other oversize vehicles. The poor excuse for a sidewalk that led here was so close to the street that when you crossed paths with someone coming from the other direction, you worried the oncoming traffic might slice off a body part. Even though it was noon, the ramen shop was deserted. Takizawa was not surprised.
This beats everything. Of all the lousy luck.
Takizawa's leg-jiggling was a nervous habit that came on when he was upset. He had never noticed it himself until his colleagues pointed it out; now when he found himself jiggling a leg, he made pointed efforts to calm himself down. He wasn't a hothead, not really.
In front of him sat the female detective, expressionless as ever. This tall woman whose neck, arms, and legs were so long and slender looked to be around twenty-seven, maybe twenty-eight—no, make that twenty-eight or twenty-nine. She had small tits and a small face that didn't seem to have on much makeup, but her skin was nice. From Takizawa's point of view she was hardly more than a kid, yet she showed total calm, following him around since yesterday without a peep.
How come it's gotta be me?
When the special investigation headquarters was set up, Takizawa for the first time in a while felt a surge of excitement and energy. He himself had been the first to see the burned body carried out of the fire scene, and the moment he did so, the oddness of the burns made him suspicious. That his powers of observation and his instincts were so dead-on had given him secret delight. But then to be paired with a woman was like having cold water thrown in his face.
"Tanmen coming up!" The thin, fortyish man running the place by himself brought each of them a big bowl of hot noodles.
When Takizawa sat down and ordered tanmen, noodles in a salty broth topped with stir-fried meat and vegetables, the female detective simply said, "Two, please." After that she said nothing at all, just looked around the place as they waited for their food. Her face wore an extremely unconcerned look. For Takizawa, nothing could have felt more awkward.
Now Otomichi took a pair of wood chopsticks out of the upright container on the table and began to poke at the noodles gently. "Mmm, looks good," she said quietly to herself. She brought some noodles to her lips, blew the steam off vigorously, and ate them with a faint slurping sound. Takizawa reached for his own set of chopsticks, and watched as she ate with her head down over her bowl. There seemed to be a touch of a wave in her hair, which looked fine and soft. Her hand plying the chopsticks was delicate; there was a raised vein on the back of her hand.
And yet she's so inconsiderate! Takes out chopsticks only for herself.
A woman ought to demonstrate a little more consideration for others than that. With scarcely a glance at him, she just went on eating. Was she unaware of what she was doing, or was this a subtle way of busting his balls? Either way, it did nothing to endear her to him. Takizawa's leg jiggled as he poked his chopsticks into his bowl of noodles.
He had his reasons for not talking to her. First off, he didn't trust women. They were flighty. They let their emotions run away with themselves. They lied. They stabbed you in the back. Being a detective required mutual trust and teamwork. There was no way he would ever choose someone like her as his partner on the job.
Second, Takizawa basically did not approve of female detectives. This was a man's work, a man's world. Danger lurked around every corner and the work was demanding. You saw the dark side of the human psyche. Stress built up, the hours were irregular, and the job called for quick decisions and quick action. Anybody who signed up for a job like this had to have the guts and determination to stick it out. This was no job you could take as a temporary expedient.
Besides, women's inferior physical strength and deficient fighting instincts made them ill-suited for the job. If, despite everything, a woman still
This beats everything. Of all the lousy luck.
Takizawa's leg-jiggling was a nervous habit that came on when he was upset. He had never noticed it himself until his colleagues pointed it out; now when he found himself jiggling a leg, he made pointed efforts to calm himself down. He wasn't a hothead, not really.
In front of him sat the female detective, expressionless as ever. This tall woman whose neck, arms, and legs were so long and slender looked to be around twenty-seven, maybe twenty-eight—no, make that twenty-eight or twenty-nine. She had small tits and a small face that didn't seem to have on much makeup, but her skin was nice. From Takizawa's point of view she was hardly more than a kid, yet she showed total calm, following him around since yesterday without a peep.
How come it's gotta be me?
When the special investigation headquarters was set up, Takizawa for the first time in a while felt a surge of excitement and energy. He himself had been the first to see the burned body carried out of the fire scene, and the moment he did so, the oddness of the burns made him suspicious. That his powers of observation and his instincts were so dead-on had given him secret delight. But then to be paired with a woman was like having cold water thrown in his face.
"Tanmen coming up!" The thin, fortyish man running the place by himself brought each of them a big bowl of hot noodles.
When Takizawa sat down and ordered tanmen, noodles in a salty broth topped with stir-fried meat and vegetables, the female detective simply said, "Two, please." After that she said nothing at all, just looked around the place as they waited for their food. Her face wore an extremely unconcerned look. For Takizawa, nothing could have felt more awkward.
Now Otomichi took a pair of wood chopsticks out of the upright container on the table and began to poke at the noodles gently. "Mmm, looks good," she said quietly to herself. She brought some noodles to her lips, blew the steam off vigorously, and ate them with a faint slurping sound. Takizawa reached for his own set of chopsticks, and watched as she ate with her head down over her bowl. There seemed to be a touch of a wave in her hair, which looked fine and soft. Her hand plying the chopsticks was delicate; there was a raised vein on the back of her hand.
And yet she's so inconsiderate! Takes out chopsticks only for herself.
A woman ought to demonstrate a little more consideration for others than that. With scarcely a glance at him, she just went on eating. Was she unaware of what she was doing, or was this a subtle way of busting his balls? Either way, it did nothing to endear her to him. Takizawa's leg jiggled as he poked his chopsticks into his bowl of noodles.
He had his reasons for not talking to her. First off, he didn't trust women. They were flighty. They let their emotions run away with themselves. They lied. They stabbed you in the back. Being a detective required mutual trust and teamwork. There was no way he would ever choose someone like her as his partner on the job.
Second, Takizawa basically did not approve of female detectives. This was a man's work, a man's world. Danger lurked around every corner and the work was demanding. You saw the dark side of the human psyche. Stress built up, the hours were irregular, and the job called for quick decisions and quick action. Anybody who signed up for a job like this had to have the guts and determination to stick it out. This was no job you could take as a temporary expedient.
Besides, women's inferior physical strength and deficient fighting instincts made them ill-suited for the job. If, despite everything, a woman still
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