ink slices of ham. Red shoulder of beef shot through with whitish sinews. Pale pink pork. Fine-grained ground beef, red, pink and white. Dark red chicken gizzards outlined in yellowish fat.

Masako was pushing her shopping cart through the meat section at the supermarket. She felt distracted, unable to figure out what to buy, unsure even why she was here. She stopped and gazed at the stainless-steel frame holding the blue plastic shopping basket, a basket that was, of course, empty. That was it: she'd come to get something for dinner. But lately the effort of coming up with a menu and putting food on the table just seemed too much of a bother to keep doing.

Dinner on the table was somehow proof that their family still existed. She doubted Yoshiki would be particularly upset if she gave up cooking, despite all the years she'd been at it, but he would expect her to explain why she'd stopped. Since she had no explanation to offer, he would probably just conclude that she was lazy. As for Nobuki, after his outburst in front of the detective, he'd shut up like a clam again and she'd heard nothing more from him. The only thing he did at home was eat.

The two of them kept their own schedules, never consulting her, but on this one point they were amazingly regular, as if it were an article of faith: they always made it home for dinner. This almost childlike faith in her cooking struck her as odd. Left to her own devices, she would have eaten anything or nothing, but knowing how they depended on this meal, she found herself worrying over their special likes and dislikes, preparing something that would appeal to both of them. But in return they seemed completely unresponsive. Whatever ties had once bound them were all but gone, and only her prescribed role remained to hold her down. It all seemed so futile, like pouring water into a pot with a gaping hole. How much had already run out of the bottom? Everything that had seemed so normal and natural yesterday now struck her as strange.

A cold mist was rising from the meat cases, like poison gas escaping into the store. Wafts of frigid air blew against her. She rubbed the goose bumps on her arms, trying not to overreact, and picked up a package of sliced beef. But, realising the flesh looked like Kenji's, she let it drop back into the case. It was all Kenji - the tendons, the bones, the fat - it all made her sick. She'd never felt like this before; she was getting soft. Disappointed in herself, she decided to give up on dinner. She would just leave for work without eating anything, and her empty stomach would be her punishment - though punishment for what, she wasn't quite sure.

***

The warm, still air that preceded a typhoon was oppressive. The storm, a fairly large one, was bearing down on them now, signalling an end to summer. Masako looked up at the sky, listening to the wind wailing in the upper atmosphere. As she reached her red Corolla, she saw a familiar bicycle coming toward her across the supermarket parking lot.

'Skipper!' she called, waving to Yoshie.

'Didn't find much, did you?' Yoshie said, stopping her bike next to the car and eyeing the empty bag in Masako's hand.

'I gave up.'

'Why?'

'I guess I just didn't feel like making dinner.'

'And that's okay?' said Yoshie, shaking her head. Masako noticed that her hair seemed greyer than it had only a few weeks ago. 'What's wrong?'

'Nothing. I guess I'm just tired.'

'You're lucky you can just decide not to cook. If I did that, Issey and Granny would starve to death.'

'Is he still there?' Masako asked.

'He is, and I've no idea where his mother's gone. The old lady isn't popping off any time soon, and now I've got that brat whining day and night. I guess you could say I'm stuck.'

Having nothing to say to this, Masako leaned against the car and looked up at the lowering sky. As she listened to Yoshie's litany of woes, she felt as though they were all stuck in a long tunnel with no sign of the exit in sight. She just wanted out, to be free of everything. None of it mattered any more. Anyone who couldn't get out was doomed to a life of endless bitching - the life they were leading now.

'Summer's just about over,' she said.

'What are you talking about? It's September already; it's long gone.'

'I suppose so.'

'Are you going to work tonight?' Yoshie asked, sounding anxious. Masako glanced at her. The question had raised the spectre of Masako's quitting and it floated between them. 'I was planning on it,' she said.

'Good. You seem kind of out of it. I thought you might be thinking of deserting us.'

'Deserting you? What do you mean?' Taking a cigarette from her bag, Masako stood looking at her. A gust of wind tugged at her lustreless hair and she reached up with both hands to hold it down.

'Kuniko said you used to work at a credit union. You're not cut out for the factory.'

'Kuniko?' She suddenly remembered that the due date on Kuniko's loan had come and gone. How had she managed to make the payment without any extra income? If she'd found out about that banking job of hers, it could only mean she'd had a visit from Jumonji. Under pressure, the woman was capable of almost anything, and Masako realised she'd left her to her own devices too long. What had she done? 'I'll be there. And I'm not thinking of quitting,' she said.

'I'm glad,' said Yoshie, beaming.

'Skipper, does something seem different to you nowadays?'

'Different? What?' Yoshie looked around as if they were being watched.

'No, not that. I think we've probably shaken the police. I mean something different in you.' Yoshie thought for a moment but then gave her a sheepish look.

'No, I don't think so. But it may be because I keep telling myself that I was only helping out.'

'The same way you help out your mother-in-law and your grandson?'

'No, not like that,' Yoshie said, frowning. 'I wouldn't want them lumped together with what we did to Kenji. Still, I suppose they do have something in common, in the sense that I always seem to be doing the jobs nobody else is willing to do.' She stood for a moment, lost in thought. Her wrinkled forehead and pale skin made her look far older than she was.

'I know what you mean,' Masako said, tossing her cigarette on the ground and crushing it underfoot. 'I'll see you later.'

'What about you, though, Masako?'

'Nothing's different for me either,' she said, opening the car door. Yoshie pulled her bicycle out of the way.

'See you this evening,' said Yoshie. Masako climbed behind the wheel and waved at her through the windshield. Yoshie smiled and then swung herself up on the bike with surprising agility and pedalled off toward the supermarket. As she watched her go, Masako thought about what was happening to them. Even if Yoshie hadn't noticed it yet, the money she was going to get from Yayoi would eventually begin to work on her, like a chemical reaction. There was no malice in this observation - but facts were facts.

***

The phone was ringing when she got home. She threw her bag on the shoe cupboard and ran to answer it. She hadn't heard from Yayoi in more than a week and it was about time she should be calling.

'Katori-san?' said a man's voice. 'My name is Jumonji. I used to be called Yamada when we worked together.'

'Oh, it's you,' said Masako, surprised to be hearing from him. She pulled a chair over to the phone and sat down. Her whole body was sweaty from the rush to get the phone.

'It's been a while,' Jumonji said.

'What do you mean? - I saw you just the other day.'

'By happy chance,' he laughed.

'What do you want?' Fumbling for a cigarette, she remembered she'd left her bag in the hall. 'If this is going to take any time, you'll have to hold on a minute.'

'I'll wait,' he said. Masako went out and chained the door. If someone came home, this would give her a few extra seconds. She picked up her bag and went back to the phone.

'Sorry,' she said. 'Now what is it you want?'

'It's a bit difficult to discuss over the phone. I'd like to get together, if you don't mind.'

'What can't you talk about over the phone?' Masako had imagined it had something to do with Kuniko's loan. But perhaps she'd underestimated this little loan shark.

'It's a bit complicated,' he said. 'To be honest, there's a business proposal I want to make to you.'

'Hold on,' said Masako. 'I've got something to ask you first. Did Kuniko Jonouchi make her payment?'

'She made it, right on time.'

'Using what for money?'

'You might say she paid with information.' Jumonji's tone was casual, but Masako realised her fears had been justified.

'What information?' she asked.

'That's what I want to talk about.'

'Okay. Where do we meet?'

'You're going to work this evening, aren't you? Could we have dinner somewhere before?' Masako gave him directions to a Royal Host restaurant near the factory and told him to meet her there at 9.00.

So they weren't going to get away with it after all. She'd suspected as much ever since her conversation with Yoshie, but it depressed her to think that it was her own negligence in handling Kuniko that had been their undoing.

She could hear the sound of the chain rattling as someone tried to open the door. The buzzer on the intercom echoed angrily through the house. When she went out to the hall and unlatched the door, Nobuki appeared on the other side, fixing her with a sulky look. His black knit cap was pulled down over his eyes, despite the heat. Faded black T-shirt, baggy pants draped around his hips, Nike shoes.

'Hi,' Masako said. Nobuki slipped past her without a word. His strong young body was surprisingly supple. If he were still talking to her, she was sure the first thing he would have done was'tell her not to put the chain on. He ran up to his room without so much as a glance in her direction. 'You're on your own for dinner tonight,' she called up the stairs after him. Her voice echoed through the empty rooms, as if her message were a rejection not just of the boy on the second floor but of the whole house.

***

Masako arrived at the Royal Host right at 9.00, but Jumonji was already there, standing by an inconspicuous table in the back. He held a wrinkled copy of the evening paper in his hand.

'Thanks for coming,' he said. Masako met his stare as she sat down across from him. He was casually dressed in a white polo shirt and a jacket. Masako wore what she always wore to work: jeans and one of Nobuki's old T-shirts.

'Good evening,' said a black-suited man who seemed to be the manager. He looked vaguely puzzled as he passed them their menus, probably wondering what they could possibly have in common. 'Enjoy your meal,' he said as he walked off.

'Have you eaten?' Jumonji asked. He had been drinking iced coffee while he waited. Masako thought for a moment, then shook her head.

'No, not yet.'

'Me either,' he said. 'Let's order.' Masako decided on spaghetti and Jumonj i flagged down the man in the suit. He ordered spaghetti for himself as well and, without consulting Masako, told him to bring their coffee after the meal. 'It's been a long time,' he said, when the man had gone. 'It was great running into you like that after all these years.' His manner was fawning, and he seemed almost afraid to look her in the eye. Why should he be nervous?

'What is it you wanted to talk about?'

'I appreciate your making time,' he said, giving a slight shrug.

'You said you couldn't discuss it over the phone.'

'You haven't changed,' he said.

'What do you mean by that?' she asked, taking a sip of water. It was ice cold.

'You were always so businesslike.'

'And you could afford to be a little more that way yourself. Why don't you get to the point? I think I know what's coming anyway.' Masako recalled what he'd been like in the old days, when he helped out in the collection department. His look had been all biker punk, with part of his eyebrows shaved off and tightly permed hair; and there had been rumours that he was actually in a gang. He had cleaned up his act considerably since then, transforming himself into a fairly presentable young man, but it was still the same Jumonji.

'The point?' he said, scratching his head. 'You're amazing.' Just then, the waitress arrived with their spaghetti. Masako picked up her fork and began eating. She had planned to skip dinner and here she was sharing a meal with him - of all people. The thought made her smile to herself. 'What's so funny?' Jumonji asked.

'Nothing.' She suddenly realised why she had wanted to punish herself by going hungry: it was for suppressing her desire to be free. She wiped her mouth with the paper napkin when she'd finished the spaghetti. Jumonj i had finished as well and immediately lit a cigarette.

'So what's this business you mentioned?' she said.

'Before we get to that, I want to offer my congratulations.'

'For what?'

'The whole thing was so cool,' he said, grinning at her, apparently without a hint of irony.

'What was so cool?'

'Koganei Park,' he whispered. Masako stared into his eyes, stock-still.

'So you know about that?'

'Yes.'

'Everything?'

'Pretty much.'

'Kuniko blabbed, didn't she? For a lousy ¥440,000.'

'You shouldn't blame her,' he said.

'Maybe not,' said Masako. 'Still I'm impressed that you figured it out.'

'Just my morbid curiosity, I guess,' he said. Masako stubbed her cigarette out among the butts in his overflowing ashtray. She'd lost.

'And the business proposition?' she asked.

Jumonji leaned forward, lowering his voice. 'I'm wondering whether you'd be interested in helping to dispose of some more bodies. It seems there's a fairly steady supply of people nobody wants found. We'd take care of them.' Masako stared at him, mute with amazement. She'd been expecting threats and blackmail, not a pitch for a start-up business. But then she should have realised that a group of poor housewives weren't exactly a likely target for extortion, unless it was for the insurance money. 'What do you think?' Jumonji said, looking at her in an almost deferential way.

'What have you got in mind?' she said.

'I would drum up the business. It involves a pretty rough crowd and I wouldn't want you to have to deal with that. Once we took delivery on a shipment, you would cut it up and then I'd get rid of it. I know a place with a huge incinerator, so it would all disappear without a trace.'

'Why can't you just throw it in there without cutting it up?'

'It wouldn't work. Shifting a whole body is too risky. Somebody would notice it before it got to the incinerator. But cut up in pieces so it looked like all the rest of the garbage, it should be okay. The other hitch is that we have to get it all the way to Fukuoka.'

'Are you planning to ship it?' Masako said, the look of amazement returning to her face. Was he really serious?

'Exactly,' he said. 'In five-kilo packages, say a dozen or so. Then I would fly down to meet them and take them to the dump. What could be simpler?'

'Then all you want me to do is cut them up?'

'That's right. Are you interested?' The coffee had arrived. Jumonji took a sip, desperately trying to read her expression. Masako noticed that there was something intelligent about his eyes.

'What made you think of all this?' she asked.

'I wanted to find something we could do together.'

'We? You and me?'

'I just thought it would be... cool, working with you.'

'I'm not sure I understand.'

'It doesn't matter. Just call it a quirk of mine.' He ran his fingers through the soft hair hanging over his ears. Masako turned and took a quick look at the nearly empty restaurant. No sign of anyone from the factory. At the cash register, the man in the black suit had dropped his formal expression and was chatting amiably with a young waitress. As Masako hesitated, Jumonji appeared to be getting anxious. 'This loan shark racket has a short life-span,' he said. 'A few years at most. By next year I'll be looking for something else. I just wanted to do something with a bit more kick to it. I guess you must think I'm flaky.'

'But would you really be making any money?' she interrupted. Jumonji nodded.

'A lot more than a two-bit loan shark,' he said.

'How much would your customers pay? - per unit, let's say.' Having decided she might be interested, Masako asked the obvious question. Jumonji's tongue flicked across his narrow, well-shaped lips as he debated how much to tell her. 'Don't beat about the bush,' she said. 'If we can't be frank about this, we can't work together.'

'Okay, I'll tell you. The source I spoke to promised eight million. He wants three million of that for bringing in the business. That leaves five: what would you say to two for me and three for you?' Masako lit a cigarette.

'I won't do it for less than five,' she said, almost without missing a beat.

Jumonji choked. 'Five million?'

'Five million,' she repeated. 'You might think this is easy, but it's not. It's a dirty, stinking business, and you get nightmares afterward. You can't understand until you've done it. And you need a place to do it in, a bathroom. But I wouldn't want to use my house; it's too risky. Where were you thinking we'd do it?'

'Jonouchi-san told me you did the first one in your bathroom, so I was hoping we could use it again,' he said, looking dismayed.

'Why not at your place? You're single.'

'It's an apartment,' he said. 'The bath is too small.'

'But my place is almost impossible. We'd have to find a time when nobody else was home, and then get it in without the neighbours noticing. The "unit" comes with bits of telltale belongings; getting rid of those is tricky.' Masako stopped for a moment, remembering how the Brazilian had retrieved the key. Jumonji held his breath, waiting for her to continue. 'And it's virtually impossible for one person,' she said. 'And there's the clean-up afterward, which is almost as bad as the job itself. I couldn't do that at my house again for less than five million.' Jumonji picked up his empty coffee cup and put it to his lips, visibly perplexed. Realising the cup was empty, he signalled the waitress, who was still chatting with the manager, and she brought a pot of weak coffee over. When she'd gone, he spoke again.

'What if I get it into your house, take care of the clothes, and handle the disposal?'

'I think the problem is that three million is too much for your middle man. He's telling you eight, but you can bet he's charging ten. So he ends up with five million before we ever see anything. I assume we're talking about some yakuza friend of yours?'

'I see what you mean,' said Jumonji, finger at his lips as he considered what she'd said. 'You've got a point.' She hadn't exactly said he'd been taken, but that was the implication.

'So you'll either have to ask him to take a cut or figure out if he's really getting ten million, one or the other.'

'Okay. But how would you feel about a million five for me and three and a half for you?'

'No dice,' she said, glancing at her watch. It was nearly 11.00; time for her to be getting to work.

'Just give me a minute, would you?' he said, taking out his cell phone, apparently with the aim of conducting the negotiations on the spot. Masako took it as her cue to go to the bathroom. She stared at her face in the mirror there for a moment before pressing a paper towel to her oily forehead. What was she getting herself into? She felt anxious, but also a bit excited. Remembering she had a lipstick in her purse, she fished it out and applied a dab of red to her mouth, which produced a look of surprise when she got back to the table.

'What?' she said.

'Nothing. I think we worked it out.'

'That was quick.'

'I just appealed to his better instincts,' he laughed. Masako remembered that, with a little instruction, he'd been good enough at his job even in the old days.

'And what did you decide?'

'I told him we couldn't do it for eight, but he swore that until we'd proved we could deliver, that was the ceiling. So in the end he reduced the finder's fee to two million; which leaves two for me and four for you. The one condition is that if anything happens, we're on our own and he'll deny he's ever heard of us.'

'Of course he will, which is exactly why you should have asked for more right from the start.' Masako ran through the numbers again in her head. If Yoshie agreed to help her, she could pay her a million. Kuniko was definitely out; and she'd decide what to do about Yayoi later.

'What do you think?' He sounded more confident this time.

'You've got a deal,' said Masako.

'Great!' he said, sighing with relief.

'Just a couple more things.'

'Yes?'

'I'd prefer we use your car for the deliveries. And I want you to get a set of scalpels from a medical supply store. I'm not sure we could manage it again without better equipment.' Jumonj i scratched his cheek as he listened to her requests.

'It's like being a butcher, isn't it?' he said.

'With meat and bone and steaming offal,' she added. Jumonji clenched his teeth. 'And there's just one more question I want to ask you. How did you get Kuniko to spill the beans?'

'I told her I'd cancel her loan,' he said, laughing cheerfully for the first time since they'd sat down. 'Her story cost me ¥440,000, so we need to do some brisk business to recoup my investment.'

'And you're okay with two million?' she asked.

'I am, if there's a decent turnover.'

'Do you really think there's that kind of demand?'

'There's only one way to find out,' he said. She found his enthusiasm appealing. Nodding, she put the money for her share of the bill on the table and stood up. The whole thing still seemed far-fetched to her - at least for the moment.