“Don’t expect to fit in with the men, or with any of their women, either. You’re too ugly. They’d never waste their time with you. Those guys only like pretty women.”
“Pretty . . . like you?”
Shoko tossed the steaming contents of the teacup at Shindo’s face. The bandages sucked up the tea, making her appear even more monstrous.
“Anyway, they’ll fire you in no time.”
Face dripping with tea, Shindo stared at Shoko, whose exasperation was at least more recognizably human than the doll that she had met the day before.
“Don’t worry,” Shindo said. “I’m not gonna touch your ass.”
This time it was the cup that hit her in the face. The princess had surprisingly good aim. Sure, it grated on Shindo’s nerves, but it only bumped her face. She wouldn’t lay a finger on her. She looked so delicate even a gentle prod might shatter her to pieces. Shindo picked up the teacup and returned it to the platter.
THEY GAVE SHINDO the keys to a brand-new Honda Civic, compact and ordinary as they come. Another iteration of Miss Shoko’s taste for plainness.
Any trace of blood spilled during yesterday’s rumble had been hosed into the gravel. As she pulled the Civic up to the front entrance, white shirts washing other cars by the garage complex or tending to the grounds gave Shindo piercing stares. Hunger was going to her head. Careful. Don’t lose your cool. Her fists were clenched so hard they squeaked, itching for prey.
Shindo got out and leaned against the car, waiting for Shoko. A buzzer sounded through the compound as the gates swung open and a group of cars snaked up the drive. They slipped past Shindo and drove one by one into the bays of the garages. At first she thought this was another group of yakuza, but the cars were a mix of foreign models and beat-up minitrucks, while the people who came out of them were an odd mix of gangsters dressed like Yanagi, middle-aged guys with beer bellies, and unassuming college students. Some of them pulled heavy cardboard boxes or briefcases from the cars. Something was up.
Watching them unload, Shindo noticed Shoko step out of the main house.
In the light of day, she looked a bit more human. Over her white blouse and bulky skirt, she wore a pale blue cardigan. Black patent-leather flats with rounded toes and white socks made of lace. Her fingers clasped the handle of a brown leather satchel that made her look like she was heading off to middle school, not college. It didn’t look like she was wearing makeup, but she did wear jewelry: a gold necklace with a pendant of the letter N decorated with a single pearl. Shindo didn’t know the first thing about fashion trends, but it was clear even to her that Shoko’s clothing and accessories were dowdy and old-fashioned for an eighteen-year-old girl. She looked like a high school drama student dressed up for a play about the olden days.
Shoko opened the car door herself and climbed into the passenger seat. Shindo sat down behind the wheel.
“Don’t ladies like you ride in the back?”
“Are you telling me what to do?”
“Higher risk of dying in the front, is all I’m saying.”
Shoko stared at Shindo for a moment, then turned up the corner of her mouth, smiling.
“Duly noted.”
Shindo shrugged this off and started the car.
“Do you know the way there?” asked Shoko. “If I’m late for school, I’m blaming you.”
“I have a general idea.”
She knew all the main roads in and around central Tokyo. Shoko’s college was in Suginami. A short drive, twenty minutes max, without traffic.
Shindo was ready for her first day on the job. In her pocket was a cheat sheet, handwritten in neat script on good quality paper, listing everything from Shoko’s schedule for the week to her favorite foods. The list was made for her by Sumida, the leader of the junior staff, who had approached her with the ladle in the mess hall. She still didn’t get how they could leave the princess with a nobody like her. Though if one complaint was enough to chop her hand off—and her head while they were at it—it made sense that almost anyone would do.
Shindo pointed her thumb toward the garages.
“Were those guys in the minitrucks more yakuza?”
Shoko tensed up.
“No . . . they’re private investigators.”
“Oh. Like detectives?”
“How should I know? Don’t talk back. Just drive.”
She didn’t say a word the rest of the ride to school.
AFTER DROPPING SHOKO off by the front gates, Shindo peeled out and stopped at the first restaurant she saw. For lunch she had a chukadon with extra rice, a plate of chicken karaage, two helpings of gyoza, and a small bowl of ramen, which she gulped down in the order they arrived. This was a low-brow spot, no beauty contest, but the cook and other customers made sure to keep their distance from the peculiar woman with a bandaged face.
Stomach full of rich and fatty foods, she had some water and took a breather. She could finally relax. It was dangerous to let herself go hungry. It made her brain stall, pushed her past an already low threshold for annoyance.
She pulled the orange wallet from her borrowed black pants. It was full of cash, the money that Yanagi had forced on her the day before. Good sum.
She could escape. The thought occurred to her. But at the same time, she was haunted by an image of a dog, eyes bright as marbles. Trustworthy to a fault. It was not the Doberman from yesterday. It was a dog she knew when she was little.
Technically she was her grampa’s dog. They called her Three. A mix of Japanese breeds, fur reddish like a fox, floppy cheeks. Clever and tame. Her favorite food was chikuwa fish sticks, with the factory-browned skin. She loved sticking her tongue into the holes at both ends. One time her grampa caught Shindo feeding one to Three. “That’s people food!” he said and smacked Shindo so hard that she fell over.
Three was a gentle dog, so kind, but she was Grampa’s dog, a fact she made clear periodically. She stuck with him to the very end, buried alongside him in an avalanche. Dogs can’t be blamed. There’s never been a creature so dependable, so kind.
Shindo finished her water, paid the bill, and got back in the car.
SHE STOPPED AT the first men’s clothing store she saw, just like the restaurant, and bought herself some socks, three plain T-shirts, a thin navy blue suit, a belt, and underwear. The clerk gave her a strange look. Shindo couldn’t help it if men’s clothing fit her better. That was her body type. Last time she checked, she was over five foot seven and weighed around 165 pounds. It wasn’t easy finding women’s clothes that worked for her.
On the same street, she stopped at a tiny pharmacy for some painkillers, a bottle of disinfectant, and fresh bandages, which she applied in the car, using the rearview mirror.
While the only thing that needed dressing was the gash next to her eye, the bruises looked way worse than she imagined. Deep red splotches. Her skin was on the lighter side, so any bruise stood out. Like a kid had doodled spirals on her face with crayons, purple, green, and black. Maybe she should’ve picked up some foundation, too. Or a pair of cool dude sunglasses. Then she’d really fit in with the junior staff.
