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

steaming in a Meissen dish were served in the same way, and in the same portion as always.

Shiroyama poured the cold Hinode Meister into the glass. At first he poured it somewhat quickly to get the bubbles going, then more slowly as if to let the foam rise, until the amber-colored beer was capped off with a picture-perfect, three-centimeter head, and he stared at it for a minute. Shiroyama did not necessarily dwell on the fact that the beer itself was being held for ransom, but still, instead of reaching for the glass, he began with the sauerkraut.

Just as he had taken a bite of the potato, he heard Ms. Nozaki’s voice over the intercom, announcing that Shirai and Kurata were here to consult with him ahead of the stockholders’ meeting. Shiroyama reasoned that meeting with two vice presidents at once would save him time, so he told her to let them through, and they appeared about two minutes later.

“Please, please—finish your meal. It’s nothing formal we need to talk about,” Shirai said as he strode in at his usual hurried pace. Shiroyama, nevertheless, rose from his chair, bowed his head to the two of them, and felt the need to apologize again. “I’m sorry for all the trouble I’ve caused.”

“Nonsense. First see that you get plenty to eat. We’ll just sit ourselves down,” Shirai said as he brought in a chair for himself, and Kurata followed suit.

“I remember that’s your favorite.” Shirai remarked about Shiroyama’s meal, demonstrating that he could afford to make small talk. Kurata, for this part, wore a peculiar aloof expression that was even more inscrutable than usual, as if he had tucked away the anguish that had been on display first thing that morning at the Fujiyoshida Police Department. This disturbed Shiroyama, but when he considered that he himself did not present the appearance of a victim, either, he had no choice but to accept their mutual deception.

“Shiroyama-san. Over these last three days, the executives have reacted to your abduction in many different ways, but personally I think this is a prime opportunity to shake up the board.” Before Shirai could get any further, Kurata interjected, “Before that, why don’t we share with him what the various reactions were?”

Kurata did not so much as change his expression, but the unexpected retort made Shiroyama pause his fork in midair. Shiroyama could not tell immediately whether the remark was sarcastic or the wayward manifestation of a personal grudge, but it was an unprecedented and uncharacteristic utterance coming from Kurata the torpedo.

A flicker of annoyance passed over Shirai’s eyes. “Each person’s reaction? I said fuck it and you said shit.” His casual deflection quickly mended any rift between the two men. Kurata responded with a short bark of laughter, which startled Shiroyama again. Shiroyama had never heard Kurata laugh this way before, but before he could doubt his ears, the burst of sound and any accompanying facial expression had already passed.

“Shiroyama-san, I can afford to tell you this now, but we didn’t expect you to return so soon. We discussed the maximum amount we could pay if we received a demand for ransom, and even how we would prepare for a company funeral, if worse came to worst. Indeed, things were said that might make you faint.”

Shirai made a showcase of himself, laughing loudly. These wisecracks were laced with his trademark venom, but they were also a means of evading and assuaging the unbearable truth—as well as a calculated tactic to gauge Shiroyama’s reaction before deciding how best to broach the real topic. Shiroyama offered only a bitter laugh in response and went back to eating the potato, which he had mashed with his fork.

Meanwhile, Seigo Kurata had suddenly for some reason begun to seem like a stranger to Shiroyama. Kurata’s face, which after fifty-five years had not lost its good looks, was impassive. Shiroyama imagined that Kurata was either in a daze following three straight days of anxiety or perhaps had experienced some sort of recalibration. Shiroyama felt bewildered, as if the pillar of support on which he had always relied had vanished from before his eyes, and all at once, he saw a flickering image of Kurata’s face from thirty years ago.

Back in 1965, Shiroyama had been appointed manager of the First Sales Division of Hinode’s Yokohama branch, which was where he first met Seigo Kurata, three years his junior. Kurata was already the kind of man who didn’t give a damn about the appeal of Hinode’s products, which at the time already dominated the market. When a colleague remarked that Hinode’s product had sold ten thousand cases, Kurata would reply that a competitor’s product had sold five thousand cases and would then provide an analysis as to why it had managed to sell that many. Everything Kurata did was out of the ordinary. To increase his monthly sales figures, he upped the percentage of the rebate and worked aggressively with their distributors, and in order to further boost their products in the marketplace, he went around with employees from the distributor in order to negotiate directly with liquor stores and bars. He even worked as a salesperson in stores, and if there was product he failed to sell, he would come retrieve whatever inventory was left, put the beer back into his truck, and transport it to a regional area with a less substantial sales network. After delivering one case at a time as samples to smaller, less successful distributors, he would liquidate the rest by selling them to a discounter, and only return once his truck was completely empty.

Kurata was still in his twenties back then, but he had two small children to feed, having gotten married when he was a student. One summer day, Kurata explained that his wife was at the hospital about to deliver their third child, and he piled his other two children into the truck loaded with unsold beers from the distributor, saying, “Well, I’ll be off then.” He