It was sound advice, so Mitsuhiro stopped at a convenience store on the way. What could he find that wasn’t available at soup kitchens, something Yoshikazu Hara couldn’t access very often? It seemed like almost everything. Mitsuhiro tucked his bag under his arm, grabbed a shopping basket, and started with some chocolate and potato chips. What else should he get? Socks, underwear, shirts? Sandwiches or rice balls? Juice? Or maybe alcohol or cigarettes?
Booze first, his father said. No way anyone’s been offering him booze or cigs, I’m sure. Get him just the right level of drunk, and he’ll start listening to you, trust me. Add some cigarettes to the mix, and I bet he’ll do whatever you want.
Again, this sounded right on the money, so Mitsuhiro put a few tallboys of beer, a small pack of sake, and a travel-size bottle of whiskey in his basket. He then went to the counter and, without really knowing what he was doing, ordered a pack of cigarettes, a lighter, and a chicken skewer from the fryer. The clerk gave him an odd look, no doubt wondering what kind of party he was shopping for on a weekday morning, but said nothing and stuffed it all into a plastic bag.
Holding his “gifts” in his right hand and his bag in his left, Mitsuhiro headed to the park. There was a soup kitchen going on right now, and a small crowd had gathered around three large steaming pots. Several volunteers were chopping up vegetables on folding tables.
In addition to a sign that read “SOUP KITCHEN—PORK SOUP,” cardboard and plywood boards were attached to the fence around the area, displaying protest messages like “STOP FORCED EVICTION!” and “END DEVELOPMENT NOW!!” and “HUMAN RIGHTS IGNORED” and so on. This park, too, was slated for redevelopment. For the people who had finally found a place to sleep here, eviction meant losing their home and their daily routine all over again.
Mitsuhiro walked slowly around the perimeter, feeling supremely uncomfortable. He certainly couldn’t give out his Shimaoka Group business card to people around here. But as he observed the people gathered in the park from outside the fence, his father spoke up.
There he is. Look. Yoshikazu Hara.
Mitsuhiro’s heart swelled with joy and surprise. He stared at the man, who was sitting on the ground in a corner of the park, leaning against the boundary fence and staring blankly into space.
—It’s true! Mitsuhiro shouted with glee in his heart. We did it, Dad!
He never thought in a million years that the man would be this close. It was within easy walking distance of the East Wing site. Hara must’ve vaguely remembered his original job and couldn’t bring himself to stray too far from it.
Mitsuhiro approached the man, marveling at his success after narrowing his search to the soup kitchens. Instead of entering the park, he went around to the other side of the fence the man was leaning against. He didn’t want to attract attention, and Okuyama had informed him that alcohol was strictly prohibited around soup kitchens.
“Mr. Hara? Yoshikazu Hara?” He crouched down and whispered from outside the fence. “It’s me. Matsunaga.”
The man turned around blankly.
“Eh? Who’re you?”
“I’m Matsunaga from Shimaoka. I’m sure glad to see you. I feared the worst when you suddenly disappeared like that.”
“Have we met before?” The man seemed uncomfortable. He had forgotten meeting Mitsuhiro at all. That, or maybe he felt guilty when he saw Mitsuhiro’s bruised face and remembered what he had done.
“You left your worksite. Remember?”
The man frowned silently, his eyes fixed on Mitsuhiro’s plastic bag. He could see what was inside. Now he was sure he had the man’s attention.
“Look, no need to stick around here. Let’s go back to the site and have a couple drinks while we talk things over. I bought some stuff I thought you might like, but I can go back if you want something else.”
“What site?”
“The site in the East Wing in front of Shibuya Station. You were working there, remember?”
“What kind of work?”
“…Well, as far as I know, you were just sitting there next to a shrine. It’s underground, so it’s kind of dark.”
“A security guard?”
“Something like that, I suppose. The construction company paid you.”
“Are you really from Shimaoka…?”
Mitsuhiro took a business card out of his bag. The fence was too finely meshed to hand it over, so he just showed it through the gaps. The man looked left and right, as if he wanted to consult someone. When Mitsuhiro saw him from the side, he suddenly seemed a tad unfamiliar. He looked like Yoshikazu Hara, but not quite. Maybe a not-quite-perfect match? Mitsuhiro stared at him intently.
The man noticed and turned his face back to Mitsuhiro.
“Um, why are you staring at me?”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I thought I might have mistaken you for someone else.”
The man blinked nervously, apparently unsure whether he was about to let a golden opportunity slip through his fingers. As long as he could get that plastic bag, it seemed, he’d do what he was told.
“It’s not dangerous work, is it? Uhh, sometimes people give me money to stand in line for them and stuff. Is it like that?”
“Yeah. Would you mind coming with me and taking a look at the site? I think it’ll jog your memory. If you don’t want to do the job again, that’s fine, too. I’ll bring you to Tamai Construction, and we’ll file a complaint together.”
“Well, if it’s not dangerous, I’ll do it.”
“Great. Um… I’ll wait at the crosswalk by that intersection, okay? If you can head over there for me…”
The man nodded. Mitsuhiro took his two bags and stood up. Meeting at the park entrance seemed unwise. It’d probably attract the attention of the soup-kitchen staff. He didn’t want to get into trouble over the alcohol, and he didn’t want Yoshikazu Hara to change his mind while he was explaining himself. For all he knew, he might quickly forget the conversation they had just now.
But he didn’t have to wait long at the crosswalk. The man half jogged up to him. He was wearing a tattered coat, a fanny pack, and a backpack. Judging from all that luggage, he probably didn’t have a regular place to sleep. Mitsuhiro counted his lucky stars that he’d found him where he did; tracking him at night would’ve been all but impossible.
The light turned green. Mitsuhiro started walking, and the other man obediently followed.
“Would you like one on the way?” he asked, taking a tallboy out of the bag.
“Oh, yes, thank you.”
The man bowed his head repeatedly as he took it, flipped the pull tab, and kept right on walking as he drank from the can. His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down a few times, and when he pulled the can away from his mouth, he exhaled deeply with a light burp.
“Ooh, that hits the spot.”
The man smiled and looked up at Mitsuhiro, who nodded back with a smile of his own. At this rate, it would be a cinch to take him to that hole and chain him up down there.