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  'Yayoi won't be coming,' Masako said. She had already changed into her uniform.

  'What?'

  'You heard me,' she said, pushing past her to punch her own card.

  'Oh ... ' said Kuniko, hating herself for still being afraid of her, 'you mean, she won't be coming today, or won't be coming at all?'

  'At all.'

  'Why's that?'

  'Maybe because she didn't like you blackmailing her,' Masako said as she was taking her ruined sneakers out of the shoe cupboard. They'd once been white, but had long since turned dark brown from all the grease and a particularly sticky sauce used for tempura lunches.

  'You're horrible!' Kuniko bleated. 'I was just trying to ... '

  'Give it a rest!' said Masako, wheeling on her with eyes blazing. Kuniko froze.

  'What d'you mean?' she muttered.

  'You got your ¥500,000, and you sold us out to Jumonji for the price of your loan. What more do you want?' Kuniko's mouth dropped open. So she knew.

  'How did you find out?'

  'He told me, of course. Are you stupid as well as lazy?'

  Kuniko, cheeks puffed out resentfully, knew it wasn't the first time she'd said this to her. 'No need to be so mean, ' she complained.

  'Mean? You're a lot worse than mean,' said Masako, clipping her with her elbow as she pushed by.

  'Don't!' she squealed: it hurt to have that bony arm jabbing you through your clothes.

  'Your big mouth's going to send us all to hell,' Masako spat out. 'But you've dug your own grave too, you fool!' And she stormed off toward the stairs that led down to the factory floor.

  As she disappeared around the corner, Kuniko realised for the first time that she'd made a serious mistake. But as usual she couldn't blame herself for long. If things got too rough here at the factory, she would just have to find another job. It was a shame, just when she'd met that nice guard; but if push came to shove, she would have to put some distance between herself and the rest of them.

  She looked at the wooden rack that held the time cards for the part-time workers. Two years she'd been here, and she'd finally got used to things. But if she had to go elsewhere, maybe she could find something less gruelling, somewhere pleasant that paid better, with nicer co-workers. Some place where they had nice men. There had to be a job like that somewhere. Maybe even something in the entertainment line - today she had the confidence to imagine even that. Yes, she'd start looking right away. Her itch for better things would spur her on, and there was the added incentive of getting free of the whole nasty mess.

  -

  After the shift, a weary Kuniko returned home to find a welcome surprise. She had parked her car in the lot and was walking past the rows of mailboxes by the door to her building when a man turned to look at her.

  'Well, this is a coincidence,' he said. For a moment she didn't recognise him. 'We met last night at the parking lot,' he explained.

  'I'm sorry!' she bubbled. 'I didn't realise! Isn't this amazing!' It was the guard. He was out of uniform now, dressed in a navy-blue jacket and grey work pants; and besides, she'd barely seen his face in the dark last night. He snapped shut the door of his wooden mailbox, still covered with stickers from the previous tenant's children, and turned to face her. Seen straight on, he was rather nice-looking, though there was still something strange - a bit scary, even - about him. She felt her heart race. The luck of the boxed lunch was still with her.

  'Is this when you usually get home? ' he said, unaware apparently of Kuniko's designs. He glanced at his watch - a cheap digital, she noted. 'That's a tough shift.'

  'It is,' she said, 'but not any harder than yours.'

  'But I've just started,' he said, 'so it hasn't really sunk in, I guess.' As he reached into the pocket of his jacket for a cigarette, his sleepy eyes glanced out the window at the late November sunrise. 'It must be hard on you ladies, though, especially now that it's so dark in the morning.'

  'You get used to it.' Kuniko decided not to mention that she was quitting.

  'I suppose so/ he said. 'By the way, I haven't introduced myself. The name's Sato.' He took his cigarette from his mouth and bowed politely.

  'Kuniko Jonouchi,' she said, bowing back. 'I'm on the fifth floor.'

  'Well, it's a pleasure to meet you,' he said, his straight white teeth showing when he smiled.

  'The pleasure's mine,' said Kuniko. 'Do you live alone?' she added.

  'To tell you the truth,' he said hesitantly, 'I'm divorced. I'm all by myself here.' Divorced! Her eyes twinkled with delight, though he didn't seem to notice. He looked away, apparently embarrassed.

  'I see. Well, your secret's safe with me. You see, I'm in the same boat myself.' Sato gave her a surprised look. And hadn't she also seen a hint of satisfaction, of desire even, in his eyes? That settled it: she'd get the boots and the suit, and a gold necklace for good measure. She glanced past him to check the number on his mailbox. Apartment 412.

  3

  Something had been bothering her. Masako had thought about it the whole time she was cleaning the bathroom, but she still didn't have an answer. She scrubbed the grime from the tub and rinsed it with the shower hose until all the suds disappeared down the drain; but as she was finishing, perhaps because she was preoccupied, her hand slipped and she dropped the shower nozzle. It danced across the rim of the tub, writhing like a snake, and fell to the floor, spraying her with cold water. She grabbed it as quickly as she could, but she was already soaked. A chill ran through her body.

  It had been raining since early afternoon, and the temperature had been falling. Cold enough to be late December. She wiped her face with the sleeve of her sweatshirt and closed the bathroom window, shutting out the cold air and the sound of the rain. Looking down at her wet clothes, she stood thinking for a moment as the chill from the tiles crept up through her legs.

  She watched the water that had sprayed around the room form tiny rivulets and flow down the drain. Kenji's blood, and that of the old man, too, must already have been washed down the sewer and out to sea. The old man's body, wherever Jumonji had taken it, was probably nothing more than ashes now; and these, too, had probably washed away. As she listened to the rain, quieter now behind the closed window, she remembered the roar of the water in the culvert during the typhoon, and imagined the debris that had bobbed on the torrent, caught for a moment in the drain. Something was stuck like that in her head - but what? She ran over the events of the night before.

  -

  She had stopped off at Yayoi's on the way to work, so she'd been a bit later than usual getting to the factory parking area. She didn't like being late for work, but this Morisaki woman who had suddenly disappeared from Yayoi's place was on her mind. Was she after the insurance money? Or was it something else? Should she talk to Jumonji about it? Or could he be involved somehow? There was no one she could trust. She felt as though she were adrift at sea in the middle of the night; a sense of desolation.

  She noticed that a light was on in the new guardhouse. There was no sign of the guard, but the light itself seemed like a beacon in the dark lot. Feeling relieved a little, she backed toward her space. Kuniko's Golf was already there.

  The guard soon appeared, walking back from the direction of the factory. He stopped in front of the guardhouse and turned off his flashlight, but then seemed to realise that a new car had appeared in the lot, and turned it back on. He aimed it at her licence plate for a moment. The company had a record of their licence numbers, so he was probably checking hers against his list. Still, it seemed to take a bit longer than she would have expected. Masako switched off the engine and listened to the sound of his feet on the gravel as he made his way over to her car. He was tall and well built, approaching middle age.

  'Good evening. Are you heading for work?' The voice was low and soft, quite easy on the ears. So much so that it occurred to her to wonder why its owner should have chosen such a solitary profession.

  'Yes,' she said. The beam of his flashlight fell on her