The Thief (11 page)

After about four hours a man in a cream coat with a shoulder bag walked out and headed off in the opposite direction. I couldn’t see his face but I hurried after him, thinking it might be Kirita. He was hunched over like a shrimp, his unusually long fingers splayed. Just as I reached the entrance, the automatic door opened again
and another man came out. A black coat, carrying a black satchel.
That’s him
, I thought, taken by surprise. I lowered my head and pretended to be hunting in my pockets for cigarettes. Taking his phone without him realizing it, so that he thought he’d lost it, seemed an impossible demand. I tailed him, keeping my distance.

He went to a drug-store and then to the station, where he met up with a fat man in a café. His wallet was in the left inside pocket of his suit, but he kept his cell phone in his satchel. It looked like it would be hard to steal it while he was inside, so I waited for him to leave. I thought about lifting it on the train, but when he came out and said good-bye to the fat man he got into a taxi. I took the next cab and told the driver to follow the car in front of us. The driver was still young, so I kept having to give him exact instructions, like to stay in a different lane and keep another car between us.

Kirita got out in Akasaka and went into a basement bar. The interior was large, with a stage for performers, and incredibly crowded and noisy. I found a seat at the counter, thinking that this might be my chance. I ordered a weak cocktail and rested my arms on the wooden surface, which had darkened with age.

An hour or more passed. As Kirita grew more intoxicated, his voice became louder and his gestures more exaggerated. He was laughing, his reptilian mouth open wide. The other guy was young, maybe a student. Papers were spread out on the table but Kirita barely glanced at them.

He took his cell phone out of his bag, made a call, and then replaced the phone in the satchel on the floor. I was hoping he would put it in his jacket, but no such luck. Seeing how drunk he was, if I took his phone today he would easily believe that he’d lost it, and I didn’t know when I’d get another opportunity like this. Plus his was the earliest of the deadlines Kizaki had given me. When the waitress approached his table I stood up.

The toilets were on his other side, away from me. I headed towards them, adjusting my pace to that of the waitress. She put fresh glasses on his table, and just as she bowed and turned to leave I tripped her, as if by accident. She tumbled over and the glasses on her tray shattered spectacularly. I pretended to lose my balance and fell down too, but while everyone turned at the loud noise they were all looking at the waitress lying on the floor in her short skirt. When I checked on Kirita, he was facing her in surprise
and touching his shoulder, which was slightly damp. Still crouching, I used my coat like a cape to cover his bag. I slipped my left hand through the hole in my pocket, and was able to open the zipper. The young man stood up and started to say something to Kirita. As the waitress struggled to her feet she tugged at her skirt, which had ridden up, and opened her mouth to apologize. With the bag completely concealed under my jacket, no one could see anything. I put my left hand inside, hunted quickly for the phone, hooked my finger through the strap and slid it into my sleeve. Kirita started to rise to help the waitress. Pulling my hand out of the satchel, I braced my legs to stand. Just as I felt the warmth escaping from my throat, the phone in my sleeve shrilled loudly.

I froze for a second, unable to move. As the ringing continued, Kirita began to turn away from the woman toward the noise. I dropped the phone back in the bag and concentrated on doing up the zip. The sound grew muffled but he didn’t seem to notice. The waitress said sorry to both Kirita and me. Heart pounding, I stood up and apologized as well. Kirita wasn’t looking at me, though. He opened the satchel and answered the phone. I thought about making my exit, but it seemed important to hear his conversation,
so I helped the waitress pick up the glass. Kirita didn’t speak, but I managed to catch a glimpse of the notes he made: Thursday, 7, Shibuya, Daijingu. I nodded again and paid my bill. Now that he’d seen my face up close, shadowing him would be tricky.

I TOOK A cab back to my apartment, asking the driver if I could smoke. He said he didn’t mind because he was finishing up for the day and opened the window a fraction. I lit up and watched the neon lights flowing past in the busy streets. I just couldn’t relax. Kizaki’s face appeared in front of me, then Ishikawa’s, then Saeko’s. I wondered what she would say if she saw me now. I was going down in the world, being manipulated, dancing to Kizaki’s tune, but still I thought she probably wouldn’t despise me. Knowing her, she’d be more likely to laugh as she undressed, saying maybe we’ll die soon, and come down here with me.

When I got home the boy was asleep on the floor outside my front door. This time he was wearing long trousers, but his gray sweatshirt was thin. Looking at his arms and legs, I felt once more that his life had been determined at birth. In his downtrodden situation he just did the best he
could and kept on going. I prodded him lightly with my foot, thinking he’d die of cold, and he opened his eyes. He scowled at me for a second, maybe because I’d kicked him. But before I could say anything he quietly asked me to let him stay for the night.

“Nothing doing. Go home.”

“Why not?”

The boy’s breath came out in faint white puffs.

“Because your mom will come looking for you and the cops will get involved.”

“That’s not going to happen.”

“No?”

“She wants to get rid of me.”

He stood up, brushing sand and grime from the palms of his hands. His skin was dirty and the soles of his shoes were almost worn through. I was about to let him in, but then realized that I didn’t have a kettle or plates or anything to eat. We’d have to go to a convenience store. When I walked off, the boy came with me.

“He’s there all the time now and I’m in the way.”

“Did he tell you that?”

“He’s always telling me, because he wants to do it with Mom all the time.”

In the distance I heard the sound of a car accelerating.

“He’s jealous about Mom. Because they’re always at it, I have to be out all day. And when they’re finished he gets drunk and hits me.”

I put my hand on his shoulder.

“This guy. Does he know what your mother …?”

“He knows. He makes her do it but he still gets jealous.”

My throat felt tight.

“You want to get out?”

“Yeah.”

There was a strange gleam in his eyes.

“I’d run away, but I’m just a kid and I’d get caught. And then I’d get bawled out, and if he was there he’d beat me up.”

“Well, you can’t stay here….”

“Why not?”

I took my hand off his shoulder. Probably I picked the wrong time to do it.

“My job’s risky. I don’t know when I might get killed. You don’t need to get mixed up with any more adults who’ve messed up their lives.”

“But….”

“What about a children’s home?”

I looked at his face. He seemed to be thinking seriously.

“Could I get into one?”

“If you go through the formalities. But when it comes down to it you don’t really want to be away from your mom, do you?”

“I’m not a baby.”

He looked up at me. His wide defiant eyes, like two laser beams, reminded me of myself a long time ago.

“I’ll talk to her. And from now on I’ll leave my room unlocked, so if it’s cold you can go in whenever you like.”

With that, we went into the convenience store and bought hot tea, milk and a lunch box full of fried food.

14
My second target was a twenty-eight-year-old man who lived in a seven-story apartment building. I didn’t know what he did for a living, but judging from his dress and demeanor he wasn’t exactly a big player in the underworld. His condo was also in a residential area, so I couldn’t just loiter out on the street. I watched the passers-by through the windows of a nearby café. He was bound to go this way to get to the
station. He didn’t have a car or a bike. I waited for a couple hours, but he didn’t appear. I left the coffee shop, ambled along the road in front of his condo and then returned to my post.

It was noon on the second day of my stake-out when he came out of the building. I’d come by taxi and waited for a while, but there was no sign of him. I’d just placed my order in the café when I saw him walking towards me. I left the shop and followed him. He went to the station, through the turnstile and onto the platform. If they were going to leave his lighter and hairs next to a dead body, that meant he must have a record. It was hard to believe, though—he looked even more baby-faced and meek than he did in his photo.

Fortunately the train was crowded. I stood right behind him, thinking this would be the best place. His black hair was lightly styled with wax. There were no loose hairs on his neck or shoulders, so I’d have to pluck them out directly. The carriage was overheated and he was sweating. As the train came to a stop he moved closer to the passenger in front as though he was planning to get off, and I pressed myself right up against his back. Attached roughly to the tips of my forefinger and middle finger were pieces
of a nail file I’d found at home. The doors opened, letting in the cold air. When he took a step forward I pretended to lose my balance. Raising my hand as though clutching at air, I pinched a few strands of hair between my fingers and pulled. I felt a slight tug as they came out. He turned involuntarily, but I slipped past so that I was in front of him. Now all I needed was his lighter.

He seemed to be heading towards the stairs, but then he suddenly changed direction. I realized he was going to the smoking area on the platform for the Yamanote line. He took out his cigarettes and hunted for his lighter. My first reaction was that I’d be in trouble if he’d lost it, but then I had a brainwave. Putting on my gloves, I wiped my own cheap disposable lighter several times inside my jacket. Then I stood right beside him and lit up. He was still searching, and just as he was about to give up I silently handed him mine. He nodded his thanks and used it to light his cigarette. I thought the fingerprints might not look natural, so when he returned the lighter I fumbled it and it fell to the ground. He picked it up for me. This time I took it, and the job was finished. I boarded the next train and got out of there.

• • •

I WENT TO a hairdresser’s to get my hair cut and dyed brown. Then I put on a pair of glasses with fake lenses. The day I met Kirita I had been wearing my usual black coat, so I changed my image with a white down jacket and jeans. At six in the evening I headed for Shibuya. I was sure I’d find him there, in a bar called Daijingu. Since he’d only seen me for a second he probably wouldn’t remember me, but just on the off-chance I needed a disguise.

I spotted him from the cab when we stopped at a red light in front of the Seibu department store in Shibuya. He was in the same black coat as before, carrying the same satchel. I got out of the car and followed him. The narrow street was overflowing with people and every time he paused I moved closer. Maybe I could take it before he reached the bar. He stopped at a red light. I was standing right behind him, but for some reason the woman beside me was staring at him, so I couldn’t do anything. The lights turned green and I stayed on his heels through the dense crowd.

Just as I’d made up my mind to do it at the next intersection, Kirita turned round abruptly. I tensed up, but he hadn’t spotted me. I looked away as he passed. After giving him a head start, I tailed him again. He went into a Parco
store. Inside he glanced around and then headed for the escalator. Because people are standing at different heights, escalators are perfect for stealing things from their bags. I stood behind him as we went up, psyched myself up for it. There were mirrors along the side so I waited for a gap. The man behind me was chatting to the woman below him, not looking in my direction. I figured this was the ideal place and the ideal time. I felt the warmth inside me, was aware of a pleasant numbness in my arms. As soon as his head was in the dead space between two mirrors, I grabbed the bottom of his satchel with my left hand so that it wouldn’t shake and undid the zip with my right. Then I pulled out his cell phone and hid it in my sleeve, closed the zip again and let go of the bag. When he moved on to the next up escalator I veered off to the left, watching him out of the corner of my eye. I looked for the stairs on that floor and went down. My body went limp and a tremor passed through me as I transferred the phone to my pocket.

Back out on the busy Shibuya streets I snuck my hand into the pocket of an expensively dressed man walking towards me, hid his wallet in my sleeve. The afterimage of the light reflecting off his tie pin remained as a green spot
in my eye. I took a cab and checked what was in the wallet. It held 120,000 yen, several credit cards and a bunch of business cards handed out by women from hostess bars. The confined spaces of taxis, isolated from the city and the people, always gave me the feeling that I could escape.

I STAYED IN the car and headed for Ebisu. The apartment building I’d been directed to was fairly new and clean. Once I put these in the mailbox for room 702, two of my tasks would be finished. As instructed, I opened it, removed the white envelope inside and replaced it with the bag containing the cell phone, lighter and hair. I thought about watching from a distance to see who came to collect it, but instead I caught another cab and opened the envelope. This would be the photo of the guy I had to steal the documents from, plus basic information like his address. As I took out the picture I felt uneasy. A man in his forties, thinning hair, sunken eyes and hollow cheeks. Looking at his face, I could tell he wasn’t someone you wanted to mess with. In the past it was uncanny how often my hunches had turned out to be correct. I wanted a smoke to calm my nerves, but the driver said I couldn’t, so I got out.

Lighting a cigarette, I walked along an unfamiliar street through a housing estate with rows of elderly apartment buildings and not many streetlights. Suddenly my cell phone rang and I looked around foolishly. The only people who knew this number were Saeko and Ishikawa. The caller ID was blocked and when I answered it, it was a man I didn’t know.