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“Your papers, please!”
To Morimoto, waiting at a crosswalk and balancing an overstuffed grocery bag, the voice seemed to knife through the noonday street sounds. It shot past the drifting guitar of a street musician, the idling engines of taxis waiting at a light, and the shouts from an open-air market nearby.
He turned toward the voice, nearly losing his grip on the bag. Behind him on the sidewalk stood a trim man in a gray uniform, hands clasped behind his back. His cap was cocked at a sharp angle and his black boots were polished to an extraordinary shine. Two other men in similar if not plainer dress stood not far behind. Both carried heavy automatic rifles.
“Pardon me?” Morimoto said.
The man approached him with deliberate slow steps, stopping just a few feet away with a sharp click of his boot heels. He produced a silver badge from his pants pocket and flashed it in Morimoto’s face. “Corporal Shinji, S.S.S.” he said. “Your papers,” he repeated.
“Papers?” Morimoto stammered.
“Please,” Shinji said without hint of emotion.
“Look, I think you’ve got the wrong guy,” Morimoto said. “I’m two blocks from home. I just left the market over there.” He pointed across the street toward a brownstone with a fading red sign. “I just needed some milk for my cat. Then I saw a couple other things I needed and, well, you know how it is.”
He bounced the grocery sack in the crook of his arm. “Never go shopping on an empty stomach, isn’t that what they say? I mean, I bought a big jar of olives on sale and I don’t even like them all that much.”
Shinji inhaled slowly.
“Did I jaywalk or something?” Morimoto asked. “If I did, well, I’m sorry. I couldn’t see the crosswalk sign over the bag.”
“The Secret Security Squad is not interested in jaywalkers,” Shinji said. “We are charged with uncovering spies and their ilk in this country. So unless you know of any jaywalking spies…”
“Why would a spy jaywalk?”
Shinji’s eyes opened wide. “Suppose you tell me!”
“What?” Morimoto said, looking around. Several passersby who had stopped to watch averted their eyes and scurried away. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m just out for a little grocery shopping and that’s it. I just want to go home and feed my cat.”
“A convenient and likely story. The bit about the cat is particularly intriguing,” Corporal Shinji said. “Code, is it? I wonder what the countersign is.” Shinji began to circle Morimoto slowly. “I also find it interesting how you continue to push the burden of proof upon myself, all the while failing to produce your identification.”
Morimoto shifted his groceries to one arm and dug for his wallet with the other. “Fine, fine. I’ll see what I’ve got – but I can’t believe this is happening.” He flipped through a brown billfold with one hand while Shinji watched closely. “You know, you can’t just go around asking people for their identification. This is a democracy,” Morimoto said.
“Not as of this morning. We have shifted control of the government to a Fascist state. You will see many changes in the coming days.”
“Wow, that was fast,” Morimoto said, handing over a white card.
“Religious nations are like that,” Shinji said examining the card. “Not that religion in any form will be tolerated from this day forward.” He regarded Morimoto carefully. “Do you have a problem with that?”
Morimoto shrugged. “I guess my grandmother will have to find something else to watch on TV.”
Shinji turned his attention to the card. He turned it over in his hand several times and ran a finger along its edge. He held it to his nose and sniffed twice, never taking his eyes off Morimoto.
“You papers are not in order,” he announced suddenly.
“It’s a library card; how can that be out of order?” Morimoto demanded.
“It says here your card expired last June. What do you have to say to that?”
“So I need a new card,” Morimoto said. “Can I go now?”
Shinji stared at Morimoto for an uncomfortable period of time before handing back the card.
“You will apply for a new card as soon as the library is open, yes?”
“Sure,” Morimoto said. “Whatever you say.”
Shinji nodded. “Go now, Mr. Morimoto. And remember to report anything suspicious to the S.S.S.”
He tapped the grip of the pistol strapped to his waist. “This is not a request.”
“Absolutely,” Morimoto said quickly.
Later that evening, Morimoto poured a saucer of milk for his cat and two fingers of scotch for himself. He checked the view from his apartment window before sinking into the cushions of his living room couch. He would have preferred to go right to bed but he still had work to do.
The lamp on the nearby stand was a disguised radio that broadcast on a frequency beyond the scope of Japanese technology. His superiors in Washington would need to know about the shift in government as soon as possible.
A coded response came two hours later asking him to clarify the threat the new Japanese government posed to American interests. Morimoto sipped his drink and thought of Corporal Shinji.
His was smiling broadly when he typed out his response.
To Morimoto, waiting at a crosswalk and balancing an overstuffed grocery bag, the voice seemed to knife through the noonday street sounds. It shot past the drifting guitar of a street musician, the idling engines of taxis waiting at a light, and the shouts from an open-air market nearby.
He turned toward the voice, nearly losing his grip on the bag. Behind him on the sidewalk stood a trim man in a gray uniform, hands clasped behind his back. His cap was cocked at a sharp angle and his black boots were polished to an extraordinary shine. Two other men in similar if not plainer dress stood not far behind. Both carried heavy automatic rifles.
“Pardon me?” Morimoto said.
The man approached him with deliberate slow steps, stopping just a few feet away with a sharp click of his boot heels. He produced a silver badge from his pants pocket and flashed it in Morimoto’s face. “Corporal Shinji, S.S.S.” he said. “Your papers,” he repeated.
“Papers?” Morimoto stammered.
“Please,” Shinji said without hint of emotion.
“Look, I think you’ve got the wrong guy,” Morimoto said. “I’m two blocks from home. I just left the market over there.” He pointed across the street toward a brownstone with a fading red sign. “I just needed some milk for my cat. Then I saw a couple other things I needed and, well, you know how it is.”
He bounced the grocery sack in the crook of his arm. “Never go shopping on an empty stomach, isn’t that what they say? I mean, I bought a big jar of olives on sale and I don’t even like them all that much.”
Shinji inhaled slowly.
“Did I jaywalk or something?” Morimoto asked. “If I did, well, I’m sorry. I couldn’t see the crosswalk sign over the bag.”
“The Secret Security Squad is not interested in jaywalkers,” Shinji said. “We are charged with uncovering spies and their ilk in this country. So unless you know of any jaywalking spies…”
“Why would a spy jaywalk?”
Shinji’s eyes opened wide. “Suppose you tell me!”
“What?” Morimoto said, looking around. Several passersby who had stopped to watch averted their eyes and scurried away. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m just out for a little grocery shopping and that’s it. I just want to go home and feed my cat.”
“A convenient and likely story. The bit about the cat is particularly intriguing,” Corporal Shinji said. “Code, is it? I wonder what the countersign is.” Shinji began to circle Morimoto slowly. “I also find it interesting how you continue to push the burden of proof upon myself, all the while failing to produce your identification.”
Morimoto shifted his groceries to one arm and dug for his wallet with the other. “Fine, fine. I’ll see what I’ve got – but I can’t believe this is happening.” He flipped through a brown billfold with one hand while Shinji watched closely. “You know, you can’t just go around asking people for their identification. This is a democracy,” Morimoto said.
“Not as of this morning. We have shifted control of the government to a Fascist state. You will see many changes in the coming days.”
“Wow, that was fast,” Morimoto said, handing over a white card.
“Religious nations are like that,” Shinji said examining the card. “Not that religion in any form will be tolerated from this day forward.” He regarded Morimoto carefully. “Do you have a problem with that?”
Morimoto shrugged. “I guess my grandmother will have to find something else to watch on TV.”
Shinji turned his attention to the card. He turned it over in his hand several times and ran a finger along its edge. He held it to his nose and sniffed twice, never taking his eyes off Morimoto.
“You papers are not in order,” he announced suddenly.
“It’s a library card; how can that be out of order?” Morimoto demanded.
“It says here your card expired last June. What do you have to say to that?”
“So I need a new card,” Morimoto said. “Can I go now?”
Shinji stared at Morimoto for an uncomfortable period of time before handing back the card.
“You will apply for a new card as soon as the library is open, yes?”
“Sure,” Morimoto said. “Whatever you say.”
Shinji nodded. “Go now, Mr. Morimoto. And remember to report anything suspicious to the S.S.S.”
He tapped the grip of the pistol strapped to his waist. “This is not a request.”
“Absolutely,” Morimoto said quickly.
Later that evening, Morimoto poured a saucer of milk for his cat and two fingers of scotch for himself. He checked the view from his apartment window before sinking into the cushions of his living room couch. He would have preferred to go right to bed but he still had work to do.
The lamp on the nearby stand was a disguised radio that broadcast on a frequency beyond the scope of Japanese technology. His superiors in Washington would need to know about the shift in government as soon as possible.
A coded response came two hours later asking him to clarify the threat the new Japanese government posed to American interests. Morimoto sipped his drink and thought of Corporal Shinji.
His was smiling broadly when he typed out his response.
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