umonji sat on the bench in the playground in front of the apartment building. He put a cigarette in his mouth, but as he pulled his lighter from his pocket, he noticed that his hand was shaking. Laughing to himself, he tightened his grip and lit the cigarette. After the first drag, he looked up at the building and located the balcony of Kuniko's apartment. Other than the airconditioning unit, it contained nothing but a messy stack of black garbage bags. So it all came down to the garbage, did it?

A dozen or so children, probably first or second graders, were playing tag in the fading light. They seemed almost frantic as they chased after one another, perhaps because they knew they'd soon have to be heading home, or because their summer vacation itself was drawing to a close, with the prospect of classes and endless homework awaiting them. Their cries pierced the air, and dirt flew in their wake. Finding all this youthful energy a bit overpowering, Jumonji slumped down on the bench.

Kuniko's story had excited him. It wasn't just that something he'd thought inconceivable was actually true; it was the shock of discovering that Masako Katori was at the centre of it all. Even with his own unsavoury background, he would have baulked at the job of getting rid of a body - let alone cutting one to pieces. He felt in awe of her. Who'd have thought a skinny old dame like that would have the nerve? It never once crossed his mind that she might have got herself into something she should have avoided.

'So cool!' he murmured to himself. His cigarette had burnt down and was about to scorch his fingers... the same way whatever he was getting into might burn him, too. He wanted to join up with her, do something risky - something cool. And profitable. He'd always hated working as a team, but he'd welcome the chance to team up with Masako. Above all else, he felt he could trust her.

He remembered catching sight of her years ago as he'd walked into a coffee shop near the credit union. The place was completely full and almost all the customers were fellow employees who had crowded around the tables regardless of who they'd come in with. But Masako had been sitting alone at a table for four by the window. He remembered thinking at the time that it was strange no one had joined her, and it was only later he'd learned that she was being ostracised. But there had been no sign then of the trouble she was going through. She'd sat alone, calmly sipping her coffee and reading the business paper she'd spread in front of her much as a man might. The other jerks crammed into their seats at the surrounding tables had looked stupid by comparison.

The memory of it made him clap his hands and laugh aloud. Startled, the children stopped for a moment and eyed him suspiciously, but he didn't care. Though he'd never felt the slightest hint of desire for an older woman, when it came to business, he had always trusted them far more than he did men. It occurred to him that this might even be the result of having met Masako at an impressionable age. He took his cell phone and address book out of his bag and, finding the number he wanted, pressed the buttons.

'Toyosumi head office.' They picked up almost immediately. 'This is Akira Jumonji. Could I speak with Soga-san?' The young man at the other end mumbled for him to wait and a recording of the 'Lovers Concerto' came on - not exactly what you'd expect from a yakuza office.

'Akira, is that you? They said it was somebody named Jumonji. Shit, boy, call yourself Yamada.' The tone was flat but Jumonji could tell he was being teased.

'I gave you my card, didn't I?' he said.

'Seeing the writing and knowing how to pronounce it are two different things.' Soga occasionally came out with the odd intelligent remark, despite the way he looked.

'There's something I want to ask your advice about,' Jumonji said. 'Could we get together some time soon?'

'Soon? How about now? We'll go for a drink. Ueno okay with you?' Jumonji checked his watch and agreed. He knew he was sticking his neck out, but he'd paid more than ¥440,000 for the information. He might as well get on with it.

***

They had agreed to meet at a quiet bar in Ueno that had been around for a number of years. When Jumonji arrived at the low, ivy-covered building, he found the two young men he'd seen that day in Musashi Murayama standing guard at the door. The dyedblond, dense-looking one greeted him. Bodyguards - just in case; Jumonji remembered that Soga had always liked playing the mob boss, even back in their biker days. Still, it would be a mistake to think of him as some puffed-up punk. Jumonji braced himself for what was to come.

As he entered the bar, Soga, cigarette in hand, waved to him from a dark table in the back. The room was panelled in wood that smelt of wax. An older man in a bow-tie stood behind the counter, his face expressionless as he worked the cocktail shaker. Soga sat alone, legs spread wide on a soft, green velvet chair.

'It was good running into you the other day,' Jumonji said. 'Sorry to be bothering you so soon.'

'No problem,' said Soga. 'I was going to call you up for a drink anyway. What are you having?'

'A beer.'

'This place is famous for its cocktails. The bartender's waiting; do him a favour and order one.'

'Okay then, I'll have a gin and tonic.' He eyed Soga as he named the first drink that came to mind. Soga was wearing a palegreen summer suit over an open-collar black shirt. 'You're looking sharp,' he added.

'This?' Laughing with pleasure, he pulled the jacket open to reveal the label. 'It's Italian, but a brand nobody ever heard of. They say the boss is supposed to wear Hermes or something, but it takes real style to find something like this.'

'It looks great.'

'The Hawaiian shirt's not bad either,' he told him, obviously pleased by the compliment. 'Is it vintage?'

'Actually, I got it at a discount shop out there in the sticks.'

'With a baby face like that, you could wear just about anything and the girls would still come running,' he laughed.

'Hey - flattery.' Soga seemed in no hurry to get down to business, and Jumonji found it difficult to steer the conversation around to his proposal. Soga suddenly changed the subject. 'You ever read Ryu Murakami's Love and Pop?' he asked.

'No,' said Jumonji, not sure what he was getting at. 'I don't read stuff like that.'

'You should.' Soga put out his cigarette and took a sip of his cocktail, an elaborate concoction in graduated shades of pink. 'That Murakami, he knows women.'

'I doubt I'd get it.'

'You'd get it. He's particularly into high-school girls, the kind that turn tricks for spending money.'

'That's what it's about?'

'That's what it's about,' he echoed, tapping his lips with a delicate finger.

'Then maybe I'll take a look. I'm into high-school girls myself.'

'It's not smut, you dope. He tells it like, from their side of things, really pulls you in.'

'Sounds interesting,' Jumonji muttered, looking down at the table and feeling utterly mystified by the course of the conversation. Just then, his gin and tonic arrived like a lifeboat drifting up to the table. Moving the sliver of lime to the coaster, he tipped his head back and took a long swallow.

'It is,' said Soga. 'You see, I got certain standards when I read a novel.'

'Such as?'

'I judge it by what it's got to do with my line of work.'

'And how's this one score?' Soga watched with some astonishment as Jumonji drained his glass.

'High marks. It's all about us, in a way.'

'In what way?'

'Murakami and these girls, they hate the old men, the ones who run this country. And you might say the kind of work we do starts from the same place - hating those old geezers. They're misfits, just like we're misfits. You see what I mean?'

'I suppose so,' said Jumonji.

'Misfits,' Soga repeated, almost shouting. 'You went to Adachi Middle School and joined a bike gang - that qualifies you right there. Now you're a loan shark and I'm yakuza. Still not exactly mainstream, not nice and proper, right? And it's all their fault, those old farts who call the shots, the ones who ruin everything. But we're all the same, you, me, Murakami, and those highschool girls - all completely cool. You see that, don't you?' Jumonji stared at Soga's sallow face, which looked almost haggard in the dim light. It was fortunate that he seemed to be in such a good mood, but as Jumonji listened patiently to him go on about this wacky stuff, he began to have doubts about the scheme he'd though t up and to question the wisdom of broaching the subject with him. No, the whole thing seemed implausible, scary even.

'What was it you wanted to talk about?' Soga said suddenly, apparently sensing his hesitation. He was trapped now.

'Actually, it's a business proposal, but a strange one,' Jumonji said, almost in spite of himself.

Strange but profitable?'

'Maybe, if we can pull it off. At least I thought it might be. But I don't really know if it'd work.'

'Why don't you just tell me what it is? It's safe with me.' Soga slipped his hand into the front of his shirt and began to rub his chest, a habit he had when the talk turned serious.

'Soga-san,' said Jumonji, screwing up his courage, 'I think I've got the perfect way to get rid of stiffs.'

'What the hell are you talking about?' he said, his voice cracking slightly. The bartender was concentrating on making perfect, paper-thin slices of lemon, as if his life depended on it. In the silence that followed, Jumonji realised for the first time that an old rhythm-and-blues tune was playing quietly in the background. He'd been too nervous to notice, he thought, wiping his forehead.

'What I mean is, if somebody's got a body he needs to get rid of, I'd like to do it.'

'You?'

'Yes.'

'How? It's gotta be done without leaving any evidence, you realise?' There was a hint of interest in his jaundiced-looking eyes.

'I got to thinking,' said Jumonji. 'If you bury them, there's always the chance somebody will dig them up later, and if you toss them in the sea, they might start dredging. So I'm going to cut them up and throw them out with the garbage.'

'Sounds good, but it's easier said than done. You know what happened with that Koganei Park thing?' His voice had dropped; he was no longer an adolescent talking about books and clothes. His thin face had grown hard.

'Sure,'Jumonji said.

'They managed to get it cut up and then slipped up throwing it out. But d'you know how hard it is just to get that far? Do you have any idea how tough it'd be to cut up a body? It's hard enough just cutting off one finger.'

'I know. But if we can do it, I've thought up a way to get rid of the pieces so nobody will ever find them, a way to leave no shred of evidence.'

'How?' Soga leaned forward, his cocktail forgotten.

'My family lives in Fukuoka, near a huge garbage dump. Not one of those landfill jobs out in the harbour; this place has a great big incinerator and they burn everything that comes in. And the best part is, people who miss the garbage pick-up can bring their bags any time they feel like it. If we took the stuff there, it'd vanish without a trace.'

'And how would you get them to Fukuoka?'

'Pack them in boxes and ship them. Since my dad died, my mom lives there by herself. I could fly down and meet the shipment and take it to the dump.'

'Sounds like a lot of work,' Soga murmured, thinking it over.

'The hardest part would be cutting up the body, but I've got that figured out as well.'

'Meaning what?'

'Meaning I've got somebody who can handle it, somebody we can trust.'

'Does this guy work for you?'

'You might say that - but it's not a guy.'

'Your girlfriend?'

'No, but somebody I trust,' said Jumonji, sounding as confident as he could. As he was talking, Soga had grown visibly more interested, perhaps because he knew there was a need for the service..

'There might be something in it,' he said. Pulling his hand from his shirt, he reached for his drink. 'There are people who do this kind of work, but I hear they're expensive. If you'd got something like that on your hands, though, you'd want them to be reliable, right?'

'You know what they charge?' Jumonji asked.

'It depends. But it's risky work, so you can bet it's plenty. How much are you thinking?'

'I'm not sure, but it would have to be enough to make it worth my while.'

'Now don't go getting greedy on me,' Soga said, glaring at him.

'I was thinking about nine million,' said Jumonj i with a sheepish smile.

'How about eight? You've got to undercut the competition.'

'I guess I could do it for that.'

'And since I'd be bringing you the business, I'd get half.'

'Isn't that a bit steep?' he said, frowning.

'Maybe it is,' Soga laughed. 'How about three mil?'

'You've got a deal.' Jumonji did a quick mental calculation as Soga nodded with satisfaction. If he got five million from the original eight, that would leave three for him and two for Masako. He would insist on their excluding Kuniko - she was far too big a risk. But he would give Masako and the other one, Yoshie, a share. Masako could figure out how to divide it up.

'Good,' said Soga. 'I get wind of this kind of thing from time to time, so when I hear of something, I'll let you know. But you've got to guarantee it's all handled right; if you mess up, it'll be my neck.'

'We'll be figuring it out as we go, but I think it should work.'

'Just one more question,' Soga said. 'Were you involved in the Koganei Park thing?'

'No, no,' said Jumonji, deflecting Soga's hunch with a shake of the head.

The wheels had been set in motion. All that he had to do now was convince Masako to go along with his plan.