Масахико Симада - Death by Choice

His expression remained stern, as if to fend off any difficult questions from his audience. He was followed by a slideshow of Shinobu back in her heyday. There she was as a new star not long after her debut; then she was singing her hit song ‘Italian George’; she ran along a beach in a bikini, her breasts swinging seductively; she appeared in the movie Tetsuko’s Room ; “Oh I’m just so into the Bible these days,” she announced radiantly… the star that everyone had begun to forget was reborn before their eyes from the array of images.

Being now in the red having been forced to donate thirty million yen, the production manager was desperately trying to recoup his losses by selling Shinobu as hard as he could. As luck would have it, it was a slow news day – nothing big had happened, and no one famous had died. They had the audience’s full attention.

Both the name and whereabouts of the abductor were in fact known, but they were being suppressed in an attempt to deprive him of the kicks he was assumed to be seeking. The doctor who’d been set up to kill Kita had decided he must first separate him from Shinobu before his name became known to the world – in other words, his task was to kidnap the kidnapper. As for Shinobu, no doubt someone else would take care of her. Whether she was dead or alive was immaterial.

But the assassin had just received a call from Yashiro informing him that he was about to be saved the trouble of kidnapping Kita after all. It seemed that Kita was now strapped for cash, and making his way right now towards where the killer was waiting. Could Kita possibly have some inkling of what was going on? Surely this was some kind of trap – it seemed too good to be true. Yashiro wasn’t to be trusted, no matter how much money he was paying out. The assassin found himself feeling almost sorry for Kita’s good-natured trust in others.

Five minutes before the appointed hour, Kita appeared in the hotel lobby. He cast a quick glance around from under his brows, spied the doctor, and approached him, hunched and tentative. “Are you Mr Okochi?” he asked.

The doctor was already familiar with Kita’s face from a Polaroid photograph. “Do sit down,” he said, indicating the nearby sofa. He checked the face carefully again.

“I do apologize for the trouble you’ve been put to, doctor. I can’t use my cash card, you see.” Sweat dripped down Kita’s nose. It was the sort of face that would leave absolutely no impression at first glance, thought the doctor. They were a good match for each other in being utterly unmemorable. These days, you saw this kind of face everywhere. It was only natural that Americans and Europeans should think of the Japanese as clones. Anyone not used to seeing the Japanese could well mistake Kita and himself for each other.

“You’re in Niigata on business?” asked the doctor, in the tone he reserved for chatting to patients.

“Yes, I sell health products.” Kita planned to stick to lies that were unlikely to be exposed.

“You’ve seen the news?” The doctor wanted to have a bit of fun by watching Kita’s reaction. But Kita didn’t blink.

“The abduction? I’m a fan of Shinobu Yoimachi’s, you know.”

“What can the guy be thinking, to do a thing like that?”

“He’s probably not thinking at all.” Kita spoke with a careful smile in response to the doctor’s shifting strategy.

“Where d’you think they are?”

“Somewhere out of sight, I guess. Some flat in the suburbs maybe.”

“Or on a park bench.” The doctor tried to gauge Kita’s expression as he spoke, but Kita managed to maintain a straight face.

“You’re on the kidnapper’s side?” Kita asked.

“I’d like to rescue the guy.”

Kita gave two short laughs at this. Only someone who didn’t want to be rescued would laugh like that. Patients who laughed before they were taken in for surgery often died, he found. The doctor glanced at Kita’s face again, and told himself that this fellow was set on dying.

He put the two hundred thousand yen from the down payment for his assassination job into an envelope and held it out for Kita. “Thank you, you’ve saved my bacon,” Kita said, head bowed. Then he let out a deep breath.

“Where are you off to now?”

Kita replied that he was going to buy an ice cream and head back to where he was staying, and out he went. The doctor picked up his heavy Boston bag and set off, taking care not to be noticed as he kept his eyes on Kita’s back.

A light rain had begun to fall, dulling the evening street lights to grey, blurring the buildings, neon signs and passersby, dimming the sight of everything. Kita strode quickly through the shopping arcade, then dropped in to a convenience store and bought two ice creams and a mountain of cup noodles. He must be on his way to the hiding place where Shinobu was waiting. He hailed a taxi. So did the doctor.

Kita was headed towards a Russian ship. He showed no signs of noticing what was behind him. Then, when he belatedly noticed the doctor emerging from the taxi, he executed a ninety-degree turn and began to walk away from the ship in the direction of the ferry terminal. The doctor strolled casually along in the same direction. Kita made to go into the terminal building, but then realized it was dark and locked. The doctor silently approached. He came to a halt when he was close enough for them to see each other’s faces.

“What do you want?” Kita’s voice trembled, and his Adam’s apple jumped in his throat from the tension. The doctor kept his eyes on it like a shark.

“Nothing,” he muttered.

“You followed me here, didn’t you? What else would you be doing in a place like this?”

The doctor lowered his Boston bag to the concrete terrace, and drew a deep breath through his nose. Kita braced himself and raised both arms to protect himself from the anticipated blow, but the doctor simply stood there blankly in front of him. After a long silence, he spoke.

“Your ice creams will melt.”

“I got them to pack them in dry ice, so they’ll survive for a bit. Well, since there’s nothing you want, I guess I’ll be going. “

“You’d be wise not to go back to the ship.”

The tone was full of certainty. Kita gulped, unable to move. So the guy knew that he and Shinobu were holed up on the Russian ship?

“Yashiro sent you after me, didn’t he. What did he tell you to do with me?”

“He said to save you.”

“So what are you going to do, Mr Okochi?”

“My name isn’t Okochi.”

“Well, then who are you? Why are you here?”

The doctor made no reply, and Kita found himself drawn into the silence, unable to figure it out. He had the feeling something unfortunate would happen if he ignored the doctor and tried to go back to the ship. And he was worried about what was in that Boston bag. The doctor was attuned to Kita’s eyes as they flickered over the bag.

“Want to see inside?” He picked the bag up, and slowly unzipped it.

One look at the bag’s contents and it would become clear who this fellow was, thought Kita. Maybe it contained some horribly cruel instruments of torture. He felt a sudden thrill of terror.

“You bought that ice cream for Shinobu Yoimachi?” the doctor whispered.

A shocking thought occurred to Kita. “Have you killed Shinobu?”

The doctor took from the bag a long, thin metal rod, put one end to his mouth, and blew into it. The next moment, Kita felt a sudden pain in his calf, as though a needle had pierced it.

“Did you think I had Shinobu’s head in this bag?”

A needle with a capsule attached had pierced Kita’s leg. The doctor packed the blowgun back into his bag. “Just the right size for a head,” he murmured. Then he hoisted the bag again, and set off towards the Russian ship.