Кэйго Хигасино - The Name of the Game is a Kidnapping

“Hey, I have a proposal,” the girl offered.

“Before I listen to yours, I have a proposal myself.”

“If it’s a proposal to quit, then I won’t listen.”

I looked up at the ceiling and, like an actor in a movie, put my hands up as if surrendering.

“I was thinking of going there to erase it,” Juri said, ignoring my gesture.

“Erase it? Erase what?”

“The answering machine message. If I erase that, then there’s no problem, right?”

“How will you erase it? It’s someone else’s phone.”

“She told me I could go to her room whenever I like while she’s in America. She told me where she hides her key, too.”

“Where does she live?”

“Yokosuka.”

“Yokosuka? Why does it have to be so far away...”

“It’s just a little over an hour if you go by car. We can just go there really quick and get home really fast.”

“You make it sound easy. If a shady couple entered an absent resident’s room, the superintendent and neighbors would definitely wonder what’s going on.”

“We won’t be so clumsy as to be noticed. But it’s better if you don’t come. Because it’s a women-only condo. You could just chill at Yokosuka harbor and gaze at the passing ships.”

“Ridiculous.” I snorted, and then remembered the time I’d visited Yokosuka.

Unexpectedly, an idea came to me.

Living in the metropolis, you don’t really need a car. I rarely drove mine even on dates. I didn’t care to abstain from drinking during the meal or for traffic jam-laced drives. What’s more, my car was an MR-S. You needed to fold up the top and feel the breeze for it to shine.

In order to make a stealth round trip to Yokosuka, we couldn’t take a taxi. I had Juri get in the passenger seat and left the condo’s parking lot. Naturally, I left the hood up. Although the air was pretty clean outside of Tokyo, I had no intention of opening the hood this evening.

“Do you like these cars?” Juri asked right after we started driving.

“What do you mean?”

“A two-person sports car.”

“Is that bad?”

“It’s not that it’s bad.”

“It’s because I have no need for three or more people to ride in it. I’m not interested in driving with men at all, and one woman at a time suits me fine.”

“Where do you put your stuff?”

“There’s enough room in the space behind your seat to put a Kelly bag.”

“But sometimes you need to move a lot of stuff, don’t you?”

“I bought this car because I wanted a mobile space. I didn’t want a truck.”

Juri didn’t say anything to that. She may have shrugged her shoulders, but I wasn’t looking at her.

“Can I listen to a CD?” she asked.

“If you like.”

Just as I thought, she was narrow-minded about the music that played. “What is this? I’ve never heard it.”

“A jazz pianist performing a Bach arrangement.”

“Huh.” She clearly seemed dissatisfied but didn’t try to turn off the stereo.

The MR-S had no clutch. I grasped the gleaming silver lever, changed gears, and accelerated.

Just as Juri had said, about an hour after going on the Metropolitan Expressway from Hakozaki, we were getting off the Yokohama-Yokosuka Road. Past the Yokosuka Interchange, we continued onto the Honcho Yamanaka Road. A few minutes later, we were in front of Shioiri station.

“Go into that restaurant’s parking lot.”

Following Juri’s directions, I parked the MR-S.

“Wait here. I’ll go over there alone.”

“Is it close?”

“It might be a short walk. But getting too close to the condo in such a flashy car is dangerous.”

It was exactly as she said. I saw her off, giving her my cellphone number and telling her to call me if something happened. She crossed the wide highway and disappeared down a narrow side street.

Drinking some terrible coffee at the restaurant, I thought about how to proceed. Juri leaving a message with her friend had been a miscalculation. However, as long as we could safely erase it, there would be no problems in continuing the plan.

The biggest challenge was how to collect the cash. Three hundred million yen would be pretty bulky and heavy. In order to move it, we’d naturally need a car. But it was easy to track down a car. In the first place, going on the run with the cash was just too primitive.

If I had them change the three hundred million yen into something else with that value, I could turn it into money after getting it. For instance, I had the option of having them prepare three hundred million yen in diamonds. That way, moving it would be easy. It would be bad if someone became suspicious when I redeemed them, so I would probably need to limit each one to being worth less than one million yen. With each diamond at one million yen, that would be three hundred of them—

I shook my head. One or two, I could probably exchange, but three hundred was impossible. I could sell two at a time at different shops, but I would still have to visit a hundred fifty. Shops like that networked, so rumors of a suspicious man selling diamonds of unknown origin would probably spread quickly. I could see the detectives waiting to ambush me as I went to the fifth store.

I’d use a bank transfer then. Of course, for that I would need an account with a fictitious name, but preparing one wasn’t hard. The internet is full of vendors dealing with those kinds of accounts. However, the problem was how to withdraw the money. I couldn’t go to a teller, so I’d have to use an ATM. The amount I could withdraw in one day would be limited, so it would take days to extract three hundred million yen even if I made multiple accounts. The police would naturally request cooperation from banks and monitor the designated account. After using my card over a dozen times, I might get caught in the net they set. Leaving evidence on the security cameras was another worry.

It was around when I had thought up to that point. Near the register, a phone rang. A young waiter wearing a uniform picked up.

He looked surprised for some reason and went outside still holding the cordless receiver. After some time, he came back and quickly disappeared behind the counter.

Eventually, a fat man who looked to be the store’s manager came out with the waiter from earlier and ran outside together. When they returned, they both looked bewildered.

After consulting with each other about something, they approached the customers’ tables separately. They were talking to each group of guests. In time, the young waiter came to me, too.

“Excuse me,” he opened his mouth timidly.

“What is it?”

“Did you come here by car today?”

“I did, actually.”

“What kind of car was it?”

“Well, it’s an MR-S.”

“Em-ar...” It seemed he didn’t know.

“It’s a navy sports car. It has a convertible hood.”

The waiter’s expression changed. “Um... with the Shinagawa number?”

“That’s it.” I had a bad feeling. I was on the edge of my seat. “Did something happen?”

“Well, it got sprayed...”

Before the waiter could finish, I ran outside.

Beholding my car, I was appalled. One of the headlights had fallen prey to red spray paint. I clucked my tongue.

“What idiot did this?”

While I stood staring at the headlight, which looked like a bloodshot eyeball, the waiter ran up to me holding something. “Um, for the time being, I brought this.”

It was benzene and a towel. I didn’t even feel like thanking him, but taking them, I put the benzene on the towel and tried to wipe the light. It seemed not much time had passed since it had been sprayed, and the part on the glass came off easily. However, I couldn’t bring myself to scrub the painted coat. Fortunately, the damage on the body was minimal.