Bullet Train

by Kotaro Isaka

  They can’t board just yet though – the doors remain closed, presumably for the cleaning staff to give the train a once-over. He lingers on the phone with Maria for a few more seconds before hanging up.

  ‘I wanted to go in the green car!’ A voice nearby. He turns to see a woman with heavy make-up and a short man holding a paper bag. The man is moon-faced and bearded. He looks like a kid’s toy version of a pirate. The woman wears a sleeveless green dress, showing off her powerful-looking arms. Her skirt is ultra-short. Nanao turns away from the exposed thighs, feeling more uncomfortable than he should, fingering his black-framed glasses.

  ‘Green car’s too expensive.’ The man scratches his head, then shows the tickets to the woman. ‘But look, we’re in car two, row two. Two-two, like February the second. Your birthday!’

  ‘That is not my birthday. I wore this green dress cos I thought we were sitting in the green car!’ The well-built woman wails her displeasure and punches the man in the shoulder, causing him to drop the bag and spill the contents on the ground. A red jacket comes tumbling out, a black dress, a little garment avalanche. Mixed in is something black and furry-looking, like a small animal, which makes Nanao start. He gets goosebumps at the sudden appearance of the unidentified creature. The man scoops it up irritably. Nanao realises it’s a hairpiece. More like a full wig. Upon closer inspection the woman in the green dress is not a woman, but a man in make-up. Adam’s apple, broad shoulders. Micro-skirt and the bare thighs. ‘Hey, buddy, ogle me a little more, why dontcha?’

  Nanao flinches, realising the voice is being directed at him.

  ‘Yeah, buddy,’ the bearded man with the toy face says as he takes a step closer, still bent over, ‘get a good look. You want these clothes? I’ll sell ’em to you, ten thousand yen. Well? Show me the cash.’ He keeps shovelling them back into the bag.

  I wouldn’t buy that stuff for a hundred yen, Nanao wants to say, but he knows that will just get him further involved. He sighs. It’s happening already.

  The man presses. ‘Come on, chop-chop, I’m sure you’ve got the money.’ Sounds like he’s shaking down a schoolkid. ‘Nice black frames, brain. You a brain?’ Nanao does an about-face and walks away.

  Stay focused on the job.

  His task is simple. Get the suitcase, get off at the next stop. No problem. Nothing’s going to go wrong, no surprises. He had been yelled at by a cross-dresser and a man with a beard, and that would be it as far as bumps in the road. He tells himself this like performing a ritual, like he’s banishing bad energy from the path ahead.

  A loudspeaker voice thanks the people for waiting. It’s a pre-recorded message, but it seems to soothe the stress of standing around. At least it soothes Nanao, even though he hadn’t been waiting for all that long. He hears a train attendant call out that the doors will open, and then they do, just like magic.

  He checks his seat number. Car number four, row one, seat D. He remembers what Maria had said when she handed him the ticket: ‘The Hayate is all reserved seats – did you know that? I made sure to reserve yours early since you’ll need to get off quickly. I figured an aisle seat would be easiest.’

  ‘What’s in the suitcase, anyway?’

  ‘I don’t know, but I’m sure it’s nothing that important.’

  ‘Oh you’re sure? You really expect me to believe that you don’t know what’s in it?’

  ‘I’m telling you, I don’t. You wanted me to ask and piss off the client?’

  ‘What if it’s something contraband?’

  ‘Contraband, like what?’

  ‘Like a dead body, or a stash of money, or illegal drugs, or a swarm of insects?’

  ‘A swarm of insects would be scary.’

  ‘The other three would be worse. Is the bag hot?’

  ‘I couldn’t rightly say.’

  ‘It’s hot, isn’t it?’ Nanao was starting to lose his temper.

  ‘However bad what’s in the suitcase is, all you have to do is carry it. No problem.’

  ‘That doesn’t make any sense. Okay, fine, how about you carry it?’

  ‘No way. Too risky.’

  Nanao eases into his seat at the end of car number four. A fair number of seats are empty. He waits for the train to depart, keeping his phone in his hand and his eyes on his phone. Nothing yet from Maria. They’ll arrive at Ueno Station just minutes after pulling away from Tokyo Station. He’ll have very little time to steal the bag. This concerns him.

  The automatic door whispers open and someone enters the car. Just as this is happening Nanao tries to adjust his crossed legs and bumps his knee into the paper bag in the hands of the man who enters. The man glares. He looks decidedly unwholesome – stubble uneven, face pallid, eyes sunken. Nanao quickly apologises. ‘Sorry about that!’ Strictly speaking it was the man who had bumped into him, and should have been the one to apologise, but Nanao doesn’t mind. He wants to avoid any friction. He’ll make as many apologies as he has to to avoid friction. The man angrily starts to move on but Nanao notices a hole torn in the paper bag, probably from when it hit his leg. ‘Hey, your bag is torn.’

  ‘Mind your own business.’ The man shuffles off.

  Nanao takes off the lightweight leather waist pack he wears to check his ticket once more. The pack is stuffed with items – pen and notepad, metal wire, a lighter, pills, a compass and a powerful horseshoe magnet, a roll of heavy-duty tape. There are three digital wristwatches with alarms. He’s found alarms to be useful in all sorts of situations. Maria makes fun of him, calls him a walking Swiss Army knife, but it’s all just stuff he had in the kitchen or bought at a convenience store. Except for the steroid paste and blood-clotting cream, in case he gets burnt or cut.

  A man who gets no love from Lady Luck has no choice but to be prepared. That’s why Nanao always brings his bag of tricks.

  He fishes the Shinkansen ticket out of where it was stuffed in the waist pack. The printing on the ticket makes him do a double take: it’s a ticket from Tokyo all the way to Morioka. Why Morioka? Just as he thinks this, his phone rings. He answers immediately and hears Maria’s voice. ‘Okay, here you go. It’s between cars three and four. There’s a luggage storage space, and a black suitcase there. Some kind of sticker near the handle. The person the bag belongs to is in car three, so once you get the bag head in the other direction and get off as soon as you can.’

  ‘Got it.’ He pauses for a moment. ‘I just noticed something though. I’m supposed to get off at Ueno, but for some reason my ticket goes to Morioka.’

  ‘No reason in particular. For a job like this it just made good sense to get you a ticket till the end of the line. Just in case anything happens.’

  Nanao gets a little louder. ‘So you do think something’s going to happen.’

  ‘It’s just in case. Don’t get all worked up about it. Try smiling. What’s that old saying, a smile is a door for good fortune?’

  ‘I’d look pretty weird sitting here smiling all by myself.’ He hangs up. The train starts moving.

  Nanao stands and heads to the door behind him.

  Five minutes till Ueno. Cutting it close. Luckily, he finds the luggage storage immediately and locates the black bag with no problem. It’s mid-sized, fitted with wheels. Sticker by the handle. It’s hard-sided, though he can’t tell what material it’s made from. He pulls it off the rack as quietly as he can. Simple job, Maria had said in her honeyed voice. Simple so far. He checks the time. Four minutes until arrival at Ueno Station. Come on, come on. Nanao returns to car four with the suitcase, taking regular, even steps. No one seems to be paying him any attention.

  He passes through car four, then car five, steps into the gangway between five and six.

  Then he stops and exhales with relief. He was worried that there might be something blocking the door, some kids dozing in front of it or doing their make-up, just taking up space, and when they caught Nanao looking at them they’d say What’s your problem or fling some other abuse at him and get in his face, or there
might be some couple having a lovers’ spat and they would turn to him and demand to know whose side he’s on, suck him into their nonsense, whatever it was, he was certain there would be something to trip him up.

  But no one is by the door, so he feels relieved. All there is left to do is pull into Ueno and get off the train. Exit the station and call Maria. He can already hear her poking fun at him, See how simple that was, she’ll say, and though he doesn’t love being teased, he’ll take that over serious trouble any day.

  The outside goes suddenly dark as the train begins to slope underground, signalling the imminent arrival at Ueno’s subterranean platform. Nanao squeezes the suitcase handle and checks his watch, though he has no reason to.

  He catches his reflection in the window on the door. Even he has to admit, he looks like the sort of guy who has no good luck, no good fortune, no good mojo whatsoever. Ex-girlfriends had complained to him – Since we started dating, I keep losing my wallet; I always seem to be messing things up when I’m with you; My skin just keeps getting worse. He had protested that none of that could possibly be his fault, but somehow he knew it probably was. Like his bad luck had rubbed off on them.

  The high-pitched hum of the train on the tracks starts to ease off. The doors will be opening on the left. The view outside brightens, and suddenly the station appears, like stumbling on a futuristic city inside a cave. People here and there on the platform, already receding. Stairwells and benches and digital displays disappear to the left.

  Nanao stares at the glass, making sure no one is coming up from behind. If the bag’s owner or anyone were to challenge him, things could get complicated. The train starts to drop speed. It makes him think of the one time he played roulette in a casino. The way the wheel slowed seemed to lend great significance to each slot the ball might come to rest. He gets the same impression as the Shinkansen pulls in, like it’s choosing where to stop, which car in front of which passenger, lazily shedding speed, oh who to pick who to pick. And then, it stops.

  A man stands on the other side of Nanao’s door. Smallish, wearing a flat cap that makes him look like a private eye from a kids’ story. The door doesn’t open right away. There’s a long moment, like holding your breath underwater.

  Nanao and the man are now standing opposite each other, with the window between them. Nanao frowns. I know a guy with the same gloomy face, same stupid detective hat. The man he’s thinking of is in the same line of work, back-alley stuff, dangerous business. He’s got some run-of-the-mill name, but he talks big, always making outrageous claims about his exploits or badmouthing everyone else. People call him the Wolf. Not because he’s heroic and solitary like a lone wolf. More like he’s the bullshit wolf that the boy keeps crying about. But he doesn’t seem to mind the derisive name, proudly declaring that it was given to him by Mr Terahara. Terahara was busy steering the whole underworld and it seems hard to believe he would waste time coming up with a nickname, but the Wolf at least says it went down that way.

  The Wolf has a lot of tall tales. Like one he once told Nanao when they happened to be in the same bar. ‘You know that guy, the suicide guy, who knocks off politicians and bureaucrats and makes it look like a suicide? Calls himself the Whale or the Orca or something, big guy? People are saying they don’t see him around no more. Know why? Cos I did him.’

  ‘What do you mean, “I did him”?’

  ‘It was a job, you know. I killed the Whale.’

  The suicide specialist who went by the Whale had in fact suddenly gone missing, and people in the business were talking about it. Some said the killer was one of them, others said he was in a horrible accident, some even said the Whale’s body had been acquired at a high price by a politician with a grudge who hung the corpse up in his house as decoration. But whatever the truth, one thing was clear: for a big job like that, no one would ever hire the Wolf, who only worked as bag man or to rough up girls or civilians.

  Nanao had always done the best he could to avoid dealing with the Wolf. The more he looked at the guy the more he wanted to punch him in the face, which he knew would only cause trouble. And he was right to be concerned about his ability to control himself, because one time Nanao actually had attacked the Wolf.

  He was walking down a backstreet in the bar district when he chanced upon the Wolf, who was about to beat up three kids who couldn’t have been older than ten.

  ‘What do you think you’re doing?’ Nanao asked.

  ‘These little kids were making fun of me. I’m gonna give them some medicine.’ And then he balled up his fist and hit one of the petrified kids across the face. Blood surged into Nanao’s head. He knocked the Wolf down and kicked him in the back of the skull.

  Maria heard about the incident and made sure to get her jabs in. ‘Protecting the children, you’re a real sweetheart.’

  ‘It’s not because I’m nice.’ It was something to do with the image of a frightened kid, defenceless, begging for someone to save them. ‘When kids are in trouble, I can’t help myself.’

  ‘Oh, you mean your trauma? So on-trend.’

  ‘That’s not fair, it’s more complicated than a buzzword.’

  ‘The trauma boom is over,’ she said with some disdain.

  He tried to explain that it wasn’t a boom. Even though the term trauma had become a cliché and suddenly everyone’s traumatised by something, people still had to cope with the pain of their past.

  ‘Anyway,’ she added, ‘the Wolf, he’s always dealt with kids and animals, things weaker than him. Really, he’s the worst. As soon as he thinks he’s in any danger he starts mouthing off about Terahara, “I’ve got Terahara’s protection, I’ll tell Mr Terahara.”’

  ‘Terahara’s dead.’

  ‘I heard that when Terahara died, the Wolf cried so much he got dehydrated. What a moron. So, in the end, you gave him the medicine.’

  Being kicked in the head by Nanao hurt the Wolf’s pride as much as his body. He fumed, eyes bleary, promising that Nanao would be sorry next time they met, and then ran off. That was the last time they had seen one another.

  The Shinkansen doors open. Nanao is about to get off, suitcase in hand. He’s now face-to-face with the man in the flat cap, who looks exactly like the Wolf, an unbelievable likeness really, and then the man points at him, ‘Hey, you,’ and he realises that of course it is the Wolf and none other.

  Nanao hastily tries to get off but the Wolf’s face is a mask of grim determination as he barrels forward, forcing his way onto the train and knocking Nanao backwards.

  ‘Well, imagine my luck meeting you here,’ says the Wolf with glee. ‘What a treat!’ His nostrils are flaring eagerly.

  ‘Some other time. I’m getting off.’ Nanao keeps his voice low, worried that speaking loudly might attract attention from the bag’s owner.

  ‘Think I’m gonna let you get away? I’ve got a score to settle with you, buddy.’

  ‘Settle it with me later. I’m working. Or better yet, don’t settle it at all, I forgive you your debts.’

  No time for this, and just as the thought flashes through Nanao’s mind the doors swish closed. The Shinkansen pulls away, heedless of Nanao’s predicament. He hears Maria’s voice somewhere, See what a simple job this is? Nanao wants to scream with frustration. The job is going south, just like he knew it would.

  The Prince

  HE OPENS THE TRAY TABLE and sets his water bottle down, then opens a packet of chocolates and pops one in his mouth. The train leaves Ueno and returns to the world above. A few clouds float in the sky, but mostly it’s just clear blue. The sky’s as sunny as I am, he thinks. He sees a driving range, with its backstop like a giant green mosquito net. It flows off to the left and a school slides into view, a string of concrete rectangles, uniformed students hanging around the windows. He can’t tell if they’re his age or a little older, and Satoshi ‘The Prince’ Oji spends a moment trying to figure it out, but almost immediately decides that it doesn’t matter. They’re all the same.

 
Whether it’s schoolkids like him or adults, everyone’s all the same. All so predictable. He turns to Kimura sitting next to him. This man is a prime example of how disappointingly boring humans are.

  At first he was thrashing around, even though he was all taped up and couldn’t go anywhere. The Prince pulled the gun he had taken from him, holding it close between them so no one else could see. ‘Calm down, this’ll only be for a little while. I’m telling you, if you don’t listen to the story until the end, Mr Kimura, you’ll wish you had.’ That had settled him down.

  Now the Prince asks, ‘I’ve been wondering, didn’t you at any point think that something felt strange? Me riding the Shinkansen all by myself, and you being able to find out where I was sitting so easily? It never occurred to you that it was a trap?’

  ‘You put that intel out there?’

  ‘Well, I knew you were looking for me.’

  ‘I was looking for you because you disappeared. Lying low, not showing up at your school.’

  ‘I’m not hiding. I couldn’t go to school, my whole year is on sick leave.’ It’s true. Even though there was still a while till winter, flu had broken out in his class and they were told to all stay home for a week. The epidemic showed no signs of slowing down in the following week, and they were told to stay home again. The teachers didn’t stop to consider how the flu spreads or its gestation period, or what percentage of cases become severe, no, they just had an automatic system where if a certain number of kids are off sick then the whole class has to stay home. The Prince thought it was ridiculous. Just blindly following a set of rules to avoid assuming any responsibility, avoid taking any risks. Enacting sick leave without a moment’s hesitation, the teachers all seemed like fools to him, fools who had shut off their brains. Zero consideration, zero analysis, zero initiative.

  ‘Do you know what I’ve been doing while school’s been out?’

  ‘Don’t care.’

  ‘I was finding out about you, Mr Kimura. I figured you must be pretty mad at me.’