“Give me back my money. And keep your nose out of my business from now on.”
“I haven’t stolen your money. There’d be trouble if you escaped abroad, see, so I’ve put a hold on your bank account, that’s all. I know a doctor who lives in Niigata, so I’ll send money to him. I’ll give you his number and you can contact him. You’ll be OK with two hundred thousand, won’t you?”
Yashiro dictated the doctor’s cell phone number. Kita wrote it on his hand, and asked his name. Yashiro gave him the name of a gangster boss he knew well.
“Give him a call in half an hour. He won’t just help with the money, he’ll be able to do other things for you too.”
Kita’s ball pen added the name Kiyoshi Okochi to his palm.
A little after three in the afternoon, the image of Shinobu Yoimachi had appeared via terrestrial broadcast signal in the living rooms of the nation. Even her suicide wouldn’t have brought her such quality attention – once it’s over, the only thing left is to sigh and move on, after all. But in this case there was the cliffhanger over whether she’d be rescued or killed, and the thrilled audience was on tenterhooks.
The woman who appeared on the screen at the same time every afternoon spoke to the audience with the same expression as always.
“The singer Shinobu Yoimachi has been kidnapped by an unidentified man, and her whereabouts are unknown. At a little after eleven last night, the head of Ms Yoimachi’s production studio received a telephone call at his home from a man purporting to be the kidnapper, demanding payment of thirty million yen ransom. The man demanded that the money be paid in the form of a donation to the International Red Cross, and that details of the kidnapping be broadcast on all key stations. The production manager has complied with the demand and donated the money as requested, out of fears for the safety of Ms Yoimachi. The kidnapper has also contacted SM Television and announced other demands directed at the government, including the abolition of United States military bases on Okinawa, mass resignation of Cabinet members, and abolition of the death penalty.”
At this point, the recording of Kita’s conversation with the head of the SM News Section was aired. A forensic psychologist had been invited onto the program, and he now set about attempting a plausible psychoanalysis of the kidnapper’s motives, based on the slender evidence available.
“We know that abduction has a low success rate. This is because of the considerable risk to the kidnapper at the time of handover of the ransom money. Police involved with the case consider the safety of the victim to be paramount and ask for media restraint in reporting the incident, but in this case media reports are being made on the demand of the kidnapper. He admits that his demands to the government are unlikely to be met, but has chosen to voice them regardless. I believe his demand that the ransom be donated rather than given to him is a form of ‘crime for kicks,’ with the aim of taking his revenge against society. There may well be a perverted idolization of Ms Yoimachi behind his actions as well. One thing’s certain, this is a form of abduction never seen before.”
His expression remained stern, as if to fend off any difficult questions from his audience. He was followed by a slideshow of Shinobu back in her heyday. There she was as a new star not long after her debut; then she was singing her hit song ‘Italian George’; she ran along a beach in a bikini, her breasts swinging seductively; she appeared in the movie Tetsuko’s Room; “Oh I’m just so into the Bible these days,” she announced radiantly… the star that everyone had begun to forget was reborn before their eyes from the array of images.
Being now in the red having been forced to donate thirty million yen, the production manager was desperately trying to recoup his losses by selling Shinobu as hard as he could. As luck would have it, it was a slow news day – nothing big had happened, and no one famous had died. They had the audience’s full attention.
Both the name and whereabouts of the abductor were in fact known, but they were being suppressed in an attempt to deprive him of the kicks he was assumed to be seeking. The doctor who’d been set up to kill Kita had decided he must first separate him from Shinobu before his name became known to the world – in other words, his task was to kidnap the kidnapper. As for Shinobu, no doubt someone else would take care of her. Whether she was dead or alive was immaterial.
But the assassin had just received a call from Yashiro informing him that he was about to be saved the trouble of kidnapping Kita after all. It seemed that Kita was now strapped for cash, and making his way right now towards where the killer was waiting. Could Kita possibly have some inkling of what was going on? Surely this was some kind of trap – it seemed too good to be true. Yashiro wasn’t to be trusted, no matter how much money he was paying out. The assassin found himself feeling almost sorry for Kita’s good-natured trust in others.
Five minutes before the appointed hour, Kita appeared in the hotel lobby. He cast a quick glance around from under his brows, spied the doctor, and approached him, hunched and tentative. “Are you Mr Okochi?” he asked.
The doctor was already familiar with Kita’s face from a Polaroid photograph. “Do sit down,” he said, indicating the nearby sofa. He checked the face carefully again.
“I do apologize for the trouble you’ve been put to, doctor. I can’t use my cash card, you see.” Sweat dripped down Kita’s nose. It was the sort of face that would leave absolutely no impression at first glance, thought the doctor. They were a good match for each other in being utterly unmemorable. These days, you saw this kind of face everywhere. It was only natural that Americans and Europeans should think of the Japanese as clones. Anyone not used to seeing the Japanese could well mistake Kita and himself for each other.
“You’re in Niigata on business?” asked the doctor, in the tone he reserved for chatting to patients.
“Yes, I sell health products.” Kita planned to stick to lies that were unlikely to be exposed.
“You’ve seen the news?” The doctor wanted to have a bit of fun by watching Kita’s reaction. But Kita didn’t blink.
“The abduction? I’m a fan of Shinobu Yoimachi’s, you know.”
“What can the guy be thinking, to do a thing like that?”
“He’s probably not thinking at all.” Kita spoke with a careful smile in response to the doctor’s shifting strategy.
“Where d’you think they are?”
“Somewhere out of sight, I guess. Some flat in the suburbs maybe.”
“Or on a park bench.” The doctor tried to gauge Kita’s expression as he spoke, but Kita managed to maintain a straight face.
“You’re on the kidnapper’s side?” Kita asked.
“I’d like to rescue the guy.”
Kita gave two short laughs at this. Only someone who didn’t want to be rescued would laugh like that. Patients who laughed before they were taken in for surgery often died, he found. The doctor glanced at Kita’s face again, and told himself that this fellow was set on dying.
He put the two hundred thousand yen from the down payment for his assassination job into an envelope and held it out for Kita. “Thank you, you’ve saved my bacon,” Kita said, head bowed. Then he let out a deep breath.
“Where are you off to now?”
Kita replied that he was going to buy an ice cream and head back to where he was staying, and out he went. The doctor picked up his heavy Boston bag and set off, taking care not to be noticed as he kept his eyes on Kita’s back.
A light rain had begun to fall, dulling the evening street lights to grey, blurring the buildings, neon signs and passersby, dimming the sight of everything. Kita strode quickly through the shopping arcade, then dropped in to a convenience store and bought two ice creams and a mountain of cup noodles. He must be on his way to the hiding place where Shinobu was waiting. He hailed a taxi. So did the doctor.