wanted to be a detective, then she should find something less risky to investigate, like larceny or intellectual crimes. But the woman in front of him was in a patrol unit, of all things. Even granting that society today promotes equal rights for the sexes, what in god's name was the brass thinking? Takizawa was getting more and more pissed off.
Third, women were just a lot of trouble. Things like going to the can. They couldn't go anywhere, like a man could. And when they went home late at night, you worried about them walking dark streets alone. You even had to watch how you talked; you couldn't just say what you wanted to in a free and easy way, like you could with another man. And since she was young to boot, naturally she would end up respecting Takizawa's opinion on everything, relying totally on him. He'd end up feeling like a teacher taking a student on a goddamn field trip. Who needed that?
Fourth—actually, this reason weighed surprisingly heavily on Takizawa— when Takako Otomichi had first appeared in headquarters, a wave of murmurs had gone through the officers around him:
"Since when did we have such a looker on the force?"
"Wouldn't mind having her as a partner a coupla times."
Truth is, Takizawa himself had thought she was an attractive woman, just to look at. That's how much she stood out. If she had a physique that would put a man's to shame, or a face that evoked only grimaces, he didn't know if she would still attract that much attention; but as it was, one look at her and you could see she was a different kind of creature.
"How come I get a desk job now, of all times?" young Wada had lamented, seemingly full of sincere regret. Takizawa had joined in the laughter, never dreaming what his luck of the draw would be. But when he found himself paired with Otomichi, it was no laughing matter. He felt as if every drop of blood had drained from his body.
"That was good," Takako said, finishing up her meal.
As he sat staring vacantly, suddenly her chopsticks entered his field of vision as she laid them across the top of her bowl. Seeing traces of her lipstick on the end of the chopsticks, Takizawa began to feel even more foul. He glanced at her as he brought some noodles to his mouth, and caught her in the act of patting the corners of her mouth with a handkerchief. Her creamy-white cheeks were flushed, and there was a touch of perspiration on her forehead.
Ate too fast, eh?
This is one stubborn female. Takizawa figured maybe it was a point of pride for her not to take longer to eat than him, but again, such behavior was hardly endearing. He deliberately took his time, and paused to slurp the broth. Before he was done, she excused herself, got up, and disappeared into the ladies' room. Watching out of the corner of his eye as she walked by, her legs long and slim, he nearly sighed out loud. This stoicism of hers was hard to take. A girl who burst into tears would be better; at least then you could yell and scold.
A few minutes later, as he was laying his chopsticks down, she came back. Right away she started to slip into her coat.
"What's your hurry? The meeting's not till 1:30," he said gruffly, reaching out for a toothpick. When he phoned in at the set time, right around noon, headquarters had informed him that the victim's identity was now established. A full meeting was scheduled for 1:30. That's how come they had time to sit and have lunch like this.
Expressionless, the female detective sat back down.
Takizawa, cigarette in his mouth, stared her in the face. He was brazenly cool. "I know what you think," he drawled, blowing out cigarette smoke.
"Yes?" said Otomichi, looking directly at him.
"What you think deep down."
"And what would that be?"
"That if it wasn't for you, Masayo Kizaki wouldn't have talked." Jiggling his leg, Takizawa looked hard at her with his eyes narrowed.
A little flushed, Otomichi scarcely reacted, apart from a tiny frown. After a moment she spoke slowly: "I'm glad I
Third, women were just a lot of trouble. Things like going to the can. They couldn't go anywhere, like a man could. And when they went home late at night, you worried about them walking dark streets alone. You even had to watch how you talked; you couldn't just say what you wanted to in a free and easy way, like you could with another man. And since she was young to boot, naturally she would end up respecting Takizawa's opinion on everything, relying totally on him. He'd end up feeling like a teacher taking a student on a goddamn field trip. Who needed that?
Fourth—actually, this reason weighed surprisingly heavily on Takizawa— when Takako Otomichi had first appeared in headquarters, a wave of murmurs had gone through the officers around him:
"Since when did we have such a looker on the force?"
"Wouldn't mind having her as a partner a coupla times."
Truth is, Takizawa himself had thought she was an attractive woman, just to look at. That's how much she stood out. If she had a physique that would put a man's to shame, or a face that evoked only grimaces, he didn't know if she would still attract that much attention; but as it was, one look at her and you could see she was a different kind of creature.
"How come I get a desk job now, of all times?" young Wada had lamented, seemingly full of sincere regret. Takizawa had joined in the laughter, never dreaming what his luck of the draw would be. But when he found himself paired with Otomichi, it was no laughing matter. He felt as if every drop of blood had drained from his body.
"That was good," Takako said, finishing up her meal.
As he sat staring vacantly, suddenly her chopsticks entered his field of vision as she laid them across the top of her bowl. Seeing traces of her lipstick on the end of the chopsticks, Takizawa began to feel even more foul. He glanced at her as he brought some noodles to his mouth, and caught her in the act of patting the corners of her mouth with a handkerchief. Her creamy-white cheeks were flushed, and there was a touch of perspiration on her forehead.
Ate too fast, eh?
This is one stubborn female. Takizawa figured maybe it was a point of pride for her not to take longer to eat than him, but again, such behavior was hardly endearing. He deliberately took his time, and paused to slurp the broth. Before he was done, she excused herself, got up, and disappeared into the ladies' room. Watching out of the corner of his eye as she walked by, her legs long and slim, he nearly sighed out loud. This stoicism of hers was hard to take. A girl who burst into tears would be better; at least then you could yell and scold.
A few minutes later, as he was laying his chopsticks down, she came back. Right away she started to slip into her coat.
"What's your hurry? The meeting's not till 1:30," he said gruffly, reaching out for a toothpick. When he phoned in at the set time, right around noon, headquarters had informed him that the victim's identity was now established. A full meeting was scheduled for 1:30. That's how come they had time to sit and have lunch like this.
Expressionless, the female detective sat back down.
Takizawa, cigarette in his mouth, stared her in the face. He was brazenly cool. "I know what you think," he drawled, blowing out cigarette smoke.
"Yes?" said Otomichi, looking directly at him.
"What you think deep down."
"And what would that be?"
"That if it wasn't for you, Masayo Kizaki wouldn't have talked." Jiggling his leg, Takizawa looked hard at her with his eyes narrowed.
A little flushed, Otomichi scarcely reacted, apart from a tiny frown. After a moment she spoke slowly: "I'm glad I
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