“Don’t worry, I’m not interested in that,” the woman whispered, as if sharing a secret. “If that’s what you’re worried about. I prefer men, too. Like you.”

“Like me?”

“Well, isn’t that why you came here, to find a guy?”

“Do I look like that?”

The woman narrowed her eyes somewhat. “That much is obvious. It’s what this place is for. And I’m guessing that neither of us is a pro.”

“Of course not,” Aomame said.

“Hey, here’s an idea. Why don’t we team up? It’s probably easier for a man to approach two women than one. And we can relax more and sort of feel safer if we’re together instead of alone. We look so different, too—I’m more the womanly type, and you have that trim, boyish style—I’m sure we’re a good match.”

Boyish, Aomame thought. That’s the first time anyone’s ever called me that. “Our taste in men might be different, though,” she said. “How’s that supposed to work if we’re a ‘team’?”

The woman pursed her lips in thought. “True, now that you mention it. Taste in men, huh? Hmm. What kind do you like?”

“Middle-aged if possible,” Aomame said. “I’m not that into young guys. I like ’em when they’re just starting to lose their hair.”

“Wow. I get it. Middle-aged, huh? I like ’em young and lively and good-looking. I’m not much interested in middle-aged guys, but I’m willing to go along with you and give it a try. It’s all experience. Are middle-aged guys good? At sex, I mean.”

“It depends on the guy,” Aomame said.

“Of course,” the woman replied. Then she narrowed her eyes, as if verifying some kind of theory. “You can’t generalize about sex, of course, but if you were to say overall …”

“They’re not bad. They eventually run out of steam, but while they’re at it they take their time. They don’t rush it. When they’re good, they can make you come a lot.”

The woman gave this some thought. “Hmm, I may be getting interested. Maybe I’ll try that out.”

“You should!”

“Say, have you ever tried four-way sex? You switch partners at some point.”

“Never.”

“I haven’t, either. Interested?”

“Probably not,” Aomame said. “Uh, I don’t mind teaming up, but if we’re going to do stuff together, even temporarily, can you tell me a little more about yourself? Because we could be on completely different wavelengths.”

“Good idea,” she said. “So, what do you want to know about me?”

“Well, for one thing, what kind of work do you do?”

The woman took a drink of her Tom Collins and set it down on the coaster. Then she dabbed at her lips with a paper napkin. Then she examined the lipstick stains on the napkin.

“This is a pretty good drink,” she said. “It has a gin base, right?”

“Gin and lemon juice and soda water.”

“True, it’s no great invention, but it tastes pretty good.”

“I’m glad.”

“So, then, what kind of work do I do? That’s kind of tough. Even if I tell you the truth, you might not believe me.”

“So I’ll go first,” Aomame said. “I’m an instructor at a sports club. I mostly teach martial arts. Also muscle stretching.”

“Martial arts!” the woman exclaimed. “Like Bruce Lee kind of stuff?”

“Kind of.”

“Are you good at it?”

“Okay.”

The woman smiled and raised her glass as if in a toast. “So, in a pinch, we might be an unbeatable team. I might not look it, but I’ve been doing aikido for years. To tell you the truth, I’m a policewoman.”

“A policewoman?!” Aomame’s mouth dropped open, but no further words emerged from it.

“Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department. I don’t look the part, do I?”

“Certainly not,” Aomame said.

“It’s true, though. Absolutely. My name is Ayumi.”

“I’m Aomame.”

“Aomame. Is that your real name?”

Aomame gave her a solemn nod. “A policewoman? You mean you wear a uniform and carry a gun and ride in a police car and patrol the streets?”

“That’s what I’d like to be doing. It’s what I joined the police force to do. But they won’t let me,” Ayumi said. She took a handful of pretzels from a nearby bowl and started munching them noisily. “I wear a ridiculous uniform, ride around in one of those mini patrol cars—basically, a motor scooter—and give parking tickets all day. They won’t let me carry a pistol, of course. There’s no need to fire warning shots at a local citizen who’s parked his Toyota Corolla in front of a fire hydrant. I got great marks at shooting practice, but nobody gives a damn about that. Just because I’m a woman, they’ve got me going around with a piece of chalk on a stick, writing the time and license plate numbers on the asphalt day after day”

“Speaking of pistols, do you fire a Beretta semiautomatic?”

“Sure. They’re all Berettas now. They’re a little too heavy for me. Fully loaded, they probably weigh close to a kilogram.”

“The body of a Beretta alone weighs 850 grams,” Aomame said.

Ayumi looked at Aomame like a pawnbroker assessing a wristwatch. “How do you know something like that?” she asked.

“I’ve always had an interest in guns,” Aomame said. “Of course, I’ve never actually fired one.”

“Oh, really?” Ayumi seemed convinced. “I’m really into shooting pistols. True, a Beretta is heavy, but it has less of a recoil than the older guns, so even a small woman can handle one with enough practice. The top guys don’t believe it, though. They’re convinced that a woman can’t handle a pistol. All the higher-ups in the department are male chauvinist fascists. I had super grades in nightstick techniques, too, at least as good as most of the men, but I got no recognition at all. The only thing I ever heard from them was filthy double entendres. ‘Say, you really know how to grab that nightstick. Let me know any time you want some extra practice.’ Stuff like that. Their brains are like a century and a half behind the times.”

Ayumi took a pack of Virginia Slims from her shoulder bag, and with practiced movements eased a cigarette from the pack, put it between her lips, lit it with a slim gold lighter, and slowly exhaled the smoke toward the ceiling.

“Whatever gave you the idea of becoming a police officer?” Aomame asked.

“I never intended to,” Ayumi replied. “But I didn’t want to do ordinary office work, and I didn’t have any professional skills. That really limited my options. So in my senior year of college I took the Metropolitan Police employment exam. A lot of my relatives were cops—my father, my brother, one of my uncles. The police are a kind of nepotistic society, so it’s easier to get hired if you’re related to a policeman.”

“The police family”

“Exactly. Until I actually got into it, though, I had no idea how rife the place was with gender discrimination. Female officers are more or less second-class citizens in the police world. The only jobs they give you to do are handling traffic violations, shuffling papers at a desk, teaching safety education at elementary schools, or patting down female suspects: boooring! Meanwhile, guys who clearly have less ability than me are sent out to one interesting crime scene after another. The higher-ups talk about ‘equal opportunity for the sexes,’ but it’s all a front, it just doesn’t work that way. It kills your desire to do a good job. You know what I mean?”

Aomame said she understood.

“It makes me so mad!”

“Don’t you have a boyfriend or something?” Aomame asked.

Ayumi frowned. For a while, she glared at the slim cigarette between her fingers. “It’s nearly impossible for a policewoman to have a boyfriend. You work irregular hours, so it’s hard to coordinate times with anyone who works a normal business week. And even if things do start to work out, the minute an ordinary guy hears you’re a cop, he just scoots away like a crab running from the surf. It’s awful, don’t you think?”

Aomame said that she did think it was awful.