Fuminori Nakamura - The Thief

My second target was a twenty-eight-year-old man who lived in a seven-story apartment building. I didn’t know what he did for a living, but judging from his dress and demeanor he wasn’t exactly a big player in the underworld. His condo was also in a residential area, so I couldn’t just loiter out on the street. I watched the passers-by through the windows of a nearby café. He was bound to go this way to get to the station. He didn’t have a car or a bike. I waited for a couple hours, but he didn’t appear. I left the coffee shop, ambled along the road in front of his condo and then returned to my post.

It was noon on the second day of my stake-out when he came out of the building. I’d come by taxi and waited for a while, but there was no sign of him. I’d just placed my order in the café when I saw him walking towards me. I left the shop and followed him. He went to the station, through the turnstile and onto the platform. If they were going to leave his lighter and hairs next to a dead body, that meant he must have a record. It was hard to believe, though — he looked even more baby-faced and meek than he did in his photo.

Fortunately the train was crowded. I stood right behind him, thinking this would be the best place. His black hair was lightly styled with wax. There were no loose hairs on his neck or shoulders, so I’d have to pluck them out directly. The carriage was overheated and he was sweating. As the train came to a stop he moved closer to the passenger in front as though he was planning to get off, and I pressed myself right up against his back. Attached roughly to the tips of my forefinger and middle finger were pieces of a nail file I’d found at home. The doors opened, letting in the cold air. When he took a step forward I pretended to lose my balance. Raising my hand as though clutching at air, I pinched a few strands of hair between my fingers and pulled. I felt a slight tug as they came out. He turned involuntarily, but I slipped past so that I was in front of him. Now all I needed was his lighter.

He seemed to be heading towards the stairs, but then he suddenly changed direction. I realized he was going to the smoking area on the platform for the Yamanote line. He took out his cigarettes and hunted for his lighter. My first reaction was that I’d be in trouble if he’d lost it, but then I had a brainwave. Putting on my gloves, I wiped my own cheap disposable lighter several times inside my jacket. Then I stood right beside him and lit up. He was still searching, and just as he was about to give up I silently handed him mine. He nodded his thanks and used it to light his cigarette. I thought the fingerprints might not look natural, so when he returned the lighter I fumbled it and it fell to the ground. He picked it up for me. This time I took it, and the job was finished. I boarded the next train and got out of there.

• • •

I WENT TO a hairdresser’s to get my hair cut and dyed brown. Then I put on a pair of glasses with fake lenses. The day I met Kirita I had been wearing my usual black coat, so I changed my image with a white down jacket and jeans. At six in the evening I headed for Shibuya. I was sure I’d find him there, in a bar called Daijingu. Since he’d only seen me for a second he probably wouldn’t remember me, but just on the off-chance I needed a disguise.

I spotted him from the cab when we stopped at a red light in front of the Seibu department store in Shibuya. He was in the same black coat as before, carrying the same satchel. I got out of the car and followed him. The narrow street was overflowing with people and every time he paused I moved closer. Maybe I could take it before he reached the bar. He stopped at a red light. I was standing right behind him, but for some reason the woman beside me was staring at him, so I couldn’t do anything. The lights turned green and I stayed on his heels through the dense crowd.

Just as I’d made up my mind to do it at the next intersection, Kirita turned round abruptly. I tensed up, but he hadn’t spotted me. I looked away as he passed. After giving him a head start, I tailed him again. He went into a Parco store. Inside he glanced around and then headed for the escalator. Because people are standing at different heights, escalators are perfect for stealing things from their bags. I stood behind him as we went up, psyched myself up for it. There were mirrors along the side so I waited for a gap. The man behind me was chatting to the woman below him, not looking in my direction. I figured this was the ideal place and the ideal time. I felt the warmth inside me, was aware of a pleasant numbness in my arms. As soon as his head was in the dead space between two mirrors, I grabbed the bottom of his satchel with my left hand so that it wouldn’t shake and undid the zip with my right. Then I pulled out his cell phone and hid it in my sleeve, closed the zip again and let go of the bag. When he moved on to the next up escalator I veered off to the left, watching him out of the corner of my eye. I looked for the stairs on that floor and went down. My body went limp and a tremor passed through me as I transferred the phone to my pocket.

Back out on the busy Shibuya streets I snuck my hand into the pocket of an expensively dressed man walking towards me, hid his wallet in my sleeve. The afterimage of the light reflecting off his tie pin remained as a green spot in my eye. I took a cab and checked what was in the wallet. It held 120,000 yen, several credit cards and a bunch of business cards handed out by women from hostess bars. The confined spaces of taxis, isolated from the city and the people, always gave me the feeling that I could escape.

I STAYED IN the car and headed for Ebisu. The apartment building I’d been directed to was fairly new and clean. Once I put these in the mailbox for room 702, two of my tasks would be finished. As instructed, I opened it, removed the white envelope inside and replaced it with the bag containing the cell phone, lighter and hair. I thought about watching from a distance to see who came to collect it, but instead I caught another cab and opened the envelope. This would be the photo of the guy I had to steal the documents from, plus basic information like his address. As I took out the picture I felt uneasy. A man in his forties, thinning hair, sunken eyes and hollow cheeks. Looking at his face, I could tell he wasn’t someone you wanted to mess with. In the past it was uncanny how often my hunches had turned out to be correct. I wanted a smoke to calm my nerves, but the driver said I couldn’t, so I got out.

Lighting a cigarette, I walked along an unfamiliar street through a housing estate with rows of elderly apartment buildings and not many streetlights. Suddenly my cell phone rang and I looked around foolishly. The only people who knew this number were Saeko and Ishikawa. The caller ID was blocked and when I answered it, it was a man I didn’t know.

“That was quick, only one left. You got the envelope from the mailbox?”

His voice was unpleasantly high and harsh.

“Who is this?”

“I think you can guess. The last guy, Yonezawa, will be in Shinjuku at eight o’clock tomorrow night. Grab it then.”

“What if I can’t?”

“You’ve got till next Tuesday. Five days left. But thanks to you, my job has gotten a whole lot easier. I hear that if you don’t succeed you’re going to die. Don’t think about doing a runner, though.”

A young blonde walking her dog was looking at me strangely.

“Is Kizaki with you?”

“Mr. Kizaki? No. I don’t know where he is.”

“What’s he really after?”

The man on the other end sighed wearily.

“I don’t mean just the papers and the lighter,” I said.

“That’s none of your business.”