Fuminori Nakamura - The Thief

“Are you any good at throwing a ball?”

“Dunno.”

“I bet you’re better than that useless brat.”

I threw the ball a long way away. He hesitated for a second and then ran to fetch it. The others realized we were there and turned to look at us. The boy collected the ball and hurled it back at me. I felt it sting my fingers as I caught it. I threw it back even harder, but he caught it with two hands and returned it more powerfully than the first time. When he saw me fumble it he laughed. The father and son were watching us, and after a couple of minutes I worked out that it must be their ball. I thanked them like a regular person, tossed it back to them underarm. The boy ran back to me, a little out of breath.

“Listen,” I told him. “I’ve got to go on a long trip, so I won’t be able to see you any more. But don’t waste your life. Even if there’s times when you’re miserable, you’ll always have the last laugh.”

He nodded. He never did hold my hand, but as we walked home he gripped the edge of my coat again.

“First, buy some clothes. Some decent clothes.”

Wearing a black coat, I stood at the edge of the platform and watched Yonezawa.

I checked that the knife was still in my pocket and pretended to be reading a newspaper. He scowled at some laughing children. When a woman walked by he followed her with his eyes. Finally he looked down and started to walk. He bumped into a businessman but kept going without an apology. When the train arrived I got into the same carriage as him. It was full, though not so full that people were jammed together. I positioned myself a little away from him, continuing to read my paper. He leaned against the doors of the swaying train, his arms hanging loosely by his sides.

At Ikebukuro a lot of people got off but even more got on. A group of high school girls in sportswear piled on at the last minute and the carriage grew crowded. Maybe now, I thought, folding my paper and moving closer to Yonezawa. But he was moving slowly towards the girls, frowning and clicking his tongue in disapproval. He stood out like a sore thumb as he forced his way through the packed car. When he got close to the girls, he stopped and glared at them. Didn’t open his mouth, didn’t touch them, just stood next to them, staring.

I thought that if I moved he’d see me, so I waited till the next station. Not many passengers got on or off. I inched closer to Yonezawa until I was right behind him. One of the hemmed-in high school girls was squirming in discomfort. I pinched the material on the left side of his coat between my fingers. His body jerked as the girl tried to put her bag up as a barrier between herself and him. At that moment I slowly cut his jacket from top to bottom. The opening didn’t reach his inside pocket, however. I exhaled softly. The air in the carriage was thick and I was getting hot.

He looked at the schoolbag between them and seemed to give up, contenting himself with scowling. He started touching his collar. It could only be a matter of seconds before he looked down and spotted the slit. Holding my breath, which had been quickening, I stretched out my left foot and kicked one of the girls lightly on the leg. She jumped, yelped and turned slowly to look at Yonezawa. His skinny frame trembled in surprise and I slid the knife back into the side of his coat. Lifting the fabric with my fingers, I began to cut his inside pocket, slicing it little by little with the tip of the blade. I spread my fingers, holding the knife between with my thumb and index finger and pinching the envelope between my middle and ring fingers. A shiver ran from my fingers up to my shoulder. Ignoring my nervousness, I pulled it out. I could see out of the corner of my eye that the envelope was quite different from the dummy I was to replace it with. Worse and worse , I thought, with a sinking feeling. The girl turned away again, perhaps out of fear, and before I knew it the train arrived at Shinjuku.

Watching Yonezawa as he walked ahead of me on the platform, I took out the envelope. The fake was green and white, but this was an ordinary brown one. My hands were shaking slightly, but when I held it up to the light I could see another envelope inside. I opened the brown envelope and removed the second, which was green and white with a company name printed on it, just like the dummy. I sighed with relief. Overall, however, it was battered and discolored. The difference between it and the dummy, still clean and new, was obvious. Massive buildings loomed all round the platform. Baffled, head aching, I trailed after Yonezawa. He went out the east exit and joined the crowds outside. When he spied a group of loudly dressed women, he stopped. Then he turned round and our eyes almost met. I went back into the station, bought a can of coffee from a kiosk and leaned against the glass by the entrance, my back to the street. After a few deep breaths I opened my cell phone and punched in Yonezawa’s number, which I had written on a piece of paper. Sweat trickled down my jaw.

I could see him in the distance in the square outside Alta. He seemed to be talking to himself, because the people around him were staring in astonishment. He looked around, pawing at the side of his jacket. Soon he noticed the ringing and stuck his hand in his pocket. When he answered the phone he was panting.

“Yonezawa?” I said quietly.

He didn’t reply.

“I said, is that Yonezawa? Answer me.”

“Who is this?”

“Have you lost an envelope?”

He snarled something unintelligible. With his phone still clamped to his ear he started walking in my direction, then stopped and studied the people in the square. I wasn’t keen on doing business up close with a man who carried a gun.

“You can look as much as you like. I’m nowhere nearby. I’m watching you from a building with binoculars.”

“Who are you?”

“That’s not important.”

He was getting closer to me. I stepped back from the glass, which was steaming up. A man who I guessed was a plain-clothes detective crossed swiftly in front of me.

“You know it’s not normal to walk around with things sewn inside your coat. Some people asked me to get my hands on this. But they’re not exactly guys I can trust to pay me, so I’ve got a better idea. I heard I could turn this into cash. I’m guessing you need it, right? I don’t know why such an uninteresting envelope is so important. If you want it back, you’ll answer my questions.”

“Are you with the company? Or one of Yada’s?”

“I don’t have to tell you.”

“I’m going to kill you.”

Several people were looking at him as he paced the area, still dragging one leg slightly. I went into the station and through into the department store next door.

“Answer the questions.”

“Shit. I knew it.”

“What?”

“I just knew someone was after me. Motherfuckers! This is exactly why I haven’t liked going out.”

“If you’re just going to talk crap, I’ll throw it away.”

That shut him up.

I went into the toilets and locked myself in a cubicle.

“First, tell me what’s in the envelope.”

“No fucking way.”

“Why not?”

“They’ll kill me. Give it back. Please!”

“I’ll burn it.”

Again he said something I couldn’t make out.

“I’m begging you, goddammit. Give it back!”

“It’s a bit damp now.”

“Huh?”

“I spilled some coffee. If you don’t talk to me soon, the papers inside will be ruined.”

I dribbled some coffee into my hand and rubbed it very lightly over the surface of the envelope.

“Stop!”

“Aw, it’s all dirty now. This is fun.”

“All right! I’ll pay you.”