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  'Have you eaten?' Jumonji asked. He had been drinking iced coffee while he waited. Masako thought for a moment, then shook her head.

  'No, not yet.'

  'Me either,' he said. 'Let's order.' Masako decided on spaghetti and Jumonj i flagged down the man in the suit. He ordered spaghetti for himself as well and, without consulting Masako, told him to bring their coffee after the meal. 'It's been a long time,' he said, when the man had gone. 'It was great running into you like that after all these years.' His manner was fawning, and he seemed almost afraid to look her in the eye. Why should he be nervous?

  'What is it you wanted to talk about?'

  'I appreciate your making time,' he said, giving a slight shrug.

  'You said you couldn't discuss it over the phone.'

  'You haven't changed,' he said.

  'What do you mean by that?' she asked, taking a sip of water. It was ice cold.

  'You were always so businesslike.'

  'And you could afford to be a little more that way yourself. Why don't you get to the point? I think I know what's coming anyway.' Masako recalled what he'd been like in the old days, when he helped out in the collection department. His look had been all biker punk, with part of his eyebrows shaved off and tightly permed hair; and there had been rumours that he was actually in a gang. He had cleaned up his act considerably since then, transforming himself into a fairly presentable young man, but it was still the same Jumonji.

  'The point?' he said, scratching his head. 'You're amazing.' Just then, the waitress arrived with their spaghetti. Masako picked up her fork and began eating. She had planned to skip dinner and here she was sharing a meal with him - of all people. The thought made her smile to herself. 'What's so funny?' Jumonji asked.

  'Nothing.' She suddenly realised why she had wanted to punish herself by going hungry: it was for suppressing her desire to be free. She wiped her mouth with the paper napkin when she'd finished the spaghetti. Jumonj i had finished as well and immediately lit a cigarette.

  'So what's this business you mentioned?' she said.

  'Before we get to that, I want to offer my congratulations.'

  'For what?'

  'The whole thing was so cool,' he said, grinning at her, apparently without a hint of irony.

  'What was so cool?'

  'Koganei Park,' he whispered. Masako stared into his eyes, stock-still.

  'So you know about that?'

  'Yes.'

  'Everything?'

  'Pretty much.'

  'Kuniko blabbed, didn't she? For a lousy ¥440,000.'

  'You shouldn't blame her,' he said.

  'Maybe not,' said Masako. 'Still I'm impressed that you figured it out.'

  'Just my morbid curiosity, I guess,' he said. Masako stubbed her cigarette out among the butts in his overflowing ashtray. She'd lost.

  'And the business proposition?' she asked.

  Jumonji leaned forward, lowering his voice. 'I'm wondering whether you'd be interested in helping to dispose of some more bodies. It seems there's a fairly steady supply of people nobody wants found. We'd take care of them.' Masako stared at him, mute with amazement. She'd been expecting threats and blackmail, not a pitch for a start-up business. But then she should have realised that a group of poor housewives weren't exactly a likely target for extortion, unless it was for the insurance money. 'What do you think?' Jumonji said, looking at her in an almost deferential way.

  'What have you got in mind?' she said.

  'I would drum up the business. It involves a pretty rough crowd and I wouldn't want you to have to deal with that. Once we took delivery on a shipment, you would cut it up and then I'd get rid of it. I know a place with a huge incinerator, so it would all disappear without a trace.'

  'Why can't you just throw it in there without cutting it up?'

  'It wouldn't work. Shifting a whole body is too risky. Somebody would notice it before it got to the incinerator. But cut up in pieces so it looked like all the rest of the garbage, it should be okay. The other hitch is that we have to get it all the way to Fukuoka.'

  'Are you planning to ship it?' Masako said, the look of amazement returning to her face. Was he really serious?

  'Exactly,' he said. 'In five-kilo packages, say a dozen or so. Then I would fly down to meet them and take them to the dump. What could be simpler?'

  'Then all you want me to do is cut them up?'

  'That's right. Are you interested?' The coffee had arrived. Jumonji took a sip, desperately trying to read her expression. Masako noticed that there was something intelligent about his eyes.

  'What made you think of all this?' she asked.

  'I wanted to find something we could do together.'

  'We? You and me?'

  'I just thought it would be .. . cool, working with you.'

  'I'm not sure I understand.'

  'It doesn't matter. Just call it a quirk of mine.' He ran his fingers through the soft hair hanging over his ears. Masako turned and took a quick look at the nearly empty restaurant. No sign of anyone from the factory. At the cash register, the man in the black suit had dropped his formal expression and was chatting amiably with a young waitress. As Masako hesitated, Jumonji appeared to be getting anxious. 'This loan shark racket has a short life-span,' he said. 'A few years at most. By next year I'll be looking for something else. I just wanted to do something with a bit more kick to it. I guess you must think I'm flaky.'

  'But would you really be making any money?' she interrupted. Jumonji nodded.

  'A lot more than a two-bit loan shark,' he said.

  'How much would your customers pay? - per unit, let's say.' Having decided she might be interested, Masako asked the obvious question. Jumonji's tongue flicked across his narrow, well-shaped lips as he debated how much to tell her. 'Don't beat about the bush,' she said. 'If we can't be frank about this, we can't work together.'

  'Okay, I'll tell you. The source I spoke to promised eight million. He wants three million of that for bringing in the business. That leaves five: what would you say to two for me and three for you?' Masako lit a cigarette.

  'I won't do it for less than five,' she said, almost without missing a beat.

  Jumonji choked. 'Five million?'

  'Five million,' she repeated. 'You might think this is easy, but it's not. It's a dirty, stinking business, and you get nightmares afterward. You can't understand until you've done it. And you need a place to do it in, a bathroom. But I wouldn't want to use my house; it's too risky. Where were you thinking we'd do it?'

  'Jonouchi-san told me you did the first one in your bathroom, so I was hoping we could use it again,' he said, looking dismayed.

  'Why not at your place? You're single.'

  'It's an apartment,' he said. 'The bath is too small.'

  'But my place is almost impossible. We'd have to find a time when nobody else was home, and then get it in without the neighbours noticing. The "unit" comes with bits of telltale belongings; getting rid of those is tricky.' Masako stopped for a moment, remembering how the Brazilian had retrieved the key. Jumonji held his breath, waiting for her to continue. 'And it's virtually impossible for one person,' she said. 'And there's the clean-up afterward, which is almost as bad as the job itself. I couldn't do that at my house again for less than five million.' Jumonji picked up his empty coffee cup and put it to his lips, visibly perplexed. Realising the cup was empty, he signalled the waitress, who was still chatting with the manager, and she brought a pot of weak coffee over. When she'd gone, he spoke again.

  'What if I get it into your house, take care of the clothes, and handle the disposal?'

  'I think the problem is that three million is too much for your middle man. He's telling you eight, but you can bet he's charging ten. So he ends up with five million before we ever see anything. I assume we're talking about some yakuza friend of yours?'

  'I see what you mean,' said Jumonji, finger at his lips as he considered what she'd said. 'You've got a point.' She hadn't exactly said