She touches the bare skin of her head, feeling lightheaded, and then she tugs on the wig. This is what happens when you go undercover, she thinks--but she feels like an alien and she can still hear that damn voice, lilting in her head, saying, "Eh, Jambo, did it finally explode?"
She feels it just as much as she hears it, that slick condescension, and what she wants to do is cram it back down his throat with the heel of her shoe, but what she does is nod and say "Yes sir, it won't happen again."
Atsuko knows, more than anything, what her purpose is. Her path is marked by frantic phone-ins from witnesses and the debris of motorcycle crashes. Her purpose is nailed home by the fading sheen of the sunset on Michiko's hair, vanishing again and again into the horizon. She knows what she has to do.
It's what will happen when she catches up to her that gives her pause.
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It's what will happen when she catches up to her that gives her pause.
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