I wandered the streets in a haze. For the first time in many months I moved about directionless, and without idea of where to find a cause to travel. So I simply moved, passing under street lights and swimming in the cold haze of night between their islands of effervescence. I glided through Shibuya, through Akihabara, and eventually into Minato. All the while awaiting a reason to move, a definable destination. Finally, I reached the Minato train station.

It was then that I saw the woman.

She had been standing by one of the pillars outside the terminal. She was dressed quite smartly, with a long brown coat opened to reveal a form fitting office skirt and a little crossover tie. She looked like she had dropped straight out of an eighties flick about some aspiring young girl who goes to the big city and meets the man of her dreams. Given her general demeanor I actually thought she was probably more at home in a bad movie like that anyways. As I spied her across the crowds, she spotted me and ran over. 

“Fuuko! There you are, I was beginning to think you weren’t going to make it. I texted you like twenty times you know. Would it kill you to throw me a response every once in a while?” She opened up her bag, a large purse that bordered on a suitcase—another odd choice to match the eighties aesthetic I guessed—and pulled out a pair of slip-on shoes. She replaced her heels with this new duo as I watched on in awe.

“Why all the shoes?” I asked.

“Well, I had my shift before, and I’ve been in heels all day…say, Fuuko, can you come with me for a while?” Her eyes darted about, scanning the faces of those around.

“Where are we going? I’m a pathetic lightweight so keep that in mind.” I said.

“Then don’t drink, we’re going to Fushi.”

Fushigoro district sat square in the midst of the worst part of town. It was not quite as well known as another, similar, district which I need not name. It had the reputation of being where the dregs who were too small for the seedy underbelly of the city crawled. Calling it a den would be an insult to dens. It was a street of philchers and thieves, but several bars, parlors, and clubs lay across both sides. Even hotels, but they were harder to get into unless a person knew where the entrance was, and only the worst type of people rented rooms in such places.

Hence her choice of meeting spot, as the station had only been a few blocks away but maintained a studious police watch and safety. So we hailed a taxi and made our way there in the bustling Tokyo traffic. Clouds were brewing overhead, and the humidity only got higher as we got closer to the hostile territory.

“So, what’s in Fushi?” I asked.

“My boyfriend, actually. Word is he’s doing his patrol down there so I wanted to stop over and brighten his evening, or, night, I guess…” Her voice trailed off into a sigh. Every moment I spent with her made me wonder if I had not fallen into a television drama.

The taxi stopped at the entrance to the street. Several traffic cones and bars displayed Pedestrian Only signs. The woman paid the driver as we got out. A crowd had already formed thicker than reason should have dictated. Though, in such a dense city, it should not have been such a surprise that even as wretched a place as Fushigoro was it could still attract the crowds it needed to fund its hedonism. As we entered through the cones a trio of men passed us, the center wearing a backpack speaker playing some popular song while his two young students passed out pamphlets with crosses. Saviors for the sinful. However they were outnumbered by the several dozen lazily suited young men and scantily clad girls passing out flyers for their respective cabaret clubs. Those who had no need for the flyers, those girls who shepherded the ill-at-ease middle class mark into a dark room for twenty thousand yen, moved on swiftly and with haste. They were working girls, slacking would not do.

About three buildings into the street we stopped by a light post.

“Alright Fuuko, I have to come clean.” She turned to me teary eyed. “My friend at work, he comes around here to gamble, and he said he saw my Yasui with another girl. I thought he was just arresting her or giving her a citation you know? I can’t let it go, I’m an awful woman, aren’t I?”

“Not at all, it makes sense you would feel uneasy if he was hanging around in such a dingy place anyhow. Where does he usually hang out?” Honestly I had no clue about relationships, but it felt like a good idea to comfort the unfortunate girl.

“A ramen shop down the street here. Are you sure you want to come?” To this I merely nodded my head and led her down the street.

I actually knew about the particular shop she was talking about. Gold Star Ramen was a hole in the wall I usually avoided when my walks would take me through that part of town. Those who spent almost no time near it would be none the wiser as to the criminal elements of an otherwise normal ramen shop. If Yasui chose to hang around there in honor of his legal duties then he was surely a braver person than I.

We slid into the alley through which the shop could be accessed, weaving our way by several men in disheveled suits and some flimsily dressed women. I, dressed rather casually in a button down red flannel and jeans, did not stand out all that much as compared to my companion. Which, predictably, caused more than several glances to threaten us. The sooner we could leave that area the better, and so I took the inexperienced wanderer beneath my wing and guided her to the front door of that establishment of ill-repute.

“Welcome in!” the three young ramen apprentices shouted as they went about their humid tasks. After which a booming welcome was given with a wide smile by the chef, at the time wearing an apron and tank top, hardly trying at all to hide the loyalties on his back from the man in blue uniform and yellow tunic sitting at the counter.

The man whom I presumed to have been Yasui was about halfway passed out from drinking. On each side of him two women several years his junior were laughing and passing jokes between each other while occasionally Yasui would chime in with some drunken comment behind his red cheeks. As we laid our eyes on him some primal urge of passion took him and he flung one arm around the girl on his right, another of the same type of working girl we had seen before.

“Hey…why don’t you marry me Cho-chan? We can shove off this stupid ol’ town. Come on sweety pretty please?” The girl merely giggled and pushed another glass of sake towards the hand he had left resting on the counter. Not one to back down from a challenge, he kissed her on the cheek and downed the glass in one glorious shot. Arousing a laugh from the chef and cheers from his companions.

“Yasui!” My companion yelled. At this the man lazily turned to us at the door, and instead of unease, instead of shame, his face portrayed absolute horror. Fitting for such a shameless display, no doubt, but something in it made me nervous.

“Kiyu? Why are you here?” Panic leaked into his voice as he hastily looked back and forth from the ramen men and her and then the girls beside him.

“How could you?” She had erupted in a torrent of tears, collapsing to the ground and leaning against me as I grabbed her shoulders to comfort her. However, instead of the Cheater responding, the chef took on a stern expression and gazed deeply at Yasui.

“This is simply unacceptable Hanakara. How do you expect to handle this then?”

“It’s no problem! I’ll handle it so don’t worry about it man.” His voice did not, however, inspire any level of confidence in his superior. Instead the chef motioned for one of his boys and the youth ran to shut the glass door behind us and stand guard. The girls, no longer pleased, had shifted away from Yasui into the corner of the room, where before them stood another young apprentice. The situation was hardly improving.

As I gathered my wits to be more aware of my place I realized with startling clarity as the chef pulled a pistol from beneath the counter. Aiming it directly at Kiyu, whose face had been buried in her hands out of shame, embarrassment, and betrayal. What happened next I hardly saw as I myself closed in to protect the sobbing mass that was my duty.

There was a sound of splashing, then a thunderous report came to our ears, and likewise a crashing of glass and bodies.

Unhurt, I looked up. The door had shattered behind us as a pair of large primates fell through it. The younger ape lay unconscious on the ground outside, while beside him an ape in a yellow reflective tunic was keeled over clutching at his chest. The two girls in the corner were screaming as the youth guarding them struggled to maintain control. Behind the counter a flood of steam rose from some unseen floor on the other side while the third apprentice looked on in horror at some hideously burnt figure laying on the other side.

When my eyes returned to Kiyu I noticed she had also taken in the whole scene, and in a fit of sudden inspiration, I dragged her out into the alley and back onto the street of Fushigoro. Hardly anyone would seem to have heard the gunshot, or acknowledged the presence of death only fifty meters away. Not wanting to attract unnecessary attention, I delicately led Kiyu back to the main road and waved for a taxi again. We sat in total silence all the way to the station. As I shut the door and turned to her she had somewhat collected herself enough to speak coherently.

“What have I done?” She asked.

I could not answer her.

I led her over to a bench and left her there as I got us both some water from a vending machine nearby. Despite the late time of night there were plenty of people in the area. Funneling into and out of the station on their way home from work or whatever other business they had. In a city so dense it was not surprising that many intentions remained unknown to the majority, or, even in my case, the minority, of people.

“Do you think…”

She was going to ask if Yasui was fine. Yet the answer came before her lips could even begin to utter a wish for hope. Calling the police would do no good, criminals were quick cleaners. It was also doubtful that, even if he had managed to survive the shot, his survival or well-being would last long after the assault he gave. Likely, I thought, he caused the pot of boiling water to drench the chef through some hastily invented means. Then rushed to catch the bullet with his chest and charge the man blocking the door. I gave him credit, despite being a louse he was certainly creative.

“I think he did love you.”

Kiyu looked over at me with glazed eyes and smiled while sniffling. She pulled out some tissues from her purse and blew her nose. We sat in silence for a few more minutes before she jerked her head and took a glance at her watch.

“I need to go home now, or I’ll miss the last train.” I nodded in response and led her back to the platform. She slid her wallet over the card reader as I stood back and watched. Then, before she got too far from the turnstiles, I called out to her.

“Kiyu! My names not Fuuko!”

She just smiled and nodded her head. I was not Fuuko, but if Fuuko was the type of woman who would stick by her friend through such a disastrous scene then I supposed she was a better person than I. As I turned to leave the station a mass of fabric struck the back of my head. As it fell I turned to see Kiyu had tossed her jacket at me.

“As thanks!” She smiled, waving. Cold-hearted? Or warm blooded? What was a person who could move on with their life after something so terrible? She may have cried later that night, hugging her pillow and dreading what fate gave to her. Still, she was alive, and eventually life would give her happiness again. She had work the next day, so sadness had to be fleeting. I waved back as her retreating figure rose on the stairs and disappeared in the ethereal night from which it had appeared.

The jacket was warm, both by virtue of its job and the remnant body heat left behind by the unlucky girl who had gifted it to me. My movements about the city remained aimless, meandering, walks. Yet they felt even cheaper than before, and as the sun rose and I found myself once again at the station where we had both met and been parted, I gazed slowly at the various lines and dots upon the station map. Humored, I closed my eyes and wiggled my finger about in the air thoughtlessly. Humming along to the tune of one of those old new years songs they played on the radio. Upon the final note I thrust my finger at the map. The cold glass gave its response as I opened my eyes with a smile.

“Atami it is.”

– TJ Daly

Author’s Note: An interaction between strangers. Several questions are left unanswered, and intentions mostly hidden. From the aimless wandering of our Narrator to Yasui’s betrayal of his duty, almost nothing is really explained. The night when these strangers meet is dramatic, but otherwise, to those who lived and to the City at large, inconsequential. “Life goes on,” and so forth.