Ryu Murakami - Piercing

Turning back to his notebook, he wrote: In addition to a simple disguise, a bit of misdirection might help . For the hotel workers he’d interact with, maybe something basic like noisily chewing a stick of gum. Speaking with a Kansai accent, coughing frequently, limping slightly — but nothing that might prove counter-productive by leaving too distinct an impression. He’d better think this out carefully. The misdirection was an important point, and not to be ignored when it came to the final stages of the ritual either. He still hadn’t decided upon a cause of death. The most orthodox method would be to strangle her. Strangling held little appeal for him; but if it came to that, he’d prefer to use a wire of thin stainless steel. Cutting her wrists or throat would be a problem in terms of the volume of blood splattered, but on the other hand a gory crime scene would help with the misdirection by pointing the police towards drug addicts or amphetamine users or the mentally ill. He could reinforce that by leaving a note with some sort of incoherent message. According to a magazine article he’d read concerning an actual incident, you could count on such communications employing words like God, Divine Will, radio waves, control, orders, commands, Heaven. He’d combine some of these into a short note. I must do as They command , or, as the radio transmissions command. Behold His Divine Will , or, God spoke to me , or, I dare not disobey my orders , or, I have opened wide the portals of Heaven . One of these, or some combination, would do. He could use the stationery and pen provided by the hotel. Again, no particular need to write with his left hand or otherwise disguise his writing. Just wad the note up and leave it lying in a corner of the room.

It might be a good idea to collect racing forms left behind on the train — horse-racing, bike-racing, boat-racing — and plant them in the room. Especially if he could find some from Osaka or Kobe, or a flyer advertising a loan shark or something there, and used a Kansai accent when registering. He had no time to actually make a trip to the Kansai district, but when he bought his bag at Tokyo Station or Haneda Airport he could keep an eye out for such artefacts discarded by travellers. When it came to misdirection, however, it was important to pay attention to even the smallest details. Were it to become clear that deception had been involved, the police would immediately start looking for someone rational and cunning rather than mad or desperate.

He’d choose one of the hotels in West Shinjuku, where it wasn’t unusual for guests to arrive on foot rather than by taxi. The Park Hyatt, the Century Hyatt, the Washington, the Hilton, the Keio Plaza — he’d make a reservation at each of them under a different name. Then, as soon as possible, he’d go check them all out. The one with the busiest front desk and the worst service would suit him best. Poor service , he wrote, means less attention focused on guests .

He laid down the pencil and looked at his watch. It was past eleven. Yoko would be going to bed soon. He thought about calling her again but decided that twice in one day might seem unnatural. He still wasn’t hungry. The little refrigerator was stocked with whisky and beer, and he felt so satisfied with the work he’d done that he decided to allow himself a drink. He took a mini-bottle of cheap domestic whisky from the refrigerator, poured it into a glass and had a sip. It was the most delicious thing he’d ever tasted.

He read over his seven pages of notes, making a few small additions, then put the notebook in his briefcase and spun the dials on the combination lock. He opened the curtains and looked at Tokyo Tower, whose lights were off now, and as he took another sip of whisky he was aware of the heat in his throat and stomach radiating waves of sexual desire through his body. After the second glass he decided not to drink any more, fearing that he might give in to the temptation to call an S&M club and have a woman sent over.

He hadn’t yet decided how old the victim should be. The idea of someone in her late thirties appealed to him, but he somehow felt it would be more satisfying to plunge the ice pick into a firm, smooth young belly this time, rather than one that was soft and sagging. A young woman, yes, with resilient, snow-white skin.

As soon as Kawashima made up his mind on this point, he began to ache with desire for an older woman. The whisky-fuelled revelation that the victim should be young, after the excitement of writing out all those notes, had left him helpless with lust. Rationalising that unless he did something about it he’d never get any sleep, which would only hinder his ability to begin preparations tomorrow, he leafed through the sex guide and dialled a place that advertised Erotic Massage by Mature Ladies .

‘Good evening. Essence Clinic.’

It was a man’s voice.

‘I’m at a hotel in the city. Is it too late to ask for a massage?’

He’d never called a place like this before and was surprised at how calm he managed to sound.

‘Which hotel, sir?’

‘The Akasaka Prince.’

‘Thank you. If I may ask your room number, we’ll ring you right back to confirm.’

About ten seconds after he hung up, the phone rang.

‘Sorry to keep you waiting.’ The man had an odd way of intoning his words. ‘We have a thirty-eight-year-old widow who is available immediately.’

The voice was tranquil and mechanical and gave no sense of the person producing it. It was impossible even to imagine what the man’s face looked like. Kawashima didn’t answer right away, and the voice continued.

‘If you wouldn’t mind waiting another hour or so, however, we can send a lady in her early forties.’

‘No. Send the one who can come right now, please.’

‘The basic massage is 7,000 yen, and the erotic version is 17,000. Which would you prefer?’

It sounded as if the man were holding a baby as he talked. Or sitting at someone’s deathbed — Kawashima pictured a shrivelled, comatose old man hooked up to an IV drip.

‘Erotic.’

‘She’ll be at your room in approximately half an hour. Of course we ask you to supply her with taxi fare both ways.’

Before hanging up, Kawashima ventured to ask if they got many young men requesting these older women. ‘Quite a few,’ the smooth voice said, and replaced the receiver so quietly that he scarcely heard the click.

What if it turned out to be her ? It had been just ten years now, so she’d be forty-eight. The voice had said the woman was a decade younger than that, but it’s not unusual for women in the sex trade to lie about their age. In fact, at the strip clubs where she was working back then, she’d told people she was twenty-eight. How many men could really distinguish ten years one way or the other, after all? If it did turn out to be her, though, what should he say? Would there still be a small round scar, or would it have healed completely by now? They’d spoken very little after she was released from the hospital, but he clearly remembered her mentioning how complicated and time-consuming the treatment was for an ice-pick wound. ‘An unbelievable pain in the ass,’ to use her exact words. Well, he wasn’t holding any grudges. If it turned out to be her, all he needed to say was Long time no see. And maybe ask about the scar.

He decided to allow himself a little more whisky. After all, his urge to call an S&M club had vanished now that the thirty-eight-year-old was on her way. He opened the third minature bottle and poured it into his glass, his mind replaying the smooth voice’s last words: Quite a few . Beyond the window-pane, veiled with condensation, was the glittering expanse of late-night Tokyo. From up here, the people on the street looked like moving dots. He’d recently watched a daytime talk show with the theme: Young men who can love only women their mothers’ age . A psychologist in a bow-tie had expounded that ‘it’s a perversion of sorts, certainly, an elaboration of the so-called Peter Pan syndrome, and though the symptoms are distinct the pathology is basically the same as that of young men who sexually molest little girls; neither type has the ability to make or maintain normal, healthy relationships.’ In other words, men who were attracted to much older women were sick and abnormal. If I accomplish my mission, Kawashima thought to himself, I’ll go after that psychologist next, for talking such absolute shit.