Weeds in the Jungle

by Stuart Parker

was the odd indifferent grunt. It was one of these that sent Taro to the holding room on the second floor of the small grey building.

  There was a table and chairs, the kind you got in high school. The window was grilled. Basically, the room did not look much different to the one Koki had imprisoned him in.

  ‘Fill in these forms.’ It was another policeman who had accompanied him into the room. Also young, there was an aggression and hardness about him that had been absent in the other colleague. Taro guessed this was the man in charge of the room and its comings and goings. And so, although there was basically nothing in it, it was the centre of the man’s whole universe.

  Taro tried but his hand was too weak and shaky to write. ‘I’m sorry, I can’t,’ he said despairingly.

  ‘Identification,’ the man barked, holding out one of his giant hands.

  Taro had become well used to the threat of impending punishment. Being asked for something beforehand was more of a novelty.

  ‘I don’t have a wallet,’ he said sheepishly. ‘I don’t have anything.’

  If he had detected the slightest trace of belligerence, the policeman would have flipped him off his chair and applied one of the half dozen or so choke holds that he usually put to use when confessions were not so readily forthcoming. He knew something about men’s spirits and Taro’s already seemed well and truly broken. He held himself back at least long enough for one more chance. He snatched up the pen and the forms. ‘Name. Address.’

  Taro was happy to tell him. It was self-validation. For whatever reason, the nightmare at the hands of the sadistic Aso did seem somehow over.

  The policeman wrote what he heard in a rapid scrawl. ‘Now, the names of your parents and employer and their phone numbers.’

  Taro told him without hesitation. His mother being summoned to a police station to be humiliated by his errant behaviour should have been the catalyst for pleadings and tears. But he didn’t feel anything. All the vested emotion that he should have felt in surrendering his identity simply was not there. Perhaps Aso had taught him a lesson or two after all.

  16

  After the forms were filled in, Taro was left to wait alone in that featureless room a good hour before the door opened again. It was not his mother that entered.

  The man was holding a bottle of Dr Pepper and a mineral water. He put them down on the table and waved them at Taro in invitation. He took a chair on his side of the table and once seated put his hands together on the table as though he were about to arm wrestle himself. He was somewhere around fifty and had a big, round head, which the light from the ceiling was gleaming off. His eyes were sunk well back behind his black, circular framed glasses that sat awkwardly on thick bags of puffed up skin.

  ‘I’ve seen grown men ball their eyes out when they were told their mother was coming to pick them up,’ he said.

  Taro guzzled the water down to the last. His shrivelled up internal organs exploded back to life with a grateful sigh.

  ‘It wouldn’t be your father coming to pick you up,’ the man added. ‘I’ve been doing some investigation into you.’ He read Taro’s hard swallow with interest. His light, loose smirk seemed to be his default expression. ‘Don’t worry, I haven’t called in your mother. Nor your sister or her husband. All I did was jot down the contact details on their files. Any visit from me will be brief and fateful for them. This is a promise that you should take very seriously. But I do not expect it will come to that.’

  He took the unclaimed Dr Pepper and popped off the cap.

  ‘My name is Inspector Hakate. Everything I am to tell you must be kept confidential. If you do not, it is highly probable somebody will pay a very significant price.’ He sat back. ‘I watched you being dumped in the park. I was staking out Koki Nishikawa’s residence. He is not officially under investigation, and my surveillance has not been sanctioned but an officer who gave his marriage to the Department should be granted a few liberties with his sleepless nights.

  ‘The way Koki discarded you I cannot say you are his friend. But he did not kill you, so you are not his enemy. You are just an object for which he thinks he may have more use of in the future. Which means you can be of use to me. I need him dead. You’re going to kill him.’ He chuckled with a mouthful of soft drink. ‘I don’t expect you to be good at it. Your file tells me you’re not much good at anything. But the thing is, you can do a bad job at killing someone and they are still dead. That’s what I’m counting on.’

  Taro knew better then to protest or to make any comment at all. He sat inanimately.

  ‘Let me briefly explain why this murder will be a worthy achievement.’ Inspector Hakate’s eyes were even steadier now. ‘The top gangsters in Tokyo are smart enough not to do their own dirty work. But their sons are not so reluctant. Indeed, they must get blood on their hands to earn respect amongst the men and women they will one day lead. That is why Tokin Mikoto’s son was involved in a simple armoured car robbery. Tokin Mikoto is in the very top bracket of our gangsters here. His son did not have time to develop such instincts or judgement. The robbery was overly brazen and poorly conceived. A foot patrol from my precinct stumbled into it. Gunfire was exchanged. The son was put down.

  ‘The shooter is a promising young officer who I have a particular fondness for. What has happened since the son’s death is murky but I have a basic idea. Tokin met the Chief to informally beg permission to avenge his son. Of course, the Chief pointedly turned him down. But I do not believe that will end the matter. The Chief leads a troubled personal life. Gambling and prostitutes and a lack of discretion. I foresee one day him getting into such big trouble that he will need Tokin’s help to extract himself from it. In fact, Tokin is cunning enough to ensure it. The Chief will be in debt to this man and will have no alternative but to turn a blind eye to a discreet act against my man. A car crash, an accidental bump onto the train tracks, a regrettable suicide. I must act now and I must act discreetly to prevent this. I believe you are possibly my solution.’

  He offered Taro the rest of the Dr Peppers, sliding it across to Taro’s side of the table.

  ‘My surveillance has not yet confirmed my hunch that Koki Nishikawa is being groomed as Tokin’s favourite nephew. But he is the obvious choice. In fact, there is no one else. This makes Koki his soft underbelly. If Koki is taken out, Tokin will have to focus all his attention in consolidating his standing in the eyes of both the police and the underworld. Any favours he may garnish will not be able to be used in removing my boy. Not for a few years at least. And by then my boy will have risen through the ranks to a position where he will be untouchable.’ He leaned forward, pulling out his neck from the tight shirt collar before letting it retract back in again. ‘Koki left you naked and beaten in the park. I have rarely seen such humiliation dished out on anyone. Care to explain what you did to warrant it?’

  Taro puckered his lips and shook his head. The pain that was wrapped like poison ivy around his ribs was unbearably shameful. He would die before he acknowledged its presence.

  Inspector Hakate sensed it and did not force the issue and he said sympathetically, ‘Humiliation can be a shard of glass in the blood stream. Eventually it will cut a path to the heart. And death is inevitable. What I am offering you is an honourable course of action. You can kill your enemy and know you will be saving the life of a worthier man than yourself. I can supply a gun if you so desire. You should see the honourable course of action here. The threat against your family should be superfluous. However, if it comes to pass that your mother has raised an honourless son, I will feel no qualms in carrying out my threats. Do you understand me?’

  ‘What’s today’s date?’ a bewildered Taro murmured, barely audible.

  Inspector Hakate frowned, wondering if he was being taken seriously. ‘It’s September 3rd.’

  Taro spent a moment calculating. So, he had spent seven weeks in Aso’s torture chamber. Seven weeks being beaten and debased. Seven weeks being turned into someone capable of remorseless k
illing.

  ‘If I need a gun, how will I contact you?’ he queried.

  17

  Taro left the Kameari Police Station with a thousand yen not and Inspector Hakate’s phone number on a torn piece of paper. He sat down for a beef rice bowl at one of the ubiquitous Yoshinoya fast food restaurants. His stomach had become unused to such a substantial offering and he left half of it untouched. He squeezed into the restaurant’s narrow toilet, keen to see what had become of him.

  The mirror showed him to be pale and gaunt - there was plenty of that going around in overworked Tokyo. Taro’s face, however, was surprisingly unblemished. It was true that Aso had refrained from facial blows in the last few weeks. Could it have been in preparation for his release?

  Taro had been left in no doubt of what the police wanted from him: kill Koki. But he was less sure of what Koki had wanted of him. Had all Koki’s efforts been just to humiliate him?

  He took the train home. He sufficiently removed from the zombie-faced businessmen on board that he was not as repulsed as usual. He barely noticed them at all.

  Without his house keys, he would have to wait for his mother to come home from work. In the meantime, he went to his usual spot at the railway crossing. During his entire detention, he had not found himself