I push through the clamor in pursuit of a criminal, a real lowlife. He made a scene at the jewelers’ before taking off with some merchandise. Mere baubles, but his third robbery earned him a request for his arrest.
I pursue the criminal after catching him on his fourth offense, but he has a good pair of legs on him, not once slowing down. We pass the market. I continue to cut through the rowdy streets, hunting down my prey until he disappears into a narrow back road.
“You better keep up, newcomer!” I yell to my colleague running behind me.
“Wait, Kunikida! My shoe came untied!”
“Who cares?! Just run!”
Slowly lagging behind is a colleague who just the other day joined our office.
His name: Osamu Dazai.
A rather proper-sounding name.
“Phew. Kunikida, I’m exhausted. Could you slow down a little? This isn’t good for my health, you know.”
“Just pick up the pace, you lazy oaf! My own health is suffering thanks to you!”
“Congratulations!”
“Oh, shut up!”
Osamu Dazai, a man of unknown origin and capabilities, a man most deficient in motivation, lives to throw off my schedule. He’s far too carefree and takes everything at his own pace. To make matters worse, his hobby—
“By the way, Kunikida. Our man is getting away, y’know.”
My train of thought interrupted, I look ahead to see the runaway mow down a street vendor’s vegetables before taking a left to escape. I instinctively click my tongue. Then I dive into my memories to recall a map of the area. He’s heading toward a narrow residential district with hedges lining each side of the street. There are countless houses to escape to or hide in around that area.
“You see that, Dazai?! Thanks to your dawdling, he’s now going to be even harder to catch!”
“Don’t worry about it. It’s all according to plan. More importantly, guess what I just saw.”
“I don’t care!”
“It’s this incredibly rare book called The Complete Suicide. I’ve been searching all over for it, and I just noticed it on display in the used bookstore back there— Ah! I have to go back and buy it before someone else does.”
Nobody asked.
“I could always just shoot you in the head if you want to die that badly!” I yell, to which he replies:
“Wait. Seriously? Wow, thanks.”
He smiles bashfully, even though there’s nothing to blush about.
For a man who doesn’t put much
effort into his job, he sure puts a lot of work into fantasizing about suicide. It’s a world unfamiliar to me. However, there isn’t a waking moment when he isn’t searching for the cheapest, quickest way to off himself. He’s obsessed with suicide.
A suicide aficionado?
How vile.
But no matter how twisted my partner’s interests are, no matter how much he tries to sabotage the mission, I will not allow the criminal to escape, for failure is not written in my schedule.
I chase the lowlife into a dark path wide enough for only one person at a time. Both sides are lined with hedges, and I can see a well and the backyard of an old house. A washing machine lies knocked over under the roof’s eaves. I open a map of the area on my mobile device, and a white dot representing our location is displayed along with the buildings and backstreets.
Narrow paths branch out in every direction through the residential district. If the thief keeps heading straight, he’ll most likely make his way to the old factory district, filled with premodern warehouses. We would have an easier time finding a needle in a haystack than finding him there.