A Dog in Water (2 page)

“But if you don’t report Katsuya to the police, he might try to approach you again.”

“But I can’t let him know about it!”

“I should think it would be difficult for you to continue your relationship with Koichi Yamamoto.”

“I’m prepared for the possibility that I have to give him up. But I don’t want him to find out what happened. I’d rather die than let him know!”

I tried my damnedest to understand her feelings. I wondered if having her lover find out about her rape really would be a more horrible fate than death. I tried putting myself in her shoes. If I got my ass raped by some homo, and if there was someone whom I loved dearly, would I choose death over having her find out? The answer was obvious: death was preferable.

If such a thing really happened to me, though, I was liable to killing that homo before anyone found out about it. That would clearly be a far more satisfying course of action.

“What do you want me to do?”

“I don’t know.”

“To be honest, I’m not sure I can do anything to help you.”

“I’m scared. I’m constantly afraid he’s going to show up again. I can’t stand being alone in my apartment at night. I know I can just keep the door locked, but even so, I’m too scared to sleep.”

“You have my sympathy.”

“What should I do?”

“There’s only one thing I can recommend at this point. You need to disappear. Don’t tell anyone where you’re going, move to a new place and start a new life.”

“I had the same thought. But how will I make a living? I pass as 25 at the club but I’m actually 28. In fact, I’m almost 29. It’s been seven years since I started in the nightlife industry. I have plenty of patrons who come to see me. In my line of work, having a stable of customers means any club will hire me. But do you think any club in a city strange to her will hire a twenty-nine-year-old without a clientele?”

I didn’t even try to answer.

“What’s more, I purchased my apartment two years ago with my own money. I’ve still got a huge mortgage on the place, but I love it. I had it decorated entirely to my taste and bought perfectly coordinated furniture. It’s my humble little castle.” Her shoulders were shaking. “Why do
I
have to throw away my lover, my job, my house, everything I own? Why should
I
become unhappy? I haven’t done anything wrong …” Tears spilled from her eyes. “Are my only options dying, vanishing or doing as that man says?!”

I racked my brain trying to think of a way to help this woman. Sadly, nothing came to mind.

“What do you want to see happen?”

“I want that man to die,” Junko declared without hesitation. “Lots of people die every day in crimes and accidents. I wonder why God doesn’t take his life, too. I’m always thinking about how wonderful it would be for him to get run over by a truck.”

“…”

Indeed, if Katsuya Yamamoto were to die, Junko’s problem would largely be solved. Aside from the lasting trauma, she might be able to continue living as she had before. As long as Katsuya was alive, she would have to live in fear every day even if she moved to a brand-new locale.

In this world, there are certainly some problems that are only solved by someone’s death. Then again, that’s not a prayer you can hope to have answered, nor was it something I could do.

“As I said before, there’s almost no way I can help you.”

Her eyes darkened with despair.

“But it does pain my heart to think that you might have to go through the ordeal of talking about this incident again, with another detective, if I turned you down. I’ve incurred a responsibility as your confidant. Let me see what I can do to find a way to silence Katsuya Yamamoto.”

“What?”

“I’ll go ahead and spend a week on your case. I’ll only request payment if I’m able to be of assistance to you.”

“Please don’t worry on that account. I make a pretty penny.” Junko’s expression had taken on a faint touch of happiness.

“Don’t hesitate to request my services if you decide you require them,” I unilaterally ended the discussion over fees, then asked her a few more questions.

The clock had just rounded 4 a.m. when we left the restaurant. This time of November, dawn would not make her presence felt for a long while yet.

“I parked nearby. Do you want me to drive you home?”

“No …”

“If you don’t want to go home I can book you a hotel room.”

“I’ll kill time in a place that’s open until daybreak then head home.” Junko’s face was starting to show signs of exhaustion.

“Then why not rest in my office?”

“But …”

“I don’t have anything so hospitable as a guest bedroom, but the sofa is cozy enough for a nap. Of course, I’ll sleep in a separate room, and once I’m asleep almost nothing can wake me.”

Junko smiled, just a little. I realized then that she was far more attractive with a smile on her face.

When I woke up, it was nearly noon. I walked out of the tiny space that I used as a bedroom and saw that Junko was still asleep on the sofa of the lounge suite. She probably hadn’t slept well since the attack. I decided to let her rest for a while longer. I washed my face and brushed my teeth in the kitchenette in the back of the office. I had no ulterior motive in wetting and combing out my bed-head. Nothing more than simple etiquette.

I heard a knock at the door as I was brewing coffee. As soon as I turned the lock, an informant barged in.

“Hey, Dick, buy me lunch and I’ll tell ya a helluva story.” He was a short, chubby man about ten years my senior.

“Sorry, but I’ve got a guest right now.”

“Hey, hey, don’t tell me you’ve got a chick in here.” He stomped further into the office and peered towards the sofa. “Damn! You weren’t kidding, you bastard! How did you manage to land such a fine piece of ass?” He sounded genuinely shocked.

“It’s not what you think. She’s a client—”

“The hell she is. Why’d you let a client sleep in here all locked up, ya dirty bastard?”

At the sound of his voice, Junko listlessly opened her eyes. She immediately grasped the situation and stood up in a fluster.

“Um, I’m so sorry. I’ll be on my way …”

“No, it’s fine. Please, don’t mind him.”

The informant brushed me aside and looked at her as if he were running his tongue all over her. “Hot damn, lady. Your eyes look so sexy, all puffy from sleep.”

Junko scurried off to the bathroom to escape his gaze.

“Totally my type, the way she oozes misfortune,” the informant let out with a sigh, to which I did not respond. With a look that suggested he already knew everything there was to know, he added, “Heard there was another scuffle in Roppongi last night.”

“Just a little one.”

“That where you got cut up?”

I had forgotten about the band-aid on my forehead until that moment. “It’s just a scratch. It’s nothing.”

Junko reappeared, having fixed her hair and readjusted her clothing.

“Was the lady involved in last night’s case?”

“No, she wasn’t. She approached me afterwards. She could be in danger so I let her sleep here.”

“Oh? In that case, miss, you’d better start packin’ heat too.”

“What?”

“Don’t scare her like that.”

“Nah, listen, this Dick here is so reckless he’ll end up getting himself killed in the streets. Fella like you better carry a pistol when you’re
out and about, I always tell him.”

“A pistol?”

“I said knock it off. She’ll get the wrong idea.”

“What’s the problem? You know how many girls get killed by guys who’re missing a few marbles? Who cares if it’s illegal to pack heat if it saves your life?”

“I’m sorry, who are you?”

“Oh, pardon me. I’m not a gun salesman or anything. This is me,” he said, handing her a business card. “These fellas call me an informant, but really I just like helping out people who’re in trouble. Depending on the trouble I can be a lot more useful than a spook. How ’bout it? Interested, aren’t ya? So, let’s discuss things over lunch …”

The three of us ended up having lunch together at the dingy Chinese restaurant across the street from the dingy, mixed-use building housing my office.

“I might be an informant, but I’m no rat or stool pigeon used by the pigs,” the informant said as he stuffed his cheeks with mapo tofu over rice. “I run an independent information service, selling intel to anyone who’s willing to pay the right price.”

“You mean illegal info?” Junko asked as she happily inhaled her spicy dandan noodles, sweat beading on her nose.

“The information itself isn’t illegal. It’s not like I’m selling state secrets to foreign governments. I at least never do anything illegal myself. I’m not responsible for how people use the info they buy from me, though.”

The informant’s favorite things were talking and pretty young women. I finished my hot-and-sour ramen and lit a cigarette.

“Listen, miss. Laws are fickle, changing with the times. When my old man was a kid you could buy uppers at the drug store. When I was a kid, prostitution was legal. If they outlaw cigarettes, I’ll make damn sure to sell info about black-market tobacco sellers to a detective, assuming this bastard is still alive.”

Junko had polished off her noodles and drained the bowl of broth.
She was clearly feeling better than she had last night. Getting a decent amount of sleep must have helped, but perhaps meeting a type she’d never normally encounter was allowing her a brief mental respite from her dark mood.

“So, Mr. Detective, how does your relationship work?”

“Well, I wouldn’t really say we have any kind of relationship …”

“I’ve known this guy since way back when he was a cop detective. Guess you can say it’s an I’ll-scratch-your-back-you-scratch-mine type of relationship. He relies on my info all the time and he’s one of my sources, too. I won’t cry at his funeral, but I’d probably miss him a little if he died, something like that.”

I snorted with laughter. I didn’t think I’d miss him at all if the pops died.

All of a sudden “The Ride of the Valkyries” rang out through the restaurant. It was the informant’s cell phone.

“Yeah? Ah. Uh-huh. Got it. Call me back in five … Yep.” He put away his phone and stood up. “Just got a new gig so I gotta run. Give me a call anytime if you ever need my help, miss. Thanks for the grub, Dick.”

“Hey, you said you’d tell me something if I bought you lunch,” I called out to his retreating back.

“Ha, it ain’t the kind of talk that’s fit for ladies’ ears,” he laughed and headed out the door.

“What an interesting man.” Junko smiled at me and lit a cigarette.

“Another thirty minutes with him and you would’ve changed your mind. He’s not a bad person by any means, but he’s certainly not good, either. I don’t think you should see him for anything other than lunch.”

I lit my second cigarette. With the informant out of the picture, I felt discomfited sitting alone with her like that. Nor could I think of anything to say.

I gazed vacantly at the restaurant’s TV, which was tuned to a noontime news program. It was following up on a murder case from less than a week ago.

The day after a section chief at a major metropolitan bank currently
embroiled in suspicions over outsized fraudulent loans had been subpoenaed as an unsworn witness by the Diet, said section chief was found shot to death in the elevator lobby of his apartment building. The latest investigation results indicated that the perp had fired the first shot from a distance of about twenty yards.

A .38 caliber hollow-point bullet struck the section chief in the middle of his chest and landed him on his back. The second shot was fired at point-blank range, the bullet entering below his right eye and causing him to expire with his brain matter spattered from the back of his head.

Given the M.O., the police suspected the involvement of a pro according to the news.

“Do professional assassins really exist?” Junko sighed. It occurred to me that her question wasn’t your average TV viewer response.

“There are plenty of people who would kill someone for money. But there are very few killers who earn the title of ‘expert.’ At least, I’ve never encountered one.”

“You mean such assassins exist, but they’ve never been caught?”

“You’re not thinking about hiring one, are you?”

“No …”

“If you’re thinking about contacting my informant and asking him to find you an assassin, I’d suggest you rid yourself of such foolish thoughts immediately. He’d tell you the exact same thing.”

“Because it’s a crime?”

“That’s not what I mean. Only large, powerful organizations are capable of hiring assassins. Powerful enough to punish the assassin should he fail to do the job per contract or leak sensitive information. Otherwise the assassin would just take the money and run. Daylight robbery.”

“…”

“You should at least consider the risks involved in hiring a criminal you don’t know at all to murder on your behalf. Try to imagine how dangerous that would be. Such a man is perfectly fine with killing other people, and his only goal is money. It wouldn’t be unthinkable
for him to decide that extorting you beats following through with the killing. You’d find yourself in a far worse fix than you are now.”

“I think you’re right.”

“If you allow yourself to be possessed by the wrong ideas, not only will your problems remain unsolved, you’ll find yourself only more estranged from happiness. I haven’t yet done anything since you hired me. We’ve only had lunch together. Would you be able to give me a little more time?”

Junko nodded, her face lowered. I stubbed out my cigarette and stood up bill in hand.

“No, I’ll get this,” she said and tried to take it from me.

“That won’t do. I have to pay to get my informant to tell me his juicy gossip,” I said with a smile.

She gave me a small grin in return.

“You went to work at the club last night, correct?” I asked Junko as I poured her a second cup of coffee.

“Yes. First time in five days.”

“Weren’t you concerned that Katsuya Yamamoto might show up?”

“I was. But I didn’t want Koichi to become suspicious. He wanted to come see me at home because he was worried that I’d been absent from the club for too long …” She wrapped both hands around her coffee cup and sipped. “At first I told him my place was a mess, that my face wasn’t ready for him to see, and so on. But I couldn’t keep that up forever, so I told him I felt better and that I’d be at the club the next day. That was my only option.”