Remote Control Read online

  "As long as I've known him." Aoyagi remembered their first meeting at a party soon after classes had started in their freshman year. For some reason, Morita's head had been shaved at the time. He recalled how the guy had introduced himself—Shingo Morita—explaining that because his name had the character for "woods" he was specially attuned to them, "to hear and be guided" by them. Aoyagi had thought at the time that he was seeing the first evidence of the dangers of binge drinking.

  "Do you buy it?" Kazu asked. "About the voices, I mean."

  "It's a load of shit, if you ask me."

  "I suppose so," said Kazu. "Anyway, at the moment I wish we had the 'voice of the GPS' to guide us to his new apartment."

  Aoyagi tried calling on his cell phone to ask for better directions, but for some reason there was no answer.

  "Why would he be out without his phone?"

  "I guess he's relying on the voices."

  Though they were sure they were lost, they had continued on their way until they came to a dead end. There had been a wrong turn to the right back there somewhere, made inadvertently. The road had grown increasingly narrow and headed uphill until, at some point, they were positive they were on the wrong track. But Aoyagi, at least, had lacked the honesty to admit their mistake and head back the way they'd come. At the top of the slope they came to a parking lot that looked like a trailhead. Here they stopped and got out of the car.

  "Where are we?" Kazu asked.

  "Don't ask me," said Aoyagi. They looked back, down on the roofs of the shabby houses scattered along the road. Cinderblock walls fronted the yards.

  There was nothing else to do but turn around, but as they took one last

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  look down the hill, Aoyagi let out a low whistle. He had suddenly recognized a yellow car parked in front of one of the houses close by. Even the license number was familiar. Kazu realized at nearly the same moment. "That's Ha-ruko's, isn't it?" he said.

  "Looks like it," said Aoyagi. He walked down to the car and examined the dent in the bumper.

  "Well, if it isn't Masaharu and Kazu," said a voice. He looked up to see Haruko waving at them from a short way down the hill. Exchanging looks, they went to meet her.

  Haruko was wearing jeans and a black, hooded coat. Standing next to her was a short man with a thick beard. He had a large nose, droopy eyes, thick lips. Aoyagi was just thinking that he looked more bear than human, when he growled, "The whole point of moving the factory out here was to get away from people. So how come they keep wandering in?" He must have been close to fifty, but his hair was jet black. The white scarf around his neck reminded Aoyagi of the markings on an Asian black bear.

  "That's right," Haruko said, nodding solemnly. "They don't want just anybody showing up here."

  "Anybody at all," the man said, frowning at her now.

  "I'm sorry," Kazu stammered. "1 didn't catch your name. Are you Haruko's father by any chance?" T he mere mention of this possibility made Aoyagi stand up a little straighter and fix his collar.

  "No," the man said, grimacing as if he didn't care much for the idea. "1 run the factory here."

  "T his is Mr. Todoroki," Haruko said. "Of Tbdoroki Eyrotechnics? You've never heard of it? Either of you?"

  "Eyrotactics?" Aoyagi murmured. "Sorry, no."

  "PyroUxluiksl f ireworks!" Haruko corrected him, her eyes shining. "Mr. Tbtlo-roki's factory makes the hix (jnes, the (jnes they use in the shows downtown."

  l.very summer, tor three days in early August, Sendai held the country's most fam(;us celebration ol Tanabata, the Star festival. Hut the night helore the festival began, there was always a huge fireworks disjilay on the hanks of the flirose River, for nearly two hours, the sky woukl be filled with spectacular bursts of light and sound. Aoyagi and Morita had watched lor the last couj)le of years from the roof of a building on campus.

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  "You make all those . . . here?" Aoyagi said, looking more closely now at the buildings stretching up and down the street.

  "That's right." Todoroki scratched his forehead, his eyes narrowing. "And we've got a shitload of gunpowder around, so we get a little jumpy when a car we don't know comes nosing up a dead-end street like this."

  "That's right," Haruko echoed. "You guys should be more careful, poking around like that. Guess you got lost?"

  "And not just them, either," Todoroki frowned, again turning to Haruko.

  "It's pyrotechnics/' Haruko said, apparently oblivious. "Tyro' as in 'fire,' and 'technics' meaning 'art.' Fire-art. And do you know what they call the gunpowder inside?"

  "No," said Aoyagi, "and Tm sure you didn't either until Mr. Todoroki told you just now."

  "They call it 'stars.' Cool, isn't it? Putting 'stars' in rockets and shooting them up in the sky. Sounds like fun."

  "Have there always been fireworks?" Aoyagi turned to ask Todoroki. "You hear about the great shows they used to have even in the Edo period."

  "They weren't as spectacular as they are now, but they did love their fireworks back then. They used to have competitions where they'd get firework-makers from all over the country to show their stuff."

  "Mr. Todoroki," said Haruko in a sweeter tone of voice. "Do you think we could help out here?"

  "As in, a 'job'?"

  "That would be cool," Kazu chimed in.

  Todoroki frowned arid shook his head. "No, I don't think so. Gunpowder's nothing to fool around with, and there's lots of other dangerous stuff. No, it wouldn't work."

  "Then can we come watch sometime when you shoot them off?" Kazu said. At the thought of fireworks, he was almost an excited little boy again. "I've always wanted to see from close up, how you light the fuse and everything!"

  "No," said Todoroki, shaking his head again. "I'm afraid that's not possible." But then he seemed to have another thought. "Can the three of you shovel snow?" he asked.

  "Absolutely," Haruko said without a moment's hesitation.

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  "It gets pretty deep around here in January. My crew has to waste time shoveling before they can get down to work. Think you could handle snow removal and general cleanup?"

  "Would it mean we could get a peek at the fireworks from time to time?" Haruko said, beginning to wheedle.

  "Could be," Todoroki grinned.

  "Actually, we're professional shovelers," Aoyagi said, smiling now, too.

  "Born to shovel," Haruko chimed in.

  "Shovels 'R Us," Kazu offered.

  "All right," Todoroki laughed. "Just keep your shovels away from my fireworks."

  At this point, Aoyagi's phone rang. "Where are you?" Morita's voice barked. "Lost?"

  "I think we got where we wanted to go," said Aoyagi.

  "No you didn't," Morita protested. "Tm here and you're not."

  "No, I mean you should come right over and meet us."

  "No, vou come here."

  "But if you don't come here, you won't see the fireworks," he muttered into the phone.

  "Where are you?"

  "Just come. And bring your shovel."

  "What?"

  "I'll explain when you get here."

  Masaharu Aoyagi

  A(jyagi heard the driver say that things didn't look good and he opened his eyes. He must liave closed them at some |)oint without realizing it. "'lroul)le?"

  "Like a parking lot," the driver said, |)()inting at the street ahead ol them. He had aj)parently been planning to use the tunnel under the Bullet Traiti tracks to get to the east side ot the station, hut they had stoppetl well short

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  of the entrance. Tlie traffic light ahead was green, but no one was going anywhere. Clearly, they had been lucky to make it this far.

  'They've got everything blocked off, even the highways," the driver said as he fiddled with the volume on the radio. And I just got a call from my dispatcher saying we're all supposed to head back to the garage. Anyway, we're not going anywhere soon, so you're prob
ably better off walking. They said things are clearer on the other side."

  When the door operied after he'd paid the fare, the noise and confusion of the city swept over him, sirens and anxious shouts and all the other sounds of disaster. He stood for a moment next to the cab, but he felt as though the noise was urging him along. The people on the sidewalk were all hurrying by with serious faces. Aoyagi fell in step with them.

  He decided he should go home. When he got back to his apartment, he could sort things out. The TV and Internet would have details, and he could try to find out what had happened to Morita.

  He cut through Sendai Station and came out of the east exit. The driver's information had been wrong: traffic was at a standstill here, too. Stoplights had lost all meaning, and pedestrians wandered among the motionless cars.

  Aoyagi ducked into a side street next to a discount electronics shop and headed north. It would take him about twerity minutes to get home. Pulling out his cell phone again, he dialed Morita's number. He needed to know if he was all right.

  Morita had always hated gadgets and had resisted cell phones, but just two hours earlier, Aoyagi had teased him about having acquired one. "Once I started working, I couldn't really tell clients I was morally opposed to talking to them," Morita had explained as Aoyagi had punched the number into his own phone. He could hear the system trying Morita's number, but then a recording came on to tell him that it was turned off, or possibly out of signal range. He couldn't help feeling that his friend had gone where no phone would ever reach him again.

  The streets grew less crowded and chaotic as he approached his apartment. Some young mothers with strollers stood talking in the little park across the street while their toddlers played in the sandbox. A line of fir trees had been added along one edge, perhaps in ariticipation of Christmas.

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  As he reached the familiar entrance of his building, the conversation with Morita in the car and the flight from the police had begun to seem unreal. If that had been real, how could life here still be so peaceful and normal? He looked up at the laundry drying on the balconies above him as if marshaling more evidence.

  He pulled open the heaw door and went inside. After checking his mailbox, he walked over and pushed the button on the elevator. It took him a moment to notice the men standing on either side of him. Or, rather, he had noticed but had paid them no attention, assuming they lived in the building. He was startled when one of them spoke up.

  "Mr. Aoyagi?" It was the man to his right. His face was flat and featureless; narrow eyes under thick eyebrows. As Aoyagi nodded, the other man took a step toward him.

  "Masaharu Aoyagi?" he said. This one was tall and wore glasses. Both were in dark suits with the same lapel pin—Aoyagi couldn't make out the company.

  "Yes," he said, feeling tense. "But do I know you?"

  The man to the right suddenly reached out and grabbed his arm, twisting it back to secure a hold on him. Aoyagi bent over in pain, his legs giving way. "What do you want?" he grunted.

  "Shut up," said the man. "And don't move."

  Against the white shirt inside his open jacket, he'd seen a strap and, cradled under his arm, what looked like a gun.

  He had no particular j)lan in mind, but he could still see Morita's desperate expression in the car and hear his voice: "Run!" he'd said. So, planting his legs, he pulled back sharply and twisted at the same time. T hen he pushed as hard as he could against the chest of the man on his right, who tottered for a few steps before falling on his back.

  In the meantime, the taller one had grabbed at him from behiiui, so Aoyagi spun to face him, swinging the bag on his arm to his shoukler. He shewed the second man, and lelt him immediately start to push back. He reached out with both hands for his arm. "T he moment your opponent steps in with his right leg, plant your left leg next to his." Aoyagi couki hear Moii-ta's voice in his head, just the way he explained the move to them back in tlie cafeteria. "Use your whole u|)per body as well as the k*g." I le moved now

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  almost involuntarily, as he had two years earlier when he'd run into the person in Rinka's apartment. He stepped in and swung his leg as hard as he could while pulling on the man's lapel. The man's legs went out from under him. "Pull his upper body toward you," he could hear Morita saying. A second later, the man's back hit the floor with a thud and Aoyagi fell hard on top of him.

  He recovered almost instantly, scrambled to his feet, and started to run. It worked, he heard himself telling Morita. For all the good it would do him.

  He flew out the door and ran to the right—directly into the path of an old man pushing a bicycle. He lived in the building and, though Aoyagi didn't know his name, they had always exchanged a friendly hello.

  "Hi," said the old man.

  "Hello," Aoyagi shot back, dodging the bike without slowing.

  He ran straight down the street as fast as he could, starting to pant almost immediately. After a few seconds, he heard a crash in the distance behind him. Without stopping, he craned his neck to see the two suits tangled up with the old man and his bicycle.

  He followed the street out to the four-lane highway that ran through the neighborhood. Traffic was heavy, but perhaps because nothing at all was moving on Higashi Nibancho, it was hardly unusual. As he pelted down the sidewalk, his lungs gasped painfully for air and his legs started to cramp as if to keep them company.

  He caught sight of a pedestrian bridge over the road and headed toward it. At the very least, the other side of the road was that much further away from those men. But as he started up the steps, he lost his balance and his legs crumpled under him. A young woman in his path jumped out of the way—probably assuming he was drunk—and scrambled down the rest of the stairs.

  Aoyagi grabbed the railing, pulled himself to his feet, and started up again. Glancing back, he couldn't see anyone following him. From the top of the bridge, he looked down on the cars passing beneath.

  He wanted to sit down, to rest his weary legs and aching lungs, but he told himself he had to keep going. Then a wave of dizziness hit him, his eyes blurred and he felt light-headed. He stopped and leaned against the wire

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  mesh that lined the bridge, staring down at the traffic. The road looked like a silver stream reflecting the sunlight, teeming with Honda fish, Mazda fish.

  Bent almost double, he had made his way to the middle of the bridge when he saw three cops in uniform coming up the stairs on the other side. He considered trying to slip past them with his head down, but he could see that one of them had already noticed him; he had to turn back. The cop yelled something—the words were loud and sharp, like warning shots. He turned and ran back the way he'd come, but halfway down the stairs he stopped again. The two men from his apartment building were at the bottom.

  A little noise slipped from his lips and tumbled down the stairs, swelling until it reached the men. They looked at him, and as they did, Aoyagi began backing up the stairs. But at the top, he saw the policemen starting toward him from the other side.

  He thought of the judo move; this was stupid, he knew, but it was the only thing he could think of using. Would it work again? With real cops? Three of them? It didn't seem likelv. CTut of ideas, he looked down at the road.

  The cops coming from the far side were in uniform. The two guys from the building were not, but judging from the gun he'd seen, they probably were police as well. Since he hadn't done anything wrong, he could just let them arrest him and then explain what had ha|:)pened. Once they checked his story, he would be out in no time. T hat was what he wanted to believe, but Morita's voice was still ringing in his ears: "You'll end up like Oswald," he'd said, before his sad little lullaby. And then there was the l)ullet in the liquor-store owmer. A shudder went through him as he remembered the blood pouring from the man's shoulder. T he bullet had been meant for him.

  Something wasn't right. He had to keej) running, (let away—and stay alive.

  He
could teel Morita's voice urging him on, not just in his head but in his whole being, (jet out ot here! No time to stand around thinkitig—yet he stood frozen. It was easy enough to say, l)ut where was he going to go?

  The men in suits were running up the stairs, guns diiiwn. The cops were aliiHJSt on top of fiim. Aoyagi j)ut his hands in the air.

  As fie did so, he caught a glinijise of his wristwalch. Ten alter one already? Then sometliing else flaslied into his head. He looked right and then left.

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  as if checking to see where he was. He could feel Morita inside him: not the weary, defeated Morita he'd just left but the self-confident one he'd known in school, the one reminding him now of "trust anci habit."

  Exactly! He turned and in one motion leaped up onto the railing. "Don't move!" someone yelled, and he could feel somebody lunge toward him. He looked down for one second and the height sent a chill through him, but the next instant he jumped.

  The bridge vanished and he was falling through space. It was like evaporating, his body temperature dropping with the rest of him. As his speed increased, he had a quick flash of himself as a puddle of flesh on the pavement. He wanted to close his eyes but couldn't.

  He was aiming for the bed of a truck parked on the shoulder of the road— a truck with a cloth canopy. A truck that belonged to his methodical friend Maezono whose schedule never varied. Today was no different.

  He tucked into a tight ball just before he hit the cover. He could feel the stacks of boxes underneath as he sank into the cloth. Pain shot through his arm and his heart raced with fear, but the canopy held. He bounced up, scrambled to his knees, and crawled down to the pavement.

  Haruko Higuchi

  Haruko Higuchi and Akira Hirano were staring at the television in the soba shop. At first it had been hard to grasp that there had been an explosion, but as the details slowly emerged, anxiety ran through the customers around them. The owner came out from behind the counter to watch. "Like a bad movie," he muttered. No one complained or tried to get him back to the kitchen.