Tokyo Redux
Page 28
* * *
—
Ton-ton. Ton-ton. Ton-ton. Ton-ton…
His heart pounding, his breath trapped, Murota Hideki twitched, he jumped, he swallowed, he spluttered, and he coughed. He opened his eyes, raised his head from its manuscript pillow on the desk, he wiped his mouth, wiped his chin, then the manuscript, the dribbles and the drool, and he blinked and looked up and –
Quite some dream you were having there.
Murota Hideki blinked again and stared up at the two men standing in his office: one was a little younger and a little thinner than him, the other a lot younger and a lot thinner, both wearing similar raincoats, haircuts, and expressions. Murota Hideki shook his head, reached for his cigarettes, and smiled: Only cops don’t knock…
Yeah, and only a jack-of-all-trades, nandemo-ya like you sleeps at their desk stinking of drink, said the younger of the two men.
Late night, said Murota Hideki, turning the manuscript face down on his desk. That a crime, is it?
The older man smiled and said, Maybe, depending on what you were doing so late, keeping you up all night.
I was drinking in a bar.
Which bar, where?
Place in Yūrakuchō, Rabbit-o Hole.
You drinking alone, were you?
Nope.
So who were you with?
Murota Hideki leaned forward, stubbed out his cigarette, looked up at these two cops, from the one to the other, then smiled again and said, My old friend Hattori Kansuke, Detective Hattori Kansuke of the First Investigative Division.
The younger man glanced at the older man, raising his eyebrows. The older man kept his stare fixed on Murota Hideki: And so what time did you two old friends say goodbye?
Well, you know, we’d drunk a lot, said Murota Hideki, still smiling at the two cops. So I couldn’t tell you exactly, precisely, but maybe you can ask Detective Hattori…
Don’t worry, said the older cop. I’ll be asking him, but now I’m asking you what time – not exactly, not precisely; imprecisely will do – what time you said goodbye?
Murota Hideki blew out the air from his cheeks, shrugged, and said, After the last train, so maybe one-ish?
Then what did you do?
I walked back here, said Murota Hideki, gesturing to the office, to the desk. Did a bit of reading, fell asleep.
Alone, yeah?
Yeah, said Murota Hideki, smiling as he shrugged again. Unfortunately, my secretary, she don’t exist.
Nor your cleaner, said the younger cop, laughing at his own joke, pointing around the office in case no one got it.
The older cop didn’t smile, his stare on Murota Hideki: Raining pretty damn hard around one-ish last night.
Don’t I know, said Murota Hideki, pulling at his damp shirt with his fingers. Soaked through to the skin…
So why’d you walk, not get a taxi?
You know how it is, said Murota Hideki. A walk, some air, clear the head, seemed like a good idea at the time.
And now, said the older cop, the crumb of a sneer in the corner of his mouth, you still think it was a good idea?
Murota Hideki sighed, held up his hands, and said, Look, you going to tell me why you’re here? Or…
Or what, asked the older cop.
Murota Hideki shrugged again, laughed, and said, Or you just going to keep standing there while I keep sitting here, trying to imagine what it is you think I’ve done which I ain’t? Or maybe to save us all some time, maybe I just call up my old friend Detective Hattori right now…
This your name card, said the older cop, taking a small evidence bag out of his pocket, handing the bagged name card across the desk to Murota Hideki. Your office?
Murota Hideki took the bag and the card, the card creased and rumpled, turned it over in his hand, then looked back up at the older cop and said, Well, seeing how you’re standing in my office, talking to me, then I’m sure even you two wise guys have worked that out, no?
You’re the only one playing the wise guy here, said the older cop. Just answer the question: Is it your name card?
Yes, said Murota Hideki, handing the bag and the card back to the older cop, nodding, and smiling. Obviously.
Obviously, yeah, said the older cop, looking down at the card in the bag in his fingers, tapping it against the palm of his other hand, nodding and smiling, too, as he looked back up from the bag and the card, then back over at Murota Hideki, saying, So maybe you’d like to explain how come this name card – this name card which is obviously yours, as you say – how come we found it crushed in the hand of a dead woman?
Murota Hideki swallowed, staring at the creased and rumpled card in the evidence bag, shaking his head.
Actually, to be precise, said the older cop, crushed in the hand of a dead and naked woman…
Murota Hideki swallowed again, still staring at the creased and rumpled card in the evidence bag in the hands of this cop, and he shook his head again.
In the hand of a dead and naked woman lying on the ground beneath the balcony of her fourth-floor apartment?
Murota Hideki looked up at the cop –
Yeah, said the older cop, staring at Murota Hideki, nodding. Lying on the ground beneath the balcony of her fourth-floor apartment in Higashi-Nakano…
Nemuro Kazuko, said Hideki Murota. She’s dead?
Yeah, said the older cop again. Eventually.
What do you mean, “eventually”?
When she fell from her fourth-floor balcony, she landed on the top of a parked car, bounced off the roof of the car onto the ground, then died sometime later, never having regained consciousness, perhaps fortunately for you.
Murota Hideki swallowed again, shook his head again, then asked, Why “perhaps fortunately for me”…?
Because obviously – among many other questions – she might’ve been able to answer why she either jumped or was pushed naked from her fourth-floor balcony clutching your fucking name card, Murota-san, right…?
What does her husband say?
Hey, hey, hey, said the older cop. You ain’t a policeman anymore, you’re a suspect in a possible murder, is what you are, so you don’t get to ask us a thing, okay?
Murota Hideki shook his head: I ain’t a murder suspect, and you know it. Otherwise, you’d be talking to me on the judo mats in Nakano or whichever station you’re from.
The younger cop stepped forward, closer to the desk, saying, Who the fuck you think you are –
Listen, wise guy, said the older cop, his hand on the arm of his partner but still looking down, staring at Murota Hideki. The only reason we’re not hauling you in for questioning is your alibi, so you better hope your old buddy in First Division remembers last night the way you remember last night, or your feet won’t touch the ground, we’ll have you in so fast. But you still ain’t told us how come your name card is in her dead fucking hand, so, alibi or no alibi, you better start telling us here and now – okay?
Murota Hideki had his hands up again, speaking as softly, as calmly and slowly as he could: Okay. Look, the only reason I mentioned her husband is I gave him my name card, not her. I never met, never spoke with her. Her husband is the person who had my name card, not her, that’s all.
So go on, how come he had your card?
He called me up, couple of weeks ago, asked for an appointment, came here, I gave him a name card.
So he was your client then, yeah?
Murota Hideki sighed, smiled, and said, Come on, you know I can’t say yes or no – right of privacy, you know that.
Fuck you and your right of privacy, Murota.
Not mine, his, said Murota Hideki. Up to me, I’d tell you everything I know, I got nothing to hide, but then he could sue my ass, and, as you can see, I can’t be paying any legal fees, plus my reputation would be trashed, I’d neve
r work again.
You work much, do you, laughed the younger cop.
Listen, said Murota Hideki, looking at the older cop. I’m not trying to tell you and your kid brother here how to do your jobs, but you speak to the husband, see if he’ll tell you why he called on me, how come his wife has my card.
Gee, thanks for that, said the younger cop. Like we’d have never thought of doing that ourselves –
So what did he say?
The older of the two men sighed, shook his head, and said, You hard of hearing or just plain fucking dumb? I told you, you don’t ask the fucking questions –
Hey, look, said Murota Hideki. I’m sorry. I just mean, if he’s spoken to you, or speaks to you about me, and you tell me what he says, then I can tell you everything I know, that’s all I’m trying to say because I want to help.
Don’t worry, said the older cop, putting the evidence bag and the creased and rumpled name card back inside the pocket of his raincoat, taking out a name card of his own from inside his coat and jacket, flicking it down onto the top of the manuscript on the desk. You’re going to get plenty of opportunity to help us find out how come your name card ends up in the hand of the dead and naked Missus Nemuro Kazuko, lots of opportunities, believe me…
Murota Hideki nodded, picking up the name card from the top of the manuscript on his desk.
In the meantime, said the older cop, staring down at Murota Hideki, why don’t you think about Nemuro Kazuko, think about her falling naked from the fourth-floor balcony of her apartment, think about her bouncing off the top of a parked car and onto the ground, clutching your name card in her hand, and you think about her “right of privacy,” lying dead and naked on the ground, clutching your fucking name card, and you think about if you might just want to start helping her, helping us to help her, and how then you might want to pick up that there phone of yours and call my number on that card, think about doing that before we come calling on you again, because next time we might well take you and your fucking rights of privacy for a tumble on those judo mats…
Murota Hideki nodded again, putting down the name card by his telephone.
Lot for you to think about, said the older cop, turning toward the door. And I’m guessing thinking ain’t your strong point, so we’ll let you get started, leave you alone for now, alone with your thoughts, your thoughts of Nemuro Kazuko.
Murota Hideki watched the two policemen file out of his office, leaving the door open behind them, one of them whistling the Funeral March as they walked away, down the corridor, down the stairs –
Murota Hideki got to his feet, up from his desk. He walked toward the door, out the door. He went down the corridor to the end of the corridor as quick as he could. Into the toilet, into the stall, and he fell to his knees, crouched over the toilet, and vomited and he vomited, retched and vomited again, retching and heaving, heaving and retching, he reached for paper but there was no paper. He wiped his mouth, his chin on the back of his hand, then coughed and spat, wiped his mouth again, on the back of his hand again, on the cuff of his shirt, and coughed and spat again. He pushed himself up from the floor of the stall, reached for the chain, and pulled the chain. He turned, stepped out of the stall, and walked over to the sink, the basin and ran the faucet. He cupped the water in his hands, brought the water to his lips, his mouth. He rinsed his mouth and spat, rinsed again and spat again, rinsed and spat once more, then cupped the water once again and rinsed and washed his face, his hands. He turned off the faucet, dried his hands down the front of his shirt, ran his damp hands through his hair, his thinning hair, but he did not look up into the mirror, did not look into the grime of the mirror, not look at the grime in the mirror today, not today.
He left the toilet, went back down the corridor, back toward his door at the end of the corridor. He could hear the telephone ringing on his desk, but he did not quicken his pace. He went back inside his office, slammed the door shut behind him, the telephone on his desk still ringing. He walked over to the cabinet, pulled open the drawer, the telephone still ringing. He took out a bottle of cheap Chinese wine and slammed the drawer shut again, still ringing. He walked with the bottle back to his desk, back to his chair, the telephone on the desk still ringing and ringing. He slumped down in the chair at his desk, put the bottle of cheap Chinese wine on top of the manuscript on his desk, the telephone still ringing. He looked at the bottle, stared at the bottle, then glanced at the telephone, then back to the bottle, and the telephone stopped ringing. He picked up the bottle, unscrewed its top. He put down the top of the bottle, picked up the dirty, empty glass on his desk. He held the bottle over the glass, tilted and filled the glass. He put down the bottle, held up the glass to the light, the light from the window, the light from the river, the gray, damp light from the window, from the river, gray, damp raindrop light on the window, down the window, and he looked at the wine, the wine in the glass, the muddy brown wine in the glass, and blinked and he blinked. He sniffed and he swallowed, then put the glass to his lips, the wine to his lips, tilting the glass, tasting the wine, on his lips and in his mouth, down his throat, muddy brown and thick, down it went, down it went, glass after glass, tilting and filling, gulping and gulping, down and down, glass after glass, the room, this office muddy brown and thick, the smell of the river, the drains and the toilets, the stench and the stink, the clothes on his back, his skin and his flesh, the man beneath, muddy brown and thick, the world, this life, the world and the life of this man, muddy brown and thick, inside and out, the blood cold in his veins, the blood fresh on his hands, muddy brown and thick, the blood on his hands, fresh on his hands, drinking and smoking, blinking and swallowing, drink after drink, swallowing and blinking, cigarette after cigarette, blinking and swallowing, the wine and the tears, in the gray, damp raindrop light, the tears down his face, the blood on his hands, fresh on his hands, his hands again, the blood on his hands, on his hands again, his hands again.
* * *
—
I blamed myself, I blame myself, from then to now, that moment to this, from that moment, split moment, it came across the waves, over the waves, with a roll on the drums and the crash of a cymbal, over the waves, the radio waves, through the crackle and the hiss, the voice, that voice, it spoke, it said, in black electricity said, The President Is Missing, and I knew, just knew, and know, still know, I’d done, have done, a terrible, terrible, terrible thing, and I sprung up from my desk, grabbed my hat, found my wings, leaped from my house, out to the street, flew down the street, down street after street, through the twilight I flew, I flew, I flew to the store, but the store was closed, so I ran round the building, to the lions I ran, and I spoke to the lions, but the lions would not speak, I begged and I pleaded, but the lions would not speak, no matter how I begged, no matter how I pleaded, so I jumped from the lions, down from the lions, ran down the street, flew down the streets, my feet and my wings, down the streets, street after street to the park and its paths, through the trees and their shadows I ran and I flew, down the flight of stone steps to the gray metal door, and I banged on the door and I banged on the door, I bloodied that door with the fists of my hands, but the door would not open, the door would not open, so up the steps, back up the steps, I ran and I flew, my feet and my wings, round the corner, up the street, to tell the police, to beg the police to listen to me, please listen to me: They have lured him, they’ve abducted him, injected and sedated him, I know they have, just know they have, Japanese money and American guns, a man with a scar and his pal with a patch, they’re waiting for night, the last train of the night, I know they are, just know they are, to lay his body across the tracks, then let the train, the last train do the rest, that’s their plan, I know their plan, but there’s time, there’s time, still time, I know, so please stop the trains, the trains in their tracks, to stop the blood, his blood on the tracks, please, I beg you, beg you, please, to stop the trains and save the man, for there’s time, ther
e’s time, I know there’s time, but the police did not listen, they just would not listen, the police only laughed, they laughed and laughed, then threw me out, out onto the street, back into the night, with a punch to my ribs and a kick up my ass, onto the street, into the night, but I would not give up, I could not give up, so I picked myself up, back up on my feet, dusted myself down, the feathers of my wings, and off again I ran, I flew, for there was time, still time, I knew, as I ran down the street, flew past the palace, to the station, to Tokyo station, across the concourse, into the station, begging the staff, pleading with the staff, to stop, to stop, to please stop the trains, shouting and screaming, PLEASE STOP THE TRAINS! But again they did not listen, again they would not listen, the staff they either turned away or threatened me – me, me, me – threatened to call the police on me, to have me arrested, for what, for what, said I, for causing a scene, for disturbing the peace, what peace, what peace, said I, WHAT PEACE IS THIS, asked I, the man has been lured and abducted, injected and sedated, the man who is your president, they are only waiting now, waiting for the train, the last train of the night, waiting to place his body on the tracks, then for the train, the last train of the night, then for the blood, his blood on the tracks, please, please, PLEASE STOP THE TRAINS! But still they did not listen, would not, could not listen, deaf or dumb, I knew, I know not which, for still they turned away, again they threatened me, so out onto the streets again, back into the night again I went, too tired to run, too tired to fly, through the city of the deaf, the city of the dumb, I wandered here, I wandered there, where somewhere, somewhere near, in this city of the deaf, this city of the dumb, they were carrying his body onto the tracks, they were laying his body down on the tracks, I knew, I knew, as I took out my watch, there was no time, as I looked at my watch, no time left now, as I heard the whistles, the whistles of the trains, the last trains of the night, north, south, east, and west they went, the last trains of the night, through the city, the city of the deaf, the city of the dumb, down the tracks, their tracks they went, toward the body, his body on the tracks, somewhere near, somewhere here in this city of the deaf, this city of the dumb, somewhere in this city, somewhere in this night, as I looked again at my watch, my watch now stopped, the time now gone, the time now lost, TOO LATE, TOO LATE, the rain, the rain, in drops, in drops, falling on the city, this city of the deaf, this city of the dumb, in drops, in drops, falling in the night, this night of tears, this night of blood, teardrops and blood-drops, falling on me, down my cheeks, the tears down my cheeks, falling on me, onto my hands, the blood on my hands, for I’d come to the bridge, the Bridge of Tears, of tears and farewell, forever farewell, and here, it was here, on the Bridge of Tears, with the tears down my cheeks, by the execution grounds, the old killing grounds, the blood on my hands, fresh on my hands, here, it was here I heard the sirens, the sirens in the night, across the city, through the night, they were coming toward me, then passing me by, over the bridge, the Bridge of Tears, across the grounds, the killing grounds, too late, too late, heading north and east, of course, of course, where the compass points, north and east, it points to demons, to demons and death, to death, to death, TO DEATH, with the tears down my cheeks and the blood on my hands, too late, too late, I know, I knew, I ran, I flew, through the night and through the rain, north and east, I ran, I flew, across the river, the Sumida River, following the sirens, the wailing of the sirens, north and east, to death, to death, I ran, I flew, across another river, the Arakawa River, night turning to dawn, with the light from the east, I came at last, too late, too late, at last I came, I saw, through the tears in my eyes, the fingers of my hand, the bloody fingers of my bloody hand, I saw, I saw, in pieces did I see, saw the pieces of the man, on the tracks, on the tracks, in pieces on the tracks, the pieces of the man, on the tracks, on the tracks, the pieces but no blood, no blood, no blood upon the tracks, the blood upon my hands, my hands, his blood upon my hands, then and now, I knew, I know: HIS BLOOD IS ON MY HANDS.