Hanzai Japan: Fantastical, Futuristic Stories of Crime From and About Japan (25 page)

He raised his eyebrows, and then the lightbulb went on over his head. “You’re going to ask me if I’m a Yakuza
wakagashira
yet.”

A wakagashira in the Yakuza is a regional commander. “A
kobun
would be bad enough,” I said. Kobun literally means ‘foster child.’ It’s the lowest rank the Yakuza have.

“I never even made that. Relax, Lydia. Or tell Moriko to relax, if she sent you. That part of my life is done with. It was—what do the pols around here say? A youthful indiscretion. I’m lucky. If you really get in you never get out, but I wasn’t allowed that deep in the first place. Just dipped my big toe, that was it. It’s over with. I teach judo now. For Pete’s sake, I’m on the Georgetown faculty! How cool is that?”

“Moriko didn’t send us. She believes you when you say it’s over. I just wanted to see for myself.”

“Well,” he spread his arms, “see. Peace?”

“Peace.”

“So. What did you and ol’ Blake have to say to each other?”

“It was mostly about cars. And the weather.”

The drinks came, and the rest of the evening was spent eating oysters, crab cakes, and spicy shrimp linguine. We talked about old times, present times, youthful indiscretions, poor decisions, getting in deep, and dealing with consequences.

The next morning saw more rain, another cup of tea by the window, a lovely French toast breakfast, and the arrival of me and Bill—same suits, me a different blouse, he a different tie—at Adderly, Bascombe, Chase promptly at 10 a.m. Blake Adderly was, he claimed, delighted to see us.

Seated in Blake’s office, the wet streets of Washington glistening outside his corner window, we continued our discussion.

“We’ve spoken to our principals,” Bill said. “They’ve asked us to pursue your racetrack idea. They’re especially interested in your plan to begin in Japan. Digger told me that’s what you were thinking.”

“It seemed like the best place to start. On the one hand, the Japanese have a heavy load of complicated—actually, if you ask me, absurd—tradition weighing them down. But on the other, that’s why when they cut loose, they seriously get wild.” He gave us a conspiratorial grin. “I can see us really monetizing that.”

One,
I thought,
no one did ask you. And two, well, you’re just one superior fellow, aren’t you?
I smiled one of my tight, tiny smiles.

“Your business plan,” Bill said. “We’d want a majority stake, of course, even if there are other investors. Seats on the board. We’d ask to be involved as you choose all the technical consultants—track designers, architects—though we expect to be able to defer to you on these decisions, as the subject-matter expert. In Japan, of course, there are all kinds of earthquake precautions that need to be taken, but I’m sure you’ve considered that. Not so much for the tracks, but for the grandstands and ancillary structures. The marketing is another major issue. We assume you have a strategy? Celebrity spokesperson, that sort of thing? Are there any—”

A brief commotion of raised voices made us all swing our heads to the office door. It flew open and in strode Tadao, along with a young, lean Asian guy a little shorter than he was. Both were in black suits and ties, Tadao with a bulky black leather man-bag over his shoulder. Behind them in a fluttery panic came the poised person whose job it was to not let things like this happen to Blake.

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Adderly, they just—”

“It’s all right, Heather. I know this gentleman.” Blake stood, smiling and extending his hand to Tadao as though these were just people coming late to our meeting. Heather withdrew in relief and confusion. I closed my mouth, which had flown open when the door had. Bill’s face was wary, set and closed.

“Tadao. Nice to see you, man.” Blake shook with Tadao and extended his hand to the other man. “Blake Adderly.” The man ignored the extended hand but gave a short, sharp bow. Blake shrugged, pulled his hand back, and still smiling, said, “What can I do for you gents? Or is this a social visit?”

Tadao scowled. “No, it’s not. Bill, Lydia.” He nodded to us. “I knew you were coming here this morning. I was hoping to get here first.”

“You guys all know each other?” Blake asked, smile still in place.

“We did, years ago,” said Tadao.

I said, “What are you doing here?”

“This is Kenji Yokoshiro.” Tadao shifted uncomfortably and didn’t meet my eyes. “Yokoshiro-san is my
oyabun
.”

“Tadao!” I jumped up from my chair as Yokoshiro, stone-faced, gave me and Bill the same short bow he’d bestowed on Blake.
Oyabun
is Yakuza for ‘elder brother.’ A kobun’s boss. “You said that was over! You said it never even began!” I barely remembered to keep my accent going for Blake’s sake while I yelled at him.

“Oh, Lydia, Jesus! It would’ve been safer for you to believe that but it’s ridiculous. Once you’re in, even your big toe, you never get out.”

Blake was frowning, Bill was glowering, I was once again open-mouthed, and Tadao looked at Yokoshiro. Yokoshiro nodded. Tadao loosened his tie, tossed it on Blake’s desk, and unbuttoned his shirt. A green dragon breathing red-and-gold flames curled around the left side of his rib cage.

Yakuza tattoos are for services rendered and are strictly controlled. Eventually, an honored Yakuza soldier will be completely covered in them. Tadao seemed off to a fine start.

“Okay.” Blake spoke firmly. It was his office and he was reasserting control. “Okay. Tadao, I guess you’re telling us you and your buddy are gangsters. Congratulations? Is that what I’m supposed to say? Now why the hell are you here? And put your clothes back on.”

Tadao glanced at Yokoshiro again, and on the oyabun’s nod he buttoned his shirt and re-knotted his tie. “I used to date Lydia, long time ago. We had dinner last night. She told me about your plan to build sports car racing tracks, Blake. That’s why we’re here. Especially about the ones in Japan, but no, really all of them.”

“You have a problem with the idea?”

“No. We want a piece of it.”

“Tadao—“ I began, but Bill put a hand on my arm.

“Here’s the thing,” Tadao said to Blake. “We have money. We have connections. We think this is a great idea.”

Blake narrowed his eyes. “Who’s ‘we’? You and Skinny here?”

I drew in a breath, but Yokoshiro didn’t react to the diss. “It might be a good idea to show a little respect,” Tadao said. “Luckily for you Yokoshiro-san doesn’t speak much English. By ‘we,’ I mean me, Yokoshiro-san and … people above him. The rest of the family.”

“Jesus. You guys talk about families, like the goombahs?”

“Our
family,
” Tadao responded, “can be invaluable to you in getting this thing off the ground.” He paused. “We can also get in your way.”

Blake regarded him for a long moment, then sat slowly in his huge chair. He nodded, gave a slow smile. “All right. I’m willing to talk.”

“Mr. Adderly,” I said, trying hard to stay in the character I’d started with—no use confusing the guy—and still say what I needed to say, “you can’t seriously be considering—”

“I’ll call you two if I need you. Thanks for coming.”

Once again, I began to say something; once again, Bill cut me off. “We’d better go,” Bill said, cold eyes on Tadao. He stood. I was already standing, so the client chairs were now up for grabs.

But Tadao wasn’t looking at Bill, or at me, and he made no move to sit. His eyes were on Yokoshiro, and Yokoshiro’s were on the glass-doored cabinet. Without moving his gaze he whispered in Japanese to Tadao.

Tadao said, “Yokoshiro-san is asking about the globe in your cabinet.”

Blake looked over his shoulder. “That? Rock crystal. As a matter of fact your sister gave it to me.”

Yokoshiro whispered again.

“He’d like to see it.”

Blake shrugged. “Why not?” He rummaged in his desk drawer for a key, opened the cabinet, punched a code into a discreet interior keypad, and took the globe out. I wasn’t positioned well to see the code, but what did it matter now? Blake handed the globe to Yokoshiro.

Looking into the globe, the oyabun let out that Japanese guttural grunt that can mean either surprise or agreement.
“Hoh!”
He squinted and peered deeper. “Kitsunebi!”

“I—” That was me, but Blake didn’t want to hear from me.

“Bill? Lydia? It’s been great chatting with you. Like I said, I’ll be in touch.”

“No, you—” I started, but Bill put a firm hand on my elbow and guided me out the door.

Twenty minutes later Bill and I were sitting wordlessly under the awning of a sidewalk café around the corner from Adderly, Bascombe, Chase. The mist had thickened to drizzle, probably building up to the energy to actually rain. Bill was working on a second espresso and I was trying to get my oolong tea to warm me up.

“Look,” Bill said.

I turned where he was pointing. Just crossing at the corner were Tadao and Yokoshiro, both in sunglasses despite the weather, both striding with that intimidating gangster roll. Neither carried an umbrella.
What do you guys plan to do,
I wondered,
if it really starts to rain?

It seemed I was going to get a chance to ask. When they came abreast of the café they spotted us at our table.

“Well. Lydia and Bill,” Tadao said. Yokoshiro bowed. “Mind if we join you?”

I looked at Bill, looked back at Tadao, and shrugged. The two men threaded their way between the tables—ours was the only one occupied—and joined us under the awning.

“Tadao—“ I began, but Tadao held up his hand to stop me. I was getting mightily tired of men not letting me finish my sentences, but I shut it, to see what he was going to say.

He said nothing. He put the black leather man-bag on the tabletop and drew from it a silk-wrapped object. It was round, it seemed heavy, and when he unwrapped it with a flourish I could see it was, unmistakably, the rock crystal globe.

“How about that?” he said with a smirk.

For a moment I managed to keep a straight face. Then I cracked up. “You did it! You’re fabulous! You did it!”

“Well, you teed him up. All we needed to do was swing.”

“Took you long enough to show up,” Bill said, but he was grinning, too. “I was running out of B.S.”

“You will never run out of B.S.,” I said. “You didn’t even get to ‘Lamborghini.’ ” I turned to the other man. “Kenji, right? Thank you. You were so scary I believed you myself.”

Kenji Yokoshiro grinned. “I had a blast,” he said in perfect English. It should be perfect; Tadao had told us the young actor was from Sacramento. “Good chance to practice my gangster chops. That’s why I’m studying with Tadao in the first place, so if I get any gangster roles I can do my own stunts. So this is the right thing, huh?”

“Great sentimental value to my sister,” Tadao said. “Just emotional blackmail on the part of that asshat. Now she’ll never have to see him again.”

We all high-fived and then Kenji went in to get celebratory lattes.

“So how did this happen?” I asked.

“After we sealed the deal, I suggested to Blake that since Yokoshiro-san was so entranced with the kitsunebi-dama it might be a nice gesture to give it to him. A goodwill gift between friends. Before he could answer I explained to Yokoshiro-san what a generous man our new business partner was. With a bow and a thank-you, the whole nine yards. Yokoshiro-san was floored and offered his gold cigarette case in exchange. Mine, I mean. Gold-plated, I mean. Anyway, Blake sort of had to give it to him, after that. Just like you said he would. Honest to God, it all went exactly like we worked it out, Lydia. You’re the genius.”

“I’ve always said that,” Bill put in.

“You’ve always said a lot of things.” I turned back to Tadao. “So you guys didn’t have to improvise at all?”

“Blake doesn’t have enough imagination to make that necessary,” Tadao said. “One thing about the guy, he’s never surprising.”

“What’s supposed to happen now?” I asked as Kenji returned with a tray of lattes.

“He thinks we’re coming back tomorrow with one of the higher-ups. I told him to be sure to lay in a supply of good tea. I even told him where to get it. I have a friend with a tea shop. Might as well share the wealth.”