Jon Grimwood - End of the World Blues

No Neck was doing what he usually did on Tuesday afternoons…handing out highly inaccurate flyers to any tourist stupid enough to think Roppongi was a place worth visiting in daylight.

“Doing okay?” No Neck asked three Swedish backpackers.

Glancing round, they saw a shaven-headed man with a tattooed ring of barbed wire around one naked bicep. In the hot days of summer No Neck wore a tank top to show off his abs. In winter, he added a waistcoat to the mix. If one got close enough, which was not necessarily a good idea, it was possible to see frayed stitches across the back, where a three-part patch had once announced his nomad status within Australia’s Rebel MC.

“Here,” said No Neck, thrusting out one hand.

All new girls, said his latest flyer. Highly trained & highly professional. Which was code for, Have danced before/not sex workers. Both these statements were open to argument, but were included to convince the local police that Bernie’s Bar was clean, tourist friendly, and not going to give them trouble.

“Filthy,” said No Neck to the backpackers. “Absolutely filthy. You guys been to Bangkok?”

All three nodded.

“Infinitely dirtier,” No Neck said. “Show this at the door for a twenty percent reduction.”

They took a flyer each.

“Not quite fun for all the family,” he told an American couple, “but not far off. A bit like burlesque, only the Japanese version…”

Taking a flyer, the man gave it to his wife. A hundred paces down the road, the woman handed the flyer back to her husband, who dumped it into a bin.

“Can’t win them all,” said Kit.

The deal was that No Neck got 500 yen for each tourist who arrived at Bernie’s Bar clutching a flyer. If he got arrested, then someone he met on the street sub-contracted the work, the club had never seen him and certainly hadn’t employed him. It was a convenient fiction.

“Want a drink?”

No Neck glanced from the flyers in his hand towards the entrance to Kaballero Kantina, which happened to be just across the street. Beer money or free beer? If Kit had been feeling less upset it would probably have been funny.

“Come on,” he said. It was enough.

Stuffing the rest of the flyers into his sleeveless jacket, No Neck wrapped one heavy arm around Kit’s shoulders and waded into the traffic.

“Let me see if I’ve got this right,” said No Neck. “You get your best friend’s girlfriend pregnant, freak out when she tells you, and blame your friend when her psycho ma comes calling?”

Kit nodded.

“What I don’t understand,” No Neck said, taking a pull at his bottle, “is why your ex-friend had nothing to say about this.”

“Because he was dead.”

That got everyone’s attention. Kit had intended this to be a quiet drink, but the crowd around their table was growing and No Neck wouldn’t let the matter lie.

“Crashed his bike,” added Kit, before No Neck had time to ask.

“Fuck,” No Neck said, “that’s harsh. Did he know about you and…?”

That was No Neck for you. The bozozoku could always be relied on to go straight to the heart of the matter, and, having got there, rip it out and dump it on the table in a bloody puddle so everyone else could get a good look.

“Yeah,” said Kit, admitting the unthinkable. “I think he did.”

No Neck picked up his empty bottle and peered at it. The signal Kit should buy everyone another round. At present, everyone included Kit, No Neck, Micki, and Namiko, a girl No Neck used to fuck before he started going out with Micki.

“Get some nachos,” suggested Namiko.

Having eaten half the nachos and emptied his next bottle, No Neck wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and sat back, considering. “Okay,” he said. “She told you she was pregnant, then she told you she wasn’t, and now she says she was…”

Kit nodded.

“Fucking hell,” said No Neck. “What happened about the baby?”

“I took care of things myself,” Kit quoted, then returned the card to its resting place in his pocket. “Pretty obvious, isn’t it?”

“It was a test,” said Micki.

“Yeah,” Kit said. “I worked that out myself.”

“And you fucked up,” said No Neck. Sat next to him, Micki looked as if she was about to burst into tears. Kit went to the bar and bought a final round without being asked, paid for the nachos, and went back to the table to tell the others that he needed to take a walk.

“Want company?” No Neck asked.

“No.” Kit shook his head. “Stay here. I’ll catch you all later.”

“I need a walk,” said Namiko, pushing back her chair. “And it’s good you’re upset.”

Kit looked at her.

“If you weren’t,” said Namiko, “that would say bad things about you.” Slipping her arm through his, she steered him towards the door.

“Where are we going?” Kit asked.

“For that walk,” said Namiko.

They went to her room, which was in a small tenement block above an American diner that specialised in post-rock and late forties GI kitsch. That was where he’d seen her originally, Kit realised. She used to wait tables.

The room was tiny, which was the way with such rooms, and most of its space was filled with computer screens, old laptops, and a jumble of wires. “I farm,” Namiko said, catching Kit’s glance.

“Make much?”

“Enough,” said Namiko, handing him a scrap of paper in English. It contained a list of powers, weapons, and gold required by a fourteen-year-old in California who wanted to skip straight to the end of a new computer game. The deal was done through eBay and the fee had already been paid.

“Not bad,” Kit said.

Namiko smiled. “You want a drink?”

“Not really,” he said. “I’ve had plenty.”

So Namiko put the Kirin back in her fridge and ran a tap long enough to get the water cold. Having washed out her mouth, she gave the glass to Kit, who drank a couple of sour mouthfuls before doing the same. He couldn’t remember saying he needed sex. He certainly couldn’t remember propositioning her. Though Namiko seemed pretty certain that was why he’d come to her room.

“The sheets are none too clean,” she said.

Kit shrugged. The whole room was filthy. It seemed unlikely her sheets would be anything else.

“You like me?” asked Namiko.

He nodded, because this seemed the right response.

“Good,” said Namiko. “I’ve always liked you. You’re not like the others.”

Of course I am, Kit thought. Why else would I be here?

Namiko stripped easily, with none of the embarrassment he associated with Japanese girls. And her body was riper than he expected, heavy breasts tipped with dark nipples set into stretched circles. Her belly protruded over a tuft of thick pubic hair.

When Kit was done, Namiko shifted him off her and sucked him hard and clean, then rolled him onto his back and straddled him.

“My turn,” she said.

It was only later that she produced a twist of paper and shook out the dirty brown powder inside. “You ever tried this?” asked Namiko. “Like real heroin, but cheaper. Doesn’t dissolve in water,” she added, when Kit looked puzzled. “You smoke this stuff instead…”

“Find yourself a seat,” suggested Kate, dumping her flight bag next to a recliner in the British Airways lounge at Narita. So Kit left his own case on a chair overlooking the darkened runway and nodded towards a bank of computer screens in the corner. “I’ll be back in a moment.”

“Sure,” said Kate, settling herself down.

Kit was able to use the lounge because Kate O’Mally had paid for Business Class flights for the both of them. Having found herself a copy of yesterday’s Mail, Kate was preparing to tut over some celebrity outrage and sip from a glass of mineral water on the table next to her. A Nurofen packet rested beside her glass and an unopened cheese sandwich rested next to that.