21. ANNIVERSARY

Three years and nothing's changed. The world's still just as crappy as it used to be before divine intervention. Three years ago, everyone was paranoid about walking out of their houses and suffering fatal heart attacks. Today, the most anyone has to worry about is how to make a living on minimum wage.

How much longer will I last?

Matsuda contemplates this over a cold glass of beer. It's his third, maybe his fourth of the night. He can't remember. He takes another gulp, and his mind swims from the alcohol.

The bar is sparse of people and smells of a musky odor. A few pool tables are left empty, and the bartender spends the majority of his hours typing away on his phone. It's a Saturday night. There should be more entertainment, more energy. He had read an ad that Saturday nights are when college-aged students come out to party and drink. Not that Matsuda would ever consider courting a college girl. That sort of behavior would not only have heads turning the wrong way, it would be immoral. On the other hand, he had hoped to divert his attention from the memories polluting his psyche by engaging in harmless flirting with an attractive young woman. But the only occupants are either men, married, or less than ideal. Not even drunk goggles can cloud his judgment.

At thirty-four years old, he still hasn't successfully found his match and settled down. Granted, the economy isn't on his side, so any interest in raising a family would quickly be overshadowed by bills, bills, and more bills until he's drowning in debt. Compensation as a policeman has barely helped him scrape by for the last three years. Even more disappointing is the lack of serious cases he's taken on since the task force was discontinued. Occasionally, he may assist in a homicide or a murder case but those cases are few and far between. There's no meaning in a detective career anymore.

A bell rings. Matsuda notices someone in his peripheral vision standing at the doorway. He waves down Ide, who swiftly joins him at the bar.

"Sorry, I'm late," Ide says, shrugging off his parka and uncoiling his scarf from around his neck. "I see you've started without me. How cruel."

"I'm not as patient as I used to be," Matsuda argues. Then he tosses back the last of his third or fourth beer.

The bartender puts down his phone and greets the older detective with a perfunctory bow.

"Two Bud Lights," Ide says and nudges Matsuda. "Got to catch up to the single kids out here."

Matsuda frowns. "You're one to talk. Forty-three and no wife to speak of."

"Forty-two," Ide corrects.

The younger detective rolls his eyes. "Yeah, yeah. Speaking of, is Aizawa-san joining us?"

The bartender places two Bud Lights on the counter in front of Ide. Then he gestures to Matsuda's empty glass, but the younger detective shakes his head and raises a hand. He decides to take a break.

Ide hands the bartender his credit card. "Keep the tab open," he says before taking a sip from one beer and answering his coworker with, "Nah, can't. He's still got shit to do at the office."

"Again?" Matsuda's lost count of how many times now Aizawa has ducked out of a drinking night for either family business or overtime.

"Well, he is the chief of the NPA and he has a family to take care of. We might have crappy jobs but his jobs are crappier." Ide finishes his first beer fast and starts working on his second. "One of them he doesn't even get paid for."

Matsuda purses his lips and nods. "This is true."

Silence wedges between them.

"You know what today is, right?" Ide finally speaks.

"Saturday?"

The older detective gives him a look.

Matsuda leans forward and rests his arms on the bar counter. "You're two days too early. The anniversary is on Monday."

Every year between the 26th and the 28th of January, Matsuda hopes that work will distract him enough from the images that threaten to rot his brain. It's always around this time that he wakes up in the middle of the night drenched in sweat and gasping for air as if he's been underwater for an extended period of time. But sadly, no amount of work or psychotherapy can cure the night terrors.

"Still," Ide argues. "This is the day where everything started going to shit. First Mello, then Tanaka, and finally—"

The younger detective puts a hand up to stop him. "If you're going to bring that up, I'll need another drink first." He signals to the bartender, who brings him another round of beer on command. Matsuda makes the contents disappear within a few gulps. The room starts to move.

Ide shifts in his barstool. "Damn, you're making me look bad." Before Matsuda can really register, the older detective has finished both Bud Lights and is working on a third, guzzling it down like water.

Matsuda stifles a laugh. "You're never going to land a wife if you can't even beat me, old man."

"Is that a challenge, you little punk?"

A crooked smile grows on Matsuda's face. "You damn right it is!" He turns back to the bartender. "Yo, two tequila shots. Pronto!"

Four…five…six. Hell, who's counting? Matsuda sure isn't when he tosses back his latest shot of tequila and clanks the empty glass onto the counter. The world spins in unorthodox patterns, and he's filled with warmth. He turns back to Ide, who finishes his tequila in two gulps.

"Ha!"

Ide frowns but then burst out into a belly laugh. Matsuda mirrors him, and he has no clue what's so funny, but the feeling is nonetheless refreshing. He throws an arm around his coworker's shoulders. They've both forgotten what day's today.

"Ya…ya know somethin' Ide-san. Ya can be a real ass…but I love ya, man. I really, really do!"

Ide smiles. "I love ya too, ya punk-ass kid."

They hug it out.

Somehow, someway, they end up outside. Matsuda isn't sure if the bartender kicked them out or they left by their own accord. Regardless, he's not ready to go home, and the feeling is mutual based on Ide's expression.

"Yoooo, how's about a trip to dah strip?" Ide laughs at his own rhyme. "Come on, Matsuda. Leeez get some dances."

Matsuda shrugs. "A'right."

Ide, for all his sternness and, in some ways, stiffness, surely knows where to suggest the best entertainment when he's slightly incapacitated. It's like a sixth sense that opens up whenever enough alcohol fills his system. Matsuda is surprised that of anyone at the office, Ide happens to be the only other one interested in utilizing the night's festivities. Not even Yamamoto, who joined their team shortly after the Kira case had been solved, partakes in such recklessness as often as Matsuda or Ide do. In the beginning, Ide was a firm and competent worker. But nowadays, he's become lazier. Perhaps it's partially due to Matsuda's influence. He spends half his workday nodding off and the other half teasing his older cohort about his lack of sexual prowess and pleasurable excursions.

Although Ide's hasn't always been the most pleasant to work with, Matsuda admires his commitment to the job and to their superior, Aizawa. Even before Aizawa climbed the ladder to become chief and Soichirou Yagami's successor, Ide showcased his loyalty well. For that, Matsuda will always appreciate him.

The two policemen stumble into the red light district. The street is lit brightly, as if the holiday season hasn't ended. Again, Matsuda isn't entirely sure how they ended up finding it in their drunken stupor, but they're here and ready for the next intoxicated step.

They pass a love hotel where Matusda catches sight of a man and his much younger escort. She squeezes his arm and presses her buxom chest into his coat, giggling. If her skirt hikes up any more, her ass will pop out. Her stilettos clank against the pavement as they head inside the hotel.

It's been several months since he's had any action. While the life of a thirty-four year old bachelor can have its benefits, the lack of physical intimacy lingers in Matsuda's bones. He tries to blame it mostly on long hours at the office and general fatigue.

"Oi. How's about dis place?" Ide slurs and points to a flashing sign with the name "Gratifying Girls Galore." He makes a suggestive gesture with his eyebrows. "Dees girls are hot as fuck."

Ide may know where to find the red light district but if his tastes are anything to go by he chooses poor quality.

Matsuda wrinkles his nose at the sign and shakes his head. "Nah, dat's boring. We've gotta go deeper." He laughs and hiccups at the double entendre. "I'll show you dah best place in all of Kanto region."

They continue down the bustling street, shouldering through crowds of equally drunk and somewhat belligerent night dwellers. The policemen jostle their way through. If Matsuda and Ide were on duty, they'd have every reason to arrest a handful of these hooligans. But they're not, so Matsuda does his best to quicken his pace whenever he thinks one of them may turn their attention onto him. One precise punch, and he'd be knocked out cold and walking into the office Monday morning with a swollen eye filled with guilt and embarrassment. He'd rather not have any evidence of his outing. He'd hate to see the disgusted look on the chief's face.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, Matsuda nudges Ide and nods to a building with the sign Paradise glowing in green capital letters above the club's entrance.

"Hmm, I dunno know if I've ever been here," Ide says.

"Then prepare to be blown away, ya ol' fart."

Ide punches him lightly in the arm.

Two doormen loom at the entrance, checking IDs. When Matsuda hands his off to one of them, the doorman narrows his eyes.

"What the fuck is this?"

"What's what?"

He shows Matsuda his police ID. "You a cop or just trying to be funny?"

"Oh, no, no!" Matsuda fishes around in his back pocket for his wallet and takes out his driver's license. "I'm off duty. I swear."

Ide hooks an arm around his coworker and chuckles. "Yeah, no business tonight. Just all fun in dah sun…I mean, moon."

The doormen exchange looks.

"Fine," the first one says, handing Matsuda's police ID back to him. "But anything funny and we're throwing you out."

The two policemen nod vehemently, pay the entrance fee, and then head inside the double wooden doors.

Entering any kind of club is like losing track of reality. The outside world erases. The smell, the sound, even the taste is different. Matsuda follows a dimly lit pathway up a staircase and into a throng. Smoke mixes within the scene, and, at first, Matsuda thinks he's going blind. Several booths circle each of the twelve small stages. Each dancer seems to be swimming and floating above a large mass of yen. Most booths are overflowing with customers. He shoulders through the crowd to reach any empty booth somewhere in the back. The sign on it reads, "Will return in fifteen minutes."

"Yo, what are we doing back here?" Ide falls into his seat.

"Just wait. Everything else is full."

Ide rolls his sunken eyes. He looks on the precipice of vomiting and sleep. Matsuda isn't sure which.

About five minutes pass when someone comes over and plucks the sign off the small stage. "Sorry for the wait, gentlemen," the woman says with a suggestive wink. "Your wait was worth it. We have a hot new gem for you."

Matsuda sits up. He tries nudging Ide awake, but the older man is very clearly about to pass out.

A half-naked shape drifts out from the crowd. The smoke makes her seem like some angelic creature come out from the abyss. The little amount of attire she does have on consists of a black and purple bra with matching panties, and black stiletto heels. Thick, dark eyeliner and eyeshadow makes her brown eyes pop. She flashes a soft smile, and Matsuda's heart stutters, and blood rushes to his loins. Her hips sway each step she takes. Her hair bounces along with the momentum of her gate. She ascends the stage and wraps polished fingers around the metal pole.

Matsuda leans back. Ide starts snoring beside him, but he pays him no attention to his inebriated coworker. His eyes can't leave her. If they do, he fears she might attract someone else or fade away in the smoke.

She hoists herself off of the stage and spins around the pole like one of the horses on a carousel. Her movements are clean and slow. He's never seen this girl before, but she's learned well and fast in the time since his last sojourn. And he's so glad that she had. The majority of dancers in this club base their routines on sexual gratification. However, this one seems to use her beauty not only for that but also as an art. She's the artist and her body and the stage are her paints and canvas. Perhaps she works as a ballerina in the day. Fluid motions like the ones this dancer pulls off can't be mastered overnight. There's a certain amount of skill and patience that goes into such a dance. She's a welcome change from the regular everyday venue.

When her routine finishes and he's sated her with several thousand yen, he asks her for her name.

"S—Yuri. It's Yuri."

Even a common man knows it's an alias. But Matsuda also catches the small slip-up in between her soft voice and the pounding club music.

"Why haven't I seen you before?"

"Perhaps you weren't looking well enough," she retorts, sitting down on the other side of him from Ide and crossing her legs. One of her ankles rubs against his, teasing him.

Matsuda laughs sheepishly. Alcohol lingers in his system. "So how long have you been working here?"

"About three months." She nods to Ide. "Is he going to need help being escorted out?"

Matsuda waves it off and smiles. "Oh, no, no. He's just taking a nap. Don't worry about him. This happens all the time." Honestly, he's never seen his coworker this far gone before, and a part of him does worry. But he's not yet ready to leave such a beautiful and witty woman unattended. "So where are you from?"

She scoots closer to him until one of her breasts is pressing against his chest. The blood in his loins thickens. Her arm drapes over his shoulders. "I'd like to know more about you. What do you do for a living?"

He licks his lips. If his judgment hadn't been clouded with alcohol, Matsuda might have been smarter with how he responds to her question. "I'm…in law enforcement."

Her eyebrows rise. "So you're a cop?"

"Technically yes, but I'm off-duty."

"An off-duty cop in the heart of the red light district," she says through her serene tone. "What will people say?"

"I won't tell if you won't," he says with a wink.

Yuri giggles and shifts. "Did you happen to work on the Kira case?"

"Yes, actually." He shouldn't have said that. But Matsuda's too entranced by her beauty and the smell of coconut to care about confidentiality. "I was one of the few to catch him."

"Really?" She leans in close. Her breath tickles his skin. "Who was he?"

It finally clicks. The images of that day in the warehouse pour back into him like a torrent of rain. Matsuda leans forward and drops his head into his hands. The warmth throughout his lower body dissipates.

Yuri puts a hand on his back. "Hey. Are you feeling all right? Do you need to throw up?"

"N-no," he says, composing himself. "Sorry about that, but I think I should go. Thank you for the d—for your company." He stands and wills Ide out of his unconsciousness. When the older policeman finally wakes, Matsuda throws his arm over his shoulders and wraps another arm under Ide's armpit to hoist him up from the sofa. He turns back to Yuri. "Thanks again. Sorry it couldn't be longer."

Yuri forms a forgiving smile. "It's okay. I hope to see you again."

Outside the club, Matsuda half-carries and half-drags Ide into a taxi. Too afraid to leave his coworker in his precarious state alone, he decides to instruct the taxi driver to head straight for his apartment. Matsuda had hoped he wouldn't have to babysit anyone tonight, but not everything can go his way. And usually it doesn't, so he shouldn't be surprised.

"That'll be 5200 yen," the driver says after parking in front of Matsuda's apartment complex.

He reaches into his back pocket and fishes for his wallet. It's not there. He swiftly fishes into his other back pocket and finds nothing. Matsuda searches frantically for his wallet in his coat pockets. After many failed attempts, he realizes he's lost it.

"Shit," he mutters. It must have somehow fallen out at the club. He should go back, but they're already here at his apartment, and fatigue has caught up to him. Plus, he can't leave Ide alone in such a state.

He has no choice but to use Ide's credit card to pay the driver. Although guilt fills Matsuda, he is letting Ide stay the night at his place, so this should make them equal. He just hopes Ide doesn't wake up pissed on top of his potential hangover. This is turning into the worst night in a long time.

Matsuda carries Ide on his back and up a flight of stairs since the older man has fallen back asleep. He unlocks his door and gingerly plops Ide down on his couch, pulling off his shoes in the process and draping a blanket over him. A sigh escapes Matsuda as he fills a glass of water and picks up a trashcan and places both in front of the snoring man.

He heads into the nearest room, which is practically the same room but with half a wall between them. Matsuda lives in a studio, so the only doors are the front door and the bathroom door. From his bedroom area, he can see his kitchen and Ide's feet.

He peels off his attire and supplants his work pants with boxers. Finally, he falls into his bed, neglecting to brush his teeth but not caring enough to stand back up unless Ide calls him.

With another sigh, he reaches for his phone and searches the Internet for the club's number. The phone rings several times until it goes to voicemail. He ends the call and retries a few more times without success. A curse spits from his clenched teeth before Matsuda finally gives up and leaves a voicemail.

He has no choice but to go tomorrow and pray that nobody has taken his wallet.

A sickness rises in his throat, and Matsuda leans over the edge of the bed, unsure of whether he should race to the bathroom. But it's not alcohol sickness that's risen into his throat.

It's the fear of uncertainty.

The clock reads 2:02 AM.

One day down. Two more to go.

God damnit.

22 DAYS REMAINING.