Out

by Natsuo Kirino

  'Good morning,' she said, with her usual mock politeness. She was wearing a new red leather jacket, no doubt acquired with her recent windfall.

  Masako returned the greeting. Since they'd stopped waiting for each other out here, she'd seldom run into Kuniko on the way to work; and judging from the disappointed look on her face right now, she suspected Kuniko preferred it that way.

  'You're early today,' said Kuniko.

  'I guess I am.' Masako peered at her watch in the dim light; she was, in fact, almost ten minutes ahead of schedule.

  'Do you know what that's about?' Kuniko said, nodding toward the guardhouse as she pulled up the top on her car.

  'I suppose they're planning to have a guard out here.'

  'I hear the police found out about that pervert and forced management to keep an eye on things.' It seemed more likely to Masako that they'd agreed to the guard only because people had been parking illegally in their lot.

  'What a shame,' she said. 'Now you won't get a chance to meet him.'

  'What do you mean by that?' said Kuniko, twisting her face into a look of open hostility. Her make-up was perfect, as if she were going shopping downtown, but to Masako the showy paint merely seemed to emphasise the flaws in her features.

  'I see you're still driving that car,' she sneered, nodding toward the newly polished Golf. 'You should get yourself a bike, save your money.'

  But Kuniko turned on her heel and walked off in a huff. Ignoring her, Masako stood rubbing her arms to warm them. It was a bit cooler tonight than usual, even for the beginning of October, and she found she could distinguish various smells in the cold, dry air: fried food from the factory, exhaust fumes, the grass growing around the lot, and the fragrant white olive trees. The last surviving insects were singing somewhere nearby.

  She found a sweatshirt on the back seat of the car and pulled it on. Lighting another cigarette - she was almost never without one now - she waited for Kuniko's retreating red figure to disappear. A few minutes later, she heard the rumble of an engine and a large motorcycle pulled into the parking lot. The rear tyre skidded on the dirt and the headlight bounced up and down as the bike came toward her across the rough lot. Who was it? None of the parttimers came to work on a motorbike. Masako stared suspiciously as it pulled up next to her.

  'Katori-san,' a voice called, and the rider lifted the visor of his helmet. It was Jumonji.

  'What are you doing here? You nearly scared me to death.'

  'I'm glad I caught you,' he said, cutting the engine. The parking lot suddenly fell silent, and even the bugs had stopped singing, startled perhaps by the noise. Jumonji set the bike's kickstand in one swift motion.

  'What's up?' she said.

  'We've got a job,' he told her. Her pulse had quickened at the surprise arrival of the bike, but now she found herself clasping her arms across her chest to control the pounding. She caught a whiff of the familiar smell of detergent from the sweatshirt that had been packed away since last spring; and it crossed her mind for a second that she was now leaving behind the sort of life that smell represented. She hugged herself tighter.

  'That kind of job?' she said.

  'What else? I had a call just now saying there was a body that needs to disappear. I was worried I wouldn't be able to get in touch with you, so I decided to come straight here . . . but I was afraid Jonouchi-san might recognise my car.' His voice had a quaver of excitement in it.

  'So you used the bike,' Masako said.

  'I haven't ridden it recently, and it took a while to get the engine started.' He pulled off the helmet, like an actor removing a wig, and smoothed his hair back with his usual gesture.

  'What do you want me to do?' Masako asked.

  'I'll go pick it up and bring it to your house. What time do you finish work?'

  'Five thirty,' she said, tapping her foot.

  'And what time do you get home?'

  'A little after 6.00. But you'll have to wait until everyone's out of the house, around 9.00. Do you think you can get the clothes off before you bring it over?'

  'I'll give it a try,' he said grimly.

  'And can you shift it by yourself?'

  'We'll see I bought some scalpels, so I'll bring them along.'

  'Good,' said Masako, chewing her fingernails as she frantically tried to think of anything they might have forgotten. In the heat of the moment, nothing came to mind; and then she remembered something. 'And make sure you get the boxes.'

  'Do you want big ones?'

  'No, not really. We don't want them to attract attention, so get the kind they have at grocery stores. But make sure they're good and sturdy.'

  'I should be able to pick up some tomorrow morning. Have you got plastic bags?'

  'I bought some just in case,' she said. 'There's one other thing: what should I do if something goes wrong?' A number of possible hitches had suddenly come to mind: Yoshiki might decide to stay home from work, for example, or Nobuki might skip his shift.

  'What could go wrong?' he asked, sounding alarmed.

  'Well, what if the house isn't empty, for instance?'

  'Then give me a call on my cell phone.' He pulled a business card out of the pocket of his jeans and handed it over. The phone number was printed on the card.

  'All right,' she said. 'If something comes up, I'll call you by 8.30.'

  'Otherwise, I'll see you around 9.00,' he said, holding out his hand. Masako stared at it for a moment and then reached out to shake it. It felt cold and rough in the chilly wind. 'See you, then,' he said, starting the engine. The low, powerful noise spread out across the empty lot, fading into the darkness beyond. At the last minute, Masako signalled him. 'Something else?' he said, raising the visor again.

  'Somebody's been snooping around my place. Maybe from a detective agency.'

  'What do you think it means?' he asked, clearly worried.

  'I've no idea.'

  'It's not the police, is it? We don't want to mess with that.' Masako's heart sank. Maybe they should lie low for a while. But it was too late for that.

  'I don't know,' she said, 'but I say we go ahead.'

  'I guess so,' he agreed. 'We've come too far to back out now. A lot of important people would lose face.' He made a neat turn and sped away, kicking up clumps of dirt behind him.

  Left alone, Masako set off toward the factory, reviewing the procedure as she walked: first came the head; then the arms and legs; then, you opened the torso. . . . She could picture the whole gruesome, unnerving process. It suddenly occurred to her to wonder what shape the body would be in when it came to them, and this unnerved her all the more. Her knees began to shake, as if baulking at the idea of carrying her any nearer this horror, and it was difficult to walk. She stopped and stood in the dark, realising that what really spooked her wasn't the body she would soon be seeing but the unseen people who were out there somewhere, watching.

  -

  As she entered the lounge, Kuniko made a show of standing up and walking out without so much as glancing at her. Masako, however, had no time for that kind of behaviour, intent as she was on finding Yoshie. She found her soon afterward, in the changing room with Yayoi.

  'Skipper,' she said, tapping her on the shoulder just as she was pulling up the zipper of her uniform. Yayoi, who was standing beside her, turned around as well, a look of cheerful innocence on her face. Masako had been meaning to leave her out of their plans this time, but when she saw that face - without a trace of the horror they had been through visible there - she felt a violent urge to make her tremble the way she had, just now out there in the night. She clenched her teeth, trying to resist it.

  'What's up?' Yoshie said, but a look of consternation showed that she knew the answer almost before she asked the question.

  'We've got a job,' Masako told her. Yoshie stared back, her lips tightening into a fine line. Masako decided she wouldn't mention her qualms about being watched; she was afraid Yoshie would lose her nerve, and she'd never be able to do the job alone.<
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  'What are you two whispering about?' Yayoi said, pushing in between them.

  Masako grabbed her by the wrist and said: 'Do you really want to know?' staring her right in the eye as she spoke.

  'What is it? What are you doing?' she muttered in dismay. Masako wrapped her fingers around her elbow now instead.

  'We're cutting - just about here. Another "job".' Yayoi backed away, her arm still in Masako's grasp. Yoshie glanced around, worried that someone might be looking, and signalled to Masako to be careful. But the other women in the room were paying them no attention as they glumly went on changing their clothes in anticipation of the hard night ahead.

  'You're not serious,' Yayoi whispered, her voice breathless and high like a little girl's.

  'Dead serious,' she was told. 'Do you want to join us? All you have to do is show up at my house.' When Masako let go, Yayoi's arm dropped limply to her side and her work cap fell to the floor. 'And another thing: make sure you get rid of that Morisaki woman if you do decide to come.'

  Yayoi glared at her for a moment before hurrying away.

  7

  The body turned out to be a short, thin man, perhaps around sixty. He was bald, had all his own teeth, and had scars from operations on the right side of his belly and in the middle of his chest. The one on the chest was the larger of the two; the one on his stomach was apparently from an appendectomy. Judging from the purple flush on his face and the finger marks on his neck, he had probably been strangled. There were scratches on his cheeks and arms, suggesting he had put up a fight.

  There was nothing to tell them what sort of work he had done, or who had killed him, or why. Stripped of his clothes, he was reduced to a lifeless piece of flesh with no links to his previous life. Nor did they need to trace any; all they had to do was carve him up, stuff the bits in bags, and pack the bags in boxes. If you could numb yourself to all the blood and gore, there was really very little difference between this job and the one they did at the factory.

  Yoshie pulled the cuffs of her sweat pants up to her knees; Masako wore shorts and a T-shirt. They both wore aprons and gloves pilfered from the factory. Afraid of stepping on bone chips if they went barefoot, Masako was using her husband's rubber boots and had lent Yoshie a pair of her own. And again, there was little difference between these uniforms and the ones they used at work.

  'These scalpels are great,' Yoshie said admiringly. The surgical instruments Jumonji had brought them were extremely effective. Unlike the sashimi knives they'd used on Kenji, the scalpels cut through the flesh almost effortlessly, like a new pair of scissors through cloth. Thanks to these improved tools, the work proceeded more quickly than they'd expected.

  Unfortunately, they soon realised they wouldn't be able to use the power saw Jumonji had acquired for cutting the bones. During the trial run, it sent a fine mist of bone and flesh flying in their eyes. They would need goggles if they were going to use it in the future. As the work progressed, the room became saturated with blood, and the air was filled with a foul stench from the entrails, just as had happened with Kenji; but in the same way that the work seemed easier this time, the horror associated with it was somehow less acute.

  'This must have been heart surgery.' Yoshie's eyes were red from lack of sleep as she traced her finger across the purple, wormlike scar on the man's chest. 'It seems a bit sad somehow: he managed to survive this operation and then ended up getting murdered.' Masako busied herself with sectioning an arm and leg while she listened to Yoshie's musings. The legs were different from Kenji's. While Kenji had been in the prime of life, the skin on this man was sallow and wrinkled, with almost no fat at all. Perhaps it was just her imagination, but she even had the feeling that the saw was cutting through something dry and hollow rather than through flesh and bone. 'It's a lot easier without the blade getting gummed up with fat,' Yoshie said, continuing her monologue as she worked. 'Not like the first one. The bags are lighter, too.'

  'I bet he barely weighs fifty kilos,' Masako said.

  'And I bet he was a rich old bastard,' she added, sounding very

  sure of herself.

  'How in the world can you tell?'

  'Just look at this notch on his finger here. He must have worn a

  huge ring, thick as a doughnut, studded with diamonds and rubies. Somebody must have yanked it off.'

  'You've got an overactive imagination,' Masako laughed.

  The morning had begun for Masako as though it were the continuation of a bad dream. Yoshie still hadn't arrived when Jumonji turned up on schedule just after 9.00, looking pale, and carried the body inside, wrapped in a blanket.

  'That was pretty scary,' he said, rubbing his cheeks as if he was just back from the Arctic - despite the fact that it was fairly warm for an October morning.

  'What was?' Masako asked as she spread a blue vinyl sheet on the bathroom tiles, the same sheet they had used for Kenji.

  'This!' he said, gesturing at the corpse. 'It's the first time I've ever seen a dead body. But it wasn't just seeing it, I had to play nursemaid to it half the night. After I put it in the trunk, I went to a Denny's to kill time, and then drove around Roppongi.'

  'Weren't you afraid you'd be stopped?'

  'It crossed my mind,' he said, 'but I didn't want to be alone with it. I needed to be around people. I know everyone ends up like that when they die, but it still seemed like I had this zombie hidden in my trunk. I knew I was supposed to get the clothes off and all, but I just couldn't, not by myself. I couldn't even look at it till the sun came up. I guess I'm just a coward.' Masako, gazing at his pale face, understood what he'd been through. There was something about dead bodies that made the living recoil. She wondered how long it would take before a corpse came to seem like any other object.

  'Where did you have to go to get it?' she asked, touching the bent fingers.

  'I think it's probably better if you don't know. If something unexpected happened, it might prove awkward.'

  'Like what?'

  'I don't know,' he said. 'Something . . . unexpected.' He lifted the blanket very gingerly and peeked in at the face.

  'You mean like the police?' Masako said.

  'Not just the police.'

  'Then who, for example?'

  'The interested parties, so to speak; somebody looking for revenge.' Masako thought immediately of her unknown observer, but Jumonji seemed to mean people with a more mundane, professional connection with the corpse.

  'I wonder why he was killed,' she said.

  'His disappearing probably made someone else very rich. That's why they have to make sure the body never turns up.' That meant this man was worth several billion yen, at the very least. Masako stared at the dull, colourless skin on his bald head. If you could forget about the 'interested parties', a dead body really was something to be disposed of like any other kind of garbage. Garbage was a natural by-product of human life; and it was nobody else's business what got thrown away or who did the throwing. Though when the time came, you had to be willing to accept the fact that you, too, would be thrown out with the rest.

  'Help me get the clothes off,' she said to him calmly.

  'All right,' he said. Masako cut slits in the suit and began slipping it off the body, while a jittery Jumonji stuffed it into a bag.

  'Was there a wallet or anything else?' she asked.

  'No, they took everything like that. We got all that was left.'

  'It really is just garbage, then,' she muttered to herself.

  'I suppose you could say that,' Jumonji said, looking shocked. 'It's easier to think of it that way.'

  'I guess I see what you mean.'

  'Did you get the money?'

  'I've got it right here,' he said. From his back pocket he produced a brown paper bag, the kind used for penny candy. 'It's exactly six million; I told them we couldn't do it unless we got the whole amount up front.'

  'Well done,' she said. 'But what happens if, God forbid, the body's found later on?'

 
'Then we'll have to give the money back. But there are still some people who'll wind up with egg on their faces, and you can be sure they'll find other ways to make me pay.' His voice was shaky, as if he'd only just understood the risk he was running. 'So let's be as careful as possible,' he added.

  'Okay,' said Masako. When they'd finished removing the clothes and laid out the naked body in the bathroom, Jumonji took four stacks of bills from the bag and set them in front of her.

  'Why don't you take these now,' he said. The bills were dark and wrinkled and wrapped with rubber bands, not like the newly minted money she'd received from Yayoi. They reminded Masako of the cash that had changed harids at the credit union. Dirty business, dirty money, she thought.

  -

  Masako looked at the alarm clock she'd left on the washing machine in the dressing area outside the bathroom. It was almost noon. They were nearly done, and Jumonji should be back with the boxes soon. Her shoulders and hips felt stiff and heavy from crouching so long over the body - something she hadn't remembered on the first occasion, probably because she'd been so nervous. She also hadn't had any sleep since getting home from the factory, so she was keen to get this over with and lie down.

  Straightening up, Yoshie reached around to massage her sore back but then hesitated, her arm suspended in mid-air. 'I can't even rub my own back without getting blood everywhere,' she said.

  'Use a new pair of gloves.'

  'I don't want to waste them.'

  'Don't be silly,' Masako said, nodding toward the bundle of gloves she'd brought home from the factory. 'We've got plenty.'

  'It looks like Yayoi's not coming,' Yoshie said as she peeled the bloody gloves off her hands.

  'I suppose not,' said Masako. 'I wanted her to see what this is like, just once.'

  'She seems to think we're guiltier than she is - even though she's the one who killed her husband.' Her voice was heavy with resentment. 'She looks down on us because we're doing this for money, but that's nothing compared to what she's done.' Just then, the intercom rang and Yoshie screamed in fright.