Bullet Train

by Kotaro Isaka

  ‘Really?’ As Lemon says it, the details creep back to him: someone will be at the station to make sure Little Minegishi and the ransom money are both safe and sound on the Shinkansen. ‘Oh, right. Trouble.’

  Nanao

  WELL, FANCY MEETING YOU HERE, the Wolf’s glittering eyes seem to say as he grabs Nanao’s collar and shoves him back against the opposite door.

  The train bursts out of the Ueno subterrane, picking up more speed as it moves. The city scenery goes flying by.

  Nanao starts to sputter his protest that he was trying to get off at Ueno, but the Wolf clamps his forearm over Nanao’s mouth and pins him against the window. The suitcase is by the other door, unattended. Nanao is worried that the swaying of the train will cause it to roll away.

  ‘Thanks to you I’m missing some of my back teeth.’ Saliva bubbles at the corner of the Wolf’s mouth. ‘Missing my teeth!’

  I knew it, thinks Nanao. I knew something like this would happen. His jaw hurts from the Wolf’s arm, but more than anything he’s dismayed at the turn of events. Why can’t any of my jobs ever go smoothly? Now he has to stay on the train until Omiya, and there’s a good chance he’ll run into the bag’s original owner.

  And to top it all off, here’s the Wolf spewing imprecations and shaking his head back and forth, causing a blizzard of dandruff to rain down from the long hair that spills out under the cap. Revolting.

  The train lurches and the Wolf staggers, releasing the pressure on Nanao’s jaw. ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry,’ Nanao says as quickly as he can, ‘let’s not get violent, okay?’ He holds both hands up, looking like he’s doing a miniature cheer. ‘We don’t want to make a scene on the Shinkansen. Let’s just go to Omiya, get off together and discuss it then.’ But even as he proposes this, Nanao has the sinking sensation that missing his chance to get off at Ueno will be the start of things going steadily downhill.

  ‘You’re in no position to be making demands, Ladybird.’

  This makes Nanao mad. His head momentarily buzzes with heat. More than a few people in the business call him Ladybird. He doesn’t have anything against that particular insect – he thinks they’re cute, tiny and red with a little constellation of black dots on the back, and being as unlucky as he is he especially likes the ladybirds with seven spots because he thinks they might be good luck. But it’s all too clear that when other people in the business grinningly call him Ladybird they’re making fun of him, likening him to a weak, tiny insect. He can’t stand it.

  ‘Back off. What do you want with me anyway?’ As Nanao says this the Wolf pulls a knife. Nanao quails slightly. ‘Hey, put that thing away. If someone sees you, you’ll be in trouble.’

  ‘Shut up. We’re going to the toilet. I’m gonna slice you up good. But don’t worry, I got a job to do, so I won’t have time to do you slow like I want. If I had time I’d make you squeal, I’d make you beg me to let you die, but I’m gonna cut you a break.’

  ‘I don’t like toilets on trains.’

  ‘I’m glad to hear it, because your life is gonna end in a train toilet.’ The eyes under the brim of the flat cap sparkle malevolently.

  ‘I’m on a job.’

  ‘Me too. A big one, unlike you. Like I said, I don’t have a lot of time.’

  ‘You’re lying. No one would give you a big job.’

  ‘No, it’s true!’ The Wolf’s nostrils flare in indignation at the blow to his bloated pride. The hand without the knife fishes around in his coat pocket and pulls out a photograph. It’s of a girl. ‘Know her?’

  ‘Why would I know her?’ Nanao grimaces. The Wolf always carries around photos of his victims, one from the client and one that he himself takes when the job’s done. He’s got a whole collection of before and after shots – before and after beating, before and after death – and he loves to show them off. Something else that Nanao can’t stand. ‘How come it’s always girls? Looking for your Little Red Riding Hood?’

  ‘Guess you don’t know who this one is. She’s no ordinary girl.’

  ‘Who is she?’

  ‘This one’s revenge, man, revenge. A blood vendetta. And I know exactly where she is.’

  ‘Getting back at an old girlfriend who dumped you?’

  The Wolf screws up his face. ‘Hey, man, don’t be such a jerk.’

  ‘Says the guy who beats up women.’

  ‘Think what you want. Anyway, I shouldn’t be wasting time talking to you, someone might beat me to it. I’m like Hideyoshi going after Akechi Mitsuhide.’ Nanao doesn’t see how the historical reference fits the situation. ‘I gotta get a move on, so I’ll take care of you real quick.’ The Wolf presses the blade up to Nanao’s throat. ‘Scared?’

  ‘Yes.’ Nanao doesn’t feel the need to bluff.

  ‘Don’t do it.’

  ‘Please don’t do it.’

  ‘Please don’t do it, Mr Wolf, sir.’

  Nanao knows that if any other passengers show up there’ll be a scene. Even if they don’t see the knife, they’ll see two men pressed up against each other and think something’s wrong. What do I do, what do I do? The thought spins around his head. The knife is on his neck, he could be cut at any moment. The feel of the blade on his skin almost tickles.

  Keeping one eye on the knife, he steals a look at the Wolf’s stance. Nanao is a good deal taller, and reaching up to hold out the knife has the Wolf off balance. He’s wide open – as soon as Nanao thinks this he sidesteps and whips round behind the Wolf, catching him under the arms and behind the head in a full nelson. He grinds his chin into the back of the Wolf’s skull. The Wolf is rattled by the sudden turnaround. ‘Hey, wait, time out!’

  ‘Keep quiet,’ Nanao says into his ear. ‘You’re going to go to your seat. I don’t want any trouble.’ Nanao knows how to break necks. When he was first starting out he practised the technique over and over again, like someone might practise juggling a football, until he could do it without thinking. If you can get a hold of someone’s head, it’s just a matter of accounting for angles and speed – give it a good twist and the neck goes snap. Of course, Nanao has no intention of breaking the Wolf’s neck. He doesn’t want things to get any more complicated than they already are. It’s enough for him to keep a firm grip on the other man’s head and threaten, I’ll do it, stay still.

  ‘Okay, okay, let me go,’ the Wolf stammers.

  The train lurches again. It doesn’t feel like very much movement, but maybe Nanao doesn’t have secure footing from maintaining his hold, or maybe the Wolf’s shoes have bad traction – whatever the reason, the two topple over.

  The next thing Nanao knows his butt is on the floor, his face red from embarrassment at having fallen. Then he realises he still has a tight grip on the Wolf’s head, holding him by a fistful of hair. The Wolf is also down on the ground. Nanao worries for a moment that the Wolf might have stabbed himself in the fall, but a glance at the knife still clutched in the man’s hand shows no blood on the blade. He exhales with relief.

  ‘Get up.’ Nanao untangles his fingers from the Wolf’s hair and gives him a sharp push on the back. The Wolf’s head lolls crazily, like a baby that can’t yet hold its own head up.

  No. Nanao blinks several times. He scuttles around in front of the Wolf. The facial expression doesn’t look right at all – eyes bugged, mouth hanging open. And of course there’s the sickening angle of the neck.

  ‘No no no.’ But saying this doesn’t change anything. He had fallen with his arm around the Wolf’s head, and the momentum had broken the neck clean in two.

  Nanao’s phone vibrates. He answers without bothering to check the caller ID. Only one person ever calls him.

  ‘I really think there’s no such thing as a simple job,’ he says while getting to his feet. He hauls the Wolf’s body up as well, leans it up against himself until it’s balanced – trickier than he would have thought. Like handling a giant puppet.

  ‘Why haven’t you called me? What’s with you?’ Maria sounds angry. ‘Where are you? You
got off at Ueno, right? You have the bag?’

  ‘I’m still on the Shinkansen. I’ve got the bag.’ He tries to keep his voice as casual as he can. His eyes are on the suitcase, up against the opposite door. ‘I didn’t get off at Ueno.’

  ‘Why not?’ Her tone sharpens. ‘What happened?’ Then she lowers her voice, apparently doing her best to keep her cool. ‘Getting on a train at Tokyo and getting off at Ueno, was that too tough a job for you? What exactly can you do? Can you work a cash register? No, probably not, it’s a pretty complicated job, lots of little variations and real-time adjustments. I guess you can handle a job that only involves getting on a train at Tokyo Station. You can get on fine, it’s getting off that’s tough for you, is that it? From now on I’ll bring you easy jobs like that.’

  Nanao tamps down the urge to smash his phone on the ground. ‘I tried to get off at Ueno. The door was open, I had only one step to go, but there he was, he forced his way onto the train. He was on the platform, standing right in front of my door.’ He looks down at the Wolf, leaned up against him. ‘Now he’s here with me.’

  ‘Who the hell are you talking about? The God of the Shinkansen? Did he stand in front of you and say Thou shalt not disembark?’

  Nanao ignores the jibe. ‘The Wolf,’ he says quietly. ‘You know, the creep who only takes jobs hurting girls and animals.’

  ‘Oh, the Wolf.’ Maria’s voice changes; she finally sounds concerned. But probably not about whether Nanao is okay, no, she’s worried about the job. ‘He must have been thrilled. He’s got a score to settle with you.’

  ‘He was so happy he threw his arms around me.’

  Maria falls silent. She must be trying to process the situation. Nanao wedges the phone between his shoulder and ear as he holds up the Wolf, thinking of where he can put the body. The toilet, like where he wanted to put me? But he immediately decides against it. It would be easy to stash a corpse in the bathroom, but he knows he would be paranoid about whether or not it had been discovered, and would keep getting up from his seat to check, which would probably draw unnecessary attention.

  ‘So are you going to tell me what happened?’

  ‘Well, at the moment I’m trying to find a place to hide the Wolf’s body.’

  More silence from the other end of the line. Then, ‘But what happened? The Wolf got on and hugged you. And now he’s dead. What happened in between?’

  ‘Barely anything. Basically, he pulled a knife on me and had it at my throat.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Like you said, he’s not a big fan of mine. Then I got around him and put him in a hold, threatened to break his neck. But I was just threatening, okay? I didn’t mean to do it. Then the train swerved.’

  ‘The train will do that. So that’s how it went down.’

  ‘I just can’t believe that idiot showed up at that exact moment.’ Nanao lets his frustration creep into his voice.

  ‘Don’t speak ill of the dead,’ she says earnestly. ‘You didn’t need to kill him, you know.’

  ‘I didn’t mean to kill him! He slipped, we fell, his neck broke. It wasn’t a mistake, it was an act of God.’

  ‘I don’t like men who make excuses.’

  ‘Don’t speak ill of the living,’ he jokes, but she clearly isn’t in the mood. ‘Anyway, I’m holding up the Wolf now, and I’m at a complete loss. You know, as to what to do with his body.’

  ‘If you’ve got your arms around him you might as well just stay there in the gangway and make it look like you’re kissing.’ She sounds a bit desperate.

  ‘Two men embracing on the train, all the way to Omiya. Doesn’t sound like a realistic plan.’

  ‘If you want a realistic plan, how’s this: find a seat and put him there. Just be careful nobody notices you doing it. You could put him in your seat, or find his ticket and put him in his seat.’

  Nanao nods. It sounds sensible. ‘Thanks. I’ll give it a shot.’

  He notices the Wolf’s mobile phone peeking out of the chest pocket of the cheap-looking jacket and grabs it, thinking it might come in handy. He puts it in his cargo pants pocket.

  ‘Don’t forget the suitcase,’ Maria adds.

  ‘Good thing you reminded me, I was about to.’

  Maria sighs audibly. ‘Just take care of it. I’m going to sleep.’

  ‘It’s the middle of the day.’

  ‘I was up all night watching movies. Every single episode of Star Wars.’

  ‘I’ll call you later.’

  Kimura

  KIMURA TWISTS AND FLEXES HIS wrists and ankles, hoping to find some way to squirm out of the heavy straps and duct tape that bind him, but they show no signs of loosening.

  ‘There’s a trick to it, Yuichi.’ A sudden welling up of memory from his childhood. Someone talking to him. A scene he hadn’t pictured for years, maybe not even once since it first happened, his house from when he was growing up, a man in his twenties with arms and legs tied up. His dad was laughing, Let’s see you try to escape, Shigeru. His mum standing nearby, she was laughing heartily too, and a kindergarten-age Kimura joined in. Shigeru was a former co-worker of his father’s who still came by to visit now and again. He seemed honest and sincere, and there was something dashing about him, like a professional athlete. Shigeru regarded Kimura’s father as something of a mentor, and he doted on little Kimura.

  ‘You know your dad was pretty scary on the job, Yuichi. Everyone called him the Condor.’ Kimura’s father and his younger friend actually shared the first name Shigeru, which was how they started to become close. Kimura remembered that when his father and Shigeru drank together, the younger man would often complain about his job. ‘It’s a hustle, you know? I’m thinking of looking for something else.’ Hearing that made Kimura realise that adults have problems too, that they aren’t always as strong as they seem. At some point they lost touch with Shigeru. What Kimura is remembering now is the time Shigeru imitated an escape artist they were watching on TV. ‘I can do that,’ he said after seeing the person wriggle out of being tied up.

  Kimura’s eyes had drifted back to the television, and in the moments he wasn’t looking Shigeru managed to untie the rope.

  How did he do it? How can I do it now?

  He digs at the mountain of memory, hoping to excavate some crucial bit of information, some clue as to how Shigeru had escaped, but finds nothing.

  ‘I’ll be right back, Mr Kimura. I’m just going to the toilet.’ The Prince stands and steps into the aisle. Kimura looks at him in his blazer, clearly a kid from an upper-class family, raised with every opportunity. I can’t believe I’m taking orders from this brat. ‘Oh, should I get you a drink?’ the Prince asks snidely. ‘A little can of sake?’ Having launched this barb, he walks off towards the back of the train. It occurs to Kimura that there’s a closer bathroom in the other direction, but he doesn’t say anything.

  No doubt about it, rich kid, everything handed to him. Rich schoolkid with a rotten soul. He thinks back to the first time he met the Prince, a few months ago.

  He returned home from working the night shift at the hospital in Kurai-cho that morning as towering cumulonimbus clouds filled up the sky. When he got home, Wataru was complaining of a stomach ache, so Kimura took him straight to the paediatrician. Normally he would drop him off at nursery school and get into bed, but he had no chance that day and his head was heavy with fatigue. The doctor’s office was unexpectedly crowded. Of course he couldn’t have a drink in the waiting room. He noticed his hands were trembling.

  All the kids in the waiting room looked to him to have lighter symptoms than Wataru. He grew increasingly angry as he stared at them in their face masks – damn fakers, they should let the kids who are actually suffering go first. He glared at the other parents one by one. Each time the nurse came and went his eyes lingered on her ass.

  It turned out that Wataru’s symptoms were light as well. Just before they were called, he turned and whispered sheepishly, ‘Daddy, I think I feel better.’ But afte
r waiting all that time Kimura didn’t want to go home without seeing the doctor, so he made Wataru pretend his stomach still hurt, got some medicine from the doctor and left the clinic.

  When they were outside, Wataru asked uncertainly, ‘Daddy, were you drinking?’ Once Kimura knew that his son was feeling better he had felt a wash of relief and taken a nip from his flask. Wataru must have seen him.

  He had taken his flask from his pocket, turned to face the wall so the other people waiting for the doctor wouldn’t see and had a tiny swig. He kept the flask filled with cheap brandy and carried it with him when he was at work so he could have a sip when he needed to. He told himself that it was the same as someone with allergies carrying nasal spray. If he didn’t have alcohol, his concentration would falter and he wouldn’t be much use as a security guard. His hands would shake, he might fumble his torch, and that wouldn’t be good. Having a drink ready to go was like keeping his medicine handy, medicine for his chronic ailment. He convinced himself that he needed alcohol to do his job.

  ‘Wataru, did you know that brandy is distilled spirits, and distillation goes all the way back to Mesopotamia?’

  Of course Wataru didn’t know what Mesopotamia was. All he knew was his father was making excuses again, but it was a fun word to try to say, Meso-po, Meso-pota-pota.

  ‘In French they call distilled spirits eau de vie. Know what that means? It means water of life. Isn’t that cool, the water of life!’ Saying it made him feel better. That’s right – every sip is a lifesaver.

  ‘But the doctor was surprised because you smelled like drinking, Daddy.’

  ‘He had a face mask on.’

  ‘But even with a mask he could smell it.’

  ‘It’s the water of life, who cares if it smells? The doctor knows that,’ Kimura muttered.

  As they were walking through the shopping arcade on the way home, Wataru said, ‘Daddy, I gotta pee.’ They went into the nearest building, full of clothing stores popular with teenagers, to look for a toilet. There weren’t any on the ground floor, and Kimura grumbled a stream of curses as they took the lift to the first floor and had to walk past seemingly endless shops to get to the bathrooms at the back of the building.