Bullet Train

by Kotaro Isaka

  He takes his time walking down the aisle. Without trying to be too obvious, he scrutinises each passenger.

  The first one that catches his eye is a man sitting in the two-seater halfway down the car, sleeping by the window with the seat leaned way back. His face is covered with a hat pulled down low, a ten-gallon cowboy hat straight out of a western, bright red. Decidedly fishy. The rest of the row is empty.

  If that’s Nanao, does he really think he can hide like this? Or maybe he’s trying to lure me into a trap?

  Tangerine draws closer, alert, ready for an attack at any moment. As soon as he’s within arm’s reach he whips the cowboy hat off the man’s head, expecting Nanao to fly at him, but nothing happens. It’s just some man, fast asleep. Different face from Nanao, different age.

  I’m too keyed up, thinks Tangerine, exhaling the breath he had been holding in. Then he spots a flash of green through the window in the door to the gangway leading to car number one. The automatic door slides open at his approach. In the gangway is a passenger in a green tube top, reaching for the door to the toilet.

  ‘Hold it,’ Tangerine finds himself saying.

  ‘What do you want?’ The person who turns to face him is dressed like a woman but is unmistakably male. Tall, broad shoulders, well-defined arms.

  Tangerine doesn’t know who this person is, but it isn’t Nanao.

  ‘Nothing,’ he answers.

  ‘You’re cute. You wanna join me in the bathroom, have some fun?’ The voice is mocking. Tangerine feels the urge to rough up the cross-dresser, but he restrains himself.

  ‘Have you seen a young guy with black glasses?’

  The man snorts and smirks, creases forming in the five o’clock shadow. ‘You mean the boy who ran off with my wig?’

  ‘Where did he go?’

  ‘I dunno. If you find him, get my wig back for me, will ya? Now excuse me, before I wet my panties.’ He steps into the toilet and locks the door. Tangerine bristles at the encounter.

  There’s another bathroom, unlocked. Tangerine peeks inside. Empty. Same with the sink area and the urinal alcove.

  He wonders about the wig the cross-dresser mentioned. Did Nanao steal it to use as a disguise? Even if that’s what happened no one passed by. Which means that there’s nowhere else Nanao could be but car number one.

  Just to be sure, Tangerine checks around the luggage rack. There’s a suitcase covered with stickers. Next to that is a cardboard box, flaps open. Inside he finds another box, this one made of plastic. It’s transparent, looks kind of like a terrarium, but there’s nothing inside. He reaches in to lift it up, but stops when the top comes loose. A lid, not secured in place. Tangerine has a flash of fear that the clear box contains some kind of poison gas, but it doesn’t, and he’s on the hunt, so rather than trying to figure out what it’s all about he just closes it back up and moves on.

  The door to car one slides open. Once again he takes in the whole interior at a glance, registering the scattered passengers who sit facing him. The first thing that draws his attention is a black shape in one of the three-seaters. He’s momentarily confused, taking it for a giant head of hair, but almost immediately sees it for what it is: an open umbrella, compact size, left on an empty row of seats.

  Someone is sleeping two rows in front of the umbrella, but it’s not Nanao. So what’s with the umbrella? Has to be some kind of decoy, Tangerine decides. A red herring to distract him from something else. His eyes dart around warily, up, then down: stretched across the aisle, some kind of cord. He steps carefully over it and leans in to examine. It’s a length of vinyl packing string, slightly frayed, tied to armrests on either side of the aisle and threaded down under the seats close to the floor to make an improvised tripwire.

  Now I get it. He wanted to draw my focus with the umbrella and trip me up with this.

  Tangerine smirks at the simplicity of the ploy, but he also reminds himself not to let his guard down. Nanao thinks fast when he’s cornered – that’s what Momo said. Probably trying anything and everything that occurs to him. It can’t have been long since he knocked out Lemon. In that time he rigged up this tripwire, and probably the umbrella too. No doubt hoping to get Tangerine off his feet. And then what? There were two likely answers: attacking his pursuer when he was down, or trying to make an escape. Either way, Nanao would have to be nearby.

  Tangerine looks rapidly around. He sees two teenage girls dressed for going out and a bald man who hasn’t once looked up from his notebook computer. The girls seem to have noticed Tangerine standing there, but they don’t appear especially concerned. There’s another couple, a middle-aged man and a young woman who are obviously on a tryst. No sign of Nanao.

  By the window in the back-most two-seater is one more person, head ducked down. Tangerine doesn’t fail to note that whoever it is had only just now hunched over. He starts down the aisle.

  The wig. He can glimpse it on the head in the gap between the seats. It has the glossy shine peculiar to man-made hair. Tangerine can tell that the person felt his gaze and tried to get out of sight as quickly as possible, which only drew more attention.

  Is it him? Tangerine checks his surroundings again. All the rest of the passengers have their backs to him, and no one is in the seats immediately nearby.

  He closes right in, ready to attack. Just then the wigged head suddenly pops back up and Tangerine reflexively retreats a pace. The man in the wig raises both hands meekly and stammers out, ‘Don’t hurt me!’ He then reaches up to hold the wig in place as it starts to slide off.

  It’s not Nanao. Doesn’t look anything like him – round face, beard, simpering grin.

  ‘I’m sorry, I was just doing what I was told!’ He looks nervous. The fingers on one hand are fumbling at the keypad of his phone.

  ‘What you were told by whom?’ Tangerine looks back over the car, then grabs the man by the collar. He keeps his voice low. ‘Where’s the guy who told you to do whatever it is you’re doing? A young guy with black glasses, right?’ He pulls upward on the cheap-looking striped shirt, lifting the man slightly.

  ‘I don’t know, I don’t know,’ the man squeals. Tangerine hisses at him to keep quiet. The man doesn’t appear to be lying, though. ‘He tried to steal the wig and I yelled at him to stop but he gave me ten thousand yen,’ explains the man, now making an effort to control the volume of his voice. Nonetheless, one of the other passengers picks up on the disturbance and half stands, neck swivelling to get a look at what’s happening. Tangerine immediately lets go of the man’s collar, dropping him heavily into the chair. The wig slides off completely.

  This guy is just another decoy.

  Tangerine decides to head back to car number two. Halfway up the aisle of car one he stops next to the middle-aged man on the lovers’ getaway and claps a hand on his shoulder. The man nearly jumps out of his skin. ‘Did you see who put that umbrella there?’ He gestures at the black umbrella, carefully arranged on the seat like a piece of modern art.

  The man is visibly terrified. His young lady-friend is much more composed. ‘A guy in black glasses left it there just a minute ago.’

  ‘Why would he do that?’

  ‘I don’t know. Maybe he wanted to air it out?’

  ‘So where is he?’

  ‘I think he went back that way,’ she says, pointing towards the front of the train, that is, in the direction of car number two.

  How could he have got past me? Tangerine hadn’t seen anyone between cars three and one who looked anything like Nanao.

  He turns to look at the door to the gangway and through the window sees the cross-dresser from before exiting the bathroom, swinging his hips as he re-enters car one. Not this creep again, thinks Tangerine, and as if on cue the man steps right up to him and lays a hand on his arm. ‘Hey, baby, you been waiting here for me?’

  Tangerine recoils. ‘I hope you washed your hands.’

  The cross-dresser looks serene. ‘Oh, you know, I completely forgot.’

 
Nanao

  AS NANAO STEPS FROM CAR three into the gangway his mind plays a steady chorus of What do I do, what do I do? He figures that Lemon will stay unconscious for at least a little while. But he also knows that Tangerine will be back from the toilet any second, and it won’t take him long to piece together what happened. Then he’ll come in pursuit. In a perfect world he would start by looking in the other direction, towards car four, but that doesn’t seem likely. It’s almost certain he’ll guess Nanao went towards the back of the train. He’ll be coming this way.

  There’s no toilet or sink in the gangway between cars three and two. Nanao steps up to the trash bin and pushes the button to reveal the handle, then opens the panel. There was enough space to hide the suitcase, but it’s obvious a person wouldn’t fit inside.

  I can’t hide in here. So where? What do I do? What do I do?

  Nanao can sense his field of vision narrowing. His pulse quickens with anxiety, his breathing becomes shallow, his chest starts to tighten. Shakes his head. His mind a cacophony of whispers demanding what he’s going to do. The waters rise, then overflow, sweeping away thought in the current. A vortex forms, taking all words and emotions and swirling them around like a washer on a spin cycle. Nanao surrenders himself to the flood. The torrent rages through his head, washing it clean. This all happens in a matter of seconds, the space of a few blinks, but the moment it passes Nanao feels renewed. The muddle in his brain is gone, and without thought or hesitation, he acts. His narrowed field of vision is now wide open.

  The door to car two slides out in front of him with a forceful exhalation. Nanao sees all the seats and passengers facing him and steps into the car.

  In a two-seater on the right is a sleeping man, middle-aged, salt-and-pepper hair. His seat is leaned as far back as it can go, and his mouth hangs half open as he snores lightly. There’s a cowboy hat on the seat next to him, fire-engine red and eye-catching. It clearly belongs to the sleeping man, whether or not it actually looks good on him. As Nanao passes by he scoops up the hat and puts it on the man’s head, hoping it doesn’t wake him, but the man must be a deep sleeper because he doesn’t stir in the slightest.

  Will Tangerine see this and stop to investigate? He doesn’t know, nor does he know what, if anything, could happen if Tangerine takes the bait. But even if it doesn’t work he knows he wants to set up as many distractions as he can. If Tangerine notices them, takes interest, tries to figure them out, it’ll slow him down. The more he can slow his opponent down the better his chances of making it out alive.

  Nanao proceeds to the gangway between cars two and one and scans the interior, looking for anything he can use. In the luggage storage area there’s a suitcase that looks like it’s been around the world, dinged up and covered in stickers. He grasps the handle and starts to pull it off the rack, but it’s so heavy it barely moves and he decides against it.

  Next to the suitcase is a cardboard box bound up with vinyl packing string. Nanao undoes the string and looks inside, only to find another box.

  The second box is a transparent plastic case with a length of black rope coiled inside. Why would someone go to the trouble of packing a rope inside a plastic case? Is that a terrarium …? Nanao leans in for a closer look and then lets out a little yelp. The thing coiled inside isn’t a rope. It’s a snake. The mottled skin has a glutinous sheen. Nanao jerks backwards and falls on his ass. What’s a snake doing here? He comes to the forlorn conclusion that it’s just another manifestation of his rotten luck. Maybe the goddess of bad luck is a reptile enthusiast. Then he realises that when he jostled the case the lid came loose, and before he has a chance to move the snake slides out swiftly. His surprise shifts to alarm.

  He watches the snake glide along the floor towards the front of the train, a vague sense he’s committed a sin that can’t be undone. But even if he could make amends, there’s no time to waste chasing after a snake, not when Tangerine is chasing him. He gets up and puts the lid back on the case. He’s about to retie the packing string but changes his mind and takes it back off, winding it into a coil that reminds him of the snake, now vanished somewhere. He tries to put it out of his mind. For now he has to find a way to escape.

  The bathroom is empty, but not a good place to hide. If Tangerine shows up and finds it locked he’d know that his quarry was inside, leaving Nanao no better than a rat in a trap.

  He enters car number one and notes all the passengers, then starts quickly down the aisle. In the three-seater on the left side is a man dozing. On the luggage rack overhead Nanao spots an umbrella, a compact folding model tossed up there carelessly. He plucks it off the rack and opens it. It makes a popping noise and fills the air in front of his face. Several passengers look his way but Nanao ignores them and sets the umbrella down on a seat two rows further in.

  Then he starts tying the vinyl string to the armrest of the middle seat. He crouches down on one knee, guides the string under the seat and pulls it across the aisle, then loops it under the seat. When he pulls it taut there’s enough length left over for him to tie it to this armrest. Now the string makes a neat little tripwire.

  He’s extremely cautious when stepping over it. Given his track record, it wouldn’t surprise him if he were to get caught up in his own trap. Without looking back he heads to the end of the car and out the door to the observation deck. There’s nowhere to hide, though, and nothing that looks usable, so he returns to car number one.

  So far all he’s done is set up the umbrella and the tripwire. He knows it won’t be enough.

  He tries to picture Tangerine being distracted by the umbrella and tripping over the packing rope. Then he himself would jump out of a nearby seat and attack, if possible landing a solid blow on the chin to knock Tangerine out and then make his escape towards the front of the train. Is that realistic? He knows the answer is no. Tangerine won’t fall for anything this simple.

  Nanao looks all around car number one.

  His eyes rest for a moment on the digital ticker over the rear door, with the headlines running across it. He smiles grimly. Everything that’s going on on this train, it’s all going to make the news, guaranteed.

  As he suspected, no good hiding places anywhere in the train car.

  Moving on, then. He exits car one and heads towards car two. A scene from the platform at Tokyo Station replays in his mind. A certain someone in heavy make-up had complained about not getting to travel in the green car. A man in woman’s clothes, throwing a tantrum. And her companion, a small man with a beard, had done his best to calm her down. Green car’s too expensive, he had said, But look, we’re in car two, row two. Two-two, like February the second.

  Your birthday!

  Nanao continues past the sink and the toilet. He keeps a wary eye out for the snake, but it doesn’t reappear. Maybe it slithered into the trash bin.

  He steps into car two. There they are, in the second row. The cross-dresser is reading a tabloid and the bearded man is playing with his phone. On the luggage rack above them is a shopping bag, the same one Nanao had seen on the platform back in Tokyo. He knows there’s a gaudy red jacket and a wig inside. Maybe I can use those as a disguise. The seats behind the pair are empty so he slips in, reaches up, gingerly takes the bag and lowers it down. The paper bag makes a small rumpling noise as he takes it, but the pair don’t seem to notice.

  Nanao hurriedly withdraws to the gangway and steps over to the window where he begins rummaging through the bag. Jacket, wig, also a dress. He takes the wig out. The red jacket is too noticeable. He tries to gauge how well the wig will work as a disguise.

  ‘Get your hands off my shit, you sneaky bitch.’

  Nanao jumps at the sudden voice.

  He whirls round to see the cross-dresser and the bearded man standing right there, looking aggressive, pressing closer to him. They must have noticed him after all and followed him to the gangway.

  Nanao knows he has no time to waste. He instantly grabs the bearded man by the wrist and wrenches him ro
und into an armlock.

  ‘Ow, owww,’ wails the man.

  ‘Please keep your voice down,’ Nanao hisses into his ear. He can feel the clock ticking, can almost hear Tangerine’s footsteps, coming closer. Any minute now, any second.

  ‘Hey, seriously, what are you tryna do?’ asks the well-built cross-dresser.

  ‘There’s no time. Please just do what I ask,’ Nanao says as quickly as he can, then tries again, abandoning his usual polite tone. ‘Do as I say. If you do, I’ll pay. If you don’t, I’ll break his neck. I’m serious.’

  ‘What are you on?’ The cross-dresser looks rattled.

  Nanao releases his hold on the bearded man and spins him round so they face each other again. Then he plops the wig down on the man’s head. ‘Go to the back of car one. Keep this thing on. Someone will be coming soon. When he gets close to you, you call her.’

  Nanao realises that he referred to his partner as her, but the pair seem completely comfortable with that.

  What next, what next?

  His head is whirring at full speed, formulating plans, sketching up blueprints, erasing them, trying again.

  ‘Why do I have to call her?’

  ‘Just let it ring a few times and then hang up.’

  ‘Let it ring and then hang up?’

  ‘You don’t have to talk at all. It’s just sending a message. Hurry, there’s no time. Go.’

  ‘Oh, so I’m just supposed to do whatever you say? Who do you think you are, anyway?’

  Instead of arguing Nanao pulls out his wallet and peels off a 10,000-yen note, then stuffs it in the man’s shirt pocket. ‘This is your reward.’

  The man’s eyes light up, which comes as a relief to Nanao. People are easy if they can be motivated with money. ‘If you do a good job I’ll give you twenty thousand more.’