Out

by Natsuo Kirino

  Satake must be somewhere nearby. She considered just turning tail right then and there. Filled with anxiety and irritation, she stayed inside a while longer, reluctant to trade the safety of the car for the dark parking lot. But she wasn't the only one there this evening. Two of the large white trucks that delivered the lunches to convenience stores in the area were parked near the entrance, and the drivers, indistinguishable from the other employees in their sanitary white uniforms, were smoking and chatting with the guard in front of his hut. From time to time, she could hear them laugh, even here in the car.

  Plucking up her courage, she opened the door, climbed out and walked slowly around Kuniko's car. It was parked carelessly, exactly the way she always left it, slanting slightly to the right with the front tyres turned in, creating the illusion that Kuniko was still alive and waiting for her in the lounge. But hadn't she cut off Kuniko's head with her own hands? She stared at her palms for a moment, trying to convince herself, but then looked up, knowing how absurd this was.

  So he had studied every detail of Kuniko's movements. In which case, he was probably also watching her. That morbid tenacity and attention to detail made her blood run cold. Now it wasn't just her mind but her body as well that threatened to shut down, and she stood immobile, her legs refusing to budge, distressed at her own reaction. But just then the guard stopped talking to the drivers and turned to give her a cheerful salute. Since she'd refused his help rather abruptly the other night, the gesture could have been taken ironically, but even so she was grateful.

  'Good evening,' he called. The words seemed to function like lubricating oil, freeing her legs, and she walked over to join them.

  'You didn't see who was driving that car, did you?' she asked.

  'Which one?' the guard said.

  'The green Golf,' she said, her voice cracking.

  'Let me check,' he said, going into the guardhouse for his ledger. 'It says it belongs to Kuniko Jonouchi,' he reported, shining his flashlight on the page. 'She's on the night shift, so ... ' Masako interrupted him, irritated at being told what she already knew.

  'Does it say anything about her quitting?'

  'Now that you mention it, it does. Six days ago. That's odd,' he said, squinting at the page. 'Something must have come up suddenly,' he added, looking over at the car.

  'Do you know what time she showed up?'

  'Not exactly.' The guard looked at the truck drivers. 'I didn't really notice. My shift starts at 7.00.'

  'I think it was there last night,' one of the drivers said. He had pulled a cotton face mask down over his chin in order to smoke.

  'I doubt it,' Masako snapped.

  'No?' He sounded annoyed at being contradicted. 'Then I guess it wasn't.'

  'Sorry,' she said. It was less than three days since they'd cut up Kuniko's body, and her nerves were still raw, like her chapped red hands which hurt in the cold night air. She was struggling to control the distress she felt and to accept this new development. But the appearance of the car was just too unnerving, and she found it difficult to distinguish between imagination and reality.

  Noticing that she'd gone silent, the other driver spoke up. 'Why are you so interested in the car?' he said.

  Masako looked up at him. 'The woman who owns it quit. Did anyone see who was driving it?'

  'No,' said the guard, flipping through the ledger again. 'We didn't actually see it come in.'

  'Thanks anyway.' She left them, and started walking toward the factory, but after only a few paces she felt a warm, heavy hand on her shoulder.

  'Do you need an escort tonight?' She turned to find the guard standing behind her. The badge on his uniform said his name was Sato. 'You look a bit under the weather,' he added. Masako hesitated, unsure how to answer. Part of her wanted his company while another part wanted the chance to think quietly during the few minutes she had before work. The guard laughed. 'I know you said you didn't want me to come along the other night,' he said. 'I don't mean to bother you.'

  'That's okay,' she said. 'I'd be happy for the company, at least part way.'

  Removing the flashlight that was dangling from his uniform, he switched it on and set off down the road. Masako took one last look at Kuniko's car before starting after him. He was walking quickly and was already well ahead.

  'You going to be all right?' he said. 'You still don't look too good.' They had passed the houses on the right side of the road and reached the darkest part of the walk. The few buildings seemed to melt into the blackness around them. The only other light came from two stars shining dimly overhead. The guard stopped, his heavy black boots illuminated in the circle of yellow light at his feet. Masako stopped as well. She tried to get a look at his face, but the cap pulled down around his ears made it impossible. 'Is the lady in the Golf a friend of yours?' he asked.

  'Yes.'

  'Why did she quit?' His voice was soft and low. Masako slipped past him without answering. She didn't want to talk about Kuniko. But even in the dark, she could tell he was watching her as she went by. It was as though a magnetic field had risen between them. Her pulse quickened and she found it hard to breathe.

  'I'll be fine from here,' she forced herself to say as she began to jog away. The guard stood watching her. Sato and Satake - not all that different. The hand on her shoulder had been a little too insistent; and why had he asked about Kuniko? She felt dazed, unable to gauge the depth of the darkness around her. She didn't know what to believe. Unable to bring her blurred suspicions into focus, she dropped them for the moment and started running.

  -

  When she reached the factory, she went straight to the changing room to look for Yoshie. She wasn't there, though. She hadn't shown up at work since the delivery of Kuniko's body, and Masako suspected she had used the money from that day to move out of her house. Or had something happened to her as well?

  She sat at the long table shoving loose strands of hair under her work cap as she tried to think through recent events. As she lit a cigarette, it occurred to her that Satake might have found some way to get into the factory. She looked out at the groups of men in the lounge, but didn't see any new faces. She was jittery and restless, unlike herself. Taking a card from her wallet, she went out to the pay phone in the lounge and dialled the number of Jumonji's cell phone.

  'Katori-san?' He sounded relieved.

  'What's wrong?'

  'Nothing. It's just that I've been getting these strange calls and

  I'd just about decided to stop answering.' She could hear the apprehension in his voice.

  'What kind of calls?'

  'They must be from him. When I answer, a man says, "You're next". I know who it is, but it still gives me the creeps, especially since I've actually seen him.'

  'How did he get your number?'

  'It probably wasn't that hard; I'm always giving out business cards.'

  'Can you tell where he's calling from?'

  'No, it's a cell phone - it could be anywhere. It's got me spooked. I feel like I'm being watched twenty-four hours a day. Anyway, I've decided I have to get out of here. So take care of yourself, Katori-san.'

  'Wait a minute!' Masako said, determined to keep him from hanging up. 'I've got a favour to ask.'

  'What is it?'

  'Kuniko's Golf showed up at the parking lot.'

  'What?!' he groaned. 'How?'

  'I'm pretty sure Kuniko didn't drive it there herself, so it must have been Satake,' she said, almost whispering now.

  'Then he's closing in. I think you should get out of there.'

  'I plan to,' she said. 'But I'd appreciate it if you could watch the parking lot for the next few hours and let me know who gets in that car.'

  'It's got to be him.'

  'But I want to know where he goes.'

  'I'm sorry, I can't.' She could tell he was already halfway out the door, thinking only of his own skin. She talked to him for a few minutes more, calming him down sufficiently to agree to meet her at a nearby Denny's af
ter she got off from work.

  The call had made her late. She ran to punch her time card and then hurried downstairs. The hundred or so part-timers on the night shift were lined up, waiting for the doors to open. Masako fell in at the end of the line. It seemed ages ago now that the four of them had jostled for a place at the front, competing with other groups for the better jobs.

  The doors opened and the women filed in, lining up at the hand-washing stations. Masako waited for her turn. When it came, she pushed up to the sink and elbowed the handle on the faucet. As she began to scrub her hands, she felt that all the troubles of the past few days were clinging to her like a sick obsession, just as Kuniko's yellow fat had clung to her hands, stuck to her fingers, caked under her nails. No matter how hard she scrubbed, they refused to come off. She worked at her hands with the brush until they were red and raw.

  'If you draw blood, you'll be off the shift.' The health inspector had come up behind her and was watching her grind away at her skin. Masako looked down at her scarlet hands and arms.

  'I know,' she said.

  'What's wrong with you today?'

  'Nothing, sorry.' Masako plunged her hands into the basin of disinfectant and dried them with sterilised gauze. Then she started wiping down her apron, but the job reminded her how hard it had been to scrub off Kuniko's dark, sticky blood. She shook her head to drive the image from her brain.

  'Masako-san,' said a voice. Kazuo was standing next to her, his cart already loaded with rice. 'Are you okay?'

  'Yes,' she said. Pretending to be deciding which line to join, she stood with him a moment.

  'I put it in my locker,' he said.

  'Thanks.'

  Realising that no one had noticed them yet, Kazuo whispered to her again, 'You seem overwrought tonight.' Overwrought? Where had he learned that? She glanced at him. He looked calmer than before, more sure of himself. The desperate puppy was gone, grown into a dependable young man. She realised how much she needed him, needed his calm, strong presence, if only for tonight.

  Nakayama, the foreman, had spotted them and came running over.

  'What do you think you're doing? Get on a line!' Masako quietly fell into place with this reminder that there was little to distinguish the factory from a prison. Private conversation, even a quick chat, was discouraged, and your bodily functions were monitored. You were expected to shut up and do your job. Nothing else.

  'Don't let it get to you.' Kazuo's parting words seemed to cover her back like a warm, protective blanket. Still, Yayoi and Yoshie had stopped coming to work, and Jumonji was on the verge of skipping out. Kuniko was dead. That left Masako to take on Satake alone. She had a feeling that was exactly what he'd wanted all along. Everything seemed to suggest that he was after her and no one else. As she worked, she brooded about what it was he wanted from her.

  -

  At 5.30, when the shift ended, she quickly changed out of her work clothes and left the factory. It was still dark outside. That was the worst thing about the night shift in winter: it was pitch black when you started, and the same when you finished.

  She hurried along the road to the parking lot. The Golf was gone. But who had driven it away, and when? She stood for a moment in the dark lot, imagining how Satake must have circled her Corolla, touched the doors, peered inside. How he must have smiled to himself, able to smell her fear. The thought made her bristle. She couldn't let him get the better of her. She wasn't going to end up like Kuniko.

  She forced herself to swallow her fear, like a bitter medicine you choke down without tasting. It all stuck in her throat - the reality of Kuniko's death, of Satake - but she made herself take it. Then she opened the door, climbed into the cold car, and switched on the engine. There was a faint trace of light in the eastern sky.

  -

  Masako stared with red-rimmed eyes at the grounds in the bottom of her coffee cup. She had nothing else to do. She'd been smoking too much, and she'd had too much coffee. The waitress had stopped coming over to the table, realising that she wasn't going to order anything else.

  She was waiting for Jumonji at Denny's, but it was past 7.00 and the place was crowded with people having breakfast on the way to work. The room was filled with the smell of ham and eggs and pancakes, and the busy hum of morning. He was already an hour late, but just as Masako had begun to think he'd left town, he abruptly sat down across from her.

  'Sorry I'm late,' he said. He was wearing a soiled suede jacket over a black sweater. The worn look of the jacket seemed to mirror his mental state.

  'I thought you weren't coming.'

  'I couldn't get to sleep and then I ended up missing the alarm.' Masako scanned his haggard face, realising that she must look much the same herself.

  'You didn't check out the parking lot at the factory?'

  'No, sorry. I just couldn't do it.' As he offered his apology, he dug a cigarette out of his pocket and lit it. He was clearly frightened.

  'I'm scared too,' Masako whispered, but he didn't seem to hear. They were silent for a moment, looking out through the large window at the peaceful winter morning. A stand of thin white birch trees shimmered in the sunlight.

  'I'm afraid I'm not much use,' Jumonji said, apologising again. Almost overnight his young, handsome face had gone grey with tension.

  'It doesn't matter. What's going to happen will happen.'

  'That doesn't mean I have to like the idea of somebody coming to murder me,' he said, taking out his cell phone and putting it on the table as if he hated the sight of it. 'Even though I know who it is, it still scares the shit out of me when it rings, and it makes it worse that I've actually seen him.'

  'That's why he's calling,' Masako said. 'He just wants to scare you.'

  'I suppose so.'

  'I wish I knew what he looked like,' she said, as though talking to herself. If only she could see the image retained somewhere on Jumonji's retina, or on Kuniko's the moment before she died.

  'He's hard to describe,' Jumonji said, looking around as if he were afraid Satake might be somewhere in the area. The restaurant was full of businessmen reading the morning paper. Masako wanted to ask him to come to the factory to see if he could recognise a face, but she knew he wouldn't dare. 'At any rate, Kuniko's taken care of,' he said, slumping wearily in his seat. The waitress had brought him an enormous menu, which he left lying on the table. 'But I have to say, it wasn't easy.' He stretched his shoulders, as if remembering the weight. 'I bet she was twice as heavy as the old man.'

  They had needed thirteen boxes to hold her, and it must have been a struggle to get them shipped on time, unloaded at the other end, and taken to the dump. Instead of answering, Masako made a casual check of the restaurant parking lot. She found herself constantly on the lookout for a green Golf.

  To get her attention, Jumonji asked her, 'Will you be getting out of here? Or do you plan to stay on at the factory?'

  'I'm not quite ready to run,' she said.

  'You should think about it,' he said, sounding surprised. 'You must have seven or eight million put away. Isn't that enough? I know it's none of my business, but you wouldn't earn that in five years there.' Masako took a sip of water but said nothing. She knew that Satake would follow her no matter where she ran. 'I'm leaving today,' he added.

  The waitress came over and he ordered a hamburger.

  'Where will you go?' Masako asked.

  'I'm hoping Soga-san can figure out some place for me. He's pretty scary himself.' Masako hadn't heard this name before. 'I'd like to be somewhere close, like Shibuya, where there's a bit of action. Anyway, I figure the whole thing'll blow over for me in a year or so. After all, I didn't have anything to do with that Yamamoto guy.'

  So that was what he was thinking. His faith that things would get back to normal struck her as naive. She had already burned too many bridges ever to return to a 'normal' life herself.

  'I guess I'll be going then,' she said. 'But what were you planning to do with this?' She pointed at the orphaned ce
ll phone.

  'I'm done with it,' he said. 'I don't even want to get a new number for it.'

  'Then you don't mind if I take it?'

  'Help yourself,' he said. 'But the contract runs out soon.'

  'That's okay. I just want to hear his voice.'

  'Be my guest,' he said, sliding it across the table.

  'See you then,' she said, shoving the phone in her bag.

  'Take care of yourself.'

  'Thanks, you too.'

  'It was a pleasure doing business with you,' he said. 'If we both get out of this alive, maybe we can set up shop again some time.' He smiled and lifted his glass of water in a toast, but the smile only lasted a moment.

  -

  The house was already empty when she got home. Yoshiki's cup was still on the table, half full of coffee. Masako dumped it in the sink and picked up a brush to scrub it out. A little later she realised she was still scrubbing, hard enough to scratch the porcelain. Could she really go on living here now? She turned off the water and tried to loosen up her shoulders. Just when she'd found a way out, her own private exit, this man Satake seemed determined to drag her with him down to hell.

  She remembered what Yoshie had said to her that morning after the typhoon when she'd asked for her help with the body. After a moment's hesitation, she'd said she was willing to follow her into hell. Was that where she was headed after all? She sat down on the sofa feeling utterly exhausted, not so much from the night's work as from a sense that all her labours had been for nothing. Suddenly, Jumonji's phone began to ring. Masako hesitated for a second, staring at it, but finally picked it up and pressed the button to answer. There was silence at the other end.

  She waited quietly.