Three Digit Combination

Hiroshi was surrounded by dozens of people and was still trying to hide. His hand clutching his briefcase and eyes heavy after a long day of work in the office. Now came the frustrating struggle of going from train to train, each filled to capacity, and trying to get back to the tiny apartment he called home. His eyes were heavy and his hand was getting numb from squeezing the briefcase, so he decided to place it on the floor for a moment while he got circulation back into his fingers. The person directly in front of him smelled terrible and was trying to cover it up with copious amounts of aerosol deodorant. All it did was make his corpse-like scent seem like a dead body getting ready for a date.

Mass transit made one resilient to many things. Common colds, claustrophobia, bad fashion, but poor hygiene was something Hiroshi was never going to get used to. His skin crawled being so close to so many. The train began to slow indicating a stop and he picked up his briefcase. Three more changeovers before he could get above ground and get some fresh air. And thus it was, the first was sparse enough he could switch hands with his case instead of placing it on the ground. The second, extra crowded. He was nose to nose with an old woman who wore floral patterned everything, from head to toe. He attempted to look only at the space between her eyes, which had the benefit of avoiding eye contact for him but was close enough to eye contract for her that she looked away. This was by design. Eye contract was worse than pulling a blade on someone in close proximity. Few could stand it. Those who pretended they could, peacocked and bristled in hostility. But, some genuinely would not look away. Sharing intimacy, but without vulgarity. Hiroshi liked those types.

He hadn’t met one in years.

The last ride tricked Hiroshi into getting his hopes up. A seat was available. But, as he approached it, he saw it was soaking wet with something. He decided to squeeze his way away from the seat entirely. It did no good staring at the mystery of unknown fluids and exciting his nausea. The doors opened to his last stop and Hiroshi again picked up his briefcase, his hand still numb, but he winced through the pain and marched on along side many others like himself. Dark hair, glasses, business suit, trench coat, and worn dress shoes with feet begging to be free of them.

Two blocks up, the fog of odd and familiar cooking scents mixing together, fragments of conversations, echoes of laughter from the distance, and home was one block over. Cats staring at him with suspicion and curiosity from plush perches inside windows. Dull expressions on some children just standing on the corner, not even talking, just content to eyeball any walking by. He went inside his apartment building and found his way up to the 14th floor, happy the key worked on the first try. Hiroshi removed his shoes, coat, and necktie. Emptied his pockets of his wallet and phone. Then, proceeded immediately to the bathroom to shower. Hot water for 30 seconds, then a lather and scrubbing, his skin turning red. His hair next. Then, hot water for one minute or til he was clean.

Ill-fitting sweatpants and a t-shirt were put on. He then cleaned and sanitized his eyeglasses. Checking into the bedroom, he saw no one in the bed. He approved. He was not in the mood for any form of company this evening, so much as a housefly would ruin his peace. He was able to sit down and enjoy the quiet and clean of his desk. He thought about eating something, but sufficed with a sliced wedge of lemon in his mouth instead. The clean, fresh, tartness cleansing his palate and chewing the peel gave him a feeling of nourishment that no cup of instant noodles with green onions added could match. He looked at his computer and smiled. Now he could get away from it all! Salaryman Overtime: Pleasing the Bosses! was the new game that month from his favorite adult entertainment shop.

The game was pretty simple, you played a salaryman- not much of a stretch for him- and you worked in a company where you reported to many different department heads and each was a very, very attractive woman. Varying hair colors, bust sizes, and kinks. Dialogue chains and RPG elements, too, added to the game’s excitement and replay appeal. Hiroshi had finished the game once, wherein you end up with the best girl who gets promoted over you at the beginning. Now he was going for another boss, “Belinda the Blackheart”, the super evil boss, for those into bondage, submission, and alike. Hiroshi wasn’t enjoying this storyline, but once started, he wasn’t going to stop til it was finished. Then came the ugly part. The player had to do stuff involving feet.

Hiroshi hated bare feet.

Hoping it would just be a one off, it turned out to be a primary aspect of winning this character over. And Hiroshi just wasn’t having it. He exited the game and rubbed his sore eyes, disappointed such a finely drawn and voiced character was wasted on such a filthy fetish for disgusting people. He stood up and glanced at the clock, too late to go out but too early to sleep. He decided instead to get a head start on work for the next day. He went to the front door and retrieved his briefcase. It was old. Black leather. Three number combination lock with silver hinges, handle, and dials. It was sturdy and familiar. Hiroshi liked it so much he’d had the handle replaced twice when it broke or threatened to break. As he wiped the outside clean with a sanitary cloth, he noticed one of the dials had a pronounced scuff on it that wasn’t there this morning. Shaking his head, he set in the combination of 813 on each dial and pressed the latches. Neither budged.

Huh.

Hiroshi reset the dials and then reapplied the digits. This was again met with no success. In the past, one lock had given him some difficulty, but both? No. He then examined the scuff mark on the left dial. Perhaps something had happened and now the mechanism was faulty? But what? And it wouldn’t affect both. While he examined the case, he noted the weight was slightly heavier. The color was off. The shade and shine wasn’t the same. Hiroshi then came to the frustrating conclusion;

This was not his briefcase.

He cursed into the air. Wondering how this could have happened. Retracing his steps, loading the case with the necessary papers, and some other things he’d need. Pens and markers each in plastic bags so they would not rupture and ruin the documents and interior. An address book with contacts- but those were twice backed up on his computer and phone- but most importantly the failure of himself to keep close that which was his. He rubbed his face and closed his eyes, remembering his train ride home. He had set his case down at least once. Was it twice? Or more? And which train? As he looked at the virtually identical case he’d brought home, he became a bit more forgiving of his mistake. It was the same brand, the same colors, and only now that his hands didn’t feel so numb, did he notice the weight difference. Had someone taken his case by accident or had he taken theirs? Either way, someone else was likely just as upset.

His investigation was interrupted by a vibration from within this imposter case.

Oh, great. They’ve left their phone inside as well! Hiroshi thought.

Only a fool would leave his phone inside a briefcase. To risk losing both at once was too much to bear for any rational person. This one must have mistakenly taken Hiroshi’s case and left his own behind to add to the error and now was maybe calling his own phone to see if someone had found it. Or perhaps someone was calling them and wondering why they did not answer? No matter. The buzzing was frequent. Almost panicked. Hiroshi then thought to turn the briefcase over to the authorities, but decided not to just yet. They’d likely dump the case into a pile of others, never to found. Perhaps this was already the fate of his own property?

Hiroshi didn’t like the idea of that. So, he decided to crack the combination the old fashioned way; patience and time.

He sat down in the middle of his apartment and went to work. He started with 001 on the left and then 999 on the right. He then went to 002 and to 998, and so on. If he found one combination then he’d find the other. He worked from one end to the next. The odds of the combination being in the 500s were unlikely, but even if it were, it was just a matter of time. And it was far more interesting than the game section he’d skipped. Hiroshi wasn’t sure if this counted as breaking in, but he decided if anyone asked, one dial was already set with the correct combination. Which was perfectly plausible, as Hiroshi hadn’t checked the dials before futilely attempting to open the briefcase with his own combination. Forty-three minutes later, the right dial’s lock snapped free with 616. Hiroshi let out a satisfied sigh, relieved the combination wasn’t in the 500s after all. He entered 616 on the left dial and pressed and was met with a firm denial.

Hiroshi frowned and gave the dial a few jabs with the soft part of his fist. And still, it remained locked. Hiroshi reset both dials, this time entering 616 on the left dial and getting no better result. He reentered it on the right side and it opened. Was it possible that this was a two combination briefcase? Hiroshi had not heard of such a thing. Now tired, Hiroshi decided to peek into the case from the unlocked side. He opened it as far as he could but it wouldn’t budge more than a millimeter. The buzzing had stopped, but now Hiroshi was worried about the case containing spoiled food or perhaps even drugs. Hiroshi retrieved a headlamp light from a drawer and strapped it to his forehead.

Prying open the case, he could just barely make out the shapes inside. There was definitely a small electronic device, most likely the source of the buzzing. Some papers. Small book spines, maybe. He smelled inside. It was unpleasant, but not rotten. Curiosity was begging him to run the gauntlet of options to open the case and contact the proper owner before the person with his case turned it into the authorities or the rail line. There was no way to identify it as his without cracking it open. But, Hiroshi didn’t want the contents lost either or falling into the wrong hands. Last thing he wanted was all those in his address book being signed up for various call centers, mailing lists, and salesmen.

But, now was the time for sleep. He would address this in the morning and perhaps meet the owner on the way to work. But, he would not allow this to sit around his clean apartment. He went to the darkest corner of his apartment and tucked the case there. Dust often gathered there, there wasn’t much daylight and the few lamps Hiroshi had didn’t reach that far. Any nastiness would be allowed to dwell there for the night. He retired to his bedroom and happily slept alone, but very much annoyed by this mistake.

He awoke 3 minutes before his alarms were set to go off. He arose, put on his glasses, and walked to the opposite corner of the room where a very old alarm clock was standing ready to cry it was 5:00am. Right after showering and before the start of breakfast, Hiroshi caught the sight of the briefcase again. His appetite was immediately soured by it’s very presence. This obsidian imposter standing like a specter on his off-white rug. He glared at it like a pest in his home. But, he had a routine. This would wait. His preparation for work would come after eating. His breakfast was frozen and easy to prepare. He drank one cup of coffee and two glasses of water. He was not to exceed that much unless he risk needing to urinate during his daily commute and thus throwing off his whole timetable.

He ate and at this time he’d normally be going over papers pertaining to the week and the one that would follow. Sometimes further. He was a salaryman, but he was a good one. Alas, without his papers, none of which were irreplaceable- he would take another crack at the still locked side of the case. Stomping over, he saw the slight partition that offered a small glimpse into the opened part. But, ignored it. There was no buzzing, no chiming, nothing. Maybe the electronic device inside had finally run out of power. Hiroshi hoisted the case and then noticed a dark stain on the floor.

This bastard luggage had tarnished his rug with something! Furious enough already, he placed it back exactly where it stood and went to fetch cleaning supplies. Growling at himself for leaving the thing open. Returning with rubber gloves, a rag, and two cleaners- one wet, one dry- he lifted the case and went to work ascertaining the substance.

Sticky, dark, and red.

Hiroshi put on the rubber gloves and began to examine the rust colored ilk. It was quite possibly ink, but his mind immediately shifted to the obvious: blood. Old blood, at that. Red ink would not dry this way nor would it likely present itself in this very specific shade. But, perhaps this was an artist’s case? Some illustrators partook in violent themes and markers came in every shade possible. Why would there even be blood in a briefcase? A suitcase, yes. But something such as this? Hiroshi attempted to calm his alarm with some logic, but still wasn’t satisfied.

He would have to open it up to be certain.

Keeping the case still, Hiroshi removed his rubber gloves and began to uncomfortably work the dials on the left side starting from where he’d left off at 383 and advanced from there. Each failure to open lasted only a second.

Up one, press, no response.

Again.

Again.

Again.

This lasted through Hiroshi’s knees getting sore from leaning over the case and keeping it still, 616 passed again, nothing. His forehead began to beed with sweat, his hands slippery with frustration, and again, and again. The 800s were reached.

Would this not end?!

871. No.

872. No.

Hiroshi started to breakdown when the digits reached 901. His breathing grew shallower, tears dripping into his glasses, and then-

919. <click> The left side had opened!

“Aaahh!!!” Hiroshi cried. Retreating to sitting down with a sniffle and a smirk. “Menace! 616 and 919? You think you’re clever, eh?”

Taking a moment to collect himself and glanced at the clock. He was due to leave for work in a half an hour. But first, there was the reward for resolving this. He crawled back over to the case and opened it, very, very slowly. There was no smell of decay, thankfully. His mind considered a cheap cliché; something perhaps ready to explode like this were a sensationalized spy movie? Not likely, but this was no ordinary briefcase, either. Hiroshi turned the open side away, and let it open at the wall. There was nothing.

He turned it back to face him and looked inside. A stack of wrinkled papers were inside. What was possibly the cause of this disconcerting stain? He found an older model smartphone under some financial statements, maybe 3 or 4 years since it came out. Re-applying the rubber gloves he picked it up and hit the power button. The battery was at 14% and the screen reported 16 missed calls, texts from numbers without names that only read “text message” and finally a weather report for Osaka. Which was a good several hours away from where Hiroshi was. He attempted to access an Emergency Contact, but no information was available. He was not about to try to infiltrate a phone.

Placing the phone aside, he sorted through some papers. Addresses were on a few of them. Helpful, potentially. But, what about that red? He heard the rustling of a plastic bag and moved the documents around before the corner peaked out at him. He grabbed it and saw the interior was splotchy in the same shade that ruined his rug. Inside, was a cylinder, about the size of a lipstick.

Lipstick!

“That would explain it…” Hiroshi said to himself aloud.

Make-up was not something he was familiar with. Of course, lipstick came in all shades of red. This thing must’ve popped. He reached inside and was met with a soft feel with a hardened center when he grabbed it. Very much like-

It was a human thumb.

Hiroshi dropped everything, including the thumb, inside the case and growled at the pruny digit as he jolted to his feet.

“Impossible! This-“ he spat in panic. A trick, he thought.

A sick joke! Some tasteless farce that television shows were so infamous for carrying out in Japan. He looked around the room, no longer feeling safe. Is this why his girlfriend wasn’t in? Had she set him up for some obnoxious entertainment? She sometimes wouldn’t return to the apartment for days. They could go without speaking for a month, but this was… no. This was something else.

Hiroshi glanced at the time. He needed to leave now to avoid the crush of the morning commuters by catching the earlier trains. But to leave all this at the apartment? What if his girlfriend did come over while he was at work? What would she think? The stain was small. He could explain it as his own blood, yes. But the case? What if someone came looking for it by locating the phone? Perhaps it belonged to a Yakuza- they were famous for shedding digits to regain honor.

Hiroshi then thought of the obvious: Just call the police.

And tell them what?

“I took the wrong briefcase home. No, I didn’t steal it. Why didn’t I turn it in earlier? I didn’t notice til I got home. Why did I crack the combination? I wanted to see if I could find information inside to contact the owner because I thought they had my case in place of theirs. Why didn’t I call when I saw blood on the floor? I needed to make sure it was real. Let me call out of work and explain this to my boss, too.”

Oh, yes, this would not draw suspicion at all!

Many, many circumstances and ideas passed through Hiroshi’s mind as he stared into the case. Not sure how to proceed next, he went to close the briefcase shut and was welcomed with a combination of chimes and buzzing from the phone. His hand froze in place. What to do? Perhaps this was the producer of the television show telling him he’d won a prize? Or someone who knew the case’s rightful owner? Maybe it was nothing. He decided to let the call take it’s course and waited. The battery would soon be dead, anyway. After a dozen seconds, it went black and silent again.

Hiroshi waited to see about a voicemail update, but none came. Perhaps it was really a nothing call. He went to shut the case again, and again the phone came alive. Wanting to chuck the thing out the nearest window and hope for the best, Hiroshi instead snatched up the phone and answered- he then became very still, realizing what he’d just done.

He could hear breathing on the other end.

“Mushi mushi?” Hiroshi spoke, clearing his throat nervously at the end.

“Huh? You get drunk last night? Where you been?!” asked a high-pitched woman’s voice. She sounded older.

“Huh… um…” Hiroshi thought of something to say, maybe just ask who she was trying to reach.

“No. I just had an early night last night.” he lied to the caller. He then glanced at the phone to see who it was calling. Just a number. No name, no photo.

“What? You sure? You sound funny, you catch a cold?” they asked.

“No, no. Just… not awake.” Hiroshi rolled his eyes at how silly he sounded.

“Uh-huh. You and Ri-chan be around this evening? I’m not sure how much long things can wait for you two to grab them.”

Hiroshi was stuck now. “Ri-chan may stop by. I might be… indisposed.”

The caller became very quiet.

“I see. Most unfortunate. So be it.”

The call ended.

Hiroshi wasn’t sure what he’d just told whomever that was. Cursing himself for not just asking. “Yes, for whom are you trying to reach and are they missing a digit?” Hiroshi swiftly replaced the phone into the case and then found the severed thumb. It was wrinkled, showing signs of decay, and if it were a prop- it was the most realistic he’d ever seen. It even had a hangnail. He put it in the plastic bag it came from and considered things; it was probably best he not carry it around, so what to do with it? Hiroshi made the flip decision to place it in his own freezer. Wrapping it in some paper towels so as to ensure it would not bleed through into his own appliance, he stuffed it into the corner behind the ice cube trays and grabbed the briefcase. Closing it and turning the numbers and making haste to leave for work. Glancing back at the stain as he did. Applying the necktie, his coat, and shoes, he took his actual phone, wallet, and keys and hurried out the door. His head turning right and left as he sped down the hall to the elevator.