The Dame Did It (14 page)

SHIKATA GA
NAI

by
Percival Constantine

— :: —

Kyoko Nakamura lowered the Seven Stars cigarette to
the tray and tapped it with her thumb to discard the loose ash from
the smoldering end. With her head lowered slightly, her long, dark
hair masked her face. She was an attractive woman in her
mid-thirties, who could easily make herself look ten years younger
when she chose to apply make-up.

But tonight wasn’t one of those nights.
Tonight she sat in a corner of the fifth-floor shot bar, the
counter up against the window overlooking Osaka’s Shinsekai
neighborhood. Kyoko raised the highball to her lips and sipped it
slowly, staring at her reflection in the window. In that
reflection, she saw another woman approaching her. This woman wore
a long skirt with a fashionable top
,
and
her handbag looked like it cost more than the rent Kyoko paid on
her small apartment. The woman was quite a distinction from Kyoko’s
burgundy top, jeans, and beat-up leather jacket.

Setting the drink down, she stared at the
woman’s reflection. “You’re late.”

“I’m sorry,” the woman said while offering a
slight bow. “Did we have to meet here?”

“I like it here,” said Kyoko with a shrug.
“Do you want something to drink?”

The woman shook her head. “No, no thank you,
Nakamura-san. I’d just like to know what you discovered, if you
don’t mind.”

“Have a seat.” Kyoko reached for the bag
beside her chair and brought it onto her lap. She procured a black,
plastic folder and laid it on the table. The woman carefully sat in
the tall chair next to Kyoko and stared at the folder. She reached
for it, but Kyoko placed her hand on top of the folder. The woman
looked up and saw Kyoko staring at her with some sympathy in her
eyes.

“Before you look at this, I want you to know
something,” said Kyoko. “You paid me to follow your husband, but
it’s your choice whether or not you actually
want
to see
what I found out.”

“Do you think I shouldn’t?”

Kyoko shook her head. “I can’t answer that.
You need to decide for yourself. Some people can’t live with not
knowing, they need certainty. But sometimes, that certainty can be
far worse than paranoid suspicions. Some people can’t live with
that knowledge.”

The woman’s eyes drifted back to the folder
with Kyoko’s hand resting on top of it. She took a deep breath and
offered a meek nod. “I think… I have to know the truth. I can’t
live with the suspicion.”

“If you’re sure.” Kyoko removed her hand
from the folder and the woman reached for it. She pulled the
documents and the photos out and looked over them. The woman gasped
at the images.

“Judging by the financial statements, it
seems he’s been seeing her for at least a year,” said Kyoko. “He’s
also paying the rent on her apartment.”

Her hand went to her mouth, her eyes
beginning to tear up. “I-I know her… she works at his company… met
her at a function one night…”

Kyoko sighed. “There’s more, I’m afraid.
Keep looking.”

The woman shuffled through the documents and
then she stumbled upon it. Photos of the two of them entering a
women’s clinic. “Judging by her increase in weight, I’d say she’s
pregnant.”

The documents and photographs fell from her
hands, hitting her lap and scattering over the area. It took her a
moment to realize that she’d dropped them and by that time, Kyoko
was already collecting and collating them once more.

“I’m sorry, I just—”

“It’s fine. I can destroy these if you’d
like.”

“No… I want to hold onto them.”

Kyoko nodded and placed them back in the
folder. She reached for her cigarette and took a drag on it. “Would
you like that drink now?”

Her client shook her head, taking the folder
and placing it in her handbag. She was clutching the bag so
tightly, her knuckles began to whiten. “No… I think I should just
go home…”

“What will you do? Confront him?”

“I don’t know… I need to think about it. I’m
just a housewife, I don’t know if I’d be able to survive out there
without him.”

“I understand,” said Kyoko. “
Shikata ga
nai.
”

“Yes,
shikata ga nai
,” the woman
repeated as she stood. “Thank you, Nakamura-san. I’ll have the rest
of your fee wired to your account tomorrow.”

Kyoko sipped her highball, watching through
the window’s reflection as her now-former client left the shot bar.
Once she finished the drink, she signaled to the bartender to
refill it and looked out over Shinsekai, thinking about her final
words to the woman.

Shikata ga nai
—a common Japanese
phrase meaning it can’t be helped. As a private investigator, those
situations were unfortunately how Kyoko Nakamura made her
living.

* * *

Kyoko reached for the ringing phone in her office,
raising the receiver to her ear. “Nakamura Investigations.” She
leaned back in her chair as she listened to the woman on the other
end. She spoke with a friendly tone, but her dialect had an air of
sophistication to it that seemed to indicate a prestigious
education.

“Good afternoon, my name is Misaki Kuroyama.
I’m sorry to inconvenience you, but I was wondering if you could
help me.”

Kyoko sat forward and took a notepad from
the corner of her desk, setting it in the center and reaching for a
pen. “How can I be of service, Kuroyama-sama?” She punctuated the
woman’s family name with the honorific suffix.

“I’m not certain if this is the kind of
matter you normally investigate, but my brother has gone
missing.”

“Mostly I deal with marital cases,” said
Kyoko. “Infidelity and the like.”

“I understand that, but I’m a little
desperate. You see, my brother went missing last month.”

Kyoko began jotting down some of what the
woman was saying. “I see. Have you gone to the police?”

“Well yes, of course, but you see… my
brother has something of a… reputation,” she said, her voice
dropping to a whisper, as if she were telling Kyoko a secret. “He
dropped out of high school and our parents more or less disowned
him. He was working at a host bar in Umeda and the police think he
probably just left town.”

Kyoko made a note of that and tapped the end
of the pen against her desk. “It’s not uncommon. Hosts can make a
very lucrative living, if they pull in enough clients. But if they
can’t, a lot burn out quickly. Given your family’s treatment, maybe
he moved somewhere else. Found another job.”

“I understand that is a possibility, but I
need some certainty. The police won’t help me and I’m at the end of
my rope. Please, can you help me?” Misaki Kuroyama spoke in
keigo
, an honorific language normally reserved when speaking
to superiors. Not a hint of the Osaka dialect Kyoko had become
accustomed to in her daily life. It was a little strange for this
woman to use that when speaking to someone of Kyoko’s social
status.

Kyoko’s lips pulled back and she inhaled
through gritted teeth, the universal sound to indicate reticence in
Japan. “I have to be honest with you, I can’t guarantee you I can
find any information about your brother. And I collect my fee
regardless of whether or not I can find him.”

“I understand. But I have to try,
regardless. I’m willing to pay you five hundred thousand yen.”

She almost dropped the phone. Five hundred
thousand. The going rate for missing persons case without official
documents or a letter of attorney was just under a hundred
thousand. Kyoko wouldn’t have to take on another case for about two
months with that sort of payday. “I’ll need half the money
transferred to my account in advance. Will that be
satisfactory?”

“Yes, absolutely! Does this mean you will
take on the case?”

“It does,” said Kyoko. “What’s your
brother’s name?”

“Shinji.”

Her hand wrote out the
hiragana
characters for the name. “Do you know the name of the club he
worked at?”

“He never told me.”

Kyoko frowned. That would make things more
difficult—albeit not impossible. “Okay, I’ll need to know any and
all information you have on him. Last-known address, phone number,
email, anything at all. A recent photograph would also help.”

“The most-recent picture I have is from a
few years ago, is that okay? I have to confess, I haven’t seen him
in some time.”

“It’ll have to do. Write down all the
information and fax it to my office. When was the last time you
spoke with him?”

“About two months ago through email. He said
he needed some money and I…” Misaki’s voice choked up a bit. “I
told him I couldn’t give it to him. He hasn’t answered any emails
or calls since then. At first, I thought he was just cross with me,
so I went to his apartment and his landlord told me he hadn’t seen
him in a month.”

“Is that when you went to the police?”

“Yes, and they said there was nothing that
could be done.”

“
Shikata ga nai
,” muttered Kyoko. “As
I said before, I can’t promise anything, but I can promise that
I’ll try my best to find out what’s happened to him.”

“Thank you, that’s all I ask. How should I
send you the money?”

“Bank transfer is fine.” Kyoko rattled off
her account information—bank name, branch, and account number.
Everything Misaki would need to perform a transfer through an ATM.
“Did you get all that?”

“Yes, I’ll send you the money first thing
tomorrow morning. Thank you so much, Nakamura-san.”

“You’re welcome, Kuroyama-sama. I’ll be in
touch.”

Kyoko hung up the phone. A missing person.
She hadn’t seen a case like that since her time with the Osaka
Police Department. Ever since going into business as a private
investigator, the bulk of her cases dealt with cheating husbands.
She had to admit, it was a bit of a relief to get the chance to
utilize her skills in another investigative area. But she had less
confidence in the outcome. The best she could hope for was finding
someone who knew Shinji, who could at least point her to a general
idea of his current location. It wouldn’t be much, but hopefully it
would allow Misaki Kuroyama to sleep a little easier.

* * *

When Kyoko arrived at her office at nine the next
morning, she found the fax from Misaki waiting to greet her in the
paper tray. Taking it from the machine, her eyes scanned the
information. Shinji lived in the Shinsekai neighborhood. That was
fortunate, as she knew the area well. And it also made sense.
Shinsekai’s reputation as a seedy neighborhood grew out of the
strong presence of the
mizu-shobai
, or “water trade.” A
euphemism that usually described red light services. Host and
hostess bars propagated the area. Kyoko examined the
black-and-white photograph of Shinji: the photo showcased an
unassuming man with a very youthful face hidden under a mop of dark
hair. Kyoko assumed this photo was taken before he dropped out of
school and became a host. Shinji likely looked quite different at
the time of his disappearance. It was common for hosts to alter
their appearance in different forms—new hairstyles, new hair dye,
new clothes, etc.

With the information in hand, Kyoko left the
office and headed off to Shinji’s last-known address. It was a bit
of a hike on foot, and though she could have taken a taxi to cut
down the half-hour walk, cabs were too expensive to justify what
would likely be a minimal cut in time with traffic.

Upon arrival, at the six-story building, she
walked up the staircase to the second floor. The building looked
clean enough from the outside, although it did appear to be a bit
aged. 203 was the target and she pressed the button under the
intercom to ring the bell. She thought there was a chance Shinji
was simply ignoring his sister. It was around half past eleven in
the morning, so if he was still here, he’d likely be home sleeping,
given the host’s typical schedule. She rang the bell again and then
tried banging on the heavy metal door.

Nothing. Kyoko sighed and fished through her
handbag, hoping she remembered to bring her lock-pick kit. She did,
but before she could draw it out, she heard a voice behind her.

“Can I help you?”

The Osaka dialect was heavy. Kyoko spun and
smiled at the elderly woman who stood at the top of the staircase.
She wore a simple housedress and her hair was short and curled,
with streaks of gray in her black hair.

“Do you know who lives here?” asked
Kyoko.

“Mmm,” the woman said with a nod. “I rented
the place to him. Are you… his girlfriend?”

There was a slight dip in her tone as she
said that final word. While on paper, hosts weren’t prostitutes,
there was some blurring of that line and many hosts did indeed
sleep with their customers. Usually in exchange for money or other
gifts. Clearly, the landlady thought Kyoko was one such woman.

“No, I’m a private investigator.” Kyoko
removed her card-holder from her purse and took out one of her
business cards. Holding it in both hands, she held it out to the
woman with a bow. “My name is Kyoko Nakamura.”

The landlady bowed and accepted the card
with both hands. “I’m Yasuko Maeda.” She held the card close to her
eyes, studying it carefully. Her expression was stoic, not the
slightest hint of a smile or a frown. “Why are you interested in
him?”

“His sister contacted me, said he’d been
missing for some time. She gave me this address.”

“
Eh?
Missing?” Maeda gasped a bit.
“He’s been late with the rent before… I just assumed…”

“Did you know him well?”

Maeda’s head quickly turned from side to
side, her curls bouncing against her face. “I didn’t see much of
him. His job was at odd hours. He would usually leave around nine
or ten at night and would arrive around six or seven in the
morning. Usually drunk, sometimes with women. The few times I saw
him, he would just bow and not say a word.”