Bunny. I take the defendant’s chair. I am being prosecuted by a group of dangerous strangers, and I don’t even know what the charge is. ‘So,’ the man says. ‘This is Eiji Miyake.’
‘Yes. Who are you?’
Death gives me a choice. A point-blank bullet through the brain or a thirty-metre fall. Frankenstein and the stage manager of this black farce are placing bets as to which I will choose right now. Beyond hope is beyond panic. Here comes the Mongolian, strolling up the unfinished bridge. My right eye is so swollen the night swims. Yes, of course I am afraid, and frustrated that my stupid life is ending so soon. But mostly I feel the weight of the nightmare, stopping me waking. I am cattle in a cage, waiting for the bolt through my skull. Why gibber? Why beg? Why try to run when the only escape is a drop through blackness? If my head survived the fall, the rest of my body would not. The Mongolian spits, and folds a fresh strip of gum into his mouth. He pulls out his gun. After Anju I dreamed of drowning several times a week, right up until I got my guitar. In those dreams I handled fear by ceasing to struggle, and I do the same now. I have less than forty seconds. I unfold the photo of my father one last time. Dad is still uncreased. Yes, we do look alike. My daydream was right in that respect, at least. He is fatter than I thought, but hey. I touch his cheekbone and hope, somewhere, he knows. Down below on the reclaimed land Lizard whoops – ‘A twitcher!’ Bang! Picking off the wounded is more interesting to him than how I die. ‘Yer got the wobblies too, huh?’ Bang ! ‘Guns! The ultimate fucking video game!’ Bang! One of the Cadillacs wheel-screeches into life. My father sits in the driving seat of the car in the photograph, smiling at whatever Akiko Kato is telling him as she gets in. A black-and-white day gone by. This is the closest we get. Stars.
‘Who am I?’ The Yakuza head repeats my question. His lips barely move and his voice is tone dead. ‘My accountant calls me Mr Morino. My men call me Father. My subscribers call me God. My wife calls me Money. My lovers call me Incredible.’ A ripple of humour. ‘My enemies call me the stuff of nightmares. You call me Sir.’ He retrieves a cigar from an ashtray and relights it. ‘Sit down. Your trial is already behind schedule.’ I do as I am told and look around at my jury. Frankenstein, chomping a Big Mac. A weathered, leathered man, who appears to be meditating, rocking very slightly to and fro, to and fro. A woman is using a laptop computer, pianist fast. She reminds me of Queen of Spades’ Mama-san until I realize she is Queen of Spades’ Mama-san. She ignores me. To the left are three identikit men from the catalogue of Yakuza henchmen. A horn section on pause. Through an opening, visible out of the corner of my eye, a girl dressed in a loose yukata sucks a popsicle. When I try to meet her eye she retreats out of sight. Lizard takes the chair next to me. Ryutaro Morino watches me, over the pile of junk-food Styrofoam boxes. The sound of breathing, the creaking of Leatherjacket’s chair, the tappety-tap-tap of the computer keyboard. What are we waiting for? Morino clears his throat. ‘Eiji Miyake, how do you plead?’
‘What is the charge?’
Lizard’s knife scores a deep cut along the table edge. It stops an inch from my thumb. ‘What is the charge, sir ?’
I swallow. ‘What is the charge, sir ?’
‘If you are guilty you know the charge.’
‘So I must be innocent, sir.’
I hear the ice-lolly girl in the next room titter.
‘Not guilty.’ Morino nods his head gravely. ‘Then explain why you were at Queen of Spades on Saturday the ninth of September.’
‘Is Yuzu Daimon here?’
Morino gives one nod, my face whacks the table-top, my arm is yanked above my head one degree away from snapping off. Lizard grunts in my ear. ‘What d’yer suppose yer just did wrong?’
‘Didn’t – answer – the – question.’ My arm is released.
‘Bright boy.’ Morino blinks. ‘Explain why you were at Queen of Spades on Saturday the ninth of September.’
‘Yuzu Daimon took me there.’
‘Sir.’
‘Sir.’
‘Yet you told Mama-san here last Saturday that you didn’t know Daimon.’