Hanzai Japan: Fantastical, Futuristic Stories Of Crime From And About Japan - Plot & Excerpts
I’d started the drive in the dark, and the light was still barely enough to take photos by, and it was so foggy—that mountain fog that hangs so heavy it seems impossible you can’t push it aside with one hand and let it swing shut behind you—that when I saw the man on the carousel it took me ten seconds to realize he was dead. I hoped it was Leaper. He was propped with his back against the pillar, head lolling slightly, like he’d died admiring one of the horses still clinging to its post. I didn’t see any blood, not then, but his eyes had clouded over, so he’d been dead at least overnight. (At the time I didn’t know how I knew, and I was already in the car headed back when I realized it was condensation on his corneas, like back in New York on the windows that faced the garden, and I braked so hard I spun out.) There was no bag near him. I imagined his friends panicking and making a run for it, which seemed sadder than him actually dying until I realized he might not have been an explorer at all, just dragged here because no one would find it.
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