blocked by bodies. Above, an enormous screen played a surgical close-up of the DJ’s decks. Black vinyl spun like a whirlpool’s gullet. The strings of an orchestra rose as electronic beats thudded through them. A human mass of dancing was a tentacle changing colors—red to electric blue, and then green. Nobody was here for meaningful contact. There was nothing beyond the flailing boots and tightly shut eyelids—hands thrown up in praise of nothing.

  Look for the top hat.

  Iwata moved into the mass like stepping into a wave—just moving flesh. Ravers thrashed, their bodies covered in luminous paint. Bass crackled like artillery. A robotic voice bellowed words:

  MOTHRA MOTHRA MOTHRA

  The entire room screamed and surged harder, a feeding frenzy in a pigpen.

  Iwata saw a top hat.

  Coco La Croix was a slender man with long, platinum hair and tattoos. He was dancing freely with two companions, one male, the other female. They passed round a bottle of champagne.

  Iwata began to force his way through the bodies but, instinctively, stopped by a pillar for cover. The top hat was turning.

  Coco La Croix was facing someone behind him now.

  A tall figure with elaborate face paint.

  I hear your footsteps coming.

  But the eyes were too wide—perfect circles with deep black pupils like Felix the Cat—it was all wrong somehow.

  The Lord is my light and my salvation. Whom shall I fear?

  Iwata realized it wasn’t face paint. It was a mask—a cobalt-blue-and-jet black skull.

  This masked man leaned in low to speak. Coco nodded and took off his top hat. He passed something over, and the man snatched it, turning away. As he did so, he waved at Coco. The neon illuminated the gesture, less than a full second, but Iwata had seen it—a clear, diagonal scar on the palm.

  Before Iwata could stop himself, he raised his finger and pointed.

  He pointed at this masked man.

  I found you.

  The man stopped dead still in the sea of movement and stood there, statue-like.

  The Lord is my light and my salvation. Whom shall I fear?

  He turned.

  He looked at Iwata.

  Then he pointed to himself.

  Cartoon-like innocence: Who, me?

  Iwata fumbled for his gun but it was too late. The man had already cut Coco’s throat and was pushing his way through the dance floor. The strobe lights caught arterial spray in neon green. Gun held high, Iwata fought his way through the ravers.

  “Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God.”

  He could hardly breathe—a diver at the bottom of the ocean, his tank almost empty. Every fiber told him to run away, but he was chasing. The masked man was going for the fire exit at the back of the club. Iwata lost him from view for a second. When he caught sight of him again, Iwata saw the man had an arm locked around a woman’s throat, dragging her backward. She flailed wildly, a seal dragged under by a shark. Nobody noticed.

  Iwata saw the mask properly now—it made no sense. Black and turquoise stripes on a skull face. Human teeth about the open mouth. Huge and glassy black eyes.

  A stray elbow caught him in the face and he dropped the gun.

  Iwata fell to his knees, feeling between feet and plastic cups for his weapon. He found it quickly but the fire escape doors were already swinging closed. Iwata burst through them into a dank fire exit. Six flights up, another door slammed shut. Trembling, he took out his phone and dialed Shindo’s number. He began to climb the stairs, his footsteps echoing in time with the dial tone.

  “Shindo! I’m at Club Eclipse in Dogenzaka. He’s here.”

  “Slow down. Who?”

  “Who do you think?”

  “Him?”

  “He’s already killed one; he’s taken a hostage. He’s heading for the roof. I’m going for him.”

  “Wait, Iwata—”

  Iwata hung up and took the stairs three at a time. At the roof access door, he regained his breath then stepped out into the rain.

  He saw gravel, pipes, and vents. Clouds of steam hissed out. A cold wind shrieked. Bolts of lightning were hidden in strangely formed clouds all around him. Tokyo’s roofscape glittered through the rain. Iwata cleared his sight lines, taking short, sharp breaths. He gasped around corners. He wiped sweat from his eyes with his sleeves and scanned the ledges above him.

  Too many places to hide.
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  He heard a moan and found the hostage on the floor, by the edge of the roof. Iwata crouched over her and felt for a pulse. Her nose and jaw were badly broken but she was alive.

  “Stay calm,” he whispered.

  Her eyelids lolled open and focused somewhere over Iwata’s shoulder. He snapped his fingers in front of her face, but she wouldn’t look at him. She just gurgled.

  “You’re going to be fine, just hold on.”

  She gurgled louder and Iwata realized it had been a warning.

  Give me one more tender kiss.

  Before he could turn, a massive boot hacked the gun out of his hand. Iwata thought he heard a snap but there was no time to consider this—a knee shattered into his temple and everything lost its certainty.

  I hear your footsteps coming.

  Iwata heard wet gravel crunching under heavy footsteps. He blinked as raindrops fell into his eyes.

  He hadn’t registered the fall, but he now realized he was lying on the floor.

  I walk and I walk, swaying, like a small boat in your arms.

  Far above him, the masked man came into view, just another skyscraper in the night sky. Iwata reached for his gun like a child grasping for an escaped balloon. The man kicked the gun away and stepped over him, one foot on either side of Iwata’s head. Iwata couldn’t focus on the face, or whatever the man was wearing for a face. He knew he was going to die.

  This is what death would be.

  The Lord is my light and my salvation. Whom shall I fear?

  The man gripped Iwata by the coat lapels and hauled him up to eye level. Iwata heard his seams rip. The wind flapped at his trousers and he vaguely thought that he was being held over the edge of the building. Between his shoes, he saw atoms in flux. Tokyo span.

  The lights of the city are so pretty.

  And now the man spoke with a deep, outlandish voice.

  “Eek.”

  He leaned in like a curious dog. His breath smelled of earth and meat.

  “Hach k’as. Eek.”

  “… But I found you,” Iwata whispered, struggling to retain consciousness.

  The masked man began to make noises, guttural and rasping.

  Iwata realized it was laughing.

  A dark, cavernous laugh.

  This will always be our world.