he body turned out to be a short, thin man, perhaps around sixty. He was bald, had all his own teeth, and had scars from operations on the right side of his belly and in the middle of his chest. The one on the chest was the larger of the two; the one on his stomach was apparently from an appendectomy. Judging from the purple flush on his face and the finger marks on his neck, he had probably been strangled. There were scratches on his cheeks and arms, suggesting he had put up a fight.

There was nothing to tell them what sort of work he had done, or who had killed him, or why. Stripped of his clothes, he was reduced to a lifeless piece of flesh with no links to his previous life. Nor did they need to trace any; all they had to do was carve him up, stuff the bits in bags, and pack the bags in boxes. If you could numb yourself to all the blood and gore, there was really very little difference between this job and the one they did at the factory.

Yoshie pulled the cuffs of her sweat pants up to her knees; Masako wore shorts and a T-shirt. They both wore aprons and gloves pilfered from the factory. Afraid of stepping on bone chips if they went barefoot, Masako was using her husband's rubber boots and had lent Yoshie a pair of her own. And again, there was little difference between these uniforms and the ones they used at work.

'These scalpels are great,' Yoshie said admiringly. The surgical instruments Jumonji had brought them were extremely effective. Unlike the sashimi knives they'd used on Kenji, the scalpels cut through the flesh almost effortlessly, like a new pair of scissors through cloth. Thanks to these improved tools, the work proceeded more quickly than they'd expected.

Unfortunately, they soon realised they wouldn't be able to use the power saw Jumonji had acquired for cutting the bones. During the trial run, it sent a fine mist of bone and flesh flying in their eyes. They would need goggles if they were going to use it in the future. As the work progressed, the room became saturated with blood, and the air was filled with a foul stench from the entrails, just as had happened with Kenji; but in the same way that the work seemed easier this time, the horror associated with it was somehow less acute.

'This must have been heart surgery.' Yoshie's eyes were red from lack of sleep as she traced her finger across the purple, wormlike scar on the man's chest. 'It seems a bit sad somehow: he managed to survive this operation and then ended up getting murdered.' Masako busied herself with sectioning an arm and leg while she listened to Yoshie's musings. The legs were different from Kenji's. While Kenji had been in the prime of life, the skin on this man was sallow and wrinkled, with almost no fat at all. Perhaps it was just her imagination, but she even had the feeling that the saw was cutting through something dry and hollow rather than through flesh and bone. 'It's a lot easier without the blade getting gummed up with fat,' Yoshie said, continuing her monologue as she worked. 'Not like the first one. The bags are lighter, too.'

'I bet he barely weighs fifty kilos,' Masako said.

'And I bet he was a rich old bastard,' she added, sounding very sure of herself.

'How in the world can you tell?'

'Just look at this notch on his finger here. He must have worn a huge ring, thick as a doughnut, studded with diamonds and rubies. Somebody must have yanked it off.'

'You've got an overactive imagination,' Masako laughed.

The morning had begun for Masako as though it were the continuation of a bad dream. Yoshie still hadn't arrived when Jumonji turned up on schedule just after 9.00, looking pale, and carried the body inside, wrapped in a blanket.

'That was pretty scary,' he said, rubbing his cheeks as if he was just back from the Arctic - despite the fact that it was fairly warm for an October morning.

'What was?' Masako asked as she spread a blue vinyl sheet on the bathroom tiles, the same sheet they had used for Kenji.

'This!' he said, gesturing at the corpse. 'It's the first time I've ever seen a dead body. But it wasn't just seeing it, I had to play nursemaid to it half the night. After I put it in the trunk, I went to a Denny's to kill time, and then drove around Roppongi.'

'Weren't you afraid you'd be stopped?'

'It crossed my mind,' he said, 'but I didn't want to be alone with it. I needed to be around people. I know everyone ends up like that when they die, but it still seemed like I had this zombie hidden in my trunk. I knew I was supposed to get the clothes off and all, but I just couldn't, not by myself. I couldn't even look at it till the sun came up. I guess I'm just a coward.' Masako, gazing at his pale face, understood what he'd been through. There was something about dead bodies that made the living recoil. She wondered how long it would take before a corpse came to seem like any other object.

'Where did you have to go to get it?' she asked, touching the bent fingers.

'I think it's probably better if you don't know. If something unexpected happened, it might prove awkward.'

'Like what?'

'I don't know,' he said. 'Something... unexpected.' He lifted the blanket very gingerly and peeked in at the face.

'You mean like the police?' Masako said.

'Not just the police.'

'Then who, for example?'

'The interested parties, so to speak; somebody looking for revenge.' Masako thought immediately of her unknown observer, but Jumonji seemed to mean people with a more mundane, professional connection with the corpse.

'I wonder why he was killed,' she said.

'His disappearing probably made someone else very rich. That's why they have to make sure the body never turns up.' That meant this man was worth several billion yen, at the very least. Masako stared at the dull, colourless skin on his bald head. If you could forget about the 'interested parties', a dead body really was something to be disposed of like any other kind of garbage. Garbage was a natural by-product of human life; and it was nobody else's business what got thrown away or who did the throwing. Though when the time came, you had to be willing to accept the fact that you, too, would be thrown out with the rest.

'Help me get the clothes off,' she said to him calmly.

'All right,' he said. Masako cut slits in the suit and began slipping it off the body, while a jittery Jumonji stuffed it into a bag.

'Was there a wallet or anything else?' she asked.

'No, they took everything like that. We got all that was left.'

'It really is just garbage, then,' she muttered to herself.

'I suppose you could say that,' Jumonji said, looking shocked. 'It's easier to think of it that way.'

'I guess I see what you mean.'

'Did you get the money?'

'I've got it right here,' he said. From his back pocket he produced a brown paper bag, the kind used for penny candy. 'It's exactly six million; I told them we couldn't do it unless we got the whole amount up front.'

'Well done,' she said. 'But what happens if, God forbid, the body's found later on?'

***

'Then we'll have to give the money back. But there are still some people who'll wind up with egg on their faces, and you can be sure they'll find other ways to make me pay.' His voice was shaky, as if he'd only just understood the risk he was running. 'So let's be as careful as possible,' he added.

'Okay,' said Masako. When they'd finished removing the clothes and laid out the naked body in the bathroom, Jumonji took four stacks of bills from the bag and set them in front of her.

'Why don't you take these now,' he said. The bills were dark and wrinkled and wrapped with rubber bands, not like the newly minted money she'd received from Yayoi. They reminded Masako of the cash that had changed harids at the credit union. Dirty business, dirty money, she thought.

***

Masako looked at the alarm clock she'd left on the washing machine in the dressing area outside the bathroom. It was almost noon. They were nearly done, and Jumonji should be back with the boxes soon. Her shoulders and hips felt stiff and heavy from crouching so long over the body - something she hadn't remembered on the first occasion, probably because she'd been so nervous. She also hadn't had any sleep since getting home from the factory, so she was keen to get this over with and lie down.

Straightening up, Yoshie reached around to massage her sore back but then hesitated, her arm suspended in mid-air. 'I can't even rub my own back without getting blood everywhere,' she said.

'Use a new pair of gloves.'

'I don't want to waste them.'

'Don't be silly,' Masako said, nodding toward the bundle of gloves she'd brought home from the factory. 'We've got plenty.'

'It looks like Yayoi's not coming,' Yoshie said as she peeled the bloody gloves off her hands.

'I suppose not,' said Masako. 'I wanted her to see what this is like, just once.'

'She seems to think we're guiltier than she is - even though she's the one who killed her husband.' Her voice was heavy with resentment. 'She looks down on us because we're doing this for money, but that's nothing compared to what she's done.' Just then, the intercom rang and Yoshie screamed in fright.

'Somebody's here. It must be your son.' Masako shook her head.

Nobuki almost never came home at this hour.

'It's probably Jumonji,' she said.

'You're right,' said Yoshie, relaxing slightly. When Masako looked through the peephole, she saw Jumonji standing outside, struggling with an unwieldy load of boxes. She helped him carry them in, and they both went through to join Yoshie.

'I got them,'Jumonji told her.

'Just in time,' Yoshie said, adopting the tone she used with junior employees at the factory.

'How many do we need?' he asked. Masako held up eight fingers. The man had been small, and the bags were less bulky than they'd expected. Besides which, Jumonji had decided to carry the head and clothes, which could be most easily identified, rather than ship them.

'Eight?' he said, looking surprised. 'I would have guessed more.'

'Do you think anybody saw you?' Yoshie asked.

'I don't think so.'

'You didn't see anyone watching the house?' Masako added, giving him a searching look. It could be disastrous if those other, unknown people learned what they were up to.

'No one,' he said. 'Except...'

'Except who?'

'There was a woman standing in the lot across the way. Though she left as soon as she saw me.'

'What did she look like?'

'Plump, middle-aged,' he said. Obviously the woman who had come with questions about the lot.

'Did she seem to be watching the house?' Masako said. 'No, I think she was just looking around. Otherwise, I only saw a couple of other people, probably out shopping. I don't think they noticed anything.' It had been a mistake to insist that he use his own car; next time, her Corolla would be less conspicuous. They loaded the boxes in the car, and as soon as it was done Jumonji drove away.

'Like the foreman wheeling away a stack of boxed lunches,' said Yoshie, which made them burst out laughing. Then they took turns cleaning up in the shower, and scrubbed the bathroom. Realising that Yoshie was beginning to worry about the time, Masako went to get her share of the money.

'Your fee,' she said as she gave it to her. Holding it at arm's length, as if it were filthy, Yoshie quickly stuffed it in the bottom of her bag.

'Thanks,' she said, sounding relieved.

'What are you planning to do with it?'

'I thought I'd use it to send Miki to junior college,' she explained, smoothing back her tangled hair. 'How about you?'

'I'm not sure.' Masako now had five million of her own, but she didn't know what she'd wanted it for.

'I have to ask you this,' Yoshie said, hesitating a moment, 'but don't take it the wrong way.'

'What?'

'Did you get a million, too?'

'Of course,' said Masako, looking her straight in the eye. Yoshie reached into her bag and pulled out the stack of bills.

'Then I want to pay back the money I owe you.' Masako had forgotten she'd lent her money for her daughter's school trip.

Yoshie peeled off eight ¥10,000 bills and bowed as she handed them over. 'I still owe you ¥3000, but I don't have change. Can I give it to you at work?'

'Sure,' said Masako. A loan was a loan. Yoshie looked at her a moment longer, perhaps half expecting her to refuse the money, but when it became clear she wasn't going to, she stood up. 'I'll see you tonight,' she said.

'Tonight,' said Masako. They were used to the night shift, and it felt wrong somehow to be working during the day.