Out

by Natsuo Kirino

  -

  At a pachinko parlour by the station, Satake hit the jackpot three times with the same machine, which was the maximum allowed by the rules. Before leaving, he kicked the thing hard, and an attendant came running after him to complain.

  'Sir!' the man called.

  'What?' he said, turning to face him. The menace in his look made the man stop short. Satake took three ¥10,000 bills out of his pocket and threw them down on the sidewalk, then watched, scowling, as he picked them up. There was enough of Yayoi's money to allow this sort of gesture. He wasn't playing pachinko for the money anyway.

  A head of violence was building in him. It seemed strange that you could kill someone and then become more violent still, but in the past few days he had been so full of impatient rage he felt it was about to spill out of him. At the same time, there was another part of him that was coolly observing his own progress toward eruption.

  He walked through a deserted shopping arcade, his shoulders hunched, his mood sullen. The new storefronts were flimsy and artificial, while the older ones seemed dark and depressing. He was hungry, but he didn't feel like eating. Tonight, again, he had nothing to do but leave the Golf in the lot and wait for Masako. He went back to the supermarket and found the car. Opening the door, he looked in at the jumble of cassette tapes and shoes; he had left Kuniko's mess just as he'd found it. A ruined pair of shoes discarded on the floor on the passenger side reminded him particularly of her, and he stared at them with loathing. The ashtray bore the only evidence that the car had a new driver: the butts were Satake's brand now, and he emptied the m out regularly.

  If he drove around these neighbourhoods long enough, he was bound to run into Masako sooner or later. He would like to see her face when he did. If she'd really quit the factory, he had little choice but to trawl for her like this, though it was a dangerous, obsessive business. He remembered how she'd looked when she pulled into the parking lot and found Kuniko's car there. For just a moment, her face had frozen, and then gone blank, as if nothing had happened, but the tightened lips betrayed her. He'd seen the reaction, even from the guardhouse. When she got out of the car and walked around the Golf, she'd been even more shocked to see the way it was parked, just as Kuniko used to leave it. He knew because she hadn't been able to hide the tremor in her voice when she'd come to ask him about the car. Just the right note of fear. He laughed quietly, remembering. But fear alone wasn't enough. Or, rather, fear was fine as long as it didn't lead to cringing and pleading. He thought of the dogs at the pet shop, and the ugly way Kuniko had begged for her life. Suddenly repelled, he threw her shoes out of the car, sending them bouncing off the stained concrete.

  -

  He pulled into Kuniko's parking space at the apartment building and was just locking the door when a young woman, who had apparently been waiting for him, came trotting over. He didn't recognise her, but from the apron and sandals he could tell she must be one of the housewives there. She had no make-up on her face, but her hair was pushed up and damp with mousse, like a wig put on in a hurry. Satake thought she looked awful.

  'Do you know the lady who owns this car?' she said. 'Jonouchisan?'

  'Of course I know her. I'm borrowing her car, aren't I?' He knew that the longer he used the Golf, the more likely he was to get questions like this.

  'I'm sorry, I didn't mean to suggest . . .' She blushed, having apparently drawn her own conclusions about his relationship with Kuniko already. 'It's just that I haven't seen her around lately.'

  'I'm not sure where she's gone myself,' he said.

  'But you're using her car?' the woman said, looking at him curiously.

  'I got a job as a guard at the factory where she worked. When we realised we were living in the same building, she asked me to look after the car while she was away. It's not like I asked her.' He dangled the keys in her face, making sure she could see the initial K on the key holder.

  'I see,' the woman said. 'But I wonder where she's gone.'

  'I suppose she's just off on a little trip. I doubt it's anything to worry about.'

  'But she hasn't been home in days, and I couldn't get in touch with her about her turn cleaning up the garbage cans. Her answering machine is on all the time, and no one's seen her husband either.'

  'She quit at the factory,' Satake said. 'Maybe she went home to her family.'

  'And you're using her car while she's gone?' the woman said, a note of suspicion again in the question.

  'I'm paying her for it,' he said.

  'Oh, I see,' she said, stiffening slightly at the mention of money. Satake found this amusing. She lived off her husband's salary, but she didn't like anything as tacky as money coming up in the conversation.

  'Sorry,' he said, pushing past her. 'I'm in a hurry.' He decided that from now on he would have to stop using the car except when he was going to work. As he came toward the building, he noticed a middle-aged man in a new raincoat standing next to the mailboxes. His first thought was that he might be a cop, but after studying him out of the corner of his eye as he walked by, he decided he didn't have a cop's eyes. A salesman, he guessed, as he watched him checking the names on the mailboxes; but when he saw him stop at the box for number 412, Satake stepped into the elevator.

  After he got out, he checked to make sure the elevator didn't go back to the first floor, then walked slowly along the passageway, ducking his head into a cold north wind. But as he approached the apartment and was taking out his key, he looked up to see a young man standing in front of his door. The man was dressed in a short white down jacket and purple pants, and his hair was dyed orange-brown. Satake saw him shoving something into his pocket

  - a cell phone, probably. He didn't like the look of this one bit.

  'Are you Sato?' the man said, apparently sure of the answer to his own question. This obviously was not a cop. There was no mistaking the look of a yakuza. Satake ignored the question and moved forward to open the door, wondering how this one was connected to the guy downstairs. But as he reached for the doorknob, he found that it was covered by some kind of black fabric. The man watched in silence, suppressing a laugh.

  'What the fuck?' Satake muttered.

  'Take a good look,' his visitor said. The blood rushed to Satake's head when he realised the black material was Kuniko's panties, the ones he'd used as a gag on her.

  'Did you do this?' he said, grabbing him by the collar of his jacket. But the man seemed unimpressed, and just chuckled softly, his hands still in his pockets.

  'Not me. They were there when I got here.'

  Then it had to be Masako. Releasing him, he pulled the thing off the doorknob and stuffed it in his pocket. The fabric was cold from hanging in the wind.

  'It wasn't me,' the guy repeated, prodding Satake in the side. 'And where d'you get off shoving me around?'

  'What do you. want?' Satake said, pushing him back.

  'To show you this.' He pulled a piece of paper from his pocket and stuck it in his face. It was a promissory note from a place called Midori Credit for a loan of two million yen to Kuniko Jonouchi.

  'What's this got to do with me?'

  'You're down as co-signatory, and this Jonouch i woman skipped town.'

  'I don't know anything about it,' he lied - but he knew he'd been outmanoeuvred. There was no way that a loan shark would lend that much to Kuniko, so the whole thing must have been cooked up to get back at him. These punks would now be on his case, prowling around the building, drawing attention to him.

  In a suddenly much louder voice, the man said, 'What d'you mean, you don't know anything about it?' A door opened just down the passage and a woman poked her head out. She watched them nervously, which was obviously the effect his visitor had wanted. 'Then what's this?' he said, holding out the paper again and pointing at the space for co-signatories. 'Yoshio Sato' was neatly stamped in it. Satake smiled.

  'That's not me.'

  'Then who is it?'

  'How should I know?' Just then, the elevator
opened at the end of the passage and the man who'd been standing by the mailboxes moved toward them. Obviously, he and the punk were working together.

  'My name's Miyata,' he said when he reached them. 'I'm with East Credit. Our client Jonouchi-san is a bit behind on her car payments, and we heard she's disappeared.'

  'Am I guaranteeing that, too?' Satake said.

  'I'm afraid so,' he told him. Satake cursed, wondering how many more guys like this would be coming around. He was probably co-signatory now on a whole stack of loans. Masako, most likely with help from Jumonji, must have faked the papers and handed them over to their pals in the credit racket; then put out the word that Kuniko had disappeared, setting the dogs loose on him.

  'Okay,' he said. 'I guess I don't have much choice. If you could just leave the paperwork, I'll see what I can do.' Apparently reassured by this sudden change in attitude, they both held out copies of their contracts.

  'But when do we get the money?' the younger one said.

  'I'll make the payments in a week at most.'

  'If you don't, I'll be back with some friends and next time we won't be so sociable. You can count on it.' They weren't usually so heavy-handed on the first visit, Satake thought. Jumonji must have got hold of the toughest outfit he could think of.

  'I get you,' he said. As they'd been talking, several more neighbours had come out and were watching from a safe distance. The two men seemed satisfied that they'd managed to put him on the spot this way. With a nod to Miyata, Satake opened the door and slipped inside. The younger man tried to peer in, but he shut it firmly behind him before turning on the light. When he looked through the peephole, they were gone.

  'Shit,' he muttered, throwing Kuniko's underpants on the floor and kicking them away.

  In the meantime they'd be watching him, pinning him down. Worse still, the other people in the building would start watching him, too. The woman in the parking lot had probably been talking to one of the men, and that had made her nosy. He could afford a few million yen to pay off the loans, but he couldn't afford to stay in this apartment now that the neighbours were on the alert; and Masako would have known that the credit companies would follow him to the factory if he didn't pay up, putting an end to his little game there.

  Opening the closet, he pulled out the black nylon bag he'd brought with him from Shinjuku. He filled it with the bundles of money and the reports from the detective agency, and then, as an afterthought, picked up Kuniko's panties and shoved them in as well. His eyes swept over the empty apartment, settling on the bed next to the window. He'd dreamed of tying Masako there and torturing her. . . but it wasn't to be. Even so, he had a faint smile on his face. The pleasure he'd felt at finding her was returning; but stronger now, stronger even than what he'd felt the day he spotted the other woman on the streets of Shinjuku. He wanted to kill Masako even more than he'd wanted to kill the other one. And there was pleasure in that desire.

  Leaving the light on, he took the bag and left the apartment. After making sure there was no one in the passage outside, he went down the back stairs. When he reached the first floor, he spotted the young guy in the down jacket standing a short way off, shivering in the cold as he stared up at Satake's window. Apparently reassured that the light was still on, the man dropped his scrutiny to watch a young woman just getting back from work. Satake, seeing his chance, ran behind the garbage shed, along a line of bushes, and out into the street. For the time being, he would have to find a hotel somewhere. He wasn't sure how long it would take them to figure out he'd given them the slip and come looking for him at the factory.

  -

  That night, he drove to work in a rented car. He was certain Masako would show up. By now she would have heard that her plan had been a success, and she'd come to see the results of her handiwork. He knew he would - and she was so much like him. He smoked a cigarette in the guardhouse, waiting for her Corolla to appear and wondering how she would look.

  She arrived a little before 11.30, right on time. As he looked up, he caught a glimpse of her in the reflection from the headlights. Her face was expressionless as she drove past the guardhouse, and she made a point of not turning to look at him. Stuck-up bitch. She's probably thinking about all the trouble she caused me. His blood boiled with pure hatred and a perverse admiration for the way she'd managed to make him hate her. It made him feel dizzy.

  He heard the car door slam and the sound of her footsteps on the gravel as she walked toward him. He left the shed and planted himself directly in her path.

  'Good evening,' he said.

  'Good evening,' she echoed, looking right at him. Her loose hair fell as far as the shoulders of a patched down jacket. There was a hint of a smile on her thin face. Solving the riddle of his identity and driving him out of his apartment had given her confidence. He forced himself to keep calm.

  'Shall I walk you to the factory?' he asked, sounding almost respectful.

  'No thank you.'

  'It can be dangerous in the dark.'

  Masako hesitated a second. 'You're the danger,' she said, taunting him.

  'I'm not sure what you mean.'

  'The game's over, Satake,' she said.

  When he had hunted down that woman in Shinjuku, he'd felt an uncontrollable excitement; but this was different. This time he managed to contain his agitation, even though he felt it coursing through him, looking for a way out. The pleasure, deferred like this, was all the more acute.

  'You're a tough bitch,' he said. Masako ignored him and set off toward the factory. Would she really risk walking all that way by herself? He followed a short distance behind, feeling as though he could almost hear her heart pounding, feel the tension in her shoulders. But she walked on in the darkness, refusing to show any sign of fear. He switched on his flashlight and lit up the ground a few steps ahead of her.

  'I said I didn't want any company,' she said, rounding on him. 'I don't want to be strangled in a place like this.' He felt another rush of pleasure. How he hated her! And the feeling was so much stronger than anything he'd ever felt for beautiful Anna. Longing and hatred, linked somehow by the danger of self-destruction. What if he just grabbed her right now, knocked her out, and then killed her in the old factory? He toyed with the idea for a moment, but in the end it seemed a bit ordinary.

  'This isn't quite the right setting, is it?' she said, as if guessing his thoughts. 'You want to make me suffer first. Why are you .. . ?' The squeal of bicycle brakes interrupted her, and they spun around to see Yoshie pulling up behind them.

  'Good morning,' she said. She glanced at the guard and then fell in step with Masako.

  'Skipper!' said Masako. 'What are you doing here?'

  'I wanted to see you. It's lucky I caught you.' Satake aimed the flashlight at her face for a second. She scowled in the sudden glare and glanced at Masako, who seemed to be grinning just outside the circle of light.

  5

  She was safe. Masako drew a deep breath when she saw Yoshie's face. Her breathing had almost stopped when she realised he might kill her, and she was sure he would have if she'd shown the slightest sign of weakness. It reminded her of her childhood, of the time she'd been chased by a wild dog after making the mistake of looking it in the eye. It had been a close call, she told herself, trying to breathe normally again.

  She knew now that his hatred was on the verge of erupting, and that he seemed to be enjoying the game of pushing it toward the brink. She had seen the amusement in his eyes, seen how much pleasure it gave him to play cat and mouse with her. But she'd also seen that something in him was unhinged and impelling him towards an explosion. That same thing was inside her, too. It was the part of her that had secretly thought she might be willing to die as long as he were the one to kill her.

  She stared at the dark, abandoned factory looming up ahead. The emptiness of the building seemed to match the void inside herself. Was it a symbol somehow of her own damaged life? Had she lived forty-three years just to discover this? She couldn't t
ake her eyes off it.

  'Who was that?' Yoshie said, looking back uneasily toward the parking lot. She was wheeling the heavy bike along the uneven road.

  'The guard,' Masako said. The guardhouse stood like a beacon in the dark, with Satake beside it, watching them. He would wait for her to come back.

  'He gives me the creeps,' Yoshie said.

  'Why?'

  'I don't know,' she said, but she didn't continue, apparently

  unwilling to take the trouble to explain. The headlight on her bike cast a faint glow on the road ahead.

  'What have you been up to?' Masako asked. She hadn't seen her since they'd dealt with Kuniko a week ago.

  Yoshie sighed wearily. 'I'm sorry, I just had a lot of things to take care of.' She was wearing the windbreaker she always used in winter, and Masako remembered how thin and frayed the flannel lining had become. She wondered whether Yoshie herself might simply wear out one day.

  'What kind of things?' she said. She assumed Satake had not gone after Yoshie. It was clear that he was only interested in her now.

  'Miki ran away from home,' Yoshie said. 'I haven't seen her since. I knew her sister was a bad example, but I never thought she'd go off like that. It's lonely around there now. I'm not sure I can stand it.' Masako listened quietly, wondering if Yoshie had any way out. 'It's all so stupid. She left before I could tell her I had some more money. As far as she knew, she couldn't go to college since the other money was gone. Everything seems to be going to hell.'

  'I'm sure she'll be back.'

  'No, she won't. She's just like her sister. She'll end up with some useless man, and there's nothing I can do about it. My kids are fools, and I can't do a thing about it.' As they walked along, Yoshie repeated this hopeless refrain. Her tone was almost apologetic, but it wasn't clear what she was sorry for. They passed the empty factory, the old bowling alley, and a line of houses, and came out in the wide street bordered by the long wall of the automobile plant. A left turn here and they were almost at the factory. 'This is it for me,' Yoshie said, stretching her back. Her stooped shoulders made her look old.