Osamu Dazai's Entrance Exam Read online

  Dazai passes through the door behind me.

  “Hmm? Who’s the new guy?”

  “Hey there. I’d love to introduce myself, but I’d rather not listen to Kunikida’s sass afterward.”

  “You should introduce yourself first before asking, lad. Oh, and, Dazai, don’t try to guess what I’m going to do unless I give you express permission.”

  “Geez, Four-Eyes. You sure love bossing people around… Whatever. Name’s Rokuzo Taguchi, age fourteen. I’m a professional hacker.”

  “He’s the idiot who tried to hack into our system and was caught, so I had to teach him some manners.” I graciously add a few comments for clarity.

  “C’mon, that was forever ago. Just gimme the logs already.”

  Rokuzo hacked into the Armed Detective Agency’s information archive three months ago and threw the organization into chaos. Naturally, the agency is prepared for cyberattacks, and we traced the hacker back here. I roughed up Rokuzo a bit, and now he’s working as our information broker on the condition that we don’t hand the logs over to the police as incriminating evidence. It’s a symbiotic relationship.

  “So did you figure out who sent us that e-mail I asked you to look into?”

  “Wow. Impatient much? I literally just saw it. I’m gonna need more time.”

  I had asked him to locate the mysterious sender. Tracing an e-mail surely isn’t a difficult task for someone of Rokuzo’s caliber.

  “Besides, I’m already busy tracing the missing persons you asked me to find. Isn’t that more important?”

  “It is.” I nod in agreement.

  He’s referring to the Serial Disappearances of Yokohama Visitors case.

  There has been a series of missing-persons incidents, with no obvious connections among the victims. Eleven people have gone missing by now, and already a month has passed since a formal criminal investigation was launched. The victims have only two things in common, albeit minor: They don’t live in Yokohama, and they walked off into thin air. It’s a difficult case with no clues that would help us know where to even begin searching. What I asked Rokuzo to do was to track down evidence of the victims’ activity before they went missing, such as footage of them getting on a train or taking a taxi. However, the results have been less than ideal.

  “Wait. Who went missing? Nobody’s told me anything about this.” Dazai chimes in, expressing interest.

  “I’ll explain everything later.”

  However, I casually brush him off—with reason, of course. I plan to make solving this case Dazai’s entrance exam, and I want to wait for the right time before disclosing said information.

  “Ooh, training the newbie, huh? You’ve really moved up in the ranks, Four-Eyes.”

  “Yeah, he’s a real stubborn boss. You wouldn’t believe what I put up with… By the way, Rokuzo, was it? You’re a hacker, right? So you got any dirt on Kunikida? Maybe some incriminating photos?”

  “Dazai! Not a wise move scheming to blackmail me when I’m right here!”

  “Heh. I like your style, new guy. We got the thousand-yen plan, the ten-thousand-yen plan, and the hundred-thousand-yen plan. What’s it gonna be?”

  “Just what do you have on me?!”

  Wait, wait, wait. Relax, Doppo.

  “Don’t make me laugh. I have nothing to hide. Dazai, ignore this kid. He’s bluffing.”

  “…Hmm.” Dazai shoots me a meaningful glance.

  “You don’t have to believe me. I’ll just sell the information to customers who do. I mean, I guess I could always dispose of it if you’re willing to cough up the cash, Four-Eyes.”

  “Keep dreaming! No such information exists! Come on, Dazai! We’re leaving!”

  I grab Dazai by the collar and quickly drag him out of the room, leaving the information broker’s hideout.

  …One hundred and eleven thousand yen…?

  There is not a soul to be seen in the old factory district. Dazai and I stand in the street, waiting for the taxi we called. Trails of light from passing vehicles come and go. A splash of yellow. A silver ribbon. The scattered crimson of brake lights. White headlights cut through the buildings’ shadows. The reflections of streetlamps flow across the car windows like water. The strong ocean winds slowly push the clouds away, allowing the moonlight to cast black shadows and white highlights over the port.

  “He’s a good kid,” Dazai says with a grin as he looks up at the night sky.

  “I made a mistake by introducing you two. I should have known it wouldn’t lead to anything good.”

  “Hey, can I ask you something?”

  “What?”

  “Why are you looking after him?”

  I glance at Dazai, noticing his solemn expression.

  “Why would you ask him for help? The agency surely doesn’t need any assistance tracing missing people. Plus, you could have just called him for that.”

  I don’t say a word. It’s a difficult question.

  “Would it maybe have something to do with this father of his you mentioned?”

  I can’t help myself from turning to face him.

  “Thought so.”

  Dazai smiles, taking note of my expression.

  “…Rokuzo’s father was an accomplished police officer before he died,” I begin to explain reluctantly. “Some time ago, the agency worked together with the police to track down a certain criminal. He was a big shot—as bad as they come. He destroyed numerous national and corporate buildings. Even though the police were doing everything they could to find him, they just couldn’t trace the guy.”

  “Are you talking about the Azure Banner Terrorist?”

  “Yes.”

  It turned into a heinous case that shook the country, involving both the military and the police.

  “After much time, our agency finally succeeded in finding his hideout, which we reported to the city police.”

  “That’s amazing,” Dazai replies, impressed.

  “Yeah, it was a big deal. However, at the time, the case was being handled by the military, the security police, and the city police as a joint effort, which caused mass confusion among the multiple chains of command. To make matters worse, the criminal got wind of what we were doing, so he barricaded himself in his hideout along with a large number of high-powered explosives.”

  It’s all coming back to me. Conflicting orders coming from all directions—some telling us to arrest the target, some telling us to stand by…

  “Because of the chaotic orders, only five detectives were able to promptly make it to the scene. They were told to rush in and neutralize the enemy at once… But what could five ordinary detectives, neither skill users nor special ops, hope to accomplish against the bloodthirsty Azure King?”

  Not only that, but those on the ground have no way of grasping the situation in its entirety. If the higher-ups give orders to rush in, then that’s it.

  “After being driven into a corner, the Azure King set off a bomb, killing himself…along with the five detectives.”

  “…And one of those police officers happened to be Rokuzo’s father, huh?”

  “Rokuzo lost his mother at a young age. It was just him and his father after that, and he seemed to really look up to the man.” I clench my fist. “I was the one who contacted the police and told them we found the terrorist’s hideout.”

  If only I had contacted someone higher up on the chain of command… If only the detective agency had stormed the hideout with them…

  “I as good as killed him.”

  “No, you didn’t. It was the higher-ups at the police station who gave the orders, and besides, the criminal’s the one who blew himself up.”

  “That may be true, but I doubt the lad sees it that way. He wouldn’t have tried getting revenge by hacking into the detective agency’s database otherwise.”

  I suspect Rokuzo resents us. I’ve never asked him face-to-face, but…

  “Rokuzo’s father is gone, and nothing is going to change that. That’s why someb
ody needs to look out for him—keep him in line when he acts out. And I just happen to be in a position to do it. It’s a matter of convenience.”

  “You’re a real romanticist, you know that?” Dazai’s snickering comes out sounding like a sigh. I’ve never considered myself to be a romanticist, nor do I really know what it means to be sentimental. However, my acquaintances do often describe me as such, though I can’t understand why. After all, this world is far from ideal.

  A taxi stops in front of us while I ponder. The driver waves.

  No two taxi drivers are the same. Some are upstanding people; some are sincere. Some know the side streets and shortcuts like the back of their hand, and some are expert motorists. You’ve also got your cheerful young taxi drivers, along with the more frugal ones who keep their eye on the meter at all times. There is no one answer to which is best, and everyone is rightfully entitled to their opinion. However, there is only one thing I hope for when I get inside a taxi.

  “Well, long time no see, Detective Kunikida. We’re having such nice weather today, yes? It really is the perfect day for investigating. Your glasses really suit you; then again, they always do. When you’ve driven cabs for as long as I have, you start to notice who does and doesn’t look good in glasses. You can see if they’re refined, whether they come from good stock. And your glasses are very becoming! Yep, I guarantee it.”

  “Please, could you shut up and just drive?”

  Besides, how can you determine a person’s upbringing just from their glasses? Ridiculous… I am slightly curious, though.

  “The best taxi drivers are the ones who don’t talk. Has nobody ever told you that before?”

  “Never. In fact, the passengers never really tell me anything at all when I’m driving, since I’m talking the whole time.”

  I know what they call a taxi driver like this: a chatterbox.

  Dazai and I are taking the cab to our next destination for investigation. I look out the window to discover the absence of lights. Shadows from the sparsely distributed trees brush away the dim moonlight as they fade into the distance. Needless to say, it wasn’t a stroke of misfortune that we happened to get into this taxi. We specifically asked for this driver. Why?

  To get information.

  “Dazai, you know the missing-persons case I mentioned earlier?”

  “You mean the one Rokuzo’s looking into?”

  “Precisely. Eleven people are missing so far. And this driver saw two of them right before they disappeared.”

  I point at the small-framed individual driving the vehicle.

  “All I did was drive them from the port to their hotel, though. One was a woman on vacation, while the other was a man in Yokohama on business.”

  “Are you sure these are the two people you saw?”

  I pull out a few pictures from my pocket. They’re all photos of the victims, taken by the hotel’s security camera. There are three types: when they’re entering the building, when they’re filling out the paperwork at the counter, and from the next day when they’re leaving the hotel.

  “Yes, that’s them all right. They were wearing those same clothes. I drove them to this hotel, too.”

  “Great. So, Kunikida, can you finally fill me in on the case’s details?”

  “…Very well.”

  I then begin to summarize the case. About a month ago, a forty-two-year-old man was visiting Yokohama on business when he suddenly vanished. After tracing his footsteps, it became clear that he left the port, checked into the hotel, and went to town the next day. However, he never showed up to his work meeting, nor did he ever return home. His belongings were still in the hotel room, and he simply left of his own accord, disappearing without a trace.

  A single traveler, a participant in a trade show—the other missing people vanished more or less the same way. From age to place of residence and workplace, none of the eleven victims has anything in common, barring that they all visited Yokohama alone. The city police are asking around town, trying to trace the victims’ footsteps after they left the hotel, but they’ve yet to find any witnesses. It’s as if these people disappeared like a puff of smoke.

  The police are leaning toward the possibility of a kidnapping. However, there isn’t a single place in this massive city where someone could be abducted without any witnesses. What would be their objective anyway? None of the families has been threatened to pay a ransom or anything of the sort.

  “The objective’s pretty clear if you ask me.”

  Dazai, who had been quiet this entire time, suddenly speaks up with a merry note in his voice.

  “Trade.”

  “What?”

  “I’m saying, somebody’s kidnapping these people and selling them. From what I’ve heard, it sounds like the missing people have all been healthy adults, right? Hearts, kidneys, corneas, lungs, livers, pancreases, bone marrow—I mean, they’d all be sold in foreign markets, so they’re not particularly valuable in terms of yen, but having eleven bodies is like stepping into a gold mine. If the criminal is acting alone, then I bet they’re sitting on a fortune.”

  “I’ve heard about black markets like this before, but how do you know so much about them?”

  I’m fairly sure the general public knows only what they see in movies or hear in stories.

  “Oh, y’know, I just heard people talking about it at this dingy pub outside of town once.”

  How convenient. A sketchy excuse at best. Then again, the very atoms that make up his body are suspect.

  “…So you’re telling me the victims went to the buyer themselves? In the middle of their trip, they went out of their way to beg someone to buy their organs?”

  “Yeah, you’re right. It doesn’t add up. I guess that means they just wanted to disappear for some reason? Maybe they met with a mediator who specializes in taking people and giving them new names and identities.”

  “But then there should be witnesses or security footage proving they left town to meet with the mediator.”

  “What if they went to a master of disguise to alter their appearance?”

  “Now that you mention it, I’ve heard of someone like that before! In show business, they have this technique that can change men into women. Like, first, they fill their cheeks with some sort of cotton to change the shape of their face, and then—”

  “Nobody asked you.” I promptly cut off the driver before he launches into another one of his never-ending stories.

  “Ah, I’ve got it! Look at this picture! They’re both wearing glasses, right? I found something they have in common! It’s the case of the Serial Disappearances of People with Glasses!”

  I take a look. The victims are indeed wearing glasses: one with black frames and one with silver.

  “This is your chance, Kunikida!”

  “My chance to do what? Regardless, several of the victims weren’t wearing glasses, you know. So no, you didn’t find something they all have in common.”

  If my memory serves me correctly, four of the other nine victims were wearing prescription glasses, two were wearing sunglasses, and three were wearing nothing at all.

  “Tsk… Guess I’ll just have to come up with another way to use you as bait. I bet the criminal targets tourists. All right, Kunikida, slip on your rubber boots, throw on your backpack, put on your red-and-green-striped shirt, and start walking the town in your knickerbockers. Make sure to bring a giant camera with you to take pictures of everyone who walks by and say ‘eh’ at the end of every sentence.”

  “Like hell I will!”

  “‘Like hell I will, eh!’”

  “You call that a strategy? That’s a terri—”

  “‘A terrible idea, eh?’”

  “Stop guessing what I’m going to say!”

  “Hmm? In that case, how about you get naked, put on a top hat, and ride around on a unicycle screaming what kind of girls you like?”

  “We’re not even talking about the same thing anymore!”

  “Hey, I have an
idea, too, Detective Kunikida. How about you dress up like a clown and read—?”

  “You stay out of this!”

  Argh, the both of them! I’m slowly starting to lose my temper here.

  “Dazai! When are you going to start taking work seriously?! Get it together!”

  “What? But I always take work seriously.”

  I really hope that’s just a bad joke.

  “Okay, how about this: Starting real soon, I vow to become a detective you can count on. I will carefully and thoroughly investigate, examine, and reach logical deductions based on evidence. After that, you’ll be so impressed that you’ll immediately allow me to start investigating on my own, and my amazing detective skills will bring a tear to your eye.” Dazai rattles on, trying to persuade me, but his babbling means little to me.

  “And how soon is ‘real soon’?”

  “Right after we get out of this taxi.”

  Oh?

  “Is that so?”

  “Indeed it is. A suicide enthusiast does not back down on his word… Also, in return, if you don’t mind…”

  I knew this was coming.

  “What do you want? I’m not giving you a raise or easier work, if that’s what you’re after.”

  “Oh, it’s nothing that extravagant. It’s just, well, something piqued my interest a little earlier…”

  Dazai steadily gazes in the driver’s direction, his eyes brimming with curiosity.

  “…Let me drive.”

  “AHHHHHHHHHHH!”

  “Mwa-ha-ha-ha-ha-haaa! I am the wind!!”

  “Wai— D-Dazai, stop the car! Stop the car this inst— Aaargh!”

  “GAAAAAAH!!”

  “Blerrrgh…”

  “Ta-daa! Here we are, safe and sound!”

  “Never again… I’m never going to let you drive…ever again…!”

  Dazai gallantly leaps out of the taxi as the door opens, while I stumble and almost fall on my face. The driver, on the other hand, is passed out in the passenger seat. He’s not getting up until morning, that’s for sure.