Lady Joker, Volume 1 by Kaoru Takamura (lightest ebook reader .txt) 📕

life; he was not sure if it even belonged to Reiko. In his mind, he begged his wife for forgiveness and hoped that she would be able get by with his life insurance, savings, and the property in Sanno Ni-chome. In between such thoughts fluttered the azure-blue label of Hinode Meister, the new product set to launch on April 1st, and the dancing amber-colored bubbles of their second Hinode lager, three years in the making.

Then, in his daze, Shiroyama’s mind flashed on an image of the lively crowd at the launch party for the new product—he could hear the voices of the executives lined up in the conference room of the main office discussing whether they should set the interim dividend that would be announced at the shareholder meeting to six or seven yen, and he called out futilely, I’m here! Hey, I’m right here! Tears came to his eyes again.

Following such confusion, a fresh ache spread throughout his entire body, and the pain jolted Shiroyama fully awake. As he slowly regained his powers of judgment, at last he attempted to discern just what had happened to him. He couldn’t move his mouth at all, it felt as if something like duct tape was plastered across it; he was blindfolded, and against his ears and cheeks he could feel the coarseness of a sack over his entire head. Through the sack, his face, tilted downward, was pressed up against a rough-textured material like a vinyl sheet, beneath which was a hard surface that smelled of gasoline and rattled and rumbled as it jostled up and down. At last Shiroyama was able to draw a single conclusion: he was inside a moving car.

His hands were tied behind his back, his ankles were bound too—his knees were slightly bent, but there was constant pressure against his back, knees, and the top of his head, and he could tell he was in a terribly confined space, presumably the floor of the backseat of the car. Placed over the upper half of his prone body was something fairly heavy, and after considering it for some time, Shiroyama figured it must be a cardboard box or a bag containing a quilt.

There was something resting on his ankles and knees as well, but rather than a box or a stone or some other inanimate object, it was the shoes on someone’s feet. If Shiroyama tried to shift around, they pressed down on him with greater force. Someone was sitting in the backseat, and had placed his or her feet on top of Shiroyama’s legs as he lay across the floor of the backseat. The only noise he could hear was the roar of the engine—indeed, he didn’t hear any voices at all.

Hoping to alleviate the pain in his joints, Shiroyama moved his body a few centimeters at a time, which completely exhausted him. His mind grew duller by the minute, as if a fog had been draped over it, and a single word—kidnapping—floated up, then vanished, only to appear again, while another word—death—drifted hazily around it. He was shocked to realize that he had never even been able to fathom what was, in fact, happening to him here and now, and as he rationalized that he was only human, he succumbed again and again to a sense of utter apathy.

His thoughts grew fuzzy while his body still prickled with pain. The car suddenly pitched, which snapped his mind awake. Unable to do anything about his body’s bouncing in sync with the vehicle, Shiroyama pondered futilely where the car might be going, and what time it must be. However, this did not go on for very long, because the vibration stopped, the reverberating engine cut off, and the journey came to an end.

Immediately, he sensed people moving in the front and back seats, and heard the sound of the front and back doors opening. He was suddenly relieved of the pressure—the heavy object on top of him had been removed—and dragged out of the car. Shiroyama was hoisted from under the arms, then his body was suspended in the air before being heaved over someone’s shoulder.

Cold air stung his skin, slipping past his collar and the cuffs of his sleeves. The air was still, and even as several pairs of feet trampled over the ground, the only sound was a faint squeaking. Then, he heard the low rustling of tree branches or leaves, and as he was being carried Shiroyama felt something cold fall down the nape of his neck. Snow, Shiroyama thought with his head upside-down. We’re in the snow-covered mountains.

He was not carried very far. The crunching of snow underfoot soon shifted to footsteps on something solid like stone, and there was also the faint sound of a hinge. Still held aloft, Shiroyama felt his shoes being yanked off, and after being carried a few steps further, he was set down. He did not detect the grassy smell of tatami, but the texture that registered on his body was that of a tatami mat.

He sensed two or perhaps three people moving around him, and within a few minutes of being set down on the tatami floor, Shiroyama was lifted from under his arms and by his legs and placed on top of what felt like a futon, forced to lie down, then immediately covered up by blankets and quilts.

Then, for the first time during his ordeal, Shiroyama heard the voice of a man, directly above his head. “We won’t hurt you. When nature calls—and only then—sit up. Other than that, stay in this position.”

The voice was impersonal, and neither particularly high- nor low-pitched. It had an unnatural, perhaps intentionally slow tempo, with neither an accent nor intonation. Would they really not harm him? Would they spare his life? Shiroyama held his breath as he waited to hear the next words, but the voice said no more, and as he waited and waited his body grew stiff and numb. Then he heard the faint sound of