“I don’t smoke.”
“What kind of punk are you?”
Shindo scowled. She was about to tell him that she must be missing something, if a yakuza was calling her a punk, but she held off, not wanting to converse with this off-putting man any more than necessary.
Yanagi lit himself a Peace with a silver lighter. He took a long pull off the cigarette. Through the curling smoke, he gave Shindo an indiscreet once-over.
“So, what the hell was that? Karate? Wrestling? Or judging from your comfort sitting in seiza, maybe aikido? Definitely not kung fu.”
Shindo didn’t respond. Yanagi raised his eyebrows.
“You realize you’re in deep shit, right? I wouldn’t put it past a person in your shoes to hit the floor and ask for me to kill you now.”
“Is that a threat?”
“Consider yourself warned. The man that hand belonged to? He was slowly raped to death, over the course of half a month. We’ve got a guy who loves that kind of thing. He gets a kick out of keeping his victims conscious up until the last possible second, so they feel everything. You could have easily met him today. Lucky for you, I stepped in. Could you find it in your heart to at least give me a thank you?”
Shindo watched Yanagi’s smoke drift off into the night air. No change in her expression.
“You’re a piece of work,” he said. “How can a person your age, and a woman no less, sit there looking all smug, as if nothing scares you?”
“I’m a little scared of you,” said Shindo. “Those judo moves are not what I call fun.”
Yanagi was taken aback.
“Guess that’s why you risked the tackle, then, huh? Go for the chest.”
“Not much of a risk. You’re, what, a hundred and fifty pounds?”
This made Yanagi laugh.
“You crazy bitch. Just my luck. Now that I’ve saved your life, I guess I’ll have to make sure you survive. Here.”
He waved a fan of 10,000 yen bills in front of her, then pressed it to her chest.
“Tomorrow, once you’ve dropped the princess off at school, go buy yourself some new clothes and some makeup or whatever.”
“I’m fine.”
When she brushed his hand away, Yanagi changed his expression. Dead serious.
“No, you’re not. Can’t have you standing next to Miss Shoko like that, all grubbed out. Go get yourself some decent clothes. And paint some makeup on that mug of yours, too, while you’re at it. Okay? Any funny moves, you’re dog food. Remember that.”
Yanagi tossed the bills onto the floor and disappeared down the hall.
SHINDO WOKE UP. She had to pee.
Sitting up on the makeshift bed of floor cushions, she tested out her neck and shoulders. All her joints and muscles ached. The bruises and the soreness weren’t so bad she couldn’t move around. She didn’t seem to have a fever.
Once her eyes adjusted, she caught sight of the unfamiliar walls and ceiling. The edges of the room were piled high with cushions, cardboard boxes, crates of files. No windows, stuffy air. Relying on a shaft of light coming in through the cracked sliding doors, she opened a few boxes just to see. Sealed packs of towels and tenugui, rolls of packing tape, synthetic twine, ballpoint pens and staplers. Boxes of office supplies, boxes of documents filled with tiny script. Boxes of old newspapers.
Brightly embroidered like the robes of a monk, the floor cushions were much more comfortable than she expected. Even so, Shindo missed sleeping in her crummy old apartment. It was too far from the station, cramped and rank with a gross sewer smell no matter how thoroughly she cleaned, but it was hers. She wanted to go back.
She stood up and stretched her arms and legs, bent down to touch her toes. Once her blood was circulating, she felt a little warmer. The metallic taste inside her mouth reminded her of how long it had been since her last meal.
The night before, without the social graces of a bath or anything to eat, they led her through the main house to this closet of a room. Diagonally across the hall from “the princess,” Miss Shoko. At first, she could have sworn a guy was sitting just beyond the fusuma, guarding the door, but once Shindo convinced herself she was alone, she passed out cold. How many hours had she slept? It had been at least a day since she had eaten anything.
She left the storage room and found a toilet at the far end of the hall. Every inch of this place sparkled like a brand-new piece of real estate. When she was done, she looked into the toilet bowl before she flushed. No blood. Organs probably okay. At the sink outside the door, she washed her mouth. The cuts inside her cheeks stung from the icy water, but her teeth were fine. All there. She would have loved to wash her face. The gauze and bandages made it too much of a hassle. Using the tails of the white shirt to dry her hands, she walked back up the hall.
The house was still. From the tone of light coming through the frosted glass, she could tell that it was early morning. The lack of people was unnerving.
Until now, Shindo had failed to grasp how vast the compound really was. Down the hall past the closet and Miss Shoko’s room, she encountered a long wall of paper doors, all the crosspieces meticulously dusted. Still more rooms further down. Through the windows of the hallway was a courtyard that resembled something from a pamphlet for a fancy inn, tastefully landscaped with ornamental trees and a pond. She had no clue how exactly Naiki made his money, but he certainly had plenty to spare.
An enticing fragrance tickled her nose. Somebody was grilling fish. Her stomach growled like a revving engine. The smell pulled her down the hall.
This end of the hall opened onto a breezeway. She stepped out. The grilled fish smell was coming out of the next building, a sort of annex joined to this one. She could hear people inside, lots of them, talking and moving around. As she reached for the door, she detected miso soup and some kind of a stir-fry in the rich mixture of smells. Her stomach groaned.
Entering the annex, she found herself in a room furnished like an office space. Nobody there; the voices were all coming from the neighboring room. When she poked her head inside, she saw a big dining room decorated much more simply than the building where she slept. A low table extended down the middle, set for twenty, each seat readied with a pair of chopsticks and a little bowl. It was like one of those places schools rent out for a class trip. A few of the white shirts passed between her and the table and hummed to show they noticed her.
“Is this where we eat?” she asked one with a buzzcut and a boyish face. His look made her regret asking. She ducked out of the room. Too late. Men spilled into the office. Among them was a face she recognized, one of the guys she had punched the day before.
“Who let you out?”
He had a flattop and a bruised face. Half of these guys shot her looks of unabashed scorn, while the other half ogled at her with frank curiosity.
“I’m here for breakfast, too.”
As she spoke, she found the creases of the tatami with her bare feet, ready to lift off whenever necessary. Twenty gangsters, guys who fought fights for a living. It would be tough to take them all at once. Though not impossible. The big veins in her neck swelled with blood. From a different angle, this was an all-you-can-eat buffet of skulls to crush. A lineup of hot-headed men who could put up a decent fight. Joy plumped her arteries.
