25 - From "Brett Plastic - the Movie"

Brett Plastic is immaculately dressed, the Plastic of old it would seem. He’s idly arranging a bunch of flowers in a vase in what appears to be someone’s sitting room, humming to himself as he does so. Once he’s finished, he stands back to admire the display.

‘There, now doesn’t that look pretty.’ Brett is smiling with satisfaction. ‘You see, if you let a little beauty into your life, your life will be beautiful. That’s an important thing to remember.’

The camera moves around Brett, revealing a man behind him on one of the sofas, the person to whom Plastic is directing his well-intentioned words. The man is bound and gagged and looks delirious, as though he’s been soundly beaten.
The camera then returns to a close shot of Brett Plastic’s face. He smiles directly at the viewer, benign, kind… nice. He gives us all a friendly wink and, with muffled cries of pain in the background, the screen fades to black.

24 - Private Hair

Roku walks along the street towards the Shakirov building, carrying his Kendo staff and the neatly wrapped sword. As he gets closer he can see that security has been beefed up in the last half an hour – a couple of heavies stand outside the lobby, and a couple more further down the street at the end of the alley which runs down the side of Concrete.

But Roku is fixed on his mission. He slips casually into the lobby of the building next to the Shakirov headquarters, glances up at the name-board inside and turns casually to the two people behind the reception desk.
‘Hello,’ he says cheerily. ‘I’m delivering this to someone at Hegarty Crossthwaite.’
‘Sign in here, please,’ says the bored receptionist.
Roku smiles and signs in and the bored receptionist hands him a pass which he dutifully clips to his jacket. ‘It’s on the eighth floor,’ she says as she gestures toward the lifts.

A short while later, the lift door opens onto the offices of Hegarty Crossthwaite, and Roku steps out. He is now wearing the samurai sword. In one hand he carries the Kendo staff, in the other, the packaging from the sword.
Roku approaches the reception desk and says to the bewildered young lady sitting there, ‘Sorry to trouble you, but do you have a waste paper basket?’
He holds out the paper and the receptionist, rendered speechless, takes it from him.
‘Thank you, and I wonder if you might tell me where I could find the door to the roof?’
The receptionist points, but finally comes back to herself enough to say, ‘But you’re not meant to go on the roof.’
Roku winks at her and says, ‘I won’t tell if you don’t. Thank you for your help.’
Roku gives her a little bow and heads for the roof.

*

Totally unaware that trouble is about to descend from above, Alexei is sitting in his office with Harry. Four heavies in suits are standing around idly by the door. Alexei is drumming his fingers on the desk and generally fidgeting with nervous energy.
Bored to tears, Harry says, ‘Excitement’s beginning to wear off now. Think we can send the gorillas away? I mean, it’s not like the Jap’ll be in any hurry to come back.’
‘I wouldn’t be so sure about that,’ says an extremely rattled Alexei. ‘He’s obviously crazy. Completely. Mad as.’
‘Okay, I get your point.’
Alexei hushes him with a finger and is suddenly alert. ‘What was that?’
Dismissive, Harry says, ‘What was what?’
They both listen. A thud is audible somewhere outside, then a crash of furniture.
‘Oh, I hear it now,’ says Harry.
‘It’s him, I know it is.’
‘Oh, wow,’ says an excited Harry. ‘This is like in Terminator.’
‘Shut up, Harry!’ Alexei gestures wildly at the heavies and says, ‘One of you, quick, outside, check everything’s okay.’ His voice is becoming slightly high-pitched with panic.

One of the heavies opens the door and steps outside, but there’s a shuddering crack and he falls back into the room in a heap. Roku, avenging angel, steps into the room and immediately sets about the remaining heavies, using the Kendo staff with astonishing skill and dexterity.
Harry and Alexei look on in some degree of petrified wonder, but as the last of the heavies is incapacitated, Alexei reaches into his jacket and pulls out a gun.
This is even better, thinks Harry, as he sees the gun, and says, ‘Excellent! Go for it!’

Roku spins in their direction and hurls the Kendo staff across the room. With uncanny precision, it knocks the gun out of Alexei’s hand, though not uncanny enough to avoid shattering a few small bones in the process.
Alexei lets out a high-pitched squeal of pain. Harry is wide-eyed with wonder. Roku strides over to the desk and stands before Alexei, one hand on the hilt of his sword.

‘I am Roku Sasaki. I have tried to be reasonable, but you are not a reasonable man, Mr Shakirov. Now, you have something that belongs to my cousin, something you have no right to, and I am here to take it back.’
Alexei, in some considerable state of alarm, is shaking his head vigorously as he says, ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t even know your cousin.’
Now that Roku is up close, Harry is finally feeling a little scared and says urgently, ‘Jesus, Alexei, don’t crap around with the guy. If you have something that belongs to him…’
‘I don’t know what he’s talking about,’ screams an hysterical Alexei.

Roku has heard enough. He swiftly draws his sword and swipes it at Alexei’s head. Harry screams. Alexei looks as though he’s discovered a new level of heightened terror. A lock of Alexei’s hair flies into the air and scatters on the desk in front of him.
Calmly, Roku replaces the sword and says, ‘Do you need any more reminders?’

‘Mr Sasaki?’ Roku turns. Just inside the doorway of the office a young woman is standing. It’s Anna Shakirov. Vladimir, Boris and Yuko are standing behind her. The first three look awestruck. Yuko is beaming with love and pride.
Anna approaches, saying, ‘I’m Anna Shakirov, Alexei’s sister, and this is our father, Vladimir, and Boris, our friend.’ Roku is distracted for a moment by Vladimir, who bears a striking resemblance to Cyrus Crane. Simultaneously, Vladimir is slightly rattled by the way Roku is staring at him – what is it with Japanese people? Anna continues, ‘We’re very sorry to have to meet you like this, and we’re sorry for the upset my brother has caused, but I believe this is what you’re looking for.’
Anna hands Roku a small embroidered pouch, perhaps the only discreet way of returning the contentious item.
‘Thank you, Miss Shakirov.’
‘Please, call me Anna. Yuko’s told me so much about you, I feel like we’re already friends.’
Roku looks questioningly at Yuko who explains, ‘We had lunch.’
Roku is delighted and says, ‘Oh, good. I was worried you might be getting so bored. It really hasn’t been any fun at all for you.’
‘Not at all,’ says Yuko. ‘Really.’

Vladimir steps forward and says, ‘It’s a pleasure to meet such an honourable man, Mr Sasaki. I only hope you won’t judge my family by the behaviour of one unsavoury individual.’ He glances with distaste at Alexei.
‘Of course not,’ says Roku, who’s already feeling quite jolly. ‘I’m sorry for hurting your employees – they were in the way.’
Vladimir shrugs, as if it’s of no consequence, then turns to Alexei and says contemptuously, ‘Is this what you learn at boarding school?’ Harry sniggers and Vladimir looks at him before turning back to Alexei. ‘What’s he doing here?’
‘He works for me,’ says Alexei sheepishly.
‘You’re fired,’ Vladimir says to Harry. ‘Boris, show him the door.’
Boris comes over and removes a mindless and giggling Harry.
‘As for you, you should have gone to school in Switzerland. You’re too old for school, but there’s a clinic I know in Switzerland where maybe you’ll get the help you need.’
Childishly protesting, Alexei says, ‘But I don’t need help, Daddy! There’s nothing wrong with me!’
Vladimir raises an eyebrow and says, ‘You think it normal, collecting people’s private hair? Hmm? You call that ‘nothing wrong’? This boarding school has made you sick. Now we make you better. No more club. No more Harry Penis-Head.’ Vladimir glances apologetically at Yuko and says, ‘Excuse me.’ Yuko nods obligingly and then Vladimir smiles warmly at the small party standing there. ‘Let’s celebrate!’

*

Roku, Yuko, Anna and Vladimir are sitting around a table in the bar of the Rathbone Hotel, drinking champagne. They’re clearly in high spirits, laughing at a long but particularly funny story Vladimir is telling them. Vladimir is happy too, and realizing he needs to get out more.
Finally, he delivers the punch-line, saying archly, ‘And I said, you call that a nuclear warhead!’
All four fall about in hysterics. Roku then looks into the middle distance, smiling, and for a moment, you might almost think he’s smiling at you.

23 - A Reasonable Man

Yuko and Anna are having lunch in the restaurant at the Rathbone Hotel. They’re already relaxed in each other’s company and are getting along famously.
‘Oh, you’re kidding,’ says Anna, in response to whatever Yuko has just said. ‘I love that book! It’s why I came here to study.’
‘Yes, I’ve always loved England, too.’ She sips at her wine. ‘It’s unfortunate that we’re here for a bad reason this time.’
Brought back down to earth, Anna says, ‘Yes, of course, though hopefully we’ll be able to sort that out today.’
‘I hope so,’ says Yuko, not very hopeful at all.
Delicately, Anna says, ‘Yuko, what exactly did my brother do?’

*

Roku is walking tensely up and down the same stretch of a street not far from the Shakirov building, trying to figure out his next move. He passes the same shops again and again, but doesn’t see them, so distracted is he. And then, as if he’s finally picked up the signals by osmosis, he turns and stares into the window of a shop specializing in oriental antiques, which has a particularly fine samurai sword on full display.

A couple of minutes later, Roku is standing patiently by the counter as the assistant fetches the sword from the window. He brings it over and places it on the counter, saying, ‘We do have several others, if this one isn’t suitable.’
Roku pulls the sword an inch or two from its sheath, rubs his thumb lightly and satisfyingly along the edge of the blade, and pushes it back again.
‘This is fine, thank you.’
‘Are you planning on taking it out of the country, sir?’
Roku smiles and says, ‘Samurai swords to Japan?’ The assistant laughs obligingly. Roku is still smiling and relaxed as he says, ‘No, it’s for a business partner here in London.’
‘Oh, well of course, it will make a beautiful gift.’
Roku looks up at the wall behind the counter and points, saying, ‘The Kendo staff.’
‘Ah, yes.’ He reaches up and carefully takes hold of the staff. Preparing to justify the exorbitant price tag, he says, ‘This is no everyday Kendo staff.’
‘I’ll take it,’ says Roku, heading him off at the pass.
Pleasantly surprised and unpleasantly obsequious, the assistant says, ‘I see sir is an excellent judge of quality. Would you like me to wrap them for you, sir?’
‘Just the sword, please. I don’t think it’s a good idea to walk around London with a dangerous weapon.’
‘Of course, sir,’ says the assistant, laughing sycophantically. ‘What would people think you were up to!’
‘What, indeed,’ says Roku.

*

Meanwhile, Anna has just heard the nature of the Sasakis’ grievance with Alexei and is aghast.
‘He did what!’
‘You can imagine how shocked we were,’ says Yuko, even though Anna doesn’t need to imagine.
‘Of course, but why on earth would he…? Oh my goodness, I don’t even want to think about it.’
Yuko offers a sympathetic smile and says, ‘So you see, Roku felt the only way of settling the issue and restoring Megumi’s honour was to get it back.’
‘Actually, I can think of several more ways, and I suspect my father will be able to think of several more.’ With uncanny timing, Anna’s phone bleeps and she looks at it before saying, ‘Actually, my father’s just arrived.’ Yuko nods politely but isn’t sure what her response should be – after all, she doesn’t know Anna’s father. Then, with a terrible afterthought, Anna says, ‘Where is Roku now?’
‘He went to see Mr Shakirov – Alexei. Your brother agreed to meet him.’
Concerned, Anna says, ‘Then I think we need to go, and quickly.’

Anna waves to the waiter and gestures for the bill. She is already getting ready to leave. Yuko follows suit but looks a little perplexed.
‘Where are we going?’
‘First of all, to my brother’s apartment. Do you think Roku will be able to look after himself until we arrive?’
Yuko smiles reassuringly, realizing that Anna doesn’t know anything at all about her husband. ‘Oh yes, and you don’t need to worry, Roku is a very reasonable man. He’s… nice.’

22 - Brett Plastic #59

The iconic Issue #59 of Brett Plastic is remembered mostly for its concluding pages. Brett, having been lured into a trap and surrounded by large numbers of vicious adversaries, is apparently doomed.
The next page is entirely blank, and then follows a short series of whole page pictures, starting with a close-up of Brett’s face and slowly retreating to reveal the entire scene.
It was not announced as such at the time, but Issue #59 was the last to appear. Once again, many believe that Kazuo Yamaguchi always planned to end the series at this point, and much speculation has surrounded the significance of the number 59.
Others have pointed out that, with the emergence of the Plastic perfume brand, the Plastic underwear ranges for men and women, and the upcoming “Brett Plastic – the Movie”, Yamaguchi might simply have tired of the original format. Yamaguchi himself has always refused to comment.

From Brett Plastic #59

We are looking at Brett Plastic’s face, up close. He’s smiling, but a couple of things don’t seem quite right. For one, he appears to be wearing a tie as a bandana. And even though he looks happy, it’s in a glazed and slightly disturbing way, the happiness of someone in thrall to some strange religion or cult.
Brett is singing, ‘Polly put the kettle on, Polly put the kettle on…’

In the next frame, we see that Brett is bare-chested and blood-smeared, sitting in the lotus position, a gun in one hand, a machete in the other.
‘…we’ll all have tea. Sukey, take it off again, Sukey take it off again…’

Finally, the entire scene becomes apparent. Brett is surrounded by bodies, many of which have been butchered. Others appear to be hanging from makeshift nooses in the background. A strange orange mist hangs over the entire scene, increasing the Kurtz-like atmosphere.
Clearly, something very disturbing has taken place here, niceness taken to its ultimate conclusion, but Brett continues to sing happily, ‘Sukey take it off again, they’ve all… gone… away.’

21 - Plastic Abused

Alexei is in his office, sitting in his chair with his gun, pretending to shoot at imaginary targets. He swivels around, imagining himself like James Bond.
Then he stops, because he can hear a phone ringing, not in his office, but somewhere close by. He springs out of his seat and dashes for the door. The ringing phone is on the secretary’s vacant desk – he needs a new secretary, he thinks, in a memo to self.

Alexei manages to pick up the phone before it rings off and says urgently, ‘Hello?’ Is that Alexei Shakirov? ‘Yes, this is Alexei Shakirov.’
The man on the other end introduces himself and Alexei is suddenly panicked and struggling to get a grip on the moment. He takes a deep breath and actually produces a slightly disturbing attempt at a charming smile before speaking again.
‘Mr Sasaki, I’m so glad you called. I know, there’s been a terrible misunderstanding.’

His smile becomes painfully fixed as he listens to Sasaki, and he isn’t really taking in what the man is saying, only that it’s something about wanting to meet.
‘Yes, I’d love to meet. Why don’t you come over to my office around twelve noon, if that’s okay with you, and I’m sure we’ll get it all sorted out in no time.’ Sasaki says something else, though what it is, he can’t be sure because the blood is boiling in his ears. ‘No, thank you for being so understanding, Mr Sasaki. I’ll look forward to seeing you. Bye.’
Struggling, he puts the phone down and takes another deep breath, then begins to relax, almost as if he’s just self-medicated. He starts to laugh, surprising even himself, and for some strange reason, he can’t stop.

*

Some two hours later, Roku arrives in the lobby of the Shakirov headquarters. It’s empty. Not even the receptionist is about.
‘Hello,’ says Roku. ‘Is anybody there?’
He can think of lots of reasons why the reception desk might be empty. But he’s also suspicious, mindful of his previous experiences with this organization.
There is a bell on the reception desk, the old-fashioned kind sometimes found on the front desks of hotels. He’s hesitant about using it, but when it becomes apparent that no one is going to come, he hits the bell, its ring echoing a little too loudly through the glass and marble lobby.

*

Meanwhile, a bell also rings as the doors open on a lift in the Rathbone Hotel. A moment later, Anna Shakirov steps out of that lift and strides along the corridor until she reaches the door to the Sasakis’ suite. She knocks, and a moment later, Yuko opens the door.
‘Mrs Sasaki?’
‘Yes?’
‘I’m Anna Shakirov. Regrettably, I’m the sister of the person who’s been causing your family some sort of difficulty. Both my father and I are very unhappy about it, and we’d like to smooth things over if that’s at all possible.’
Yuko’s English is very good. Even so, it takes her a moment to catch up and then she says, ‘Oh, I see. Do you know… the nature of the difficulty your brother has caused?’
‘No, I don’t,’ says Anna, though she dreads to think. ‘I was hoping we might talk about that. Would you like to talk over lunch?’
‘What a wonderful idea! I’d love to. Please, do come in for a moment. How about a drink?’

*

Roku is still standing in the empty lobby, the sound of the bell still dying away, when the security guard from his last visit appears.
He smiles disarmingly at Roku and says, ‘Mr Sasaki? Sorry to keep you. If you’ll follow me.’
‘Thank you,’ says Roku. ‘I rang the bell.’
‘That’s fine. If you just follow me.’

The guard seems much more friendly this time but he leads Roku through a door to the side of the lifts and Roku is already suspicious that he isn’t being shown to Mr Shakirov’s office.
The guard reaches another door and stands aside to let Roku enter. It’s an empty security room, a bank of monitors showing mainly desolate corridors. This reminds Roku of a scene in a famous film, but he doesn’t have time to think which one it is, because he’s no sooner stepped inside than the guard rabbit punches him on the back of the neck.
The punch sends Roku flying across the room and onto the floor. As he tries and fails to get back to his feet, the guard closes the door and walks slowly across the room to him.

The guard is almost sympathetic as he stands over Roku and says, ‘Don’t worry, I’m not gonna kill ya, just softening you up a bit for Mr Shakirov.’
Roku is still struggling to get up when the guard kicks him in the stomach, knocking him back down. Roku coils into a foetal position and rolls onto his back, clutching his stomach, knees drawn up, moaning. The guard smiles, pleased that he’s such a pushover, but Roku is feigning, lulling his opponent into a false sense of victory.

But the guard isn’t exactly high-definition, and mocking Roku, he says, ‘Remind me, why’s everyone so scared of…’
The final word is intercepted by the force of Roku’s foot flying heel first into the guard’s crotch, Roku having sprung his leg swiftly out of its foetal recoil. The security guard makes a noise like all the air being sucked out of his lungs and staggers backwards.

Roku jumps to his feet and hurls a wheeled office chair at him, but the guard is regrouping quickly, and looking like someone with many additional levels of violence. Roku looks around desperately and suddenly notices on the desk, next to a mug of coffee, an issue of Brett Plastic. It’s an English version, but from the cover, Roku knows that it’s the iconic Issue #59.

Outraged, Roku says, ‘You read Brett Plastic?’
Baffled, the guard says only, ‘What?’

Roku throws the cup of coffee over him, and then, with lightning speed, he rolls up the comic and hits the guard in the face and neck with it, using several swift stabbing punches until the guard collapses onto the floor.
Roku runs out into the lobby, certain the guard won’t be down for long. He hesitates, but then an alarm goes off and he drops the comic book on the floor and walks quickly into the street. If it’s Issue #59 they want, it’s Issue #59 they’ll get.

20 - One Thrilling Moment

Alexei is sitting up in bed, looking sulky and disappointed. A high-class and slightly bemused prostitute is finishing getting dressed.
She turns to him and says, ‘I’m not gonna tell you it happens all the time, because frankly, with me it doesn’t.’
At first it looks like Alexei won’t answer but finally he says petulantly, ‘You’re not what I ordered.’
‘You asked for a natural blonde, and I am a natural blonde.’
Like he’s been swindled and can’t do anything about it, he says, ‘I asked for a blonde with carpets and curtains that matched! I didn’t expect stripped floorboards, if you get what I’m saying.’
The prostitute is still bemused and mocks him, saying, ‘Oh, I get what you’re saying. Ask for a hairy girl next time, or if you give me plenty of notice, I could wear a merkin.’

She can’t help giggling at his expense, but he stares at her with such intensity that she stops and says, ‘Just having a laugh with you, that’ all.’
‘You can go now.’
She nods, realizing she’s probably pushed her luck as far as she can with a man like this. She stands, but immediately looks down at the floor and points. ‘These rabbits are crapping all over the floor.’

Alexei doesn’t answer and the prostitute starts to pick her way toward the door, avoiding rabbits and droppings en route. Then she notices the unusual wooden display case for the first time. She double-takes and moves toward it as she says, ‘What d’you keep in here then?’
Before her hand has even reached up to open the doors, Alexei has appeared behind her with astonishing speed and forcefully pushes her out through the bedroom door. She turns to face him, slightly shocked, and he tries to look casual as he says, ‘Nothing that concerns you. Now, please leave.’
She shrugs and leaves, having seen too much in life to be fazed by anyone’s weird tricks.

Alexei closes the bedroom door and opens up the display case. He smiles, immediately transported by the sight of his collected trophies. He’s already becoming excited, and then, for a brief, thrilling moment, one of the rabbits brushes against his ankle.

19 - Vlad's Back

Late in the evening, Vladimir Shakirov walks through the spacious rooms of his villa, admiring the new décor which is pale and minimalist. A swatch-book has been left on the back of a sofa and he flicks through some of the material samples, all of which seem to be subliminal variations on cream. He smiles, thinking of Anna.

Of course, Vladimir is putting a brave face on it, but he’s all at sea in this new style-world. He looks into one room and turns on a light to see that it’s full of cardboard boxes, loaded up with the gaudy and vulgar objects that have been replaced, all gold and crystal and excessively ornamented.
He pulls a garishly lavish gold clock from one of the boxes and looks at it longingly, trying desperately to work out what’s so wrong with it. A phone rings in the other room and he casually tosses the clock back into the box with a clatter, and walks out again.
A uniformed maid is heading for the phone but he waves her away genially and answers it himself. His face immediately brightens – it’s Anna.

Anna is in the ostentatious sitting room of the Shakirov’s London home. It’s empty most of the time because Alexei lives in his own apartment, and consequently, nobody has yet seen fit to update the décor. Anna intends to change that. Of course, Boris, who’s sitting next to her, thinks the room looks quite wonderful as it is.

‘Hello Daddy.’ She adopts a slightly graver tone and says, ‘Well, I think I can solve this problem, but it would still be best if you came over. Sergei and Miki are in the hospital, so is Mikhail – all lucky to be alive. I think Alexei is losing control of everything.’
Anna smiles as she listens to her father, and Boris smiles too by association. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll be careful, and I have Boris here. See you tomorrow, Daddy.’

Anna puts the phone down and Boris says, ‘How did he take it?’
‘Okay. He told me to be careful.’
‘He’s right,’ says Boris protectively. ‘This Japanese is dangerous.’
Anna nods but doesn’t seem entirely convinced and says, ‘We don’t know that for sure. I mean, I don’t think he put the fireworks in Sergei’s car.’ Boris grudgingly acknowledges the point. ‘If we talk to him, we might find him very reasonable.’
‘Yes, it wouldn’t hurt to talk to him,’ admits Boris.
‘Good. Get me all the information we have on the Sasakis, and then we’ll see. Maybe it’s Alexei who’s unreasonable.’
Boris shifts uneasily in his seat, knowing that she’s right about Alexei, at least. He’s content though, more than he has been for a long time, because Anna is here, and his boss and old friend, Vladimir, will be arriving tomorrow. It’s as close to old times as they’ll ever be likely to see again.
Anna looks around the room and says, ‘We must get rid of all these horrible furnishings.’

18 - Brett Plastic #32

From Brett Plastic #32

Brett Plastic moves carefully through a derelict warehouse building, gun in hand. He’s immaculately dressed, as ever, but his collar is loosened and there seems to be a glazed, almost Messianic, look in his eyes.
He edges around a corner, but a shot is fired and he ducks back. He hears the steps of someone running away and continues the chase, avoiding another couple of shots in the process.
Finally, he emerges into the open upper floor of the warehouse. His would-be assailant, Oscar Vimt, is standing in the middle of the room, a gun in his hand and surrounded by an array of weaponry on the floor. Vimt is tall and powerfully built and dressed in dazzling white combat fatigues. As Brett walks in, Vimt is already laughing like only a super-villain knows how.

‘So, Mr Plastic, you think you have the power to put Oscar Vimt out of business?’
Brett approaches slowly but is casual as he says, ‘I don’t want to put you out of business, Oscar. I just want to talk, try to persuade you to modify your operations. You know, there’s plenty of money to be made legitimately nowadays. If you harnessed your undoubtedly impressive intellect to the cause of capitalism, you’d probably be richer than you are now.’

But Brett has come a long way from the days of Cyrus Crane. Vimt looks briefly baffled and says, ‘And what would be the fun in that? Anyway, I don’t want to talk to you, and I refuse to modify my business, so if you want me to stop, you’ll have to kill me.’
‘I don’t want to kill you, Oscar,’ explains Brett patiently, ‘I want to reason with you.’
‘Reason with this!’

Vimt attempts to shoot Brett Plastic, but with remarkable speed, Brett fires first and shoots the hand that’s holding the gun. Vimt is stunned. He looks at his bloodied hand, then desperately reaches for a gun with his other hand. Brett shoots a second time, and Vimt slowly stands upright again, looking down at his two neatly disabled hands.
‘Ow! That hurt!’
‘I know, and I’m sorry about that.’
Vimt shakes his head in disbelief and says contemptuously, ‘What kind of superhero are you, anyway?’
‘A really nice one.’
Vimt swiftly stamps on a rocket launcher at his feet and Brett fires at the same time. The rocket fires off but hits a wall some twenty feet to the left of where Brett is standing, the foot not being the most accurate limb to employ when it comes to firing a rocket launcher. Brett doesn’t even flinch as the rocket explodes through the wall. Vimt doesn’t flinch either, but slowly looks down at the offending leg, which has been shot and has a bloody patch on it.
‘One who even wants to help bad guys.’

Vimt is actually finding Brett Plastic’s niceness more painful than his three gunshot wounds. He screams in despair, ‘So kill me! Kill me!’
Vimt turns and tries to pick up what appears to be a heavy machine-gun. Brett watches for a moment, his face furrowed with sympathy, but when it looks like Vimt might manage to pick up the machine-gun, even with shot hands, Brett has no choice and shoots him in the base of the spine.

Vimt collapses onto the floor. Brett approaches until he’s standing over the injured man, who’s laughing manically now.
‘See, you did want to kill me. Admit it.’
‘That shot was carefully aimed not to kill you, Oscar. You will be a paraplegic, but to show you there are still no hard feelings, I’ll visit you in the hospital, and I’ll help get you through this. There’s no reason why we can’t be friends.’
Vimt shakes his head uncontrollably, shouting, ‘I don’t want to be your friend! You’re insane. You are insane! Evil. Hear me? You’re evil.’
Somehow, Vimt manages to pick up a gun and promptly shoots himself in the head with it.

Brett looks down sadly at Vimt’s lifeless body. Almost despairing, he says, ‘Why don’t people understand? I just want them to understand that if we talked, communicated with each other, tried to understand each other’s problems, there wouldn’t…’ His following words are punctuated with gunshots as he finally vents his frustration on Vimt’s corpse. ‘Be. A need. For all! This! Violence!!!’

17 - More Niceness Required

A waiter is making Bellinis in the sitting room of Roku and Yuko’s suite. Roku enters, looking tired and dejected. Yuko emerges from the bedroom at the same time. They immediately smile, as if their problems have dropped away at the sight of each other. They kiss and hold each other for a moment.

‘I missed you today,’ says Yuko.
‘I missed you today, too,’ says Roku.
Yuko breaks away and is breezily happy as she says, ‘How about a Bellini?’
‘You and a Bellini are the only things I need right now.’
She wags a finger at him and says, ‘Roku Sasaki, you are a very smooth talker.’
Roku laughs and they sit down. The waiter approaches with their drinks.
‘Your Bellini, madam.’
‘Thank you so much.’
‘Your Bellini, sir.’
Roku hands him a tip and says, ‘Thank you, that will be all for now.’
‘Thank you very much, sir. Enjoy your drinks.’
The waiter leaves.

Yuko raises her glass and says, ‘Chin chin!’
‘Bottoms up,’ suggests Roku and they laugh and sip at the drinks. ‘So what did you do today?’
‘Oh, shopping, mostly. What about you? You look disappointed.’
Roku nods, feeling something of a fool, but seeing the funny side as he says, ‘I spent £86 on tea and cake, and I did surveillance. It told me nothing. But tomorrow, I will try again. There must be some way to reason with this man.’

Yuko nods sympathetically, only the merest hint in her expression that she suspects otherwise, but then Roku looks curiously across the room and says, ‘That’s a different vase next to the door.’
‘Very observant,’ says Yuko, not missing a beat. ‘I knocked the other one with all my shopping bags.’
‘Oh,’ says Roku, seemingly disappointed by such a mundane explanation. ‘Did you buy anything nice?’
‘I bought you a shirt,’ she says, brightening.
Roku is touched. ‘Thank you.’
‘Would you like to see it?’
With a suggestive smile, he says, ‘I’d like to see the things you bought for you. I’d like that very much.’
‘Then perhaps we should take our drinks into the bedroom.’ She stands with a come-hither smile. He stands and she kisses him on the cheek, offering consolation. ‘Don’t worry, you’ll think of something. Just like Brett Plastic.’

Roku smiles, but what he’s really doing is ascending through the series in his head. At the beginning of this, he’d hoped the Brett Plastic of Issue #1 would be enough. Right now, he feels like Issue #32 is the least that’s needed.

16 - Thank Jimmy Choo

Yuko has just arrived back from her highly successful but uneventful shopping trip and is overseeing as the bellboy deposits her large collection of shopping bags just inside the sitting room of their suite.
She hands him a tip, saying, ‘Thank you very much!’
‘That’s very kind, Mrs Sasaki. Thank you.’
The bellboy leaves and Yuko looks at all the bags on the floor, momentarily at a loss what to do with them. She is distracted by a knock on the door and opens it to find two large and very wide gentlemen standing there.

Sergei and Miki step into the room and Sergei, who’s in first, takes hold of Yuko’s arm. As Yuko tries to pull free, he says, ‘Please, you must come with us. We won’t hurt you if you come with us.’
‘But I don’t want to come with you,’ says Yuko, struggling.
‘But you must,’ says Miki.
Sergei looks at Miki whilst continuing to tussle with Yuko, and says, ‘She knows. I told her.’
Yuko says, ‘I’m sorry, I can’t come with you. My husband will be back very soon.’

Sergei smiles, but then starts to pull her toward the door. Surprisingly though, given the huge imbalance in size, Yuko is very difficult to move and the two of them start to wrestle more forcefully, with Miki looking on in redundant consternation.
Sergei and Yuko fall to the floor. Yuko is trying to crawl away and Sergei is almost on top of her, dragging her back. Struggling against his bulk, Yuko roots frantically in one of the bags she can reach, but much to her frustration, doesn’t find what she’s looking for. She pulls at another bag, and grapples with a box from which she manages to retrieve a Jimmy Choo shoe.
Sergei sees this new weapon and manages to take enough time out from the struggle to laugh sympathetically at her futile attempts to defend herself. He actually admires her tenacity, but he’s also woefully underestimated her.

Sergei is still smiling benignly when Yuko inserts the heel of the shoe up one of his nostrils and uses it to yank him painfully clear of her. Sergei recoils in agony, clutching his nose, and Yuko springs to her feet.
Her skill with a Jimmy Choo and her subsequent display of athleticism has temporarily shocked Miki into inaction. He lunges at her now, but Yuko sidesteps him. She reaches for a vase from a cabinet next to the door. She knows that he’s too tall for her to hit him over the top of the head with it, so as Miki grinds to a halt and turns she smashes him in the face with the vase and immediately bundles him out of the door.
Sergei is stumbling to his feet, but Yuko pounces on another shopping bag and swings it at his head, the impact knocking him back to his knees. She jumps behind him them and grabs his ears, twisting them, pulling him up to his feet and attempting to propel him toward the door. Unfortunately she misses on the first attempt and the top of his head thuds into the doorframe. On the second pass, she manages to push him out where he stumbles into the still shell-shocked Miki.

‘I’m calling security now!’ Yuko slams the door and locks it.
She catches her breath, looks around the room, then through the spy-hole in the door. Satisfied, she straightens her clothes and seems to regain her composure remarkably quickly. She picks up the telephone.
‘Housekeeping, please. I’m sorry, but I broke a vase. Would you send someone to clean up, and please add the cost to our bill. Thank you.’

Meanwhile, Sergei and Miki stumble out of the front doors of the Rathbone Hotel. The doorman begins to approach to offer assistance, but getting a good look at them, he changes his mind. Sergei has blood pouring from his swollen nose. Miki’s face looks like he’s been hit with a vase, and he’s walking like a drunk.
Miki stops and lights his cigar, then follows Sergei toward the car. Once inside, they sit for a moment, then Sergei starts the engine and pulls away.
‘What are we going to tell him?’
‘I don’t know,’ says Sergei.
‘We can’t tell him a little Japanese woman beat us up. So what do we tell him? And what do you think he’ll do?’
Simmering with anger, Sergei says, ‘I don’t know!’ He boils over a little more. ‘And don’t smoke in the car!’
‘Okay,’ shouts Miki, equally angry and frustrated. He lowers the window and throws the cigar out, but a rogue gust of wind blows it back and onto the seat behind them.
Sergei steps on the brakes and both men scrabble to retrieve the cigar – it’s too late. Sergei’s car explodes into a pyrotechnic display as onlookers dive for cover. Even those fireworks that escape the confines of the car are wasted on the pale blue sky.

15 - A Mystery Muffin

At the same time that Yuko is unknowingly evading her would-be captors in Selfridges, Roku is still at his table in the café across the street from the Shakirov headquarters. His table now has several cups of lemon tea on it, and an equal number of plates with untouched cookies.

A waitress approaches, adopting her best “dealing with flaky customer” manner, and says, ‘Can I get you anything else?’
Distracted as he looks through his camera, Roku says, ‘Thank you. Lemon tea and a cookie please.’
‘Another cookie,’ says the waitress with a hint of sarcasm. ‘Sure you don’t want to try something else?’
Roku wonders if he’s being rude by not ordering something different and says, ‘Okay, a muffin, please. And I think, peppermint tea. Thank you.’
‘What kind of muffin?’
Roku thinks about it and says, ‘Plum, if you please.’
The waitress thinks he might be joking but realizes he isn’t and says, ‘We don’t have plum muffins. Nobody has plum muffins.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry. Vanilla?’
The waitress smiles patronizingly and says, ‘How about I choose one for you?’
‘Thank you,’ says Roku, relieved that the ordeal is over.
‘Peppermint tea and a mystery muffin, coming right up.’
She walks away and Roku looks through his camera just in time to see two men walking into the Shakirov building. He knows instinctively that the taller man is Alexei Shakirov himself. The shorter one with very red cheeks is perhaps Harry Knowle-Hart.

*

Roku has guessed correctly. As Alexei and Harry ascend in the lift, Harry is saying, ‘It took an age to get the cream off the sofa but, my God, was it worth it.’ He winks at Alexei. ‘Not a night I’ll forget in a hurry!’
A little preoccupied, Alexei says, ‘How much?’
‘A thousand,’ says Harry casually. ‘But that included the cream.’
Alexei nods favourably. The doors open and they walk along the corridor to his office. The secretary’s desk outside his door is empty.
In a fit of displaced anger, Alexei shouts, ‘I swear to God I don’t know what I pay this woman for!’
‘Fire her,’ says Harry helpfully.
‘Good idea. Sort it for me, would you, Harry?’

They stroll into Alexei’s office but Alexei grinds to a halt when he sees Anna sitting in his chair behind his desk. Harry is completely unabashed, striding across the room and collapsing into his usual chair. Alexei follows grudgingly but doesn’t sit down.
‘Anna, how lovely to see you,’ says Harry, attempting charm. ‘I’ve missed you.’
Anna turns to Alexei and says in Russian, ‘Why do you hang around with this dick?’
‘She says you’re a dick,’ says Alexei.
Harry looks at Anna lasciviously and says, ‘Oh, I’ll say! And you know you want it, Anna.’
Anna grimaces, halfway between horror and laughter, but then turns her gaze on Alexei.

‘What’s going on? There have been some problems.’
‘And what exactly would that have to do with you, little sis?’
‘Please don’t be rude, Alexei, particularly in front of the staff.’
She throws a withering look at Harry. He replies, mockingly, but clearly stung, ‘Ooh, you bitch!’
Anna smiles at him and says, ‘Actually, I was being polite. I didn’t want to call you a bloodsucking parasite.’
Alexei has had enough and decides to pull rank, saying angrily, ‘How dare you speak to my friend like that! And how dare you come into my office and start poking your nose in where it doesn’t belong. I don’t care if you’re my sister – get out, or I’ll call security to throw you out!’

There is a moment’s silent stand-off, during which Alexei feels he’s regained his authority and Harry is trying not to laugh on the grounds that it might be inappropriate.
But all the cards are in Anna’s hand. She is unruffled by her brother’s outburst, and even smiles a little as she says, ‘Daddy sent me.’
Suddenly nervous, Alexei says, ‘Is he coming?’
‘He will if I tell him to. So, who is Roku Sasaki, and why is he causing us problems?’
Alexei stomps around the room in frustration and says, ‘I don’t know! I don’t know who he is!’

Anna shrugs nonchalantly and reaches for the phone. ‘I told Daddy I wouldn’t be able to deal with this.’
‘Wait,’ shouts Alexei desperately. ‘Just a minute.’ Anna puts the phone down and he says, ‘Look, I was seeing a Japanese girl, and it didn’t end well. She was obsessed. Maybe he’s some relative.’
Harry sniggers and says, ‘You sly old fox! Didn’t tell me you’d developed a taste for sushi.’
‘You should tell him to shut up,’ warns Anna.
‘Harry, please keep out of this. It isn’t funny.’
Harry makes a comedy show of buttoning his lip, done in such a way that any sane person would want to smack him in the mouth. Anna looks like she wants to do just that.
She doesn’t though, and says instead, ‘His letters say he wants something back.’
‘I know, but I swear, I have no idea what he’s talking about. He’s dangerous though. He put Mikhail in the hospital. I’ve got people looking into it.’
‘Have you tried talking to him?’
‘Of course,’ says Alexei, indignantly. ‘The guy’s a fruit loop.’
‘Try again,’ says Anna as she gets up. ‘And try to think what he might want back. If you can’t solve this problem, I’ll have no choice but to call Daddy.’
She’s already walking toward the door, and Alexei doesn’t like the way Harry’s staring at her, but his mind is on more pressing matters. ‘Don’t call Daddy! I’m dealing with it, and you’ll only upset him.’
She’s already left and Alexei looks despondent. Harry smiles at him, trying to cheer him up, but Alexei says sharply, ‘I need the wife by the end of today.’ Harry nods, apparently unaware how this statement might have anything to do with him.

14 - Lost in Selfridges

As Miki and Sergei descend in the lift they are not aware that Anna Shakirov is on her way up in the other. They adore Anna almost as much as they despise Alexei, but they don’t know she’s there.

They step out onto the street. They know about the café across the road, but they don’t notice the Japanese man sitting in the window with an impressive camera. The Japanese man does not know, either, that these two gentlemen are setting out to kidnap his wife.

They stop briefly while Miki lights a cigar. Then they walk a little way along the street and get into a black BMW with diplomat plates. As roomy as the car is, the two of them look too big to be next to each other in the front. Sergei is behind the wheel and only now does he realize how troublesome the cigar smoke will be.

‘Do you have to smoke in the car?’
‘Yes,’ says Miki indignantly. ‘I can’t smoke anywhere. It isn’t fair!’
Sergei looks at him and finally accepts Miki’s pleading expression. He starts the car and pulls away, and by the time he parks across from the Rathbone, he has to open the window and lean out of it, gasping for fresh air.

They sit for twenty minutes, watching people come and go, then Yuko emerges from the hotel and jumps into a waiting cab. Sergei glances at the photograph he’s been given, then back at the cab. He starts the car.
‘That’s her, in that cab.’
He starts to follow her with some difficulty through the aggressively cluttered London traffic.
‘There she is,’ says Miki.
‘I see her,’ says Sergei.
They turn a corner and Miki says again, ‘There she is.’
‘I know, I see her,’ says Sergei, becoming irritated.
They turn another couple of corners and Miki says, ‘There she…’ He thinks better of finishing and says, ‘Where do you think she’s going?’
Sergei peers through the windscreen, reminding himself of the geography, and says, ‘I think she’s going to Selfridges.’
‘You know this place?’
‘No, but my wife knows it very well. We need to find somewhere to park.’

A short while later, Sergei and Miki step through the doors of Selfridges and grind to a halt, completely overwhelmed by the shopping experience that surrounds them. Hesitantly, they start to walk forward but an assistant quickly approaches and points to Miki’s cigar.
‘I’m sorry, sir, but you can’t smoke that in here.’
Miki looks persecuted, but he takes the cigar from his mouth and, watched with disapproval by the assistant, he extinguishes it against a marble pillar before putting it back into his jacket pocket.
Sergei suddenly sees Yuko ascending on an escalator and says, ‘There she is.’

Sergei and Miki set off in pursuit of Yuko, unaware of what they’re up against and how fruitless this endeavour will be. Yuko is in her natural environment, whereas Sergei and Miki might as well have been abandoned on a hostile alien planet.
They catch several glimpses of her disappearing, they spend time following Japanese women who are not Yuko. In one heart-stopping moment, they pass her on escalators going in opposite directions, but are unable to catch up with her.
They’re completely disheartened when they unexpectedly find themselves in the basement standing in front of a large selection of fireworks.
They’re overawed, like two schoolboys.
‘I never knew they had things like this,’ says Sergei, clearly feeling his wife has misled him about the whole shopping experience.
Miki points at one item in particular and says, ‘That’s a really good rocket.’

Sergei and Miki are back in the car, the back seat of which is piled high with fireworks. They both look slightly sheepish.
‘He won’t be happy with us,’ says Miki.
‘I know,’ says Sergei. Miki takes his cigar out of his pocket but before he even has chance to light it, Sergei shouts, ‘And stop smoking in the car! Why should I get cancer?’
Miki grudgingly puts the cigar back into his pocket, but says, ‘It’s an Havana. You can’t get cancer from Havana cigars.’
Sergei glances across at him incredulously and says, ‘You’re crazy.’
‘He’ll be crazy. What are we going to tell him?’
‘Nothing. We’ll get her when she goes back to the hotel.’
‘You think we can do that?’
‘Miki, it’s a hotel, not the Kremlin.’
Miki nods, accepting the point, but the mention of Moscow makes both of them feel nostalgic and homesick. Everything used to be better than this.

13 - Let's do some coke!

The message on the post-it note is simple – ‘I want it back.’ Alexei stares at the note where it’s stuck to the wall of his office and he feels hollow in the pit of his stomach, realizing for the first time that this Sasaki guy really means business.

The door opens and Alexei jumps with a start, but relaxes again when Harry walks in. Harry is Alexei’s ‘special assistant’, a friend from school, rosy-cheeked, creepily suave whilst simultaneously something of an oaf – it’s easy to imagine Harry getting up to all sorts of unsavoury shenanigans with the rugby team, all in the name of good clean heterosexual fun.

Harry looks around the room in astonishment and says, ‘Oh. My. God.’ He’s in shock because it isn’t just one post-it note – the chairs, the desk and all four walls are covered with them.
Harry starts to read some of them and Alexei says, ‘It’s the same thing written on every one.’
‘Bonkers,’ says Harry. ‘Anyway, he’s staying in a suite at the Rathbone.’

Harry sits down on one of the post-it pasted chairs and Alexei comes over and sits on his own. ‘Is he now? But we have to be careful. It seems he means real business.’
‘Ditto on that. Whatever he’s up to, he’s a serious character.’
Alexei nods, deep in thought, and says almost to himself, ‘I mean, Mikhail’s in the hospital, the guy gets past all our security, breaks into my office, leaves… messages.’ He looks around the room, still overwhelmed by the array of notes, then says to Harry, ‘We have to find a way of playing this Sasaki guy at his own game.’
Harry suggests helpfully, ‘He has his wife with him.’
‘Perfect!’ Alexei taps his fingers on the desk, thinking how best to use the wife. Harry looks on, expectantly at first, then slightly bemused as he waits for Alexei to come up with the obvious plan. ‘I’ve got it! First thing in the morning, tell Sergei and Miki I want the wife. Once we’ve got her, then I’ll talk to him. And then we’ll see how smart he is!’

Harry nods, and can’t resist a theatrical sigh of relief. Immediately though, he’s struck by a thought of his own and says, ‘But what does he want? He keeps saying he wants it back, but what is it?’
Alexei shakes his head, and with an air of bafflement, he says, ‘I don’t have the faintest idea. He’s probably just messing with our heads. You know what these Japs are like – probably just trying to muscle in on our business.’
‘Pretty strange way of going about it, don’t you think?’
‘He’s Japanese – they’re strange people.’
‘Kinky people,’ says Harry with relish.

This sets Alexei off on a tangent and he says, ‘Do you think guinea pigs are sexy?’
Harry gives the question some serious consideration and says, ‘Guinea pigs? No, not really. Rats could be – you know, white rats. And bunnies! Now bunnies are sexy.’
‘Exactly!’
As one, they say, ‘That’s why Playboy uses them!’
Both of them are astonished by what they see as a synchronicity bordering on genius – great minds thinking alike and all that. Seeking to perfect the moment, Harry says, ‘Let’s do some coke!’

12 - Brett Plastic # 16

The mythology surrounding the Brett Plastic comic series is somewhat confused. Many hold on to the belief that its reclusive creator, Kazuo Yamaguchi, planned out the entire series before starting work.

But an anonymous story from someone who claimed to have worked for Yamaguchi suggested a more prosaic explanation for the unusual development of the series. He claimed that, with sales tailing off and a limited number of storylines for a character who was so entirely reasonable, Yamaguchi yielded to the market and decided to make Brett’s niceness a little more edgy.

What is apparent is that Brett Plastic changed, and much of the resulting discussion that dominates the countless forums and chat rooms for Plastic enthusiasts centres on the missing issue fifteen.

Issue fifteen never appeared, but there is continued speculation, fostered by occasional hints from Yamaguchi’s studio, about what it contained. All people know for sure, is that there was something subtly different about the Brett Plastic who appeared subsequently. Whatever had happened to Brett Plastic in issue fifteen, he was no longer the same man.

From Brett Plastic # 16

Two businessmen are walking down an anonymous and deserted city street, an identikit business district somewhere in the Western world. Suddenly, a wired junkie steps from the shadows, all sinew and nerves in a scruffy T. He pulls a knife and thrusts it at one of the alarmed businessmen.
‘Money,’ shouts the junkie. ‘Give me money! I’ll stab you! Give me money!’ He’s brandishing the knife wildly, and looks in danger of stabbing one of them involuntarily, so bad are his jitters.

The businessmen look terrified and start fumbling for their wallets. They can’t see anyone nearby who might come to their aid, but someone is nearby. Like a phantom, Brett Plastic has appeared and disarmed the junkie in one swift movement. Before the businessmen even realize he’s there, Brett is holding the junkie in a firm grip with his arm behind his back.
The junkie screams in pain, ‘Ah! Jesus!’
‘Not quite,’ says Brett Plastic. ‘But I’ll listen like Jesus. Now why don’t you tell me what’s going on.’
The junkie starts to cry. ‘I need money, man, that’s all. Money.’
Brett Plastic nods his understanding and says, ‘I’ll give you money, but there’s no need for violence.’ He turns to the businessmen and says, ‘Okay, gentlemen, I’ll handle it from here.’
One of them, still astonished, says, ‘Thank you, er, Mr…?’
‘Plastic. Brett Plastic.’
Both of the businessmen and even the junkie gasp in awe – they’ve all heard of him. Brett winks and the businessmen hurry away, leaving Brett to turn his attention back to the junkie.

‘What’s your name?’
‘Eddie,’ says the junkie, still afraid of what Plastic might do to him.
Calmly though, Brett Plastic says, ‘Eddie, I’m going to let go of your arm so that I can give you some money. Don’t run away – you know I’ll catch you if you do.’
Eddie nods and Brett lets go of his arm. Eddie is still trying to rub some life back into the muscle when he notices the wad of notes that Brett is holding out to him. He reaches out to take the money, but as his hand grasps around it, Brett grabs his arm and looks at the track marks on it.
‘You’re a junkie, aren’t you, Eddie?’
It must be something about this man because, for the first time in years, Eddie feels truly ashamed as he says, ‘Yes, I am. I’ve tried to stop. I really have. I just can’t.’
‘You can, Eddie. I have faith in you. I look into your eyes, and I truly know that you can stop.’ Brett picks up the knife and says, ‘Now, I want you to trust me. I’m going to do something that will help you, because every time you think you need a fix, you’ll look at this and you’ll know that you’re not alone. You’ll know that I’m with you, and that I believe in you.’

Eddie looks on with alarm and no small amount of pain, but it’s a beautiful pain somehow, as Brett Plastic expertly uses the point of the blade to carve a B into one of his forearms and a P into the other. He does it so that when Eddie looks down at his own forearms he sees BP – Brett Plastic. Eddie is almost delirious by the time Brett has finished.
Brett smiles and says, ‘Now go in peace, Eddie, and make your life right.’ He winks warmly and walks away.

Eddie looks down at his newly carved forearms. He falls to his knees and holds out his arms in a worshipful salutation, and as the blood drips from them onto the stone floor, he calls out, ‘Thank you, Brett Plastic! I won’t let you down! I promise, I won’t let you down!’

11 - I am Roku

Roku emerges from a stairwell into a corridor in the corporate part of the Shakirov building. The corridor is deserted, but Roku can hear voices approaching, perhaps even from both directions at once. He doesn’t want to be caught in the open quite so soon and quickly ducks into an office across the corridor.

A young woman is sitting at work behind a computer. She stops typing and looks at him questioningly. Roku smiles and offers a little wave before saying cheerily, ‘Hello! How are you? I am Roku.’
‘I’m fine, thank you,’ says the confused young woman. ‘Can I help you?’
Roku keeps smiling, but nods too, and when he realizes that won’t be enough, he says, ‘I’m new here, so, just saying hello to everyone!’
‘Oh,’ says the young woman suspiciously. This really isn’t that kind of workplace.
Roku simply thinks he hasn’t been very convincing and is certain that if he keeps talking, he’ll win her around. ‘I’m Mr Shakirov’s new assistant. Er, special assistant.’

This seems to do the trick. The young woman appears to comprehend now and is conspiratorial as she says, ‘Oh, I see! You mean he’s got rid of Harry?’
‘My predecessor’s name?’
The woman nods and has a note of disgust in her voice as she says, ‘Harry Knowle-Hart. He won’t be missed, I’ll tell you that much. So, do you want to see Mr Rush?’
She speaks so hushed and so quickly that Roku has trouble understanding, but before he can ask her to repeat it, she tilts her head to an interior door. Roku understands now, that this young woman is the secretary to someone called Mr Rush.
‘Oh, no, I’ll be seeing him later. But it was pleasant to meet you…?’
‘Susie,’ she says, blushing, as if overcome by someone finally being nice to her. ‘Nice to meet you too, Rocky.’
‘Roku.’
‘Oops, sorry. Roku.’ She giggles and blushes further. Roku gives a small bow and makes for the door, but with an afterthought, Susie says, ‘Oh, Roku? If you’re going back to Mr Shakirov’s office, you could save me a journey.’
Roku smiles obligingly and she picks up a brown envelope and waves it at him. ‘I don’t know why this came here. Would you mind?’
‘It’s my pleasure.’ He takes the envelope, gives another small bow and once again heads for the door, keen to be on his way.
Susie is quite smitten now and calls after him urgently, ‘See you around!’
‘I hope so. Goodbye.’

In the corridor, Roku opens the envelope and takes out the paperwork it contains. As he walks, he pretends to read it, a ruse which helps him to pass several people without looking faintly suspicious. When he reaches Shakirov’s office with the empty secretary’s desk outside, he quickly steps through the door, half expecting to come face to face with this strange and very rude man.

The office is large and very empty, so empty that at first, he wonders if it’s in use at all. But there’s a desk and three chairs, and a telephone. Roku looks in the desk drawers but they are all empty except one, which contains two unopened packets of post-it notes and a pen. Very odd, he thinks.
Roku takes one of the pads of post-it notes because leaving another message is all he can do. And he feels frustrated, because it’s hard to be like Plastic when his enemy doesn’t even show himself or give him the chance to be reasonable.
A post-it note! Roku thinks even Brett Plastic would struggle to know what to do, and he isn’t Brett Plastic, just Roku.

Later, back at the hotel, Roku and Yuko are sitting on the sofa, relaxed and elegant as ever, drinking martinis, but Roku is still downcast by his failure even to meet with Shakirov.
‘It’s my own fault,’ he says despondently. ‘I thought I could walk in there and reason with him. I never realized it would be so difficult just to find him.’
Yuko smiles at him and says helpfully, ‘I’m sure you’ll think of something. What would Brett Plastic do?’

Roku thinks about the post-it note, wondering if he’d already failed the first test. He thinks back over the entire series and with a certainty he doesn’t actually feel, he says, ‘Brett Plastic would learn about his enemies. So. Tomorrow is a day for surveillance!’ He lifts his drink to his lips but seems to change his mind as another little wave of despondency washes over him. He lowers the glass again and says, ‘I’m sorry, this trip is no fun at all. Not even any danger.’
‘Nonsense,’ says Yuko. ‘We only just arrived, and tomorrow I go shopping. Tonight we go to the theatre. Lots of fun!’ With the mention of the theatre she lifts Roku’s arm and looks at his watch. ‘Oh my! We’ll be late.’
She knocks back her drink in one shot and rushes into the bedroom. Roku looks at the watch himself and raises his eyebrows, puzzled.
‘We have over two hours,’ he says to himself. He knocks back his drink then and puts his glass down before picking up a Brett Plastic comic from the table. He holds it in both hands, staring intently at Plastic’s face, and says, ‘Tell me, what would you do! What would you do?’

10 - I'll have the lobster

It’s mid-afternoon as Roku walks past the anonymous façade of Concrete. The sky above is blue but there’s no sun reaching the pavement in front of the club and it’s still quite cool down on the street.

Roku tries not to look at the club because he doesn’t want to think about what happened there. Instead, he keeps his eyes focussed forward until he reaches the glass-fronted lobby of Shakirov’s equally anonymous headquarters.

The lobby is small but plush, with just two lifts, a small sofa, and a reception desk, behind which sits a frostily efficient young woman. Roku glances around quickly, taking in every detail, including the security cameras. Then he smiles at the receptionist and gets a pinched ‘get on with it’ smile in return.

‘Good afternoon. I’m hear to see Mr Shakirov. My name is Sasaki. Roku Sasaki.’
The receptionist looks at him as if to suggest he’s already given far more information than she might ever want or need. ‘Do you have an appointment?’
‘No, I tried to make an appointment but…’
‘I’m sorry, but it’s out of the question without an appointment.’
‘Then perhaps I might make an appointment now?’
‘You’ll have to call Mr Shakirov’s private secretary.’
‘Is it possible to see his private secretary?’

Roku can almost feel what the next answer is going to be, but to his surprise, the irritated receptionist presses a button. Roku smiles, pleased to have finally made some progress, but a moment later, a very tall and muscular security guard appears from a door to the side of the reception desk and approaches Roku with the look of a man who’s alien to the concept of compromise.
‘Sir, I have to ask you to leave the building.’
Unfortunately, Roku doesn’t notice that this is a man who feels like he should have been a valued member of the police force or an elite army unit but has been frustrated in every attempt to get beyond his present position. He isn’t even a valued member of the Shakirov security operation, and his only opportunity for venting all this frustration is on journalists and unsuspecting members of the public.

As I say, Roku doesn’t pick up on this and says, ‘Of course, but I’d like to make an appointment first. I think, if you tell Mr Shakirov that Sasaki is here, he’ll be happy to see me.’
‘Nice try. Now, please leave.’ With as much implied menace as he can muster, he adds, ‘I don’t want to have to escort you from the premises.’
The security guard is pleased because Roku smiles and gives a little bow before leaving, and the receptionist smiles seductively and says, ‘Thanks, Dennis.’
‘Anytime, babe,’ says Dennis, and what he’s really thinking is that the SAS don’t know what they’re missing.

Meanwhile, Roku walks away from the lobby, passes Concrete once more, then stops at the end of an alley that runs down the side of the club. He sniffs the air. Concrete has a restaurant, and the kitchen is somewhere along here.

Roku knows that the kitchen is often the least secure part of any building because kitchen porters come and go to discard food. But even he is surprised to find the swing doors open and the kitchen empty. There’s plenty of prepped food sitting around on the kitchen surfaces, but nothing cooking and not a sign of a chef or kitchen porter.
He doesn’t stop to dwell on how strange this is, heading instead for more swing doors on the other side of the kitchen. Unfortunately, he’s only halfway there when a large and intimidating chef comes through them in the other direction. The chef looks at Roku and raises one eyebrow that is immediately more threatening than anything the security guard might have produced.

Roku knows his limitations.
‘I’m sorry, I think I’m lost.’
The chef simply nods to himself in response as he ambles around the counters, circling Roku until he’s at the outside door, which he now locks. He moves back towards Roku, more directly now, as he says, ‘You make mistake.’
‘That’s it, a mistake.’
But Roku has not appreciated the chef’s intonation, something which becomes apparent as he picks up a meat cleaver and says, ‘I no need security guard. You make big mistake.’
‘A misunderstanding perhaps. I’m sure if…’

Roku is actually trying to think what Brett Plastic would do in a situation like this. Negotiation or compliments do not seem to be options. Then he has no more time to think because the chef charges at him, brandishing the cleaver.

With considerable athletic ability, Roku springs over a counter, gaining a few seconds as the chef has to backtrack and run around it. Roku looks around desperately for something to defend himself with, but there are no knives or pans within reach, only plenty of food, seafood mainly.
As the chef charges for a second time, Roku falls back on the only defence he has and bombards him with an array of freshly prepared ingredients. A sheet of smoked salmon sticks to the chef’s face, temporarily covering his eyes. Roku uses this momentary blindness by taking a baguette and beating him around the head with it like a kendo staff. Even blinded though, with one swipe of the cleaver, the chef knocks the baguette into pieces.
The chef pulls the smoked salmon off his face and continues to pursue a retreating Roku, who hampers his progress with a barrage of ever smaller food – bread rolls, anchovies, olives. There seems to be nothing left to throw, but then Roku spots the tank full of live lobsters.
Roku takes a lobster out of the tank and throws it at the chef’s face. The chef panics and tries to catch it. He misses, but in the process, somehow manages to slip on a baby octopus. His feet fly forwards and he lands on the floor with a ground-shaking thud.

Roku steps forward carefully. The chef has been knocked unconscious and lies now like the main attraction in the middle of his own bizarre smorgasbord. Roku needs to wash his hands, but he doesn’t want to linger in the kitchen. Instead, he steps through the interior doors and presses onwards, still optimistically hoping that a friendlier reception might yet await him.

9 - Everything is Beige

Vladimir Shakirov is lounging by the pool of his sumptuous villa overlooking the sea just a short distance from Cannes. It’s an impossibly beautiful setting, as Cote d’Azur as Cote d’Azur could be. This villa, with its exquisite gardens and breathtaking views, cost more than most Hollywood stars could afford, more than the bestselling pop stars, and yet Vladimir paid for it with loose change.

You don’t want to know how Vladimir made his money. You might think you’d like to know, but really, you don’t. All you need to know is that Vladimir has more money than it is humanly possible to imagine – the sort of sums you can only contemplate if you think in terms of buying multinational companies or funding space programmes.

He’s reasonably youthful, certainly more so than Boris, not least because he’s lost weight in recent years and is now only a little paunchy – all thanks to the healthy influence of his daughter. He does not consider himself to be of extraordinary appearance in any way, and is baffled by the fact that young Japanese tourists in various European cities occasionally stare at him with a look of total fascination.

So here he is, lounging by his pool, wearing a short-sleeved shirt because his daughter has warned him about getting too much sun, wearing shorts because his daughter has told him that Speedos are vulgar, unadorned by jewellery but with all that money can buy just the click of a finger away. Yes, here he is, and everything is fine for Vladimir Shakirov, only…

Anna Shakirov emerges from the villa and walks towards him. Anna is Vladimir’s stunningly attractive twenty-four-year-old daughter, elegant and understated in a beige and white outfit by Jil Sander, living proof that the same ingredients, mixed differently, can produce dramatically different cocktails.

Vladimir sits up, his spirits immediately lifted by the sight of his daughter, even if she does appear to be carrying material samples.
‘Hello, Daddy.’
‘Hello, Sweetie.’
She sits down on the lounger next to him and says, ‘Which colour do you like for the bed-linen in your room?’
Anna is overseeing the refurbishment of the villa, ridding the place of her father’s original gaudy ostentation. Plaintively, he says, ‘Must we change everything?’
Smiling gently, she says, ‘Yes, Daddy, we must. It’s all too vulgar. The new taste is subtle, understated. But I am giving you a choice.’
She holds the two samples out as Vladimir sighs acceptance, somewhat bewildered. He raises his sunglasses and looks at them more closely.
Perplexed, he says, ‘But they’re both the same.’
Anna looks at the samples herself, shaking her head patiently. ‘No, this one’s Vanilla, and this one’s Ice Cream.’
‘Oh,’ says Vladimir, wondering if he’s losing some of his colour vision. He hazards a guess and says, ‘Vanilla is nice.’
‘Good choice. I like the Vanilla, too.’

Actually, Anna prefers the Ice Cream but it’s a small price to pay to make her father feel like he’s involved. She stares at him for a second, and is suddenly angry with herself for not noticing earlier, that he looks troubled somehow.
‘Daddy, is something wrong?’
‘Not at all. Anna, I trust you completely. I know the villa will look beautiful. And I heard, even back in Moscow, this is the new taste now. Lots of… beige.’
‘No, I mean you look troubled. What is it? Tell me.’
Vladimir smiles, full of love for his daughter but simultaneously a little melancholy. Wistfully, he says, ‘Just like your mother. She could always tell.’ He’s momentarily sidetracked by thoughts of the past, but sighs heavily as his mind comes back to the present and he says, ‘Boris called. He thinks Alexei is making a mess of things. I might have to go to London.’

Vladimir is thinking, ‘that brother of yours’, but doesn’t say it out of a sense of paternal loyalty. At the same time, Anna is thinking, ‘that brother of mine’, but doesn’t say it for fear of hurting her father’s feelings.
Instead, protectively, she says, ‘No, don’t. I’ll go.’ Vladimir looks bemused, even a little intrigued. ‘I feel like a trip to London, anyway. I’ll find out what he’s doing, and if I feel you need to come over, I’ll call you.’
‘I think he upset a Japanese man,’ says Vladimir, as if that might be enough to get her to change her mind.
But Anna is determined and says, ‘Don’t worry, I’ll find out what he’s up to, and Boris will be there to protect me from any angry Japanese men.’

It’s decided, she will go to London on his behalf. And as much as the sight of Anna reminds him every day of his late beautiful wife, he sees a little of himself in her, too, and he knows that it will be his daughter who safeguards his empire.
Vladimir smiles, a little emotional, and says, ‘I’m so proud. Your brother doesn’t even understand interior design.’

8 - You Little Tease

Roku and Yuko are being shown into their suite at the exclusive Rathbone Hotel in Mayfair, London. They have stayed in this suite on each of their seven extended trips to the city together and the same maitre d’hotel has shown them up there each time.

Nevertheless, he responds to them as if he’s never seen them before in his life and says, ‘This is your suite Mr and Mrs Sasaki. Would you like me to give you a guided tour?’
‘No, thank you. We’ve stayed in this suite before.’
‘Of course,’ says the maitre d’hotel in a way that implies Roku is lying. But both Roku and Yuko are too good-natured to be offended by the airs and graces adopted by staff. Roku hands him a tip and the maitre d’hotel looks at the note and says, ‘Oh, that’s very generous, Mr Sasaki.’ He is suddenly charm personified. ‘Well, there’s some champagne and orange juice on the table, in case you’d like some bucks fizz, and if there’s anything else I can do for you, please don’t hesitate to call.’
The maitre d’hotel leaves as Yuko simultaneously tips the bellboys who’ve just carried in their luggage. Only when the door is finally closed do they relax and smile at each other.

‘Let’s have a drink,’ says Roku as he heads over to the champagne.
Yuko collapses onto a sofa as Roku open the champagne and pours two glasses of bucks fizz. He joins her then and they lounge against each other, still managing to appear breathtakingly elegant as they sip at their drinks.

Roku and Yuko are seasoned travellers. They both know that, even in a luxury hotel, it’s impossible to relax until you have colonized the room and made it your own. Roku is unpacking now and Yuko is in the shower, a sound that’s relaxing to him, like a waterfall in a private garden.

Later, in the silence of their sitting room, Roku and Yuko are wearing bathrobes and their matching and synchronized iPODs. They’re immune to the silence, lost in their own aural landscape as they dance contentedly to a slow song. The song clearly ends because they come to a halt, holding each other for a moment before the next selection jolts through their ears and they both start dancing energetically.

The bathrobes are discarded on the floor, as are the iPODs, still faintly singing to each other. Roku and Yuko are lying in bed, in each other’s arms, staring up at the ceiling, happy.
‘I wonder what time it is,’ says Yuko, as though she’s lost track not just of hours but days, weeks.
‘Almost noon,’ says Roku. ‘After lunch, I’ll visit Mr Shakirov.’
Yuko is disappointed as she says, ‘So soon?’
Roku smiles and strokes her hair. ‘The sooner I speak to him, the sooner we can enjoy the rest of our time in London. I want to go shopping, too, you know?’
‘Of course, you’re right.’ She thinks for a beat or two, then says, ‘Do you think he’ll give it back?’
‘I’m sure he will.’ Roku is thinking ahead, through the all the possible outcomes of this adventure, but falls back inevitably on Mr Shakirov’s motives, which remain a stubbornly difficult puzzle. ‘Really, I can’t think why he would want to keep it.’

*

Julia, blonde and soft. Gaby, brown and so sprightly it was hard to tie the thread around it. Saskia, like the finest copper wire. Megumi… but Megumi is not there, only the name tag and the empty hook.

Alexei wakes with a start and screams, kicking at his sheets in a moment of overwhelming terror. Even after he realizes he’s been dreaming, it takes him a full five minutes to calm down and get his breath back.

Finally collected, Alexei stares over at the wall where the display board is hidden. He gets up off the bed, and even though he knows it was only a bad dream, he’s still nervous. Carefully, filled with dread, he opens up the display board and breathes a heart-stopping sigh of relief as he sees Megumi’s lock of hair is still in its rightful place.

Alexei reaches out delicately and touches it, shuddering with pleasure as his fingers make contact. He’s biting his lip and breathing erratically, becoming visibly excited, but he forces himself to close the display board, and with his eyes shut, he whispers, ‘You little tease. Later.’

7 - One girl, six rabbits!

Alexei is sitting at the open expanse of his desk in his palatial but sparsely furnished office. This is a room designed to intimidate. There is nothing decorative upon which to fix the eye or pass comment, just the enormous desk and three chairs. Alexei’s chair is perched at just the right height for him to loom over the empty prairie that is his desk, whereas the two on the other side are low, reducing anyone sitting in them to the position of supplicant.

Unfortunately, Alexei is not having a very good day. He’s on the telephone, remonstrating, so angry that his voice occasionally becomes high-pitched and girlish, something he has to consciously correct.
‘No, no, no! One girl, six rabbits! You understand? It isn’t complicated!’
There’s a knock on the door and Boris enters the room, padding heavily across the floor like a mourner at a funeral.
‘I have to go,’ says Alexei hurriedly. ‘Just do it. Get it right.’

Alexei looks expectantly at Boris who pulls one of the small chairs away and to the side of the desk. Boris sits in the chair, acting almost as if Alexei isn’t in the room. Alexei, for his own benefit only, makes a look of being bemused, as if in the presence of some eccentric old uncle. And given that Boris has always been there, he is more or less an uncle, albeit an unwilling one when it comes to Alexei.

Boris leans back in the chair, relaxed, and even though he’s somewhat lower than Alexei, he manages somehow to create the impression that he’s looking down on the younger man.
‘It seems we must hire a new waiter for the club.’
‘Boris, please don’t start.’ Alexei realizes that this is the wrong tone to take and tries to get Boris back on side by saying, ‘He was selling information to those appalling rich list people.’
‘Who is Sasaki?’
‘What are you talking about?’ Alexei already feels cornered.
‘Sasaki! Who is Sasaki? We have no business with Japan.’
‘Exactly,’ says Alexei, seeing a way out. ‘Sasaki. He’s a flake, a crazy stalker kind of guy.’
Boris nods, giving him the benefit of the doubt, and says, ‘He says he’s coming to London. You want I take care of him?’
Alexei wishes Boris would drop dead right now. ‘No, thank you, Boris, I think I can take care of a stalker on my own, and personnel should be able to arrange a new waiter, so why don’t you just go and have fun. Find some Russian social club you can join.’

Is this what it’s come to, thinks Boris, that this boy jokes about his own heritage and makes fun of his elders, people who spilt blood to put him where he is.
He stands slowly and walks around the desk. He bends down as if about to whisper something but slaps Alexei hard around the face.
Alexei is stung, his cheek immediately smarting red, but he’s not about to retaliate, and looks more like a child who can’t understand why he’s being punished. It takes all his self-control not to cry.

Boris stands up straight and says, ‘I thank God your mother isn’t alive to see this.’
He lumbers away, but Alexei, desperate now and seeing all the potential ramifications, calls after him, ‘Boris! Boris!’ Boris stops and turns. ‘Don’t tell my father. I won’t kill any more waiters, I promise, and I’ll deal with the stalker.’
Boris thinks about it, then shrugs and says, ‘Waiters are easy to replace. Take care of the Japanese man.’

Boris leaves and a wounded Alexei sits for a moment or two rubbing his cheek. He’s interrupted by the phone ringing and picks it up. ‘Shakirov.’ He listens for a moment, his free hand clawing into the desk. He’s so incensed, he’s forgotten the pained cheek and the injured pride. ‘How difficult can it be to get rabbits? People can’t get rid of rabbits fast enough! They’re everywhere!’
He listens again but then holds the phone at arm’s length and stares into it incredulously, almost as if he’s offended by the equipment itself. Without putting it back to his ear, he screams into it, ‘No! Guinea pigs won’t do! It’s a whole different aesthetic. Get! Me! Rabbits!’
Alexei slams the phone down so hard that it breaks. That weakness offends him even further and he swipes the broken phone off his desk, launching it across the room – fortunately there is nothing else for it to hit.
He takes a few deep breaths, tries to calm down, and finally validates his rage by telling himself with some degree of certainty, ‘There is nothing erotic about guinea pigs.’

6 - Brett Plastic #1

Roku and Yuko are in the first class cabin of an airplane, bound for London. Yuko is sleeping, but Roku is reading a Brett Plastic comic book. He loves the Brett Plastic series – they’re exciting, but they always leave him with a feeling of peace and contentment. They make him appreciate that the world is a good place.

*

From Brett Plastic #1

In a cavernous underground lair that even a James Bond villain might consider a little ostentatious, a young woman, Emily, is chained to a platform which is itself suspended by chains above a vat of boiling chemical soup.

Suddenly, Brett Plastic enters, a surprisingly young and vaguely Japanese-looking English gentleman in a stylish tweed suit, a pistol in his hand.
Emily sees him and shouts, ‘Brett, be careful, it’s a trap!’

Her warning has come too late and suddenly armed guards surround Brett Plastic. Emily cries in despair, but Brett nods, not greatly alarmed, almost as if this is exactly what he wanted to happen.

Cyrus Crane, a paunchy man in his fifties – who coincidentally, bears a striking resemblance to Vladimir Shakirov, father of Alexei – appears at the top of some stone steps and claps his hands slowly in mocking applause.

‘So, Mr Plastic, we meet at last, but it seems you can forget any hopes of killing me.’
Brett looks around at the guards as if weighing them up, his gaze unsettling them, but then he turns and smiles at Cyrus and says, ‘Cyrus, I could shoot you right between the eyes before any of your men had even thought about pulling the trigger. But if I’d wanted to kill you, I’d have done it last year at Davos.’
Cyrus looks nervous, as do his men, who bristle uneasily. Cyrus says, ‘You were at Davos?’
‘But of course.’
‘I don’t understand,’ says Cyrus, confused. ‘If you don’t want to kill me, what do you want?’

What does Brett Plastic want? That question lies at the heart of the entire Brett Plastic series. Brett knows that there are very few truly bad people in the world, he knows that most people require only the proper perspective, he knows many things, and above all, he wants to share that knowledge. Brett Plastic is a superhero, there’s no doubt about it, and his superpower is his superniceness.

‘I just want to talk. I’m sure if can sit down over a drink, we can clear up this whole misunderstanding. You know, Cyrus, if we communicate, we might find we have a lot more in common than you’d think. And if we both compromise just a little, it’s sure to be better for both of us, and for everyone here, too.’

Cyrus strokes his chin, deep in thought, realising with some astonishment that Plastic is right.

LATER

Cyrus Crane, Brett Plastic and Emily are sitting around a table in a fabulously expensive nightclub. They’re drinking champagne and in high spirits. Cyrus is relating an amusing anecdote, and concludes it now with the punch-line.
‘And then I said, you call that a nuclear warhead!’
They all laugh uproariously. Emily reaches out and holds Brett’s hand. Brett smiles at her, but then turns his gaze out towards his adoring fans and winks – job done!

*

Roku closes the comic book, satisfied. He keeps reminding Yuko that this is a serious matter, and it is, but he’s also excited because for a few days in London he’ll be like Plastic, using Plastic philosophy and Plastic methods. He’ll persuade Alexei Shakirov of the error of his ways and all will be resolved peacefully. That’s what Roku believes, but not everyone wants to talk, not everyone subscribes to the Plastic vision, and of those wayward people, Alexei Shakirov is right up there at the top of the list.

5 - Cleaning in Progress

Adjoining Concrete is the London headquarters of the Shakirov empire. In the plush but hostile marble surrounds of corporate toilets on the fourth floor, Sergei and Miki, two of Alexei’s thugs, are working a third man over in serious fashion. The man on the receiving end of the beating is the waiter we last saw in the club.

Sergei and Miki are large and powerful but lodged inescapably in middle age. They’re undoubtedly tough and dangerous men, but they’re not in the best shape, and their hearts are no longer in it the way they might once have been. They land their punches on the waiter’s body in a resigned, workmanlike fashion.

Their eyes are heavily hooded, and when the door opens and they turn, it looks as though they’ve been roused from a deep sleep. The look is amplified further when they see that the person coming into the room is Alexei – now they look as if they’ve been snapped out of a dream in which everything was still better than this.

Their distracted pause has allowed the waiter to slump to the floor, but they pull him back to his feet and lean him against the wall. He’s already so badly beaten that Sergei has to hold him in place.

Alexei walks across to them, smiling, and says to the waiter, ‘Oh dear, you’re not looking so good.’
‘I’m okay,’ says the waiter defiantly, a feeling he’s been storing up for two years now.
Alexei nods, and talks like he’s learned how to be a hard-man by watching films. ‘Then these men will have to work some more, because I don’t want you to feel okay. I want you to feel bad. That way, the next time you feel like talking to The Sunday Times about how much money my father has, you’ll think again. No?’
Alexei gives another nod to Sergei and Miki, a condescending nod that silently infuriates both of them. But as he walks away, the waiter says quite clearly, ‘Pervert.’

This is not a good idea, and the waiter must surely know it. Sergei throws him a look, as if trying to advise him to shut up.
Still defiant though, the waiter says, ‘I don’t care, beat me up some more. He’s still a pervert.’
Three deafening gunshots ring out, bouncing like an explosion around the marble walls, an ear-cracking so unexpected that it takes Sergei and Miki a second or two to realize they’re covered in the waiter’s blood and that his face has disappeared into a visceral mash.

Slowly, with a lumbering acceptance of the changed circumstances, Sergei takes his arm away and lets the waiter fall to the floor. They both turn to stare at Alexei who’s still pointing the gun at the spot where the waiter was recently standing. He lets the arm with the gun drop to his side.
‘Sorry about the mess,’ he says casually, and leaves, picking up a yellow ‘Cleaning in Progress’ sign from behind the door and placing it outside the toilets. Sergei and Miki look at each other and they don’t need to speak – this is so not like the old days, in every conceivable way.

As Alexei walks in good humour back toward his office, a young male employee approaches him with a sheet of paper.
‘Mr Shakirov, I think you should read this.’
‘What? Tell me,’ says Alexei impatiently, like a man disturbed in the midst of some reverie.
‘A fax that just came through.’
‘Tell me. Tell me!’
‘You mean, read it to you?’ Alexei responds with a look of incredulity and the employee says, ‘Of course, sorry.’

The employee holds the fax up to read it, his hand trembling violently. Even though he’s no younger and no less physically imposing than Alexei, he’s clearly terrified in his presence.
‘Dear Sirs, as you have not responded to my email, I have no choice but to come and collect the item in person. I hope this does not inconvenience you in any way.’
Alexei smiles, which the employee recognizes as a truly dangerous moment. ‘You know, I don’t have time for riddles. What is this?’
‘The email said you had something belonging to his cousin and politely requested its return. It’s from Japan, from someone called Roku Sasaki.’
Whatever humour Alexei brought into this exchange has now evaporated. He snaps impatiently, ‘It’s spam, moron! We don’t deal with Japan. This is just like these African scams. Spam, scam, thank you ma’am. And goodnight, Japan.’
Alexei stares off into the middle distance. For a moment he looks as if he’s searching for something else to say, but he’s lost, his mind already elsewhere, and he drifts off along the corridor in order that his body might join it.

The employee looks at the fax again and shrugs, but just as he’s about to walk back into his office, the piece of paper is taken out of his hand by Boris.

Boris Bulgakov is a sharply dressed but bulky and sad-eyed Russian in his fifties. Boris is the loyal lieutenant of Vladimir Shakirov, Alexei’s father, who still owns the empire over which he allows his son to exercise a certain amount of control.

Like all Vladimir’s associates, Boris has become very rich since the end of Communism, but you can see that, like Sergei and Miki, he still hankers after the old days of the Soviet black market. This is a man that time has left behind, albeit with a lot of money to keep him company. When he talks, it’s with a mournful Russian accent.

‘What is this?’
‘It’s nothing. Spam,’ says the employee, a little deflated and embarrassed.
Boris reads the fax and says, ‘You have the email?’
‘Yes, I still have it.’
‘Forward email to me, if you please.’
‘Yes, of course, Mr Bulgakov.’ Thank goodness, thinks the employee, someone here takes him seriously.

Boris walks away, still poring over the fax in his hand. He passes the toilets and double-takes at the ‘Cleaning in Progress’ sign. He opens the door and sees Sergei and Miki mopping the walls and floor. A large cleaning trolley is off to one side, with two legs sticking out of the top of it.

Sergei and Miki stop what they’re doing and nod in acknowledgement to Boris, as if asking if this is what it’s come to, where their glory days have brought them. Boris sighs heavily and allows the door to close.

4 - Roku and Yuko

The beauty of neon. This is the fabulous Tokyo apartment of Roku and Yuko Sasaki, large and minimalist in its furnishings, with dazzling views over the sprawling galaxy that is this city at night.

Roku is reclining in a chair reading a comic book from his favourite series. Roku is thirty, looks younger, is effortlessly stylish, with the kind of lean physique that suggests he can handle himself, though he probably never needs to, because he’s pleasant of temperament and his wealth is the kind that doesn’t bring enemies with it.

Yuko is mixing them both a martini of crystalline purity. She’s twenty-nine, looks even younger, is beautiful and glamorous, not just in her clothes, but in her skin, in her nerve endings, in every movement and thought. This is not shallow glamour – this is a woman who likes to slop around in pyjamas at weekends and still manages to look like she fell out of the pages of Vogue. Grace Kelly, Audrey Hepburn, Yuko Sasaki – get the picture?

She finishes mixing the drinks, brings them over and hands one to Roku, who thanks her by kissing her hand. Yuko then floats down onto one of the sofas, sips at her drink and looks idly at a magazine on the coffee table, undecided as to whether she should pick it up.

Her thoughts are interrupted by the ring of the telephone. She leans over, takes it from the coffee table and answers. She listens to a babbling voice that’s audible enough for Roku to put down his comic book and look on. Yuko appears increasingly confused and alarmed.

‘Megumi, is that you? Wait there, Megumi, I’ll get Roku.’ Roku has already put his drink down and is walking over to collect the phone as Yuko says, ‘Your cousin Megumi. She sounds very upset.’
Roku takes the phone and walks back to his chair as he says, ‘Hello? Megumi? Are you in London?’
The response is so hysterical that he momentarily has to remove the phone from his ear.
‘Megumi, please be calm. Tell me what happened. Something happened last night?’

Roku listens intently but keeps throwing confused glances at Yuko who, in turn, looks questioningly at him, increasingly impatient to know what’s going on.
Roku is slowly beginning to understand and in a concerned but measured tone, he says now, ‘I see, and did he… attack you?’ He listens again, and his response this time is insistent. ‘But did he hurt you?’ The immediate reply is reassuring and he shakes his head for Yuko’s benefit. Finally though, he is once again left confused. ‘So, if he didn’t attack you or hurt you, what exactly did he do? You must tell me.’

*

Alexei is in the bedroom of his apartment. With delicate fingers, he has nimbly tied some fine thread around the lock of pubic hair and is now hanging it from a small hook on a large display board. A neat little name tag above the hook says ‘Megumi’.

He steps backwards and sits on the edge of the bed. There are at least fifty locks of hair hanging on the large display case built into the wall at the end of his bed, of many varied colours and textures, each with its own name tag, like a fetishist’s exotic butterfly collection.
Alexei’s chest heaves with the erotic charge of all that beauty laid out before him. Spent as he is, he’s clearly becoming aroused yet again.

*

‘He did what?’ Yuko is staring at Roku in utter disbelief.
Roku himself can’t believe the explanation he’s just given. ‘I know, it’s very strange.’
‘What will you do?’
Roku thinks for a moment, at a loss for an obvious solution, then sees his comic book and says decisively, ‘I’ll do what Brett Plastic would do. I’ll get it back, and restore Megumi’s honour.’
‘Of course,’ says Yuko, because getting it back and restoring Megumi’s honour is the very least she would have expected. ‘But how?’

Yuko is concerned that Roku thinks he can do it just like Brett Plastic, because she fears this might not be the occasion for employing the tactics of the famously supernice superhero who wins the day by being reasonable and kind.

Unfortunately, Roku is thinking exactly that, and at the moment, he isn’t even thinking of the more nuanced and conditional niceness of the later editions in the series.
‘Perhaps it’s all been a misunderstanding,’ he says hopefully. He responds to Yuko’s consternation with an acknowledging shrug – how could someone steal a lock of pubic hair by mistake? Even so, he’s determined to follow the example of Plastic. ‘So, I’ll find out who this man is and send him an email. If that doesn’t work, we’ll go to London.’

‘What a wonderful idea,’ says Yuko. It’s been over a year since they were in London and the thought of an adventure as well as shopping is irresistible. ‘Will it be dangerous?’
‘London! Of course not!’
‘Oh,’ says Yuko, disappointed.
Trying to cheer her up, he says, ‘Well, it might be a little dangerous.’ She looks excited again and he cautions, ‘But I’m sending him an email first.’
‘Of course,’ says Yuko, confident that they’ll be going to London. People who steal pubic hair don’t answer emails.

3 - Alexei in Love

Alexei walks into the dimly-lit expensively upholstered hush of one of Concrete’s private lounges. He closes the door of the windowless room behind him and smiles. He’s bordering handsome, and if his face is a little too wide and his eyes are a little too sunken, his nose a little unformed, he’s young and rich enough for these shortcomings to be easily overlooked.

At first glance, many women might consider Alexei Shakirov highly eligible, and those women would be badly mistaken. Somewhere along the line, Alexei has misplaced some vital ingredients. His smile never gets any further than his mouth, and if he ever had any charm, it’s buried deep in the permafrost that lies behind his eyes.

He’s looking at the two Japanese girls, slumped unconscious in large leather armchairs, their legs splayed out in front of them. He already knows their names. Junko is the one in the schoolgirl chic, a tartan miniskirt, white socks above the knee. Megumi is the hippy chick in orange suede jeans which cling to her thighs before flaring out at the bottom.

Alexei walks over and playfully lifts the front of Junko’s skirt, revealing her white underwear, the sight of which gives him a brief anticipatory shudder. He pulls her a little further off the chair and then pulls her panties down over her legs. He lifts the skirt again, but the remnants of his smile have gone. He looks at the neat smoothness of her genitals, and whilst he’s impressed at a technical level by the standard of depilation, he’s bitterly disappointed.

‘That isn’t fair,’ says a petulant Alexei, as if they are all playing a game together. Then he turns his attention to Megumi, her eyes open but glazed and locked out.

Impatient now, he hurriedly unbuttons and unzips Megumi and pulls down her jeans and underwear in one swift movement, on the verge of a panic attack, fearful of being denied his prize. But he looks down and is massively relieved, so relieved that it takes a second or two for his desire to catch up with developments.

What he sees below him is exactly what he expects of a Japanese girl, a lush thicket of black hair, spontaneous and tousled and wild. He laughs to himself, full of nervous energy, and reaches inside his jacket pocket.

The light catches on the metal of the surgical-looking instrument in his hand, a hand which is visibly trembling. At this precise moment, in the strange rules that govern his universe, Alexei is in love.

2 - Rohypnol Mon Amour

Concrete. None of these people look happy. They’re too cool and too self-administered for smiles. There are no drag queens or fashion victims here, either, just the achingly hip twenty-forty uber-rich. There’s laughter, but no matter where you look, you can’t actually see anyone laughing, just blankly maintained faces, utterly empty expressions.

There’s energetic and upbeat music playing, but as you move through the club, as you pass the bar and tables and booths, even as you reach the dance floor, the mood is cold and restrained enough to be vaguely threatening.

Only two people seem oblivious to the sinister undercurrents of Concrete, out there on the dance floor, on a natural high that some of their fellow dancers have already noticed with a mix of resentment and envy. Megumi. Junko.

Megumi leans in and calls something into Junko’s ear. She nods and they leave the dance floor and find a table. No sooner have they sat down than a waiter approaches with a tray bearing two suspiciously cheerful cocktails.

‘Courtesy of the management, ladies.’
It’s clear they don’t understand. They’re viewing London from within the comfort of a happy Japanese bubble, a bubble which is popped constantly by the strangeness of everything around them.
‘Free! Free drinks, from club!’
‘Ah!’ Now they understand. ‘Thank you. Thank you,’ they say with pleasant surprise and offer little bows of the head as the waiter leaves.

‘This is a great club,’ says Megumi.
But Junko eyes the cocktail cautiously as she says, ‘Why did they give us free drinks? Maybe it’s a trap.’
‘Maybe the first drink is always free,’ suggests Megumi.
Junko nods thoughtfully. They taste their drinks and find them cool and refreshing, and as they drink, they notice lots of other people drinking cocktails and strange bottled beer and champagne and they feel like they fit in, like they belong here. They chat and watch people and think about getting another drink, only the first was so strong, and eventually Junko says, ‘Let’s dance again!’

There are Megumi and Junko, getting up from their table and heading to the dance floor. The music is faint and muffled now, because Megumi and Junko are on a security monitor in a back room of Concrete, being watched intently by the young owner of the club, Alexei Shakirov.

As he watches, there’s a knock on the door and someone comes in. It’s the waiter, but Alexei keeps his eyes on the monitor, even after the waiter clears his throat and starts to talk.
‘Excuse me, Alexei… Er, I mean, Mr Shakirov. They’ve had the drinks.’
Alexei still doesn’t turn and takes so long to answer that the waiter becomes uncomfortable, not sure how much longer he should stand there. Finally though, in a languidly privileged English accent, Alexei says, ‘So you know what to do.’
‘Of course,’ says the waiter, who looks massively relieved to be out of his boss’s company.

Alexei doesn’t even notice the waiter leaving. He’s mesmerized as Junko helps Megumi back to their table from the dance floor. Megumi looks unwell, but her friend doesn’t look so good either. That was quick, maybe only twenty minutes. The waiter appears, looking concerned, and takes them under his wing, escorting them away.

Alexei sees nothing else. He doesn’t see the knowing stares of the other guests, who all think they know exactly how these girls have overdone it and how that happiness could never have been sustainable. He doesn’t see the member of staff whisk away the empty cocktail glasses.

He doesn’t see any of it because his mind has followed Megumi and Junko right off the edge of the monitor.
Rohypnol Mon Amour.

1 - Young, Happy, and Japanese

Megumi and Junko are happy. You know how sometimes, you see two young, attractive and fashionable Japanese women and they seem deliriously happy? That’s Megumi and Junko, and they’re happy because they’re in London, for the first time ever, and it’s everything they expected.

They travel on an open-top bus, they visit the Tower of London, they giggle as they pose next to guards in bearskin hats, they walk through the parks and stare at Buckingham Palace and are afraid of the pigeons in Trafalgar Square. They do all this and more and it’s only their first whole day in London, captured in every detail on one hundred and seventy-two digital photographs.

It’s a happy and chaotic day, kaleidoscopic, one that has a jangly and infectious pop soundtrack. If they went back and had dinner at their hotel and turned in early, the soundtrack would give way to a tune that was blissful and euphoric and this would remain a perfect day.

But Megumi and Junko are too young to sleep, and they’ve heard of a club that’s trendy and exciting and full of celebrities, a club called Concrete. You can already hear it, can’t you, that heavy discordant note sounding behind their happy soundtrack. That’s the music of Concrete, dense and ominous, calling to them, and you know in the depths of your stomach that this day will end badly.