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  'But I can't think of anyone I could ask to do that,' said Kuniko rather sheepishly. She had apparently given no thought to the matter.

  'Your parents live in Hokkaido, don't they?' He was looking at the original loan application which he'd brought with him. Kuniko had filled in an address and place of employment for her parents, but the column for 'other relatives' was blank.

  'Yes, my father is in Hokkaido, but he's been quite ill.'

  'I'm sure if he knew that his daughter needed help, he wouldn't refuse.'

  'No, I'm afraid that's out of the question. He's been in and out of the hospital, and he doesn't have any money, anyway.'

  'Well then, someone else. It doesn't matter who it is, a relative, a friend. As long as we have a signature and their seal.'

  'I'm afraid there isn't anyone.'

  'Well, that is awkward,' said Jumonji with an exaggerated sigh. 'You're still making payments on your car, aren't you?'

  'Yes, for two .. . no, three more years.'

  'What about another loan?' he asked.

  'I'm trying to avoid that.' The casual way she answered was amazing enough, but Jumonji noticed that no sooner had the words left her mouth than she seemed to pale. Forgetting the cigarette in her hand, she stared at the waitress in the pink uniform who walked by carrying a steak. As he watched her, a film of oily sweat appeared on Kuniko's forehead. Odd, he thought.

  'Are you okay?' he asked.

  'Oh, yes,' she said. 'It's just that the sight of meat makes me a bit queasy.'

  'Are you a vegetarian?'

  'No, but I'm a bit sensitive when it comes to meat.'

  'Oh, I wouldn't have thought of you as sensitive,' he said, unable to pretend otherwise. He smiled apologetically afterward, but he knew that he was beyond caring about her feelings. The only thing that mattered now was how to get his money back from this dumb bitch who didn't even seem to realise how much trouble she was in. If she couldn't pay, he'd put her to work in a bar somewhere - but then again, with that face and body, she wouldn't bring in much. The best plan was probably to find some other loan shark, preferably one who was none too bright, to lend her the money to repay his loan; but now that her husband was gone, that wasn't going to be easy. So the next step was to find the husband, but when he thought about the problems that presented, it made him want to spit.

  Suddenly, Kuniko looked up. 'But you know, there's a good chance I will have some money coming in,' she said. 'And I'm going to start looking for a day job right now.'

  'Money from where?' he asked. 'Different work?'

  'Well, something like that.'

  'About how much?'

  'At least ¥200,000.' So now suddenly she's rich? Maybe she's just bluffing, he thought, studying her eyes as they shifted about, unable to settle. They had an odd, slightly feral look to them.

  In the course of his work collecting bad debts, Jumonji had seen any number of dangerous and desperate people. He'd seen men resort to fraud or robbery when they couldn't repay their debts, and they tended to lash out when pushed into a corner. But Kuniko didn't seem like that type; what he sensed in her was something messier, more suppressed. Come to think of it, it was a look he'd seen once before. He searched his memory and came up with the face of a woman who, in the wake of a visit he and his associates had paid her, had written a letter listing all her endless grievances and then thrown her child off a bridge before killing herself. People like that were blind to their own faults, having convinced themselves that everyone around them was out to get them. Once you developed that kind of paranoia, you didn't care what innocent bystander you dragged down with you.

  Recognising this creepy side to her, Jumonji looked away, focusing instead on the bunched leggings and tempting thighs of the high-school girls who sat puffing cigarettes at another table.

  'Jumonji-san, I think it could be as much as ¥500,000,' said Kuniko with a little giggle.

  'Are you talking about a regular income?'

  'Not exactly, but I think something like that could be arranged.' So, she seemed to have some secret source of cash, maybe some old man she was playing along. But personally he didn't care how she got the money, as long as she made her payments, and he decided he wouldn't bother to find out any more about her. If she could come up with a guarantor, he'd simply keep an eye on the account.

  'Okay. Since you're no longer behind, we'll leave it at that. Why don't you stop by the office tomorrow or the day after and drop this off with the signature and seal of your new guarantor,' he said, handing her a form.

  'Do I really have to have one, if I've got that money coming in?' she asked him with a pout.

  'I'm sorry, but I have to insist. Try to find someone tonight or tomorrow.'

  Kuniko nodded reluctantly.

  'I'll be going then,' said Jumonji.

  'Oh,' she said, still staring at her lap. The tip of her tongue ran back and forth across her mouth, as if she were tasting her lipstick.

  'Excuse me.' Picking up the bill, he stood to go. When Kuniko looked up, he could tell immediately how disappointed she was that he hadn't offered to drive her home, but he turned on his heel and walked away, regretting even having to pay for her coffee. As he stood there in the entrance to the restaurant, he flicked some lint from his suit, as though to brush off the dirt he always felt these deadbeats left on him when he had to meet them.

  It wasn't that he disliked the job. Most of the people he dealt with knew they were never going to dodge a debt completely and were just trying to buy time. In those cases, you simply had to stay one jump ahead of them, and when you caught them they usually coughed up the money. There was even something entertaining about the chase.

  When he reached his second-hand Cima in the vast suburban parking lot, he found that there was a black Gloria with tinted windows parked in the next space. Reaching into his pocket for his key, he began to unlock the door, but as he did so the window of the Gloria slid down and a man poked his head out.

  'Akira? Is that you?' It was Soga, somebody who had been two years ahead of him at middle school in Adachi Ward. After he'd left school, he'd joined a motorcycle gang, and after that a yakuza group, or so Jumonji had heard.

  'Soga-san,' he said, turning to face the car. 'It's been a long time.' They had run into each other five years ago at a bar in Adachi, but he hadn't seen him since. Soga was as thin as ever, and his narrow face was pale, as if he had liver problems. Five years ago he'd seemed like your average punk, but now he was looking fairly prosperous. His hair was smoothed back neatly from his forehead. The collar of his rust-red shirt stuck up stylishly from his sky-blue suit.

  Grinning broadly, Soga got out of his car. 'What the hell are you doing way out here in the sticks? Some kind of powwow?'

  'I'm not in a gang any more,' Jumonji told him. 'I've got my own business now.'

  'Business? What kind of business?' He leaned over, hands stuffed deep in his pockets, and peered into Jumonji's car. It was empty except for a neatly folded road map. 'You got a strap in there?' he asked.

  'That was a long time ago,' Jumonji said, remembering the way they'd hung out the window as they cruised the streets.

  'And the hair. You trying to look like a teenager?' said Soga, eyeing his hairstyle, which was parted down the middle and combed back.

  'No,' he muttered.

  'How clean are you?' said Soga, grabbing the lapels of his jacket and bringing his face close.

  'I'm running a loan business.'

  'Loan sharking? That's more like it. You always were more interested in money than anything else. I guess we all wind up doing what comes naturally.'

  Jumonji leaned back to escape Soga's grip. 'And you? What are you up to?'

  'A little of this,' he said, making a sign with his fingers; it was the sign used to identify a gang that was active in Adachi Ward.

  'That figures,' said Jumonji, smiling nervously. 'And what are you doing out here?'

  'Oh, nothing much,' said Soga, looking over at one cor