Life for Sale Read online

  “Where do I go to ‘get started’?”

  “Here’s a map. It’s Apartment 865 in this fancy apartment block at the top of the hill called Villa Borghese. I believe it’s the penthouse on the top floor. I have no idea when she’ll be in. Beyond that, you’ll just have to play it by ear.”

  “What’s your wife’s name?”

  “Ruriko Kishi. Ruriko is written in simple hiragana script. Kishi is the same Chinese character used by Prime Minister Kishi in his name.” The old man looked strangely radiant as he spoke.

  3

  The old man turned to leave. But scarcely had he stepped out of the door than he was back again. The words that followed were entirely to be expected from someone who had purchased another’s life.

  “Ah, I forgot something important. You must tell no one. Not only that I’m your client, but also about your mission. After all, you’re selling your life, so a certain level of commercial decorum is involved.”

  “You have nothing to fear on that point.”

  “So you really won’t sign a written oath?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. To do that would be tantamount to making a public declaration of our arrangement!”

  “I see what you mean.”

  The old man was clearly troubled as he shuffled back into the room, still hissing through his ill-fitting false teeth.

  “In which case, how can I trust you?”

  “Those who believe, believe everything, while those who doubt don’t believe a thing. Look, you’ve come and given me money, haven’t you? That leaves me convinced that such a thing as trust still exists in the world. And anyway, even if I were to publicize the mission you’ve entrusted me with, I don’t have a clue who you are or where you come from. Doesn’t that give you peace of mind?”

  “Don’t be dumb! Ruriko will spill the beans. I know that for sure.”

  “Maybe she will. But I’m not the blabbing kind.”

  “I can see that. I’ve known a lot of people over the years. The moment I clapped eyes on you, I knew you’d fit the bill. If you need any more money, leave me a message on the information board at the Central Exit of Shinjuku Station. Short and sweet will do. ‘Waiting for money, eight o’clock tomorrow morning. Life.’ Something like that.

  “I like to take a stroll around the department stores every day, but it’s all a bit boring before opening time. So if you want to meet during the morning, earlier is better.”

  The old man turned to go. As he stepped out of the door, Hanio was right behind him.

  “Where are you off to?” the old man inquired.

  “Obvious, isn’t it? Apartment 865, Villa Borghese.”

  “Now that’s what I call keen.”

  Hanio remembered to turn over the card on the door on which he had written “Life for Sale.” On the other side was the single word “Sold.”

  4

  Villa Borghese was a white, Italianate building that dominated the hill in a squalid part of town. You couldn’t miss it, so there was no need for Hanio to consult the map.

  He peeped through the reception window, but the concierge was not in his chair. The hallway was deserted, so he made a beeline for the elevator, visible at the rear. He walked involuntarily as if pulled by a thread, bemused by an incongruous sense of cheerful irresponsibility as a man about to commit suicide. His life overflowed with lightness.

  He reached the eighth floor, where the corridor was enveloped in the deep hush of mid morning, and quickly found the door to Apartment 865. As he pushed the bell, pleasant chimes reverberated within.

  Maybe they were out? But Hanio somehow knew Ruriko would be at home on her own that morning. Now was just the time when a kept woman, having sent her man off for the day, would be back in bed sound asleep. It was this thought that kept Hanio’s finger pressed firmly on the bell.

  Finally there were signs of someone coming to the door. When it opened, the chain lock was still attached to its track: the bemused face of a young woman peered through the gap. She was wearing a nightdress, but showed no sign of having just woken up. Her expression was vivid and sharply focused. Sure enough, her lips pouted invitingly.

  “Who are you?”

  “I’m from Life for Sale. I wonder if you might be interested in life insurance?”

  “Thank you, but we have lots already. We don’t need any more insurance.”

  The fact that, despite her blunt words, she did not immediately shut the door in his face convinced him that her interest must be piqued. He had already employed the salesman’s trick of wedging a foot in the doorway.

  “I don’t have to come in. I would just like you to hear me out. It won’t take a moment.”

  “No, my husband will get mad at me. And besides, I’m not presentable right now.”

  “Well then, I’ll come again, in twenty minutes’ time.”

  “Let me think…” She was mulling it over. “Why don’t you go and make some other calls, then ring my bell again in twenty minutes?”

  “Thank you. I’ll do that.” He withdrew his foot, and she closed the door.

  Hanio sat on a sofa by a window at the end of the corridor and waited for twenty minutes. From there, he commanded a view of the neighborhood bathed in winter sunshine. In the bright light it was all too clear that the area was distinctly the worse for wear, as if nibbled away by termites. Of course, the locals would not fail to keep up appearances, addressing each other with a “Good morning,” or asking how work was going, or inquiring into the health of their wives and children. Or they might remark on the ratcheting up of the international situation. But none of them would notice the sheer banality of their words.

  After smoking a couple of cigarettes, he went and knocked again. This time the door was flung open and the woman, now dressed in a light-green suit with a splayed collar, courteously invited him in.

  “Would you like tea? Or something stronger?”

  “You’re treating me very well for a door-to-door salesman.”

  “There’s no way you’re in insurance. I could tell the moment I saw you. If you’re going to put on an act, you need to do it a bit better than that.”

  “Fair enough. In which case, could I trouble you for a beer?”

  Ruriko laughed with a twinkle in her eye and sashayed across the room, drawing attention to her hips, which were quite wide, despite the slimness of her figure. She disappeared into the kitchen.

  Presently, the pair were clinking beer glasses at the living-room table.

  “So, who on earth are you?” asked Ruriko.

  “Let’s just say I am the milkman.”

  “You’re teasing me. Still, I assume you knew of the risks you’re taking when you came here.”

  “No.”

  “So, who asked you to come?”

  “Nobody.”

  “That is strange. So you’re telling me that you rang the bell on the off-chance that a regular glamour-puss like me might be at home?”

  “That just about sums it up.”

  “You’re a lucky man. Now, I’m afraid I don’t have any nibbles. I wonder if it’s odd to have chips with beer so early in the morning. Ah, I think there should be some cheese.”

  She hurried off to search the refrigerator again.

  “Ooh, that’s cold.” Her voice carried from the other room. She returned with a dish of salad, with something dark on the lettuce leaves. “Do help yourself.”

  For some reason, though, she approached him from the rear. The next moment, something icy cold was jabbed into Hanio’s cheek from behind. A single glance told him it was a gun. He was not particularly surprised.

  “I bet that’s freezing,” she said.

  “It certainly is. Do you keep it in the fridge?”

  “I do, because I hate warm weapons.”

  “You’re quite th
e fussy one, aren’t you?”

  “Aren’t you afraid?”

  “Not particularly.”

  “You think you can play with me because I’m a woman. But look, I’m going to give you plenty of time to fess up, so drink your beer and say your prayers.”

  Ruriko cautiously withdrew the gun and walked all the way round him to sit on the chair opposite. The gun remained cocked and pointed in his direction. Hanio held the beer glass in his hand, which remained absolutely steady. But what intrigued him was the faint quiver in Ruriko’s hand.

  “That’s quite some disguise you’ve got there,” she said. “I bet you’re Chinese or Korean. How many years have you been in Japan?”

  “Give me a break. I’m a Japanese, the genuine article.”

  “Liar! You’re snooping for my husband. I know it. I bet your real name is Kin or Li, or something like that.”

  “May I ask what you base this delusion of yours upon?”

  “You’re a cool one. So you’re not going to be straight with me…In which case, I guess my only choice is to spell out once more what I’m sure you already know. My husband is jealous as hell, and last night I was under suspicion yet again for no reason at all. I was in a really sticky situation, but in the end he arranged for his goon to keep an eye on me. Even so, it wasn’t enough for him just to keep watch from a distance. He’s testing me, I know—getting someone to sneak into the house to try and seduce me, isn’t he? Well, I won’t have it. Take one step my way and I’ll shoot.

  “But come to think of it, he was the one who gave me a gun for my own protection, and it was he who made a point of ensuring I could use it properly…You know, it might just be that you’ve been roped into something completely unawares. Maybe you’re the one who’s fallen into a trap…I bet you had no idea that you’ve been selected for the role of getting yourself bumped off by me so I can prove what a virtuous woman I am.”

  “You don’t say.” Hanio played it cool, and looked her straight in the eye. “Well, if I’m going to be killed anyway, I’d prefer to sleep together first. If we do, I promise I won’t kick up any fuss when you kill me afterward.”

  Ruriko’s gradually rising fury flared across Hanio’s field of vision. It was like reading a map where the contour lines suddenly bunch together.

  “I’ve heard that before. You might even be from the ACS.”

  “ACS—is that the name of a TV station?”

  “Don’t play cute with me. I’m talking about the Asia Confidential Service.”

  “You’ve completely lost me now.”

  “But of course, I almost fell for it! I very nearly killed someone, and that would have landed me in my husband’s clutches for the rest of my life. He’s dreamt up some romantic scheme to get me back as his little floozy, hasn’t he? First he arranges for me to protect my virtue by killing someone. And since he’s one of only five people in Japan capable of giving shelter to killers, he intends to keep me under lock and key for the rest of my days. Now that’s scary. If you really are from the ACS, tell me now.”

  Convinced she had hit the nail on the head, Ruriko flung the gun onto the cushion next to her. “You should’ve said earlier that you were from the ACS.”

  That name again. Rather than deny it, Hanio decided to play along.

  “So you’re one of his stooges, too, are you?” Ruriko went on. “And your cover was a ‘life insurance’ alias. I had no idea. In that case, even he might have let me into it beforehand. But what an appalling actor you are! You must be new to the ACS, right? How many months’ training have you received?”

  “Six months.”

  “That’s not very long. So you managed to get fluent in all those Southeast Asian languages, including all the Chinese dialects, in such a short time?”

  “Uh-huh.” He was reduced to giving nothing but vague responses.

  “Still, you’ve shown some real guts. I’m impressed.”

  Ruriko’s expression relaxed. She stood up and went to gaze out over the balcony, where there was a garden chair, its white paint peeling, with a garden table of the same design. Rain from the previous day still clung in quivering drops from the edge of the table top.

  “So how many pounds did he ask you to transport?”

  Stumped by what to say, Hanio replied, “I can’t tell you that.” And then he yawned.

  “After all, the gold in Laos is dirt cheap. With the Vientiane market price as it is, you would at least double your profits if you brought it to Tokyo. A previous ACS man did something really clever. He dissolved gold in nitro-hydrochloric acid, and brought it in as a dozen bottles of Scotch whisky. Then he turned it back into gold. Can you imagine that?”

  “Sounds very far-fetched to me. Yeah, the shoes I’m wearing today look like crocodile skin, but underneath what’s visible to the eye, they’re actually gold. My feet feel quite cold.”

  “Those shoes, you mean?”

  Ruriko leaned over to examine Hanio’s feet with unalloyed curiosity, but she saw no trace of any weighty, glittering gold. Meanwhile, Hanio’s eyes were drawn like a magnet to the deep cleft between her breasts, which, ill-partnered though they were, pressed urgently against each other in that valley of powdered whiteness. They did indeed “point in different directions,” as the old man had said. Ruriko seemed to have applied talc to the region. A kiss there would be like burying your nose in baby powder. Hanio could well imagine.

  “So tell me, how do you go about importing American weapons into Japan via Laos?” Ruriko went on. “Do you have to make a stopover in Hong Kong? That’s a real pain. Surely it’d be much simpler to go to the military base in Tachikawa and get some there—that place is chock-a-block with weapons from America.”

  Hanio cut in with a question of his own: “By the way, what time does your husband get back?”

  “He’ll drop by for a while around lunchtime. Didn’t he tell you?”

  “Well, I timed it to get here a bit early. So, how about having a little lie-down together before he actually arrives?” Hanio gave another yawn and removed his jacket.

  “My, my, you are tired, aren’t you? You can use my husband’s bed.”

  “I’d much prefer yours.”

  Without warning, Hanio grabbed hold of Ruriko. Ruriko struggled to get out of his grasp, and in the process she managed to clutch hold of the gun with her outstretched hand.

  “You fool! Do you want to get your head blown off?” she cried.

  “Either way I end up dead. It’s all the same to me.”

  “Well, that’s not true for me. If I shoot you dead right now, I’ll at least get away with my life. But if we’re in bed together when he gets here, then it’ll be curtains for the both of us.”

  “I know which option I’d prefer. OK, let me ask you something. Do you know what happens to a person who kills an ACS man for no reason?”

  Ruriko turned pale and shook her head.

  “This.”

  Hanio strode up to the display shelf and picked up a Swiss national doll. He delivered a chop to its spine, then bent the doll back so far in his hands that it snapped in two.

  5

  Hanio was first to strip down, and as he slipped between the sheets, he thought over the course of action he should take.

  “The key is to keep it going as long as possible. The longer we’re in the sack, the better the chance that her guy will burst in on us and shoot us both dead.”

  If they were killed in the middle of it all, that would be a great way to go. That was how he saw it. If he were old, it might be a source of shame, but for a young man there could be no greater honor than to die on the job.

  Of course, the ideal was to remain entirely unaware of impending death until the instant it happened, allowing him to plunge instantaneously from the height of ecstasy to the abyss of annihilation. But for Hanio, this was simply not
an option. He would have to stretch things out in the full knowledge that he was about to die. For most people the sheer terror of this thought would be a hindrance to sexual pleasure, but not so for Hanio. He would be dead even before his mouth had time to drop open in shock. And since this was not his first brush with death, it was no big deal. Until he reached that point, all that mattered was to live each moment of life as it came, to savor it fully and for as long as it lasted.

  Ruriko seemed unfazed. She fiddled around with the venetian blinds, closing them partially, but left the curtains open. Then she stripped off unceremoniously in the aquarium-blue light. In the gap of the bathroom door, which she’d purposely left ajar, he got a full view of her naked form in the mirror as she sprayed perfume under her arms and dabbed some behind her ears.

  The rounded contours of her shoulders and buttocks brought delicious embraces to mind. Stirred by the sight, Hanio could hardly believe what was happening.

  Walking gracefully around the bed once, naked, she finally slipped in beside him.

  Hanio was aware it would not constitute good pillow talk, but he could not suppress his curiosity: “Why on earth did you circle round the bed like that?”

  “It’s a ritual of mine. You know, dogs often do the same thing before they lie down. It’s a kind of instinct.”

  “You’re really something!”

  “Come on now, we haven’t got all day. Take me in your arms.” Ruriko’s words sounded heavy as, eyes closed, she grasped Hanio’s head in her hands.

  Hanio’s strategy was to maintain things for as long as possible by keeping her constantly on the edge. He intended to devote lots of time to trying one thing, then go back to the starting point; to try something else, and return once more to the beginning. But once he began his first foray, he was surprised at the unexpected turn of events. Ruriko’s body was certainly worthy of all the old man’s deep attachment. As a result, Hanio’s plan almost ended in failure, but he stood his ground.