A Dog in Water (7 page)

“As long as it’s guaranteed to kill, I don’t really care,” I answered.

I heard the regular giggle.

“What’s so funny?” I turned to him and demanded, my irritation showing in my voice.

“Hey, watch your mouth. Yang here is a pro,” the old man warned. “He just pulled off a pretty flashy gig, so he’s hiding himself in the urban bustle as they say.” The way he dropped this almost made him sound like a proud father.

“So you’re the one who did the section chief of that bank?” I baited.

Yang’s facial expression remained unchanged. “Maybe, maybe not. But that was one helluva job,” he said with an air of utter composure. “I apologize if I offended you, but what you said was so bizarre.”

“What did I say?”

“There’s no such thing as a gun that is guaranteed to kill.” Yang’s eyes seemed to pierce right through my heart. “What kills is not the gun but the person who wields it. The issue is you. Am I wrong?”

Suddenly the sound of an infant’s cries filled the room. It was coming from behind the sliding screen right in front of me.

“Ah, crap,” the old man said with a grimace and stood up. “My daughter’s just divorced and moved back home. She leaves the brat here so she can go hang out with friends. Sorry, could you just wait here a minute?”

He opened the screen and walked through. I could hear the old man comforting the child. He seemed to be changing its diaper. The child quieted down.

I put out my cigarette and immediately lit another.

“You gonna kill the guy who screwed up your face?” Yang asked.

I didn’t answer and continued to smoke.

“Congrats on finding a motive.” Yang smiled faintly at me.

“What do you mean?”

“Haven’t you been wandering these streets for years in search of a
motive?”

“What motive?”

“A motive that will allow you to do what you’ve been wanting to.”

“What’re you talking about? What do I want to do?!” I nearly shouted. I could tell I was becoming agitated, but the reason eluded me.

“Hey, calm down. It’s just that your ideal version of yourself is at odds with who you really are. Nothing to be ashamed of,” placated Yang. It reminded me of the therapy sessions I attended for some time right after I quit the force. “Before you stands an unlocked door. You’re dying to get in, yet you’re afraid of walking through because you know you’ll never get out again.”

Yes, I know
.

“Why not quit knocking on that door waiting for a response? No one’s going to answer you. You’re the only one who can decide.”

Yes. I’m the only one
.

“You know there’s no place for you anyway outside of the door. So just open the door and walk right in. That’s all there is to it.”

A sense of relief washed over me. I felt as though I’d been granted permission.

“An F1 racing car is meaningless if the driver is a novice. No matter how hefty a gun you might have, if you can’t pull the trigger when the moment comes, all it is is dead weight. It all depends on you.”

Yang’s words echoed pleasantly in my chest.

“All in all, a gun is just a tool. You don’t choose a tool on account of your goal, you choose it on account of your method. In order to kill, you don’t need a gun. A craft knife from a stationery store will suffice. Don’t you agree?”

I do
.

I asked Yang, “So you don’t need a motive?”

“Right, I don’t. I’ve already found my place.”

Where Yang was at certainly seemed comfortable. The sliding screen opened and the old man emerged.

“Oh boy, sorry for making you wait. So, have you decided on
which gun you want?”

In the end I left the arms dealer empty-handed and paid a visit to a stationery store.

It was around 3:00 p.m. when I reached the address Afro gave me. I was able to locate the building in question right away. It had four stories and a narrow frontage. It was too nice to be called an apartment building yet too cheap for a condo complex. I parked in a nearby alley and approached the building on foot.

The entrance was along a small private pathway. There was no foyer. Upon entering I immediately came face to face with the door to #101. To the right was #102, and #103 was across the hall. That was it. Mailboxes were lined up next to the #101 door. Each floor had just three apartments. None of the mailboxes listed Katsuya Yamamoto.

I exited the building and walked farther down the private path towards the back of the building. There was a small parking lot with four cars that included Katsuya Yamamoto’s Renault. The ruined headlight had been neatly repaired. When I got closer, I saw that the pavement under the car was painted with the number 402. I returned to my own car.

It was possible he’d left without taking his car, but I chose to believe he was in his apartment. Since Junko Tajima was seriously considering killing him, I didn’t have much time. She had contacted the informant late last night and bought access to a forger and a gun dealer. I didn’t know which she’d do first—hire a new P.I. agency with her fake ID or buy a gun from a dealer—but either way she’d want to deal
with both issues before taking action against Katsuya.

She might answer his call, or she might call him and ask to meet somewhere. Then she’d aim the gun at him and pull the trigger. Quite possibly tonight.

I had to settle it before then. I had some proving to do. To Junko, that I was still able to meaningfully contribute to her chance at happiness. To Katsuya, that there were consequences to pissing me off. To myself, that I wasn’t a disappointment, in my own eyes.

But I didn’t think Katsuya would open the door for me if he heard my voice through the intercom. I couldn’t even let him see my face through the peephole. If he caught on, I’d never get another chance. I was painfully aware of how formidable he was, whereas I was an invalid who couldn’t even wash his own hair. I had to get him with his guard down.

I decided to wait until he left his apartment. I’d attack him in the parking lot. When he was just about to get into his car would offer me a chance. If I hung around the lot, however, I might mistime it. I wouldn’t be able to get close enough without him noticing.

I drove around looking for a spot that would allow me to stake out the outdoor stairwell. Since the building lacked an elevator, residents above the second floor had to use the exposed stairway for egress.

I found a perfect spot—partway down an alley that lay just past the right side of the building. I could see clear up to the top of the stairway from between a narrow gap between the apartments and an adjacent building. Parked at this vantage point, I could see him leave the apartment and still make it back to the lot and hide before he got there. There was still some time before sunset. I decided to pass the time in leisure. I took a small hit of morphine.

Just under an hour had passed since I started my lookout when I spotted a woman climbing the stairs. It was Junko Tajima.

I grabbed my coat from the passenger’s seat and jumped out of the car.

I caught up to her on the landing between the third and fourth
floors. Hearing my footsteps, she halted and turned to face me.

“Why are you here?” she asked with a suspicious look.

“Don’t go to his place,” I gasped, speaking before I’d caught my breath.

Silently, she shook her head.

“I know … what you’re … trying to do. But you mustn’t.”

I was feeling impatient. Whether that was because I didn’t want her to commit murder or because I didn’t want my prey snatched away, I couldn’t tell.

She turned her back on my words and started to climb the stairs. My only choice was to follow. I could already see Katsuya’s door, and I couldn’t drag her away by force up here.

She stood in front of the intercom for #402. I stood by the edge of the doorframe. She took a deep breath and pressed the button.

“Yeah?” A gravelly voice.

“It’s me.” Hers was stiff.

Before long came the click of the door being unlocked. As soon as it flew wide open I took a step inside and swung down my monkey wrench.

Katsuya flinched his head reflexively, but it was pointless. I had aimed for his shoulder. His left clavicle smashed, he dropped rear-first to the floor unable even to scream. I kicked, catching his jaw on the tip of my shoe. Katsuya’s body slid across the flooring towards the interior.

I followed, not bothering to remove my shoes. He was groaning, his face contorted in pain, his clenched teeth stained red with blood. I tossed my coat onto the floor and turned back towards the door.

Junko, dumbfounded, stood frozen in the doorframe.

“Satisfied? Now leave,” I said.

Without speaking she stepped inside and closed the door.

I turned my gaze on Katsuya again just as he was getting back up. He fled farther into the apartment. I went after him. He grabbed a metal baseball bat leaning against the side of his bed, pivoted and pointed the head towards me. He was breathing hard, barely able to
stand. His left shoulder drooped far lower than his right, and his left arm dangled.

“Fuck off, asshole! Is your brain rotten?!” Katsuya yelled. Blood dribbled from the corner of his mouth. His lips were bright red as though smeared with lipstick.

I stood right in front of him, slightly shaking the wrench in my hand. “You’re the one who told me to come back once I had what it takes to kill you.”

“Bring it, you prick! Kill me if you can!”

Katsuya swung up his bat. I felt like I might burst out laughing. For this man, the word “kill” amounted to nothing more than tough talk bandied by punks picking fights.

I took a casual step forward. The sight of a man with only one good arm wielding a bat didn’t seem all that threatening. He swung it down. I sidestepped lightly and evaded the blow. The bat struck the floor, and the impact caused Katsuya to drop to his knees. I aimed a kick towards the side of his torso. A rib cracked, palpably.

Katsuya writhed unable even to moan. He rolled over just as I stepped in to smite the back of his skull with my wrench. He shrank back desperately as if to hide behind his metal bat, his earlier bravado vanished into thin air. I took another step toward him.

“W-Wait, s-stop!” Katsuya screamed. I had no intention of waiting. The bat was a deterrent, though. No matter how I approached, it had a target in me. There wouldn’t be much force behind it, but it definitely complicated my assault.

“I-I’ve done a ton of bad things, all right? But I’ve never killed anyone, ever!”

I had to wonder why he was saying this.

“Yet you’re gonna kill me? How fucked up is that?!”

What a fool. So if he’d never taken a life, there was no cause for anyone to kill him no matter what he did? It was hard to believe these words were coming from a man who’d made a career out of destroying people’s lives.

I stepped towards him, intending to kick away the bat. In a panic,
Katsuya swung it. I meant to dodge it and aim a kick at his right shoulder. The bat, however, flew out of Katsuya’s hands and towards me. Instinctively I held up my casted left hand to shield myself. Pain shot through me. In the next instant the grip end struck the cast on my chest and set off a small explosion in my brain. A paroxysm of pain coursed through my entire body. I helplessly fell on one knee. Katsuya gripped the monkey wrench in my right hand. I just barely managed to land a strike on his broken collarbone with the cast on my left hand.

He screamed. I was still mired in pain, too. Before I could make my next move Katsuya’s right hand reached for the wrench again. He threw his body across mine. My broken ribs creaked beneath my cast. The wrench changed hands.

“Heh heh …” Katsuya licked the blood from around his mouth. He straddled my stomach and swung the wrench above his head. “Aw, too bad, Dick.”

He looked triumphant, yet I didn’t think it all too bad for a second. He seemed to think bashing my head would end this, but I was fairly certain I could block the blow with the cast on my left hand. From there it would be easy to grab his dangling left arm with my right and yank him down. But that’s not what I did. My right hand held the craft knife tucked in my pants pocket. The kind with a broad blade. I cranked the blade out of the sheath with a
clak clak clak
.

“Freeze!”

The voice was Junko Tajima’s. She had a gun pointed at Katsuya. It was a smallish stainless steel revolver, probably .38 caliber.

Katsuya threw a glance at this and snorted, “Hey, hey, now, you too?”

“Get away from him!” she said, her tone more emphatic than I’d ever heard her use before.

“Uhm, fuck no. What’s that? Can you even fire it?” Katsuya seemed totally calm.

“You think I can’t shoot you?” Her eyes were dead serious.

This seemed to affect him. The smile on the corners of his mouth retreated. “It’s your damn fault,” he said turning to me. “She was never
capable of anything like this. It’s you. You changed her. If she’d never met you, she’d never have gotten it into her head to murder someone!”

Perhaps he was right. That’s to say, if she’d never met him, either.

“You’re fuckin’ nuts, spreading poison all around you!”

Katsuya raised the wrench above his head.

“I’ll shoot!” Junko screamed.

Katsuya spoke, turning his profile to her. “I’m gonna smash this Dick’s head in. If you wanna shoot me, then go ahead. But if you don’t kill me with one shot this guy’s a goner. You okay with that? Huh?!”

I’d waited enough. With my left hand I shoved Katsuya in the chest. He lost his balance, his body lurching at an angle. I stuck the tip of the craft knife into the left side of his throat and swiped across. I felt the blade go in deep. Vivid blood spewed forth. Katsuya slumped back-first into the wall to his side, streaking the white paint vertically with numerous red stripes. I heard Junko give a small cry.

Katsuya released his grip on the wrench and brought around his right arm to apply pressure to the wound in his neck. Blood flowed relentlessly from between his fingers.

“For real?” he muttered. His eyes flickered slightly and settled on Junko. “Listen, you stupid bitch. Thought killing me would bring you happiness?” The gushing blood was dying his T-shirt red. “Heh … Wanna hear something good? Wanna know why I targeted you?”