１２．野中
銀座の街から、人影が消えた。
野中省吾はマフラーに顎を沈め、外れの路地にある自分の美容クリニックを目指した。
今日もおそらく、客は来ない。けれど他に行くところもない。
（どうしたもんかな――）
筑紫からの連絡も途絶えた。儲け話が途切れたのか、自分に回されなくなったのか。マスク転売でも、と頭をよぎるが、ツテがない。思いつきはすぐ壁にぶつかり、形にする根気も続かなかった。
通り沿いの喫茶店が目に入った。臨時休業の札を下げただけで、協力金が振り込まれたという。
潰れかけてたくせに、と野中は毒づいた。
店主夫婦はいまハワイだ。
クリニックの近くまで来たとき、見慣れないスーツ姿の男が路地に立っているのが見えた。看板とスマホを交互に見て、足を止めている。
刈り上げた髪の中肉中背。美容施術の痕もなく、客には見えない。それでも口を開いた。
「どこか、お探しですか？」
男は一瞬肩を固くしてから顔を上げた。
「はい。『メディカルファーマ研究所』という会社を、ご存知ないでしょうか。製薬会社なんですが」
スマホの画面を傾けた。赤いピンは、たしかにこの路地を指している。
「聞いたことないですね」
野中が答えると、男は気まずそうに笑った。
（間違えただけか――）
この界隈には“メディカル”の看板が溢れている。無理もない。
「もしかして……こちらの病院の関係者の方ですか？」
「はい。院長です」
「そうでしたか。……当然、ワクチンなんて、作られないですよね」
「ワクチン？」
唾を飲み込んだ。現状をひっくり返すような言葉に聞こえた。
「ワクチンって……新型コロナ関連ですか」
「ええ」
「よろしかったら、寒いですし。少し中で話でも聞きましょうか。お探しの会社について」
「そんな」
「せっかくですし」
袖口のわずかな隙間を探し当てて、風が肌にひりついた。
それが男を後押しするようだった。彼は頭を下げ、一度だけ視線を路地に流したが、野中は笑顔でドアノブを引いて招き入れた。
※
The streets of Ginza had emptied of people.
Shōgo Nonaka sank his chin into his scarf and headed for his own aesthetic clinic, tucked away in an out-of-the-way alley.
Today, like most days lately, no customers—no marks—would come. But he had nowhere else to go.
(What am I supposed to do now…)
Chikushi had stopped contacting him, too. Either the “easy money” had dried up, or Nonaka simply wasn’t being included anymore. Masks, maybe, a thought flashed—reselling, flipping—but he had no connections for it. Every idea hit a wall the moment it appeared, and he didn’t have the patience to force shape into anything.
A café along the street caught his eye. They’d merely hung a sign that said Temporarily Closed, and a cooperation subsidy had been deposited anyway.
And you were about to go under, Nonaka thought, venom rising.
The owner and his wife were in Hawaii now.
When he came near his clinic, he noticed a man in a suit standing in the alley—someone he didn’t recognize. The man was alternating his gaze between the clinic’s sign and his phone, hesitating as if his feet had forgotten what to do.
Close-cropped hair. Average build. No trace of cosmetic work—he didn’t look like a client. Still, Nonaka opened his mouth.
“Looking for somewhere?”
The man stiffened for a beat, then lifted his face.
“Yes. Do you happen to know a company called the Medical Pharma Research Institute? They’re a pharmaceutical company.”
He tilted the screen of his phone. A red pin really was pointing to this alley.
“Never heard of it,” Nonaka said.
The man gave an awkward smile.
(Just the wrong address, then…)
This neighborhood was overflowing with signs that said medical—it was an easy mistake.
“Are you… by any chance affiliated with this clinic?” the man asked.
“Yes. I’m the director.”
“I see.” The man hesitated, then—almost as if he couldn’t help himself—added, “So… there’s no way you’re making a vaccine, right?”
“A vaccine?”
Nonaka swallowed. The word landed with the weight of something that could overturn the present.
“A vaccine—do you mean… COVID? The novel coronavirus?”
“Yes.”
“If you’d like,” Nonaka said, “it’s cold out here. Why don’t we talk inside for a minute? About the company you’re looking for.”
“Oh—no, I couldn’t—”
“It’s no trouble. Since you’re already here.”
He found the smallest gap at his cuff; cold air slid in and stung his skin.
It seemed to give the man the final push.
He bowed, let his eyes sweep the alley once—just once—then Nonaka, smiling, pulled the door open and waved him in.
