The Gate of Sorrows (54 page)

The smell of burnt fish was pervasive. Shigenori didn’t want to be the first customer; it would make him too conspicuous. The slot machine was the only one he could manage to play and still keep the entrance to Naka-chan in sight, so he was monopolizing it. It didn’t matter; there were hardly any customers, and the part-timer behind the counter didn’t seem to care.

Maybe he should just go back to the hotel and wait? Arriving later in the evening would give him a better chance of chatting up some of Nakanome’s old customers. But he also wanted to talk to the cousin when he wasn’t too busy serving. He wanted to be there when there were a few customers, but not too many.

What the hell is he cooking, anyway?

The stool was hard and his rear end was starting to ache. He decided to get on with it. He didn’t have to go in right away. There was something he wanted to see first, next to the sliding front door. Something he wanted to examine up close.

It was a stand of miniature bamboo stalks in a big ceramic pot, their slender branches festooned with strips of paper, each inscribed with wishes for the summer Star Festival. A few minutes before five, a thirtyish man in jeans, a polo shirt and a white apron had emerged from Naka-chan and set the pot outside.

There was nothing unusual about the bamboo. It was that time of year. Many other businesses had pots just like it outside their doors. Some even had a supply of paper strips so anyone could jot down a wish and tie it to the bamboo.

The stalks next to the entrance of Naka-chan were heavy with wishes, a pretty rainbow of color. It lent a very pleasing effect to the shop. Shigenori wanted to read the wishes on those strips of paper.

The man in the polo shirt was likely Nakanome’s cousin, the new manager. He’d only been outside for a few seconds—not enough to judge a family resemblance—but he wasn’t as physically large as the deceased. Medium height and build, close-cropped hair, clean-shaven.

The burnt-fish smell was fading. Still no customers. Shigenori got up from the slot machine and stepped outside. The pounding music faded as the door closed behind him. The narrow street, lined with multitenant buildings, was wrapped in lengthening shadows. It was less than an hour before sunset.

Shigenori strolled causally across the street and stopped in front of Naka-chan, as though noticing it for the first time. He glanced up and down the block and approached the door. The bamboo stalks stood higher than his head. They seemed to be bowing toward him gently.

He pinched a paper strip between thumb and forefinger and examined it closely. The characters were large; he could read them without his glasses.

I hope they catch the person who did it soon. —Aiko

Shigenori read one strip after another. Some were in a masculine hand, some were written by women. A few were clearly left by children.

Naka-chan, are you having a cold one in heaven? —Kenta

I hope they arrest the guy. —Miki

Naka-chan, thanks for your great sake. Let’s raise a glass again. —Natchan

I hope they catch him and give him the death penalty. —Sanae

Naka-chan is forever! The killer can go to hell! —Katsumi

Naka-chan, we miss you. Please come back. —Rie

Rest in peace, Shiro. —Reiji

Shigenori read every strip. He glanced at his watch. It was 6:44. Still no customers. He heard music coming faintly from inside, some unidentifiable genre.

All right, then. I’m from Tokyo, here on business. I hear you have some great sake. I don’t know anything about the murder. Not a thing. I’m just a guy.

Shigenori turned his cover story over in his mind one more time. He was reaching for the door when he felt a heavy hand on his shoulder.

Kotaro’s message to Makoto said to meet him at nine at the tea caddy building.

The place is empty. It’s dark, but don’t worry, it’s not weird or anything.

Kotaro had added “It’s urgent” and Makoto had seemed to understand. He didn’t ask what was up. He just did what Kotaro asked, as though resigned to his fate.

There’s no power, so put a full charge on your laptop. I want to see some of that old technique of yours, so get that charged up!

When they met up in front of the building, Makoto’s expression was darker than the night around them. There was no breeze. It was humid, and they were both sweating.

“So, this place is empty?” Makoto looked up at the building, but Kotaro had already started for the service entrance.

“Yeah, totally empty. There’s rumors about a ghost, but I haven’t seen it yet.”

Kotaro was thankful he hadn’t returned the key to Shigenori on their last visit. The old man hadn’t asked. He probably knew it was pointless.

Or maybe he thought there was nothing worse I could do with it. In that case, you’ve got another think coming, old man. I’m about to do something a
lot
worse.

Kotaro led the way up the stairs, flashlight in hand, not pausing until he was on the fourth floor.

“From here we go up to the roof.” He lowered the ladder and motioned Makoto to climb.

Makoto finally broke his silence. “Can’t we stay here? Up there we’ll be exposed.”

“Why should you care?”

“You said you wanted to see my old technique. Are you sure you want to be seen with me?”

Makoto’s dark expression wasn’t sorrow or regret. It was a mixture of resignation, a bit of anger, and deadly self-assurance. His question had a hint of humor in it. Kotaro didn’t answer.

Makoto smiled grimly. “How’d you hear about me? It’s not like you to pay attention to rumors. I was pretty sure you stayed away from gossip.”

“Ashiya told me.” Kotaro didn’t feel like saying “Kaname.” “But she told me because I asked her. I was worried about you after that walk to the station. You seemed really down.”

“I see. She would tell you, in that case.”

The two stood facing each other in the dark, each with his laptop slung over his shoulder. Kotaro’s flashlight lit a circle on the floor. In silhouette, they looked identical.

“I need you to do something for me, Miyama.” Not Makoto, now. “A little hacking. I need information. I’m not going to steal anything or cause trouble for anybody. But this is the only way I can get what I need. You can do that for me, can’t you?”

The silhouette facing him was silent.

“It’s the website of a nursery school. There’s data about the kids, so security’s gonna be tight. I want to see what the parents and staff posted there. Images, too. I want to see everything, wall to wall.”

Makoto was silent for a moment before answering. “So why are you asking me?”

“Come on, you’re the guy with the mad skills.”

“If all you want is to get into some nursery school site, you didn’t have to come to me. You don’t know how, but that doesn’t mean it’s hard.”

Kotaro exhaled slowly. He felt strangely calm. There was no sense of tension. It was the darkness. The darkness in the tea caddy building was his friend now. How much terror, how much astonishment had he experienced here? How many secrets?

The darkness was warmth. It gave him strength.

“You’re right. I don’t know the first thing about hacking. That’s why I need you.”

“Why should that matter to me?”

“If you don’t help me, things will change.”

He’d stepped off the cliff. There was no turning back. Kotaro Mishima was about to become a bad guy.

“If things change, see, BB Island is gonna be the least of your problems. I can arrange that real easy. You were right about me and rumors, I don’t bother to listen. But when I heard about your past, hey, it was like I couldn’t help it, you know? It totally blew me away to find out you were hiding your hacker past this whole time. So if I can’t trust you anymore, that’s gotta bother me,” Kotaro said. “If I’m bothered, Kaname’ll pick up on it. We’re your best friends. Everybody knows it. If we’re uncomfortable working with you, that’s a bad sign, right? And once it’s all over Drug Island, it’ll spill out to the rest of Kumar.”

It would be simple. Kaname was such a straight arrow that planting the seeds of doubt in her mind would be easy.

“But if we keep showing everyone we’re behind you, I bet your BB problems go away. Whoever it is that envies you or is spreading gossip about your past is gonna end up the odd one out. Wouldn’t that be better?”

The darkness in the room seemed to amplify his voice and kick it back at them.

Wouldn’t that be better … ? Wouldn’t that be better … ? Wouldn’t that be better … ?

Makoto spoke slowly. “There’s another way. A quicker way. I’ll quit.”

“That’s the worst thing you can do.” Kotaro smashed the ball back over the net. “If you leave Kumar because of that, you’ll end up back where you started, but this time it’ll be worse. You can try to go straight, but wherever you go, it’ll follow you. Your attitude will go to hell, and you’ll start hacking again just to get back at the sons of bitches. Except this time it won’t be malicious pranks. If you’re gonna go bad, may as well make a living at it. You’ll end up a criminal.”

“What makes you so sure?” Makoto was calm.

“Because that’s how people are. If you try to go straight and people don’t give you a chance, you’ll go off the rails for good.”

No. That’s not what I want to say. I saw him, Makoto—the giant that follows you everywhere, full of poisonous insects, their sickening buzzing … always clinging to you, standing over you, stepping on your
heels, waiting for you to stumble. And when you do, he’s going to devour you and digest you. He wants to turn himself into you. He’s waiting for his chance. He doesn’t want you to whittle him down to nothing. He wants to absorb you.

“You can’t quit Kumar,” Kotaro murmured. Again the darkness threw the words back at them.

You can’t … You can’t … You can’t …

“Stay with us, Makoto. You’ve got a mountain to climb. You’ll have my full support.”

“And to get that, I have to do what you say?”

“Yep. You help me, I help you. It’s a transaction.”

Makoto didn’t answer. The darkness was just as silent. When he finally spoke, his voice was clear and pure, as if the sediment of doubt had been filtered out of it.

“As soon as I learned to use a PC, people were calling me a prodigy. My parents were the first to notice. My tutor—he was this college student who lived in the neighborhood—gave me my first real coaching. He was a very nice guy. Had a very positive outlook on life.

“Everything about coding seemed so effortless. Everything I learned I could apply right away, and the more I applied, the more I learned. My tutor always gave me great feedback. He said I was this genius.”

Geniuses don’t know they’re geniuses,
Kotaro thought.

“Even when I was messing up websites, there were people who thought I was some kind of wizard. I never really got it. Why? It was so easy to do. But Seigo understood.
‘Defacing websites isn’t challenging enough for you, is it? It’ll never satisfy you. So—do something else.’ That’s what he said.

“His logic was simple, but it really knocked me back. I wonder why.” The silhouette shook its head. “I guess he just knows how to persuade people.”

Yeah, but I don’t want to think about Seigo now.

“Then we’re all set,” Kotaro said. “Seigo convinced you, and I’m his sidekick. That should convince you too.”

“You’re not Seigo,” Makoto said cuttingly. His answer hit like an arrow. “Mishima, look. I haven’t changed. I’m a coding prodigy with not much understanding of a lot of things. But there’s something very important that I do know.”

Kotaro was getting impatient.
Come on, out with it.

“You want to strike a deal with me. To get there, you went through a one-way door. I know exactly what that means, but I don’t think you do.” He laughed quietly and set his bag on the floor. “I came prepared. Let’s get started. I haven’t done this for a while. I’m actually a little nervous.”

Kotaro didn’t want to watch. He knew he was even guiltier than Makoto. He was the one pulling the strings.

He went down to the third floor. The air here seemed thicker, with a dustier smell. He leaned against a wall and slid down to the floor with his knees drawn up.

Kotaro had never examined this floor closely before. In fact, this was the first time he’d actually stepped into it. The beam from his flashlight showed an open door to what must have once been a private living space. There was a clothes closet. He could see a washbasin in a bathroom off the main room. The toilet was missing.

The darkness was quiet and cooler than upstairs. He killed the flashlight and set it on the floor. He rubbed his face and laid his head on his folded arms. For several minutes, he sat there without moving.

Someone was whispering.

It was a rustling that he felt rather than heard. He raised his head.

Darkness. Abandoned, forgotten darkness.

He closed his right eye.

She stood right next to him, a phantom spun from silver threads. Her graceful, diaphanous form undulated gently, unsteadily, like an image under windswept water.