[Thomas Caine #1] Tokyo Black (10 page)

Caine walked over to one of the pools and looked in. It was filled with clean water, and a clear hose snaked up from the floor into a large aquarium filter. Swimming through the bubbling water were five of the largest koi Caine had ever seen. Their metallic scales shimmered in hues of gold, red, and cream. They looked up at him, their eyes dark and mysterious, seeking only food.

An elderly man shuffled between the pools, looking down at the fish and murmuring in a soft, gentle voice. He wore a blue windbreaker and a tan baseball cap perched above his wrinkled brow. From time to time, he tossed fish food into the pools from a silver bucket.

Caine turned as Koichi stepped up next to him.

“Nice fish. Is that guy talking to them or himself?”

“He is singing to them. He believes it makes them grow larger.”

“Looks like he’s right.”

Koichi turned his gaze back to the fish. “Waters-san, I must respectfully ask you to turn over your weapon. Then I will take you to see Mr. Yoshizawa.”

Caine sighed and slowly slipped his hand into his waistband. Koichi didn’t even flinch. Caine handed him the pistol.

“Careful with that gun. It’s definitely hot.”

Koichi nodded, then directed Caine to a door at the other side of the room.

The small, dark room beyond was lit by a single overhead lightbulb. The old floor creaked as Caine walked towards a table and chair. The walls were bare, except for a large hanging plaque of carved yew wood. Its intricate, chiseled lines depicted koi swimming up a waterfall and through an elaborate, temple-like gate. It was ornate and beautiful, and seemed out of place in the dark, spartan room.

Sitting in a chair beneath the carving was a short but stocky man, his face hidden in shadow. When he leaned forward, the light revealed black eyes glittering beneath a stern brow. His suit looked like it cost more than most people’s cars.

Isato Yoshizawa.

Kenji Yoshizawa stood in the darkness behind him. He stepped forward and nodded at Caine.

Caine nodded back and walked over to the table. He did not sit down. He set the duffel bag of money down on the table in front of the elder Yoshizawa.

“This is for you, Yoshizawa-san.”

The old gangster did not even look at the bag. His eyes remained focused on Caine’s face.

“Waters-san. I did not expect to ever see you again.”

Caine cocked his head. “Really? Somehow, I always knew I’d come back.” As soon as the words left his mouth, he had no idea why he had said them.

“And so you have returned to Japan rob me?”

Caine’s jaw hardened. “Rob you? Way I remember it, you’re in my debt.
Giri
, right?”

Yoshizawa made a hissing noise as he sucked air in through his teeth. He shook his head. “
Baka Gaijin
!”

Caine smiled and pretended he didn’t know the meaning of the insult. “Look, Yoshizawa-san, I recovered this from two men who were knocking over one of your Shinjuku parlors. I was there hoping to find Koichi, or one of your guys, and I stumbled across them. I figured bringing this money and information to you was the least I could do.”

Yoshizawa sighed and gestured to the table. Caine sat down. Kenji leaned down close to his old man, whispering into this ear. The old man nodded and muttered a response only his son could hear.

“Kenji will have Koichi check your story, but I can already see in your eyes it is true.”

Caine watched the young man leave. “He’s grown. Good-looking boy.”

“Yes. He is strong and smart. Certainly smarter than me. Too smart to waste his time in a dark, moldy old storage room like this. Kenji, I left some papers on my desk for you to address. Let me know if there are any problems.”

Kenji stared at Caine for a moment, then turned and walked off into the darkness.

After Kenji left the room, Caine turned back to the old gangster. “So, why did you really ask him to leave?”

“I do my best to keep him away from all of this. And besides, I don’t like discussing my obligations in front of others. I suspect you too have secrets you’d rather keep for now.”

Caine shrugged. “I’m an open book.”

Yoshizawa laughed. It was a brief, dry cough. “Please, do not insult me. Kenji may be smarter, but I am still no fool. The only reason you are still alive is because of the debt between us.”

Caine moved his hand to his chest, rubbing the old scar beneath his shirt and jacket.

“Yeah, that debt feels pretty strong when it gets cold at night. Aches.”

“Then we have much to discuss. First, tell me about these men you encountered.”

Caine shrugged. “Local muscle. Black suits, automatic pistols. One strange thing, though.”

Yoshizawa stroked his chin with his thumb and forefinger, but did not blink. Caine continued. “Their bodies were burned, or scared somehow. Like they were covering something up. Yakuza tattoos, maybe?”

The old man nodded. “Yes, I have encountered these men before. They call themselves ‘Tokyo Black.’ They are a splinter group from the Shimizu family, our most powerful rivals. They hate their own family as much as us, feel that the yakuza has lost its way. They wish to return to the old ways, the ancient days of the secret societies.”

Caine raised his eyebrows. “Secret societies?”

“
Hai
. For as long as Japan has had contact with the West, there have been those who have wanted to turn back the clock, to restore the old ways of feudal Japan. The Black Dragons fought to keep the Russians out of East Asia in the 1900s. And the Dark Ocean Society is even older than them. Groups like this have always had ties to the military, the government, even the yakuza.”

Isato paused.  He looked at Caine uncertainly.  “These men, they swear allegiance to someone you are familiar with… Bobu Shimizu.”

Caine leaned forward.  “Bobu?  Wait, you mean the big guy, from—“

“Yes,” Isato said, interrupting him.  He turned his head, and stared at the empty space where Kenji had stood earlier.  “The man from that night, at the
izakaya
.  The last time you were in Japan.”

The old gangster sighed, and turned back to face Caine.     

“I don’t have all the details.  From what I can gather, after his release from prison Bobu killed his brother, Tetsuo, head of the Shimizu clan.  There was some kind power struggle between them.  Then, Bobu and his followers declared war on both the yakuza and the Japanese government, for failing to enforce hardline polices against China, and others they see as enemies of Japan.  They recruited as many of Shimizu’s people as they could, then filled their ranks with the dregs of other families.”

“And the scars?” Caine asked.

Yoshizawa made the sucking sound with his teeth again. “As I said, these men hate the yakuza as much as they hate the government. But they are all former yakuza themselves. To rise in the group, they must sacrifice their yakuza ties. They burn off their old tattoos with acid or welding equipment. Those who survive the pain are admitted to the inner circle and work with Bobu … and whoever is behind him.”

“How do you know someone is behind him?”

“Bobu is a thug, just muscle. He could never organize something like this. There must be someone pulling the strings.”

Caine nodded. “Then it seems I’ve done you a great service today.”

“What is that? Given me two bodies to clean? A blood bath at one of my business establishments?”

Caine’s eyes blazed in the dim light. “I’ve returned your money and identified your enemies. In addition to my other gifts.”

The old gangster slammed his fist down on the table. The sudden, harsh movement startled even Caine.

“Enough! I know my obligation, and I have no wish to prolong it. Why have you come here? What do you want?”

Caine pulled his phone from his jacket, tapped the display, and slid it across the table. On the screen was a picture of Hitomi. “I’m looking for this girl. I need to find her. Quickly. I need your help.”

Yoshizawa looked away from the phone, but returned his gaze after a few seconds. “What would I know of this girl? Who is she?”

Caine hesitated, then shrugged. Yoshizawa would find out sooner or later. “Her name is Hitomi. Hitomi Kusaka.”

“Kusaka? Arinori Kusaka?”

Caine nodded.

“I was not aware Kusaka-san had any children. At any rate, what would I know of a spoiled daughter of a wealthy man like Kusaka-san?”

“Yoshizawa-san, I need to locate her. I can’t say any more. If you can help me find her quickly, I will consider your debt repaid.”

The old man squinted at him and leaned back in his chair. “Why would you do this? What is she to you?”

“She’s just a job. Someone wants her found, and I said I would do it.”

“That’s your only reason? Because you said you would?”

“Isn’t that reason enough?”

Yoshizawa nodded and stood up. “I will make inquires. Koichi will take you back to your hotel. Wait there.”

Caine stood up as the old man turned away. “Why don’t you let Kenji take me back? I’d love to see what that Skyline of his can do.”

Yoshizawa shuffled into the darkness, shaking his head. He raised his hand in a dismissive gesture. “No, Waters-san. Koichi will take you.”

There was the creak and bang of an old door opening and slamming shut, and then Caine was alone. He stood there for a moment, then turned and walked back the way he had come, to the light, the singing old man, and his fat, hungry koi.

Koichi was quiet as he drove Caine back to the hotel. Caine wondered what he was thinking, but did not ask. He didn’t want to break the silence.

When they neared the hotel, Caine pointed at the blinking red entrance sign to Kabukicho. “Drop me here. I’ll walk back.”

Koichi eased the car over to the side of the road. Caine tensed as the gangster slipped his four-fingered hand into his breast pocket. Koichi handed a small phone to Caine. “We will call you on this. Keep it with you.”

Caine took the phone and got out of the car. He shut the door and watched as Koichi disappeared into the evening traffic. Then he flipped open his old cellphone and called Rebecca. After giving the proper sign-in credentials, he left her a voicemail. “I may have a lead. Need intel on Japanese nationalist-slash-domestic-terror group, goes by the name of Tokyo Black. I’ll be in touch.”

He hung up. As he walked back towards his hotel, he turned the evening’s events over in his mind. He was fairly certain Yoshizawa knew something about the girl. He would not have offered to help otherwise. Caine also suspected that Yoshizawa knew “Mark Waters” had been an assumed identity … a phantom designed to build credentials and a history in the Asian crime syndicate. Furthermore, the wily old gangster was smart enough not to ask who he really was.

The only question was whether he could trust Yoshizawa to help him and pay off his debt. Or did the old criminal consider his obligations null and void?

As he mulled over the possibilities, Caine felt the familiar tingle on the back of his neck. He ducked into the nearest well-lit store. It was a tiny Japanese sex shop cluttered with glossy images of school girls and geisha, AV movie flyers, and rubber genitalia. An old woman behind a glass counter nodded and smiled.

Caine smiled back and picked up a magazine. He slid several hundred yen across the counter. “Keep the change,” he said as he peered out the door. No one had followed him in. The woman jabbered at him, trying force his change on him, but he ignored her. He rolled the magazine into a tight tube, then headed back out onto street.

As he walked, his sense of being watched increased. He stopped again and leaned against a wall, flipping through the pages of the magazine. Every now and then he glanced up, taking in his surroundings like quick snapshots. Woman in a blue dress. Two scrawny young guys. Old man with a camera. Nothing definite, nothing that pinged his inner radar.

Then he saw it. Across the street, a grey sedan with tinted windows pulled into a loading zone. There were hundreds of cars like it in Tokyo. But Caine knew this one was here for him.

He rolled up the magazine again and continued walking. As his eyes flicked across the mass of faces up ahead, he caught sight of a Japanese man in a grey suit. He was taller than the average Japanese male. His posture was perfect, his gait balanced. The man was walking slower than the rest of the crowd, occasionally stopping to peer in shop windows.

To Caine, he stood out. He felt wrong.

Forward tail
…, Caine thought.

Caine waited until the man turned and walked forward again. Then he ducked into the first doorway on his right. A dark stairwell led to a basement of some kind. Faint music drifted up as he descended into the shadows. Once his eyes adjusted to the dim light, he saw a red curtain at the end of the stairs. He parted the soft velvet with his arm and surveyed the bar beyond.

Dark wood, warm candlelight, and plush upholstery met his gaze. A woman’s voice sang softly in the background. The notes of slow acid jazz floated over the murmur of hushed conversations.

As Caine took a seat at the bar, a young bartender slid over to take his order. He was a good-looking kid. He looked to be in his early twenties, with an intricate, spiked haircut. It looked like a work of modern art. “What can I get you?” he asked in English.

“Johnny Walker Blue, rocks.”

Caine swiveled the chair to watch the entrance, but the curtain did not part again. Keeping one eye on the door, he assessed the various faces scattered across the room. They were young, hip, and blandly attractive. Most were Japanese, but he spotted a few Caucasians here and there.

The bartender set his drink down on a cocktail napkin. Caine paid cash, never taking his eyes off the entrance. The song ended, and for a few seconds, he could make out the low, staccato chatter of men and women talking. The language was Japanese, but the sounds were the same as every bar in every part of the world.

The music started up again. He felt a puff of hot breath by his ear. A woman’s voice, quiet but not a whisper, spoke.

“Are you waiting for someone?”

Caine swiveled around so quickly, he almost spilled his drink. Sitting on the stool next to him was a Japanese woman with thick, lustrous hair that fell down past her shoulders in a gentle wave. Somehow he hadn’t noticed her sit down. Very few people could sneak up on him, especially when he was on the lookout for danger. He feigned confusion: he was just a tourist who had consumed one drink too many.