story so that I was still telling it as we got off the bus, and she was chiming in with encouraging noises, with “eeeeh” and “is that so?” like a perfect stooge, and as we trotted away up to the main street, anyone watching would have sworn we’d been friends for years.
I ditched her at a Mister Donut, where I removed the bandage in the bathroom, and changed quickly into a white roll-neck top and jeans that cheered up the brown coat and boots a bit, and my normal-sized sunglasses instead of the awful Yoko Onos. Casually trendy, that was my look for the day. My phone rang while I was changing, but the caller didn’t leave a message. I didn’t recognise the number.
Matsumoto has a gorgeous setting, a flat plain ringed with the distant Japan Alps in a magnificent stretch of white peaks, and it’s a shame they built the town out of concrete and grey tile. There are a few older buildings, one-storey wood constructions and so on, and I guess it’s pleasant enough in a same-as-everywhere-else way, but it’s really just another Japanese provincial town, except for the castle.
Matsumoto-jo is picture perfect, set in a moat amid grounds planted with pines and cherry trees, and I found myself wishing the cherry blossom was out, because this was a castle built to float over clouds of pink sakura flowers. It’s set on a stone foundation, sloping out of the moat, and it’s on about five levels, with dozens of pointed gables and sweeping tiled roofs, shining dark grey tiles jutting over white walls, and it’s just impossibly lovely. I trotted towards the red arched bridge that crosses the moat, checking my watch—a bit past ten—and my phone rang.
A mobile number I didn’t know was showing, and it looked like the one that had called me before. Yukie, maybe, or Taka’s friend?
“ Moshi-moshi ,” I said.
They hung up. I blinked a bit, and the phone rang again, and as I answered, I remembered that Yoshi had told me to get another phone.
“There, with the orange handbag,” said a faint voice down the line—not directly to me, but to someone else away from the receiver, just before the line went dead again. I swung around, eyes wide and searching, and there they were. Two big men, about thirty feet away. Heading for me with fast strides, one putting a mobile away. Shiny suits, brutal faces, and one of them had a bleached cockatoo crest of hair.
I dropped my clothes bag and ran like hell.
I’m no jogger, and they were always going to be faster than me. I sprinted anyway, heading down a side street, and took a couple of quick turns, hearing feet pounding after me. There were people about, but not enough to help, not enough to put them off. I lengthened my stride, arms pumping, thighs screaming, and headed back up towards the main street. A huge figure loomed out at the end of it, and something in his stance made me change direction, cornering round a side street and feeling my ankle almost twist under me.
The blood was roaring in my ears, and someone was shouting but I couldn’t hear what. The air was too damn cold for running, hurting my chest, and though the fear was giving me strength, it wouldn’t last. Oh God, oh God…
They were gaining on me, and I was running with a desperation I’d never known. I went round a corner and there was a chain-link fence ahead, and a truck blocking the left-hand end of the street with a delivery. I should have gone for it, squeezed through, but I went the other way, and round a corner, and it was a dead end, full of garbage bags and empty boxes and closed-up restaurants and deserted bars.
I spun round, and they were in the mouth of the alley.
“What do you want?” I panted. “Leave me alone. I’ll scream.”
“Don’t make any noise,” said Bleach Job, and he opened his suit jacket and I saw he had a gun.
My legs gave way, just folded under me. I sat down hard on the cold, rough concrete and realised it was over. I’d lost.
“Get her,” said the other man
I ditched her at a Mister Donut, where I removed the bandage in the bathroom, and changed quickly into a white roll-neck top and jeans that cheered up the brown coat and boots a bit, and my normal-sized sunglasses instead of the awful Yoko Onos. Casually trendy, that was my look for the day. My phone rang while I was changing, but the caller didn’t leave a message. I didn’t recognise the number.
Matsumoto has a gorgeous setting, a flat plain ringed with the distant Japan Alps in a magnificent stretch of white peaks, and it’s a shame they built the town out of concrete and grey tile. There are a few older buildings, one-storey wood constructions and so on, and I guess it’s pleasant enough in a same-as-everywhere-else way, but it’s really just another Japanese provincial town, except for the castle.
Matsumoto-jo is picture perfect, set in a moat amid grounds planted with pines and cherry trees, and I found myself wishing the cherry blossom was out, because this was a castle built to float over clouds of pink sakura flowers. It’s set on a stone foundation, sloping out of the moat, and it’s on about five levels, with dozens of pointed gables and sweeping tiled roofs, shining dark grey tiles jutting over white walls, and it’s just impossibly lovely. I trotted towards the red arched bridge that crosses the moat, checking my watch—a bit past ten—and my phone rang.
A mobile number I didn’t know was showing, and it looked like the one that had called me before. Yukie, maybe, or Taka’s friend?
“ Moshi-moshi ,” I said.
They hung up. I blinked a bit, and the phone rang again, and as I answered, I remembered that Yoshi had told me to get another phone.
“There, with the orange handbag,” said a faint voice down the line—not directly to me, but to someone else away from the receiver, just before the line went dead again. I swung around, eyes wide and searching, and there they were. Two big men, about thirty feet away. Heading for me with fast strides, one putting a mobile away. Shiny suits, brutal faces, and one of them had a bleached cockatoo crest of hair.
I dropped my clothes bag and ran like hell.
I’m no jogger, and they were always going to be faster than me. I sprinted anyway, heading down a side street, and took a couple of quick turns, hearing feet pounding after me. There were people about, but not enough to help, not enough to put them off. I lengthened my stride, arms pumping, thighs screaming, and headed back up towards the main street. A huge figure loomed out at the end of it, and something in his stance made me change direction, cornering round a side street and feeling my ankle almost twist under me.
The blood was roaring in my ears, and someone was shouting but I couldn’t hear what. The air was too damn cold for running, hurting my chest, and though the fear was giving me strength, it wouldn’t last. Oh God, oh God…
They were gaining on me, and I was running with a desperation I’d never known. I went round a corner and there was a chain-link fence ahead, and a truck blocking the left-hand end of the street with a delivery. I should have gone for it, squeezed through, but I went the other way, and round a corner, and it was a dead end, full of garbage bags and empty boxes and closed-up restaurants and deserted bars.
I spun round, and they were in the mouth of the alley.
“What do you want?” I panted. “Leave me alone. I’ll scream.”
“Don’t make any noise,” said Bleach Job, and he opened his suit jacket and I saw he had a gun.
My legs gave way, just folded under me. I sat down hard on the cold, rough concrete and realised it was over. I’d lost.
“Get her,” said the other man
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