Free Zen Attitude by Sujata Massey

terrible clashing of guitars began, I went to the window and looked down.
    Fourteen stories below me was a dark, humid city where a man had traveled to meet his death. High up in Roppongi Hills, we had air-conditioning and a song called “Perfect Drug.” Hugh’s apartment was its own world, a country to which I held a short-term visa. A place where I could stay, but never truly belong.

Chapter 7
    Angus’s cassette was still going when I got up the next morning. I unplugged the stereo and stomped into the kitchen to eat breakfast, unable to tolerate the grinding metal sounds any longer. Hugh had already gone off to work, leaving a conspicuously marked Japan Times on the table. The article said a car dealer and an unemployed foreign woman had discovered the body of Nao Sakai, an antiques dealer from Hita. Autopsy results would be released within a few days.
    I sipped tea and thought about my options. I could stay in the apartment, making phone calls to various clients, but that would mean I’d be stuck with Angus. On the other hand, I could return to the police station to see what was happening with Jun.
    After dressing in a blue cotton dress I hoped did not scream “unemployed foreign woman,” I discovered Angus had awoken and was lounging on the living room sofa watching an Australian soap opera.
    “Oh, you’re here!” I said, struck by a sense of duty. “Do you have plans today? Need any suggestions?”
    “I’m still waking up, but after a while I might go looking for some local bands that play in a park,” he said, yawning.
    “Yoyogi Park?”
    “Yo something.”
    I recalled what Jun had told me. “The city government has cracked down and banned musical performances there. You can’t even play a radio outside anymore.”
    “Bloody police state,” Angus muttered. “Well, they’ve got to practice their songs somewhere.”
    “Look, Angus, I’d help you look for some local music spots today if I had the time, but I don’t. There’s a good record store in the neighborhood. Maybe one of the salesclerks could tell you about some concerts.”
    “Get off my back. You’re making me feel like I’m back at home, my mum and sisters jumping down my throat,” he said.
    I leaned against the doorway and asked, “Is that why you travel incessantly? Because you don’t like your family?”
    “They’re the ones who don’t like me,” Angus said fiercely. “I canna do anything right, coming after him. Imagine what it’s like to have everyone talking about your brother. They call him the business whiz, the golfing guru—not that he’s ever around, you know?”
    “But you’re very bright. You were accepted into some pretty good boarding schools,” I pointed out.
    “Booted from all.” Angus sounded proud. “For the love of drugs, sex, and rock, and roll . . . didn’t Shug tell you?”
    “Not exactly.” The irony was that when Hugh was young, there had been no money for him to attend boarding school. He’d gone to a free grammar school instead, and only made it to Glasgow University because he had a full scholarship. After graduation he went to work at a silk-stocking law practice, sending much of what he earned to fund Angus’s education.
    “Your brother drives you crazy, yet you came to stay with him.” I studied Angus’s sulky face.
    “I’m here because I’m on a round-the-world ticket. I need a place to bunk.”
    “So this apartment is basically your hotel?”
    “Don’t get pissy with me! It’s not your home, either.”
    “True,” I said, remembering the strange unhappiness that had flooded me while standing at the window the night before. “Well, I’m off for the day. I’ve left a subway map in the entryway and some tour books. Have fun.”
    “Ta, then.” Angus turned back to the television. “Neighbors!” He sang the show’s theme in a falsetto, a mocking swan song for my departure.
    I rode the Hibiya Line thirteen stops to Ueno. My unlucky number , I thought while walking