Osamu Dazai and the Dark Era

by Kafka Asagiri

  “See? What did I tell you?”

  I took a silent drink without responding to Ango’s point.

  “Dazai, maybe you should get a hobby before you start meddling in other people’s work,” continued Ango. “Something more wholesome than attempting suicide.”

  “Hobbies? Hmm…” Dazai pouted boyishly. “Chess and Go are too easy, though. They’re boring. What else is there?”

  “What about sports?”

  “I hate getting tired out.”

  “How about studying, then?”

  “Too much work.”

  “Then how about cooki—? Wait. Forget it.”

  Ango lowered his head and covered his mouth. He must have remembered when Dazai made us that “peppy hot pot.” It gave us plenty of pep, just as the name suggested, but we had no memory of what happened the next few days after we ate it. When we grilled Dazai later about what was in the hot pot, he just giggled.

  “Oh yeah, I created a new hot-pot recipe. Would you guys be up to trying it next time we hang out? I call it the ‘superhuman stamina pot.’ You can run for hours without getting tired after eating it. It’s a dream of a—”

  “Not in a million years,” Ango sternly declined.

  “If it keeps you from getting tired, then it might be pretty useful before a hard day’s work,” I added.

  “…Odasaku, that’s exactly the problem right there. You’re enabling Dazai. You don’t speak up, and that’s why he goes off the rails.”

  I see. So this was what Ango meant by “enabling” him. You learn something new every day.

  “Barkeep, do you have a hammer?”

  “I do not.”

  “Oh, too bad.”

  “Guess there’s not much you can do about that,” Dazai said with a smile.

  “Sigh… I just got back from work, and my head already hurts…” Ango hung his head. He must have had a rough day.

  “You work way too hard, Ango,” I told him.

  “Yeah, you do.”

  Ango glanced sharply back and forth between Dazai and me, then said, “It would appear so. I feel like I’m working unpaid overtime right now. I should get going.”

  “What? Leaving already?” Dazai asked, a hint of disappointment in his tone.

  “To tell the truth…” Ango’s smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “When I’m here drinking with you two, I almost forget that the work I’m doing is illegal. Barkeep, thanks for the drink.”

  Ango removed his belongings off the counter, then stood up.

  “You take that bag with you when you go out of town for business?” I asked, pointing at his small leather bag. I didn’t have any specific reason for asking; that’s just all I could think of to stop him.

  “Yes. It doesn’t have much in it, though. Just some cigarettes, a weapon for self-defense, a small umbrella…” Ango opened the bag wide to show me its contents. “And this camera I use for work.”

  “Oh, hey. Let’s all take a picture together,” Dazai cheerfully suggested out of the blue. “To commemorate today, y’know?”

  “Commemorate what?” I asked.

  “To remember we were here. Or to celebrate Ango being home. Or to celebrate you disposing of that dud. Anything will do, really.”

  “Whatever the executive says,” Ango stated with a shrug before pulling a black camera out of his bag. It was an old roll-film camera, with the black paint chipped off here and there from age and use.

  “Make sure it looks cool,” said Dazai.

  Ango smirked as he took a picture of Dazai and me together. Then, by Dazai’s request, I took one of him and Ango by the counter. Dazai posed by placing one leg on the stool and leaning into it. “Taking it from this angle makes me look more handsome.”

  “Why did you want to take photos all of a sudden, Dazai?”

  “I just felt like if we don’t take a picture now, there’ll be nothing left to prove we spent this time together, I guess.” He grinned brightly.

  It turned out Dazai was right. That ended up being our last opportunity to photograph that invisible something among the three of us—the only thing to make us aware of the void left behind once we lost it. We never got another chance to take a picture together in that bar.

  Because one of us died soon after.

  CHAPTER I

  The Port Mafia has three rules: Follow the boss’s orders no matter what, don’t betray the organization, and always hit back twice as hard. The rules are ordered from most to least important, just like that. Which was why that morning, I nearly dropped the piece of bread I had in my mouth when I got a call telling me the boss wanted to see me. I was just putting on a pot of coffee.

  The agent on the phone spoke in a monotone.

  “Sakunosuke Oda, the boss wants to see you.”

  Three phrases instantly popped into my head: Served his purpose. To be disposed of. Personnel cut. My fingertips turned cold and numb. After hanging up, I quickly stuffed the rest of the bread down my throat, then cut my Canadian bacon and scrambled eggs into thirds before inhaling them. I poured some freshly brewed coffee into my mug, tossed in a sugar cube with some cream, and drank it up all while slipping on my shirt arms-first. I started to wonder if I should just skip town, but the searing-hot coffee kicked my mind into gear, and the absurd notion vanished from my thoughts. I shaved, then put on some pants and hoisted my leather harness over my shoulders. It had holsters below my armpits, which I slipped my trusty 9mm handguns into. Finally, I tossed on my coat and left the house.

  After getting into the car, I recklessly hightailed it to the office. I don’t really remember much about what happened along the way; I might’ve driven down the three-lane highway in the wrong direction two or three times. At any rate, once I made it to the office safely, I headed straight for the lobby. I briefly greeted my colleagues on guard duty before getting into the elevator to go to the top floor. Everything about the place was spotless, without even so much as a single fingerprint or speck of dust—from the lobby, which felt like something out of a luxury European hotel, to the time machine–like elevator itself.

  This office was located in prime real estate in the middle of Yokohama. There were four other offices of the same scale in the neighborhood. As I gazed out of the elevator’s glass walls at the city, the number of buildings higher than my line of sight gradually dwindled until it reached zero. And still the elevator kept on going.

  Looking down at the cluster of buildings drenched in the morning light, I mused over why the boss had summoned me.

  When I actually thought it through, it wouldn’t have made sense for him to call such a low-ranking member all the way here just to dispose of them. If he’d wanted to do that, he’d just have me meet at some waste-treatment site and get a hit man to cut me up and toss me out—low cost, low effort. The Port Mafia’s boss was much more logical than his predecessor, and above all, he preferred to keep that kind of stuff eco-friendly.

  So why in the world did he summon me?

  The elevator door opened, breaking my train of thought. The hallway was laid with a carpet thick enough to muffle even the most hurried footsteps, and the walls were so strong that not even a rocket-propelled grenade could take them down. The concealed light fixtures illuminated the interior with a milky-white glow.

  I told the black-suited guard my name, and he pointed to the office door without saying a word. Standing in front of the French door, I gave my outfit another quick once-over, then traced my chin with my finger to make sure I hadn’t missed a spot shaving. After clearing my throat, I called out like a believer addressing God in a church.

  “Boss, it’s me, Oda. I’m coming in.”

  “Come on, Elise. Put on the dress, just for a little bit! Just for a quick second!”

  …What I heard coming from inside the room was disturbing. I waited three seconds, pretending I didn’t hear anything. Then I took a few deep breaths.

  “Boss, it’s me, Oda. I’m coming in.”

  “Awww, please don’t
take off your clothes and just toss them on the floor like that! That skirt was expensive, you know!”

  …Yet another troubling comment. After giving it some thought, I decided to play the role of an unsuspecting subordinate who just happened to open the door at the exact wrong moment.

  “Pardon my intrusion.”

  With those words, I opened the door and immediately saw two people running around the spacious office: a middle-aged man in a white coat and a little girl who appeared to be around ten years old. The girl was half-naked; the man was the Mafia’s boss.

  “No way! Never!”

  “Please, Elise, I’m begging you. Just try it on, okay? I put a lot of thought into picking this out for you. Look at these crimson frills! They’re like flower petals! I’m sure it’ll look great on you!”

  “I don’t hate the pretty clothes. I just hate how desperate you are, Rintarou.”

  “You’re acting like this is new. Heh, I’ve got you now!”

  “Boss.”

  They simultaneously glanced in my direction at the sound of my voice—smiling. They were smiling and completely motionless.

  “I came just like you told me to. What was it you needed?”

  The boss continued to stare at me, that same smile still plastered to his face. His eyes were pleading, begging for help. Hopefully, he wasn’t actually expecting it from me.

  “Boss, you wished to see me?”

  “Uh…”

  After his gaze wandered around the room—from his desk to the ceiling lights, the window, an oil painting, and a silver candlestick—the boss looked at the young girl by his side and said, “Why’d I tell him to come here again?”

  “Don’t ask me.”

  The girl called Elise scowled at him as if he were so much vomit on the side of the road, then left through the door to the connecting room. I waited on the boss for the next word. After peering around the office, he slipped behind his desk in the center and pressed a switch that tinted the glass windows a dull gray. As the room instantly dimmed, the boss took a seat in his black leather chair, and out of nowhere, two guardsmen suddenly and noiselessly appeared behind him. The lamp on the mahogany desk illuminated the boss’s profile—eyes squinted, brows furrowed, elbows on the desk and both hands clasped in front of his face. He spoke in a low, reverberating voice.

  “Now…”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Oda, I called you here for one reason and one reason alone.”

  The boss shot me a piercing look through the darkened room.

  “Yes.”

  “Oda…” After pausing for a moment, he continued. “Has anyone ever told you to speak up more?”

  How did he know?

  “Yes, many times.”

  I looked to one of the guards behind the boss for an explanation. However, the motionless, poker-faced guard averted his gaze ever so slightly.

  “At any rate, you just got here. You did not see a thing. Understand?”

  “Yes, sir.” I nodded in agreement. Besides, it was technically true, anyway. “I only just arrived. Thank you for taking a break from undressing a young girl and chasing her around the room to meet with me. So what was it you needed me for?”

  The boss pinched his brows together for a few moments to think before nodding as if he had made up his mind.

  “Dazai once said to me, ‘Odasaku has no ulterior motives; what you see is what you get. It takes some getting used to, but once you do, it’s like a balm for the soul.’ I kind of see what he means now.”

  That was the first I’d ever heard of such a thing. This was Dazai, though; he was probably just talking out of his ass. A man in his twenties isn’t going to be much of a balm for anyone’s soul.

  After giving a cough to clear the air a little, the boss continued, “Now, you must be wondering why I called you here.”

  He picked up the silver cigar case on his desk and stared at it for a while before taking out a cigar. However, he didn’t smoke it; he merely played with it in his hand, then whispered, “I want you to find someone for me.”

  “Find someone…?”

  I ruminated on what he’d just said. It was fortunate that he didn’t tell me to just die, but it was still too early to relax.

  “Please allow me to confirm a few points. Seeing as you’re giving me direct orders face-to-face, I’m guessing the person you wish to find is no ordinary individual. Are you sure a lowly grunt such as myself can handle it?”

  “A valid question.” The boss gave a faint smirk. “Normally, a man of your rank would either be on the front line acting as a meat shield or rushing into a military police station with a bomb. But I’ve heard about the work you do, and I would like to entrust this task to you specifically.” The boss put the cigar back in the case, then swept his long bangs back. “Our intelligence officer Ango Sakaguchi has gone missing.”

  If someone were to peer inside my mind at that moment, they would’ve witnessed something akin to a massive volcanic eruption. Countless question marks would have been blasting out of the crater, blanketing the sky in its entirety. And yet, the only visible reaction I had was a twitch of a finger.

  “You’re able to keep calm, I see. I was going to say you wouldn’t be right for the job if you got upset, but…you passed. Allow me to continue. Ango disappeared last night. Apparently, he never made it back home. It is still unclear if he went into hiding of his own free will, or if he was kidnapped.”

  So that would mean Ango went missing after we met up at the bar the night before. At the very least, there was nothing particularly different about him then. He even said he was going home before he left. Either Dazai or I would’ve noticed if he had been lying. I’m sure of it.

  “As you well know, Ango is the Mafia’s informant.”

  The boss heaved a dreary sigh. From his expression, he actually appeared genuinely worried about his subordinate’s safety.

  “His head is chock-full of top-secret info on the Mafia: management of our secret accounts, lists of companies and government officials who pay us, contact information of clients who trade in smuggled goods. This information would make someone a fortune if sold to another syndicate, and they could cut us down and set us on fire before we knew it. Even if that isn’t the case, Ango is a talented and important subordinate to me. If something happened to him, then I want to help him. You understand how I feel, yes?”

  I couldn’t say that I did. A lowly grunt would never be able to understand the thoughts of a man who manages an entire underground organization.

  “Of course.”

  Still, I offered a couple of words like a garnish on a dinner plate.

  The boss took the quill on his desk and began spinning it around his fingers.

  “I hear you specialize in troublesome matters such as this. The Mafia is full of people who are only good at shooting, punching, and making threats. Someone like you is a highly valuable asset to the organization. I’m expecting great things from you.”

  The boss’s misunderstanding became clear to me: I was not a missing-persons recovery specialist, but an apprentice, an errand boy. While it was true that those were the kinds of jobs that usually came my way, for the most part it was only because I couldn’t “shoot, punch, or threaten” people.

  Seemingly in a good mood, the boss opened his desk drawer and took out some silver leaf–inlaid Echizen paper. His quill pen glided across the paper’s surface as he wrote.

  Sakunosuke Oda

  Nihil admirari—help the man mentioned above without hesitation in the face of any and all trials.

  Ougai

  “This should be of some help if you need assistance from one of our own. Take it with you.”

  I accepted the slip of paper from him. It’s a delegation of authority, so to speak. Within the Mafia, this document is known as a “Silver Oracle,” and whoever possesses it is granted authority equal to that of the boss himself. Show it to anyone who ranks below the five executives and give them orders, and they cannot
decline. Declining is tantamount to betraying the Mafia, which is punishable by death. Holding such a legendary document in my hands almost didn’t even feel real.

  “You can even order the executives around with that.” The boss grinned. “Come to think of it, you’re close friends with the executive Dazai, yes? A friendship that surpasses the bounds of hierarchy… He’s a man of quality. Feel free to count on him if you need anything.”

  “That won’t be necessary,” I answered truthfully.

  “Are you sure? He isn’t the youngest executive in history for nothing. His peers may treat him like he’s a heretic, but I believe Dazai’s capabilities are astounding. I’m sure in four or five years, he’ll have killed me and taken my place.”

  The boss’s lips curled devilishly.

  Although I didn’t even so much as blink, I was seriously rattled. I searched the boss’s face, but that almost childlike smirk made him impossible to read. Was this his way of joking?

  “I hope to hear some good news from you.”

  The boss returned the quill to its stand, and I gave him one last bow before heading for the door. The whole exchange left me oddly parched.

  Hidden beneath the rapid onslaught of sudden developments was a sensation, albeit faint, in the back of my head telling me something was off. But my image of whatever was causing it was strangely hazy and blurred—like an old birthmark on my back that I couldn’t see.

  “Oda.” The boss called out to me from behind right as I placed a hand on the door to leave. “That pistol hanging under your shoulder—that’s a nice model.”

  I looked down at my gun. Inside the holster under my jacket was an old black pistol.

  “It’s just an antique I keep around because I’m used to using it. But I’m honored.”

  “I only ask you this out of slight curiosity, but rumor has it you’ve never killed anyone with it.”

  I nodded. Lying wasn’t going to do me any good. “That’s right.”

  “And why is that?”

  I needed a few seconds to catch my breath before replying.