Масахико Симада - Death by Choice

Still not comprehending, Yashiro put his hand to his left side. “Nope, just the usual flab there. What’s this about stitches?”

“Seems you’re lucky. That guy can steal your kidney while you’re asleep. But sounds like you’re OK.”

“Man, the guy’s got no scruples!”

“That’s a killer for you.”

After the phone call, Yashiro drank more water. His body felt so heavy he could barely stand, so he sank back onto the sofa again. His stomach churned, and his head swam. Surely the guy couldn’t have stolen a kidney while he slept? Surely the pain would have made him leap to his feet! But what if he’d put him under? Yashiro glanced at the time. Two o’clock. Was his watch mad as well? But the wall clock gave the same time. It’d been about four in the morning when he’d settled down for a doze. Surely he couldn’t have slept for ten hours.

With an effort he heaved himself from the sofa, and went and stood in front of the mirror. A grey-faced old man stared back at him with bloodshot eyes. That couldn’t be him! Had the killer poisoned him, or something? He rolled up his shirt and turned to check his back. There along his right side, the side he hadn’t checked before, he saw seven staples buried in the flesh.

“He got me!” he thought. Instantly the energy drained from his body and his head swam scarlet.

Yashiro had no memory of selling his own kidney. All he’d done was arrange for Kita to sell his organs. What kind of crazy mistake had this bastard made? It had to be just a continuation of the nightmare. He’d go back to sleep, he decided. When he woke up again, his usual plump red face would be restored, and he’d go off and have himself a breaded pork cutlet on rice for breakfast. There was just no way all this could be real.

Once back in Tokyo, Kita chose to return to the hotel where last Friday he had revelled in his first feast with Mitsuyo and Zombie, the place with the private pool and karaoke bar. It had an automatic check-in system and room service, the perfect set-up for a kidnapper and his victim to hide away in. Here he would spend his final hours with Shinobu. The moment he left this hotel would mark the end of the kidnapping escapade, and their final parting. They both knew it, and neither felt the need to speak of it. Tired out from the long drive with the killer at the wheel, they took a hot shower, then lay on the bed, and after necking a little, sank into a light sleep.

Kita dreamed that he was walking alone through an empty desert at dusk. There he came upon a little gourd-shaped mound of sand. In it was stuck a long, thin board reminiscent of a broken grave marker, with the name YOSHIO KITA written there in a child’s clumsy hand. So this is my grave, here of all places, thought Yoshio, clasping his hands before him. Then there was a cry of “Kitaaa!” and when he turned to look he saw in the distance Mizuho Nishi with a little boy. She was clad in a bikini, and smiling shyly. The child held her hand, while in his other hand he carried a little fish scoop. He ran up to Yoshio. “Papa!” he cried.

At this, Kita awoke. Perhaps he’d overindulged in the caviar or vodka, for his throat was terribly dry, and his breath rasped. He gulped down a can of Oolong tea. “Me too,” murmured Shinobu, holding out a naked arm. He propped her in his arms and fed the tea to her.

They turned on the television. Immediately, an image of Shinobu against a background shot of Niigata Port leapt from the screen. It seemed the police and the press had swarmed to Niigata on the evidence of an eyewitness there, and were busy scouring the place for them. They must have passed them going the other way on the expressway as they’d headed back to Tokyo. There was also a shot of the Russian ship where they’d hidden for a few hours the evening before. It felt like ages since they’d gone on board and negotiated with the captain. It was only three days ago that Shinobu had read the Bible to him, but the memory had receded like some distant event in the past. Everything was coming to an end.

“It’s twelve. I’ll leave here in another hour,” Kita said.

“And what will become of me I wonder?”

“You’ll have heaps to talk about, that’s for sure. Use your tongue as your shield. Don’t let things prey on your mind. Jesus is with you.”

“That’s true, but still…” Shinobu looked unhappy. She buried her face in the pillow. Kita took a handful of her hair to his nose, wanting to remember the scent of it. If this scent filled his nostrils at the moment of death, he’d die happy, he was sure of it.

“I don’t want to go anywhere,” Shinobu’s muffled voice emerged from the pillow.

“You have to. The show must go on, but it can’t unless you go out onto that stage, you know.”

“OK, I’ll retire then.”

“You don’t have to do a thing. Just go out into the crowd with your Bible in your hand.”

“What about you, Kita?”

“I’m leaving the crowd behind.”

Shinobu abruptly sat up and hugged him. Let me not forget the feel of these breasts either, thought Kita. He felt again that tingling he’d experienced as Shinobu held the pistol to his head while the killer drove. He longed to drown in the softness of her breasts and the scent of her hair.

“Hold me. Hard. This is the last time you’ll embrace a woman. Sear this feeling into me, as proof that I lived. Hurt me if you like. You can bite me if you want to. My body will be your grave, Kita.” Tears trickled from the corners of Shinobu’s eyes. Kita licked them gently with his tongue, took her two arms inside his and squeezed. He sucked at her neck, her nipples, then slipped into her. Shinobu was half sobbing, half moaning with pleasure, and shaking her head as if desperately resisting something.

The face Kita saw before him was one he’d never seen before, not on television or in photographs, nor in the four days they’d been together. She might be in pain, or trying to dispel her fear, or about to burst out laughing. Her eyebrows were drawn down either side, her brow was wrinkled, and her lips curled.

“Let’s die together.” The heat of sex was over and the sweat-soaked bed was beginning to grow chilly when Shinobu suddenly spoke. Her tone was casual.

“No,” Kita said flatly.

“Why not? You’re going to die, aren’t you? Why should you care whether I want to die too? I’ve got a pistol right here, after all.”

“Don’t you dare. Your parents would be devastated.”

“And what about yours?”

“My father died four years ago. My mother’s gone senile.”

“Well I’ll be sad if you die, Kita. I’ll be so sad I’ll die too. So come on, let’s die together.

“You’d regret it.”

“There’s no such thing as regret once you’re dead.”

“I’m saying this for your own good, so please just live a bit longer. Another ten years or so. If you do that, you’ll find you’ve changed your mind.”

“Don’t you understand, Kita? I love you. How can I just stand by and watch the man I love die?”

“It’s sheer fancy. Just watch this man go, and you’ll be sure to find another fine guy out there in the crowd. Once you’ve fallen in love with him, you’ll forget me in no time.”

“I’ll never forget you,” she muttered. Then she crawled out of bed, and pulled the Makarov out of the carrier bag.

Kita leapt to his feet. “Give me that,” he said, his hand extended, but Shinobu placed the butt between her breasts and glared at him. Maybe he should just get Shinobu to shoot him right now, Kita thought. It would save him a lot of trouble. And Shinobu’s sudden urge to die was really just because she didn’t want to face going out into the crowd again.