No job in Shinjuku was drearier than that of the nightshift worker, especially if that worker was a beat cop manning one of the police boxes scattered throughout the city.
After the Devil Quake, Shinjuku law enforcement had been completely reorganized. Nevertheless, many police boxes continued to operate as they always had. Even on nights when the demons were rampaging about, the three uniformed officers manning each koban could be observed killing time under the glow of the flickering red lights.
The commando units that patrolled the DMZ were equipped with body armor and powerful weaponry normally reserved for Special Forces units. But the police boxes were limited to the “safe areas.” That was small consolation to the officers working there at night. “Safety” was a relative term in Shinjuku.
Apparitions and monsters of all stripes took those red lights as signs of human life, and an invitation to give it their best shot. A cop couldn’t breathe a sigh of relief until the watercolor rays of dawn tinged the sky and the day workers streamed past the police box.
✦ ✦ ✦
That night, Officer “Kaneda” couldn’t settle down. His partners Oosugi and Wakamatsu were on patrol and wouldn’t be back for another two hours.
He secured the bulletproof doors, engaged the high-tension electric fences, and turned on the monitors that scanned the streets and sidewalks around the police box. Then he sat down at the desk. But the waves of loneliness and unease gnawed at his heart and mind like an incessant car alarm.
He checked and rechecked the magazine of his gun. He inspected the incendiary and nerve gas rounds stored in the weapons locker and the 40 mm launcher. Still, he couldn’t settle down.
He slapped his cheeks, bellowed out enka ballads, finally realized it was all for naught, and got down to analyzing the cause of his apprehensions. By now it was around midnight.
His insides were fine. He hadn’t eaten anything that disagreed with him. Rather, he’d felt a bit upset earlier that evening and skipped dinner. He was A-OK now.
Rewinding the day, he couldn’t come up with anything that would account for his present mood. He’d been off-duty the night before and had a bit too much to drink, but he’d completely escaped any effects of a hangover.
After thinking it over for five minutes, he finally hit on the likely cause. The day before yesterday he’d received word from the family home in Nagano. His mother’s cirrhosis had worsened, and the inevitability of her condition could no longer be avoided.
He didn’t think about his mother in endearing terms. Her impending death didn’t arouse in him any strong feelings. What tied him in knots was what would happen after that.
The wife of his older brother had been pressed unwillingly into their mother’s care, so they had first dibs on the house and the land it sat on. He couldn’t begrudge them that right, but if the house and property turned out to be the only inheritance, well, that was another matter.
Kaneda had claims of his own to make, and it was equally unlikely that his two older sisters and two younger brothers wouldn’t chime in. In any case, a simple gab-fest was unlikely to overcome the ball and chain of family ties.
In the end, it was every man for himself. Kaneda was keenly aware of this fact. If anybody started staking claims on the inheritance at his mother’s deathbed, he’d have a thing or two to say about that. Simple problem, simple solution. They weren’t exactly talking rocket science.
He wished somebody would visit him. Some half-woman, half-demon from the DMZ would be fine. A mugging victim would be fine. Come knocking on the door of his forlorn police box and he’d be ready with a steaming cup of tea or coffee. They’d talk the night away.
Come on down! Kaneda wished in his heart. He was going to go freaking nuts otherwise.
His wishes went unfulfilled. Only the time passed. He figured he could last an hour. And then after that, somehow hold out for another forty minutes. If his two partners would just return by then—
One o’clock in the morning. Not a sign of human life on the pavement in front of the police box.
One-thirty. The officer could believe that the red light shining onto the street was somehow alive. Come to think of it, the border where the light met the night seemed to be wavering. The soft undulations turned into a head, and the darker parts, like upside-down crescent moons, were eyes.
“Holy—” The officer blurted out, jumping to his feet.
Sitting there doing nothing, his mind was shaking free of its moorings. He was turning into the kind of thing more appropriate to this town.
Just then the monitors on the wall squawked an alarm. On the No. 3 monitor, a woman in a gray dress was hurrying down the dark street on the right. The street led away from the Nakai station on the Seibu Shinjuku line.
The police box was located only fifty yards from the station.
The woman looked to be in her mid-twenties. She was wearing a fair amount of makeup. Kaneda’s first thought was that she worked in the “entertainment” business. Every few steps she glanced over her shoulder. She was running away from something.
Kaneda darted to the weapons locker. He pressed his palm against the handprint reader and yanked open the doors.
He got out a 12-gauge shotgun and selected a chemical incendiary load from the stack of 10-round rotary drum magazines. A hit by one of these babies triggered a chemical reaction with the creature’s body fat, quickly reaching three thousand degrees and incinerating the target from within. In the case of body armor, the mist from the exploding shell would invade any breathing apparatus and deliver the same fate.
As a general rule, normal shotgun shells were used on normal human beings. During the night, though, incendiary loads were permitted. Because no normal criminal ventured out of doors in Shinjuku at night.
Kaneda released the safety. Holding the shotgun tightly against his waist, he ventured outside the police box.
The oppressive heat beat against his face. The woman was no more than two yards away. Even seeing him, she didn’t pick up the pace. She must be pretty calm under fire.
“Freeze!” Kaneda shouted, looking at the woman and then past her. He was doing everything according to the book. In this city, victims weren’t always the ones who needed “saving.” Cops were fair game too.
The woman obeyed, shooting a look behind her. Nothing was there. Her shoulders fell. Clearly from relief.
“Can I see some I.D.?” Kaneda asked politely. But he didn’t relax so much as a pinky.
“Um, here you go—”
The woman turned up the right lapel of her dress. She’d stuck her I.D. there. When she lifted her collar it tumbled to the ground like a leaf. Not taking his eyes off her, Kaneda picked it up and quickly examined it.