Tokyo Jazz and Other Stories E-Book

Sean O'Leary

• Herausgeber: Next Chapter
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022

Beschreibung

A private investigator - a stranger in a strange land - searches for a missing girl in Tokyo.

Two brothers have a life-long pact. But what happens when a deal goes wrong?

A homeless man gives up his drug and alcohol-fuelled life. But is the good life all it's supposed to be?

Stopped by police one night, a group of friends runs into trouble. Soon, one of them must confront his past.

These and other lives collide in Tokyo Jazz & Other Stories, a collection of crime and literary stories set in Japan and Australia.

This book contains graphic violence and is not suitable for readers under the age of 18.

Leseprobe

TOKYO JAZZ AND OTHER STORIES

SEAN O’LEARY

Copyright (C) 2022 Sean O’Leary

Layout design and Copyright (C) 2022 by Next Chapter

Published 2022 by Next Chapter

Edited by Lorna Read

Cover art by CoverMint

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the author’s permission.

I hope you make the best of it. I hope you see things that startle you. I hope you feel things you’ve never felt before. I hope you meet people who have a different point of view. I hope you live a life you’re proud of, and if you’re not, I hope you have the courage to start over again.

F. Scott Fitzgerald.

PUBLICATION HISTORY

The Past published by Spillwords

Connections was first published in Walking.

Sasha was first published in Quadrant.

Satellite City was first published in Quadrant

Bully was first published by Quadrant

Stars was first published in FourW

The Streets was first published in FourW

Jazz published by Spillwords

Opal Beach published by Spillwords

CONTENTS

Tokyo Jazz

Connections

The Pledge

Shooting Stars

Sasha

Opal Beach

Jazz

The Past

Fremantle

Ode to Darwin

Satellite City

Stars

Bully

Under the Milky Way

The Streets

Acknowledgments

You may also like

About the Author

TOKYO JAZZ

She worked as a hostess in a club in Tokyo until she went missing three weeks ago. She had only been in the country for three months, was twenty-one years old. The Japanese cops had told her parents they had few leads. Moments before my Japan Airlines flight lands, I take the photo of her from the inside of my black suit jacket and stare at it: the blonde hair like Sharon Stone in Basic Instinct, dark brown, almond-shaped eyes, a shy little smile on her still young, cherubic face. Those Japanese guys in the club would have died for her. Her name is Lily Henderson, she is from Terrigal, a small town on the central coast of NSW.

I get through customs quickly, buy a Suica card, find the express train from Narita Airport to Shibuya. It’s my first time in Japan. I’m doing what all the Tokyo guides told me to do. Takes a stranger to find a stranger. It is 9.30am. I slept roughly on the flight. I am thirty years old. My name is Lee Janson. I’m a private investigator. I will do everything possible to find Lily, to try and bring some peace to the parents.

I look out at the city from the train; lots of lights and billboards, a river crossing, old-style Japanese homes, too. Industrial-type buildings that fade quickly. She had told her parents she was staying in an Airbnb. They gave me the address. I booked an apartment in the same building only a few hours ago. She didn’t send any photos to her parents. No Facebook account. No Instagram. No Tick Tock. This is so weirdly unusual in the age of social media.

She didn’t have any close friends in Terrigal. She had moved to Sydney a year ago, worked as a waitress in a café on Victoria Street, Darlinghurst, rented a room near Five Ways in Paddington, called her parents twice or three times every week, told them she liked going to the MCA and the Art Gallery of NSW, that she was happy. Then, out of the blue, she went to Tokyo.

I get out at Shibuya station suddenly surrounded by people. My mobile tells me that I need to find exit eight or the Hachiko exit for Shibuya Crossing. I look at the signs, everything is organized. I walk slowly behind a wall of people, hear other trains arriving, traffic noise from the world outside the station, people talking, laughing. I shuffle on down a narrow platform following the signs, the crowds. They are all dressed immaculately, except for most of the western tourists; that’s what I notice about the people around me. I’m dying for a cigarette. I’m walking faster now, going down some escalators, doing a sharp right as I look at my phone, platform signs, people. I’m at the exit. I walk through the gate, tapping my new Suica card as I go through the turnstile.

It’s like a postcard, like the final few moments from Lost in Translation. It is buzzing, people all around. I look up at the neon billboards, look in every direction following where the crossings lead, the different streets intersecting, people talking but waiting politely for the lights to change. On my mobile I change the location I’m heading for to the Airbnb apartment. The lights change. People arrive from every direction, seamlessly. I put on my wireless headphones for the directions. Cross over the lights, walk past Starbucks, a book shop, turn left up the hill, continue walking for seven hundred metres up Koen Dori towards Yoyogi Park,Google tells me. I keep walking, avoiding hitting people, but it’s a very polite, civilized crush of people.

When the crowd thins out a bit as I walk up the hill, I stop, light a cigarette. Take a few drags on it, keep walking. I have my Zorali backpack on, my laptop bag strap across my chest, looking no doubt like a fuckin’ tourist. I see shopping malls on my left and right, straight ahead, all-around, electrical stores, sushi bars, ramen and noodle shops, American style diners, fashion boutiques, up-market and downscale shops everywhere. I walk on. Get directions through the headphones to turn left in two hundred metres. I turn past the 7-11 store, walk another fifty metres to find the building. I find the keypad, punch in my pre-arranged code, enter the small foyer, up in the lift to the third floor, another code to enter the apartment. I punch it in, open sesame.

I made it.

I take a long shower in the tiny, extremely well-organised bathroom. Clean my teeth. Change into a new black suit over a black t-shirt, put on my black Doc Marten kicking boots.

I’m going to the Club in Shinjuku where she worked, then to the police station there. The club is where the trail begins and ends. Airbnb confirmed that a girl stayed here under the name of Lily Henderson for the first three months she was supposed to have been here in Shibuya. They had no photo ID of the girl. I hustle out, down in the lift. Open the Uber app on my mobile.

Wait!

The Club is closed. I have a mobile number for it. I heard they call Shinjuku ‘the sleepless town’; well, even Kabuki-Cho is sleeping now. I call and am surprised when someone answers after the third or fourth ring.

“Moshi Moshi.”

“Hello. My name is Lee, I’m…”

“Ah, you’re the Australian, yes?”

“Yes, I am.”

“You want to know about the girl?”

I’m staggered. “Yes. You are Hiroto?”

“Yes, Mr Lee Jenson.”

“Are you at the club now?”

“Yes.”

“I’m outside.”

‘Give me a few minutes.’

I emailed this guy back and forth a few times, confirmed she worked here. The club is simply called the Shinjuku Club. I tap my pocket where the photo of Lily standing outside the club is and wait.

The metal door swings open and a tall man with jet black hair parted on the right side appears and says, “Lee?”

“Yes.”

“Come in.”

We walk down a short hallway into a large, open room with booths, small tables, longer tables for big groups. A bar stretches along one wall. It’s dark.

Hiroto guides me to a booth and says, “Please sit.”

I slide into the booth. No mirror balls here, it’s very low key, no garish lights but it’s daytime in the land of the city at night.

“Any idea where Lily is?”

“She only worked here for a week, maybe ten days.”

“What?”

“She only worked here for a short time. As I said, maybe a week, ten days.”

“Her parents, the police, they are under the impression she…”

“It’s the wrong impression. I found out she was having a sexual relationship with a guy, a regular, outside the club, on her own time. It doesn’t work like that here.”

“Where did you learn English?”

He gives a look that says, are you insane?

I smile.

He says, “I spent some time in America and the UK.”

“Right.”

I take the photo out of my pocket and say, “This is the girl I’m talking about.”

He takes the photo, looks at it. “I’m not sure. The Lily who worked here had black hair, the same colour as mine and short, not long like this. It looks like her, but in the club, she wore a traditional-style Japanese evening dress, she even looked a bit Asian with her narrow, dark-brown eyes.”

Shit.

I want to explode.

“Listen, mate, I have a police report saying she worked here for at least two or three months and…”

“I’m sorry, Lee but we can’t even agree it’s the same person.”

“But you had an Australian girl called Lily working here?”

“Yes, but I told you she…”

“Where the fuck did she go, mate? After you sacked her like that.”

“I’m going to give you some advice, Lee. If you behave like this, you won’t get anywhere. Nobody will help you. Most likely they’ll be amused by your lack of self-control. Even if you’re furious as you are now, it…”

“Thanks, thanks. I’ll take it on board. Where did she go after you sacked her?”

“I heard she began working for a brothel further down Kabuki-Cho. It happens to a lot of girls, but I don’t know which brothel.”

“Did she make with friends with any of the girls here?”

“I’m not sure. We open at seven tonight. The girls get here at six. You can come back then, speak to whoever you like.”

He shakes my hand at the door but neither of us says anything and he closes the door on me.

The police station is at Nishi-Shinjuku 6-1-1. I walk slowly there. The police report that the Japanese cops sent Lily’s parents didn’t have a photo of her in Japan. It’s a big building. I climb the stairs and enter the front office. Talk to a Japanese cop who seems to understand but says nothing to me. He picks up the phone on the desk, says something in Japanese, then turns his attention to me, says very slowly, “Please take a seat?”

He points to a row of chairs behind me.

I do what he tells me, while wondering what the fuck is going to happen here. I want to fucking rattle some cages, choke some fucker into telling me the truth. All this politeness. Fuck. Is this what Lily came up against from day one?

A man in a grey suit with a light blue shirt and dark blue tie walks towards me. Stops, hands me a card, bows. The plain white card says Chief Inspector Sato. It has a mobile number underneath it in black print. I take out my New South Wales Private Enquiry Agent license and show it to him. He holds it with his right hand, looks at the photo, at me, nods, then says, “How can I help you, Mr Jenson?”

“Lee.”

“Lee, thank you. How can I help you?”

“You don’t know why I’m here?”

“I know. Please tell me how I can help you?”

“Lily Henderson went missing three weeks ago. She rang her parents two or three times a week, telling them she was a hostess, everything was going fine, she was making money, saving and then nothing.”

“We have been working hard on this case, Mr Jenson. As I told her parents, we don’t have any leads as yet.”

“What did you find in her apartment?”

“We went to the address she said she was staying at and the apartment was empty save for a few books left behind. The owner of the Shinjuku Club said that she had left of her own accord about the same time she stopped contacting her parents.”

“I’ve just been at that fucking club, Chief Inspector, and the owner told me she was sacked after only a week or ten days, so what the fuck did he tell you?”

“Who?”

“The fucking hostess club owner, who the fuck else?”

He nods a few times, looks at the floor, says, “What is the name of the man you spoke to, please?”

“Hiroto Suzuki.”

“What did he look like?”

“He was tall with black hair, parted severely on the right-hand side, black eyes, a smooth, clean face, dressed well, he was in his thirties or thereabouts.”

“I’m afraid there has been a mistake. Mr Suzuki is an older man, short and balding, I think nearly sixty years old.”

I sit down. Shake my head. What the fuck?

“I… ah… shit. I have a passport number for Lily Henderson.”

“Yes.”

“Something is fucked up here. Very fucked up. She would have filled out a landing card on the plane. She flew with Philippine Airlines via Manila airport. Your customs officials will have the card, yes?”

“Yes.”

“How can I get it?”

“I can organise for you to go to the correct office.”

“Right, her passport would have been scanned, yes?”

“Yes… er, the passports are checked by personnel on the counter. Yes, it would have been scanned.”

“Have you checked that it was?”

“What?”

“I want to know if she arrived here. The prick at the Shinjuku Club couldn’t ID her. Airbnb has no photo of her. You say the apartment she was in was empty. I want to know what the fuck happened to her from the minute she got off that fucking plane.”

Sato sits down next to me and says, “Mr Jenson, can I give you some advice?”

“Chief Inspector, I get the feeling you’re going to comment on my manners. Am I right?”

“Yes, I think if…”

“Have you found the girl?”

“No.”

“Do you have a fucking clue what happened to her?”

“We have no solid leads.”

“Then, excuse me, but I’ll stick to how I do things, right? Now, I need to see that card. I need to see the passport that was scanned. Can you help me or not?”

He simply nods, ignoring my bluster, and says, “I can help you. Please wait here. I will be back shortly.”

I’m on the express train to Narita. There is an office there where the cards are kept. Another where I can see the scanned passport. For unknown reasons, they couldn’t email it to me but I want to see it. See the time and date. I also contacted Philippine Airlines but they haven’t got back to me, yet. The train arrives on the platform. This is the legwork I don’t care for but it has to be done. Dotting and fucking crossing. I ask at the information counter for directions to the office. It’s kind of amazing, with all the technology everywhere, that it comes down to this card Lily filled out with a black biro or pencil.

I find the office, open the door. A girl in what looks like a customs uniform sits at a desk. I take a deep breath. Think, be polite. I tell her why I’m here.

She nods. “The police said you would be coming, please take a seat.”

I turn around and spot a small row of blue plastic chairs behind me. I sit. She smiles. Picks up the phone. I understand “Moshi Moshi”, nothing else.

I wait.

I think about going to an electrical store and buying a translator thing. That’s the technical term. The Uber driver to Shinjuku used one to communicate with me and it worked beautifully. But I haven’t found a language barrier so far, so decide to hold off.

A small guy, dressed in the same style uniform as the girl, comes out from behind a frosted glass door. Looks at the girl, at me. The girl nods. He comes over to me, bows. I’m expecting the business card but it doesn’t get produced.

He says, “Mr Jenson.”

“Yes.”

“Please follow me.”

I get up and follow him through the frosted glass door. Down a hallway with offices on each side. He stops and opens the door of an office on his right.

“Please come in,” he says.

“Thanks, mate,” I say and follow him in. It’s quite a large office, a white desk in front of rows of filing cabinets. He goes behind the desk, sits in a comfortable-looking black chair with rollers on it. Points to a chair in front of the desk, says, “Please.”

I sit.

He opens a desk drawer, takes out a disembarkation arrival card, puts it on the desk, pushes it across to me. “Please.”

I pick up the card. Lily Henderson. I take out my mobile camera, indicate to the guy I want to take a photo. He nods. I put the card on the desk, take a photo. I pick it up, turn it over, take another photo. Pick it up again, go to the section about where she would be staying. She has written in black pen, not pencil, so it hasn’t been erased or anything: APA Hotel Shibuya-Dogenzaka-Ue. Not only APA Hotel but the full title and location. I shake my head. Why? But it doesn’t matter. I have, I hope, a solid lead unless she was, in rugby league terms, selling a dummy, but I think she did that with Airbnb. Why lie to her parents about it? She tells them she’s working as a hostess in a Japanese club, which probably didn’t make Mum and Dad back home in Terrigal all that proud, but makes up stories about where she is living. Nothing makes sense.

She was here; she then vanishes.

I look at the guy and say, “Did the police ask for this card?”

“No.”

“Thank you. I was told you could help me with seeing a scan of her passport?”

“Yes, that is in a different office. You will be able to see the time and date of the scan. Also, a photo of the girl at the customs arrival counter at the same time and date.”

“Arigato.” Just thought I’d try it out.

He nods and smiles.

OK. Things are moving forward at last.

“Please follow me.” He opens the door.

I say, “What’s your name, mate?”

“Kei.”

“I’m Lee, nice to meet you.”

He smiles.

I put out my hand.

He shakes it. “Pleased to meet you.”

“Likewise.”

I follow him down the hallway. We get into a lift, go up a few floors. I follow him out, down another long corridor. He opens a door on the left-hand side. I follow him in. In this office, there is only a desk with one chair behind it. One computer on the desk, a mouse and mouse pad.

“Please sit down, Lee,” he says.

I sit down. He leans over next to me, plays with the mouse, the screen comes alive, he clicks on an app, finds what he’s looking for, double clicks on the name Lily Henderson and her passport comes up on the screen. The date is June 1st. Three months ago, and the time is 8.15 pm. It coincides with the arrival time of the Philippines Airlines flight. I nod, he clicks on something else. A photo of Lily with her short blonde hair at the customs arrival check-in with the same date and time.

I nod.

She was here.

I stare at her photo. She is wearing a green t-shirt, has white buds in her ears, a suitcase on wheels, a laptop bag strapped across her chest. She is smiling at the male customs officer, he is smiling back at her. I don’t say anything, but Kei volunteers.

“We have a video of her leaving the terminal and getting on the Narita Express.”

“Thank you.”

“The police didn’t ask for this information, either.”

I nod. “I appreciate that.”

He says, “What happened to her?”

“She’s missing. Three weeks now, her parents are worried about her.”

“I am a father, too,” he says. “My daughter is eighteen, she wants to go to America, to Memphis, to see where Elvis lived.”

I laugh out loud. It makes me feel wonderful. Like a human being again, not a machine trying to track down the girl.

“If you need help with anything, you can call me,” he says and puts down his little white card with his name and mobile on it.

“Thanks a lot. You’ve been a big help.”

Back at Shibuya Station, I’m still not sure about how to get to the crossing exit without following the signs. My headphones are in my laptop bag. I enjoy all the sounds, voices, hints of music from other headphones around me. I make it to exit eight and smile to myself, spirits lifted by my visit to Narita Airport. When I get to the Airbnb I’ll call Lily’s parents.

It’s dark now. I merge into the streams of people, look up at the screens high on the buildings. It’s so much more beautiful at night. There is a video of a trailer of a film called Black Hat starring Australian Chris Hemsworth. I can hear him speaking over the crowd like a beautiful Big Brother. It’s a little weird and scary, but fun. This place is a bit like magic land, with the video screens, posters, neon lights, beautifully dressed young and old Japanese people, the tourists looking all around them, taking it in. I cross the road and begin walking up the hill. I don’t need Google now.

I enter the code into the front door of the apartment. Push it open, see it has been trashed. My gear is all over the floor, bed and black leather couch. I’m angry. I want to fuck the place up. I don’t. I slowly pick everything thing up. Nothing is missing. I had my laptop and phone and my USBs with me. They have gained no information. I think for a second about what the Chief Inspector told me. I take his card from my wallet, call him.

“Moshi Moshi.”

“Chief Inspector, this is Lee Jenson.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Do you have the books she left behind?”

‘They are in an investigation bag, yes.”

“Can I have them?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll pick them up tomorrow. Also, my apartment has been trashed. Nothing is missing but maybe you could have a look.”

“Maybe, we check for fingerprints, some DNA, yes. I’ll send a team but it won’t be for a while, maybe not even tonight but tomorrow.”

“Right, thanks.”

“Where will you be staying?”

“I don’t know,” I say, lying to him.

“Thank you, Mr Jenson.”

“Arigato, Chief Inspector.”

I don’t why I want the books. I’m still not one hundred percent sure she didn’t stay in this building. Maybe she stayed at the APA, then moved here. But I think, I’m the only one who knows she stayed at the hotel. I call and book a room there.

I gather my backpack, phone and camera, sling my laptop bag across my shoulder, put my headphones on, then walk to the hotel with the help of Google.

I show the girl at the reception desk the photo of Lily. She looks closely but doesn’t know her. I am on the tenth floor in 1007. It is a lovely, clean, compact room, with a view of the city at night. More lights that dazzle in the biggest metropolis in the world. Thirty-eight million people. I take a few bottles of vodka from the mini-bar, a small bottle of lemonade, take a few sips, make another and another. Drink some local Asahi beers. Open my Uber app. It will be interesting to drive around the city at night.

I arrive at the Shinjuku Club at eight PM. There is a small queue. I wait politely. Pay the cover charge. Fuck. I forgot to call Lily’s parents. Shit. Anyhow, maybe I’ll find out some more now. I am shown to a small table. I look around the room for the tall Japanese man from this morning, but the lights are subdued, muted. I can’t see him. A beautiful Japanese girl in a cocktail dress approaches my table. I watch her come to me. She has her black hair tied up in a bun, dark skin, a bit like the tennis player Naomi Osaka but, in contrast to her, she is slim and small, not strong and athletic.

She bows in front of me, saying, “Would you like some company?”

“Yeah, I would, thanks.”

“You’re Australian?”

“Yes.”

“What would you like to drink?”

For some crazy reason I order two Mai Tais, not even sure they’ll make them.

“Thank you, but I can’t drink at work.”

“They’re both for me.”

“Oh, I’ll go and get the drinks.”

I think I scared her and it’s only the first order.

I watch her walk to the bar. The little black dress is a backless cocktail number showing off her slim legs. She has a small bum, elegant back, that hair piled high.

She comes back and places the drinks down on Shinjuku Club coasters that are already on the table. I make a mental note to grab a couple for souvenirs but it’s work time now.

I take the photo of Lily out of my pocket and show it to her. “Do you know her? She used to work here.”

“Oh, let me see the photo,” she says, taking it from my hand. She gives it a decent look then hands it back, saying, “No, sorry.”

“She worked here. Her hair might have been black.”

“No.”

“Do you know the tall man that was working here this morning? He had jet black hair, slicked down and parted clearly on the right hand side. Tall guy.”

“The manager is tall, has hair like that.”

“Is he here?”

“Somewhere, yes. Why don’t you relax, tell me about yourself?” she says, putting her hand on my thigh, which I’m sure the tall guy has instructed her to do.

“Lady, I’m here looking for the girl in that photo. Her parents are worried about her.”

“I can’t help you.”

“Get me two more Mai Tais.”