2.28 Moshi-moshi

Adachi handed the police documents back to me, warning that, however interested he might be in the case, he was swamped at the moment. “I’m going to argue a case before the High Court in Tôkyô next week.”

“The High Court?”

Maybe this Adachi isn’t a buffoon after all. 

“Yes, they’ve finally agreed to review an appeal I lodged years ago.”

Let me tell you, I was feeling a helluva lot better leaving Adachi's law practice than when I had first arrived. An anvil still creaked above my head, but now I had someone who I felt might be able to steady it before it came crashing down.

The next order of business was to call my girlfriend Azami and arrange a time and place to meet.

I rode the rest of the way into town and parked the bicycle at the underground parking garage below the Iwataya department store. From there, I made my way through an underground passage to Mitsukoshi, another department store, where I took an elevator to the fifth floor. There was a little used overhead passage connecting Mitsukoshi with an adjacent office building. I knew I would be able find a bank of green pay phones from which to call my girlfriend.

Azami picked up on the fifth ring.

“Moshi, moshi.”

Hearing her voice, I almost broke down and cried.

“Azami . . . ” I said, my voice wavering. “Where are you now?”

“I'm at my grandfather's place in Kagoshima.”

"Dammit . . . " She was on the other side of the island of Kyushu, a four-hours’ drive away. She might as well as been on the dark side of the moon for what I needed her to do for me.

"When are you coming back?"

"Tomorrow. In the afternoon, I think. Why?"

"I need to talk to you about something."

"What is it?"

Paranoia had taken a firm grip on me ever since the morning’s raid. While discretion had never been my forte, I was now erring on the cautious side: I didn't want to tell my girlfriend what had happened over the phone in the off chance that the police might be listening in. Who knew what the cops were capable of? They had my cell phones and could see the history of incoming and outgoing calls. It didn’t take a Sherlock Holmes to deduce which numbers belonged to the people closest to me from those that didn’t. It was elementary: Azami would be identified as someone of interest and, if the police were competent, her calls monitored accordingly.

At least, that’s what I would do if I were a cop.

"I can't say," I replied, cursing myself for not having better tact.

"Why not?"

"I just can't. Not now. Not over the phone." I was starting to unravel

"Tell me," she demanded, her voice moving up a register.

"Goddamn it, Azami! If I say I can't tell you, then I can't tell you."

There, I did it now. I just succeeded in doing precisely what I had hoped to avoid: causing my girlfriend any undue alarm.

"Sorry, Azami. I didn’t mean to snap.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yes, yes. I’m fine. Everything’s fine.” Fine and fucking dandy. “Listen, I'll explain everything tomorrow evening."

"I'll call you tonight."

"No, no, no! Don't call me tonight."

"Why not?" There was no stopping the meltdown now. "Are you having an affair?"

"Good God, Azami. No, I am not having an affair." If only that were the problem. "Azami, I don't have my cell phone on me."

"Why not?"

"I've lost it."

"Where?"

"I don't know! If I knew it wouldn’t be lost."

“I’ll call your cell phone.”

“Don’t call my cell phone!” I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and counted to ten. "Azami, I'll explain everything tomorrow. Just don't call my cell phone, okay?"

“Okay.”

“I mean it. Do not call my cell phone.”

I had hoped that talking to my girlfriend would ground me; that the sound of her voice would reassure me that everything was going to be all right. Calling her only made things worse.

© Aonghas Crowe, 2010. All rights reserved. No unauthorized duplication of any kind.

注意：この作品はフィクションです。登場人物、団体等、実在のモノとは一切関係ありません。

All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

No. 6 is now available on Kindle.