massage parlor, an event-planning firm, an interior designer, and a fortune-teller.
Damage from the fire was concentrated on, besides the restaurant, the second, third, and fourth floors, and more narrowly on the fifth and sixth. But essentially, with the basement garage burned out as well, the entire building had been rendered useless and would have to be torn down. This was the verdict of the beauty salon owner Takizawa and Takako were now sounding out.
The beauty salon owner had come to the shop by to see what he could salvage from the fire. The acrid smell of smoke was still strong. Looking at the photo in Takizawa's hand, he asked, "Is that the guy who did it? .. . Oh, he's the one who burned to death. What a terrible thing." And that was when, after a moment, he said the guy looked familiar.
"I don't know where I've seen him," he went on. "I have to say, it's quite chilling to hear he's dead. All in all, I think it would be better if he was a stranger, don't you? I mean, if it turned out he was someone I knew even a little, I couldn't be this offhanded about the whole thing, could I?"
Once the man started talking, he rattled on, perhaps a habit ingrained from his line of work. If she were interviewing him alone, thought Takako, she would cut the pleasantries short, ask him point-blank what she wanted to know, and then move on. She had no use for men who were so blatantly shallow and glib, real chatterboxes. He seemed the type who had no real information to offer but was full of curiosity, eager just to keep the conversation going.
"You suffered a lot of damage here, didn't you?"
"Oh, did we ever. I'm scouting around for a new place now, but who knows how much it's going to end up costing me. I had a really, really nice setup here, but now I'll be right back in the hole."
Too bad, but what about the face in the photograph? Takako had to bite her tongue to keep from butting in. If he remembered, he remembered; if he didn't, he didn't. She just couldn't bear the way he kept going on. Now he was starting on about the early days when he was a live-in employee.
After spending the better part of a half hour in conversation, Takizawa finally lifted a hand. "Well, if anything comes up we may be back to ask your help, but in the meantime, you hang in there."
The guy looked deflated, apparently not yet done talking, but he nodded and said, "Mm-hmm."
Every little gesture of his struck Takako as effeminate.
He and the penguin would make a great couple.
No one was in the remaining stores and offices, all the way to the top floor. The elevator out of use, Takako and Takizawa trudged up and down the stairs, knocking on doors. Nearly half the places had notices posted giving contact information, an address and phone number. Undoubtedly, they were all out hustling for new quarters. Her hands numb with cold, Takako copied down every bit of the information. As she did so, Takizawa stood aside smoking a cigarette, not bothering to open his notebook; he must think this is women's work.
Sure, sure, I'll do it all. God knows if you wrote it down we wouldn't be able to read it later anyway.
The building was draped in white plastic sheeting on the outside, like a construction site; inside, the passageways were freezing cold, and sunlight filtering through the white sheeting created the effect of bright snow. On the upper floors the wind was stronger, and the sounds from the sheeting as it bellied out or pressed in toward them were eerie. Takizawa finished his cigarette and tossed the butt to the floor. Such insensitivity made Takako cringe. She loathed people who carelessly threw trash alongside a road—and this was worse: it was the scene of a fatal fire, for heaven's sake!
As they came back down the frigid stairs to the second floor, suddenly a shrill voice sounded behind them: "Oh, there you are! Officer!" The beauty salon owner was waving a long, thin arm at them.
Takako looked reflexively at Takizawa, who greeted the guy
Damage from the fire was concentrated on, besides the restaurant, the second, third, and fourth floors, and more narrowly on the fifth and sixth. But essentially, with the basement garage burned out as well, the entire building had been rendered useless and would have to be torn down. This was the verdict of the beauty salon owner Takizawa and Takako were now sounding out.
The beauty salon owner had come to the shop by to see what he could salvage from the fire. The acrid smell of smoke was still strong. Looking at the photo in Takizawa's hand, he asked, "Is that the guy who did it? .. . Oh, he's the one who burned to death. What a terrible thing." And that was when, after a moment, he said the guy looked familiar.
"I don't know where I've seen him," he went on. "I have to say, it's quite chilling to hear he's dead. All in all, I think it would be better if he was a stranger, don't you? I mean, if it turned out he was someone I knew even a little, I couldn't be this offhanded about the whole thing, could I?"
Once the man started talking, he rattled on, perhaps a habit ingrained from his line of work. If she were interviewing him alone, thought Takako, she would cut the pleasantries short, ask him point-blank what she wanted to know, and then move on. She had no use for men who were so blatantly shallow and glib, real chatterboxes. He seemed the type who had no real information to offer but was full of curiosity, eager just to keep the conversation going.
"You suffered a lot of damage here, didn't you?"
"Oh, did we ever. I'm scouting around for a new place now, but who knows how much it's going to end up costing me. I had a really, really nice setup here, but now I'll be right back in the hole."
Too bad, but what about the face in the photograph? Takako had to bite her tongue to keep from butting in. If he remembered, he remembered; if he didn't, he didn't. She just couldn't bear the way he kept going on. Now he was starting on about the early days when he was a live-in employee.
After spending the better part of a half hour in conversation, Takizawa finally lifted a hand. "Well, if anything comes up we may be back to ask your help, but in the meantime, you hang in there."
The guy looked deflated, apparently not yet done talking, but he nodded and said, "Mm-hmm."
Every little gesture of his struck Takako as effeminate.
He and the penguin would make a great couple.
No one was in the remaining stores and offices, all the way to the top floor. The elevator out of use, Takako and Takizawa trudged up and down the stairs, knocking on doors. Nearly half the places had notices posted giving contact information, an address and phone number. Undoubtedly, they were all out hustling for new quarters. Her hands numb with cold, Takako copied down every bit of the information. As she did so, Takizawa stood aside smoking a cigarette, not bothering to open his notebook; he must think this is women's work.
Sure, sure, I'll do it all. God knows if you wrote it down we wouldn't be able to read it later anyway.
The building was draped in white plastic sheeting on the outside, like a construction site; inside, the passageways were freezing cold, and sunlight filtering through the white sheeting created the effect of bright snow. On the upper floors the wind was stronger, and the sounds from the sheeting as it bellied out or pressed in toward them were eerie. Takizawa finished his cigarette and tossed the butt to the floor. Such insensitivity made Takako cringe. She loathed people who carelessly threw trash alongside a road—and this was worse: it was the scene of a fatal fire, for heaven's sake!
As they came back down the frigid stairs to the second floor, suddenly a shrill voice sounded behind them: "Oh, there you are! Officer!" The beauty salon owner was waving a long, thin arm at them.
Takako looked reflexively at Takizawa, who greeted the guy
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