“Can you tell me if there are any cheap hotels around Eighteenth Street near a bar called the Iron Hand?”
“You want me to run you over to Manhattan?”
“You mean I’m not in Manhattan?”
“Are you on drugs?”
“No…no. Somebody brought me here. I…is Manhattan a problem?”
“You’re in Queens, just outside of Manhattan and it’s not a problem if you got the money.”
“I have the money. Do you know of any hotels in that area?”
“Yeah, I think so. I’ll find you one once we get down there,” the taxi driver said as he made a quick right and headed in the direction of Manhattan.
Shiro put his head back and tried to fight a pounding headache that ached along with the throbbing pain emanating from his chest wounds. The sounds of honking horns only seemed to make the pain grow.
His cell phone rang, jolting his already frayed nerves. He checked the readout. The call was coming from Japan.
“Shiro?”
“Who’s this?”
“It’s Keizo. I’ve called your messenger company many times and they always send somebody else. I pulled some strings and got your cell phone number…can you…can you come see me?”
God! He wanted nothing more than another hot time in the sack with Keizo, but he was nowhere near Japan…and…wait. Shiro had just seen the four men go into his building…what if the Yaks knew of his tryst with Keizo? What if Keizo was being used?
“Are you still there?”
“I’m here,” Shiro said. “I’ll call you in a couple of days.”
He ended the call. He hated being rude, but he no longer knew who to trust. Finally, the cab pulled over to the kerb and he looked out at what appeared to be a rundown hotel that, once upon a time, must have been a very elegant place to stay.
“This do, buddy? That bar is only two blocks away, so you can’t get much closer if that’s your goal.”
“Yes, this will be fine.” Shiro peeled off a twenty and a ten. “Keep the change.”
Chapter Four
Shiro looked around quickly, and seeing no one, he entered the front door of the Baxter hotel. He found a front desk and approached a man reading a newspaper behind the counter.
“Excuse me, do you have any rooms?”
A pair of eyes peered over the top of the paper and looked Shiro up and down. “How many hours do you need it for?”
“Hours? I need it for a couple of days possibly.”
“Really?” he replied putting down the paper. “Look friend, you look like a nice guy so I’ll tell you. This is a place where the ladies bring their dates if you get what I mean. You sure you wanna spend a couple of days here?”
“Are the sheets and room clean? Is there a private bathroom?”
“Yeah, the sheets and rooms are kept clean or we’d be shut down by the health inspectors. As for the private bathroom, that’ll cost you extra.”
“How much for the clean room and private bath?”
“How’s seventy a night sound? I’ll even give you a room where the TV works. There’s no charge for towels, you can take those with you now. Just don’t take them from the hotel.”
“Okay, I’ll take it. I’ll pay for one night in advance, okay?”
“Sure mister.”
The clerk gave Shiro towels and a room key and was told to take room five-thirty-four. An ancient elevator creaked away as it pulled itself up to the fifth floor where the gates opened and Shiro exited. As he walked down the hallway, his senses were assaulted by stale cigarette smoke and very cheap booze. The hallway carpet was well worn, stained and hadn’t been replaced in twenty years or more. Paint was chipped away along the baseboards and a cockroach ran across the hallway before Shiro stepped on it.
He found his room and turned the key, not knowing what to expect from the dive he was checking into for a day or so. He entered into a dimly lit room that had light showing through the curtains, which enabled him to see the bed, dresser, TV, and a solitary chair. He closed and locked the door and threw his bag onto the bed. He flipped on the light in the bathroom and found it to be clean, except for rust stains that showed the path of the water as it dripped from the tub faucet.
Shiro put the towels down on the tank and looked into the mirror. His normally good-looking, healthy features were now drawn and dark. He was afraid, very afraid. He longed for his real life. The stress, injuries to his chest and lack of decent sleep were beginning to show.
These might be the least of my worries, he realised, throwing some water on his face. He dried off and went back to the bed where he sat down. He looked at his watch and saw that he had eight hours until he was to meet Kono at the bar. He took the wooden chair and wedged it under the door handle, giving an added measure of security to the room. He removed his clothes, pulled back the cover on the bed and lay down to get a couple of hours worth of sleep. Before falling asleep, Shiro reached into the bag and withdrew the handgun, placing it on the small nightstand.
His fitful dreams were filled with images of Keizo and the feeling of soft brushes on his skin.
* * * *
Kono didn’t tell the Loo about the phone call. Not yet. He longed to talk to somebody and paced his office, thinking about his problems. Shit. No wonder he’d been feeling like things were off. The goddamn Yaks had been following him. He sat at his desk, the latest copy of The Wave, Far Rockaway’s local paper, placed in front of him. Somebody had red-circled an item on the front page. He shook his immediate thought from his mind and read the article. The headline read…Appeals Court: Shut Down Adult Homes.
The article read, “A federal appeals court has ruled that New York State must comply with a lower court decision to begin immediately transferring thousands of people with mental illness out of large, institutional group homes and into their own homes and apartments, a ruling that may well impact Rockaway…”
Oh, great. That’s just what Rockaway needs. A bunch of liberated crazy people mainlined into an already fragile situation. Kono picked up his jacket and left the office, eyeing the wall clock. He still had time until the meeting. The tension settled in his neck and shoulders as he retrieved his civilian vehicle. He liked his old Corolla. It wasn’t much and that was the point. You didn’t want to look as if you had anything fancy in Rockaway, like hub cabs and window wipers that worked.
He pointed the car towards Manhattan and slipped some old-school swing into the CD player. It had a removable front face that he usually forgot to detach, not that it mattered. The rest of his car looked like a piece of shit. He figured the neighbourhood hooligans felt sorry for the one bit of good news about his car. Bill Tapia’s Tropical Swing filtered out of the unreliable speakers. For once they were in sync. He tried to relax as he approached the city he missed…and Gen. The idea that Genjiro, Gen for short, might not be at his dojo occurred to him only as he wrestled with the Greenwich Village traffic.
Kono called Gen who sounded sleepy.
“I must be dreaming,” Gen said. “I was having a nice, wet dream about you.”
Damn.
“Put on your clothes…I’m coming to visit.”
“And I need clothes for this?”
Kono took a deep breath. Hell, no. “Yes.”
He ended the call and angled his car into the nearest space he could find. He had half an hour on the metre and no quarters. Fuck it. He needed to talk. He cashed a buck at Katz’s Deli, which sported a sign in the window, Send a salami to your boy in the Army! He popped more change into the metre. Two hours. He wouldn’t be that long. He scanned the street but couldn’t see anybody watching him. Nobody pretended to read the paper…nobody kept sweeping the same spot. He rounded the corner, covering two blocks fast before doubling back to East Houston and buzzing Gen’s door from the street.
Gen let him in. Kono took the stairs up to the dojo two at a time. Gen greeted him at the top. Damn. Even wearing tracksuit pants and a clean white tee, the guy was smoking hot.
The two me
n hugged and for a moment, Kono wrestled with the idea of taking his occasional lover to the floor and fucking him on the spot. Gen was the hottest, toughest guy he knew.
Street sounds were muted by Japanese screens against the windows. As usual, in Gen’s presence, Kono felt a sense of disorientation. His senses swooned as he gazed past the Aikido dojo’s workspace to Gen’s room.
“Are you alone?” he asked, feeling a wild stab of jealousy.
“Not anymore,” Gen said over his shoulder. There were few places to sit in Gen’s quarters. He didn’t entertain unless he was training somebody or fucking them.
Hired by the New York Police Department to train homicide detectives and SWAT members in the ancient art of Aikido, Genjiro was a Sensei in every sense of the word. He knelt on one of the mats and extended a hand to Kono.
Kono didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed. The highlight of his life had been fucking this wonderful man. The low point had been knowing that Genjiro had no intention of committing to a single man. He didn’t trust anybody.
“You fear attack,” Gen said, his long black hair caught in a ponytail. His dark brown eyes glowed as he read Kono’s body language. And his aura. He was handsome, yes, but he was not soft. Gen radiated a cat-like intensity This was a man who could take down a guy effortlessly. As Kono knelt in front of him, the usual sexual tension crackled between them. Gen put a hand to Kono’s belly, jolting his solar plexus and his entire being. Kono felt his spirits swaying as he settled down, his ass hitting the back of his ankles. He could smell soap on Gen’s skin. He could smell kukicha tea in a pot. He could hear their mingled breathing… and his eyes opened when he smelled nag champa incense burning.
Gen had moved away from him, to the altar high on the wall. A lucky temple cat statue and several oranges had been offered to the spirits for the dojo’s prosperity. Gen moved back towards him and Kono tried not to focus on the bulge in the man’s pants. God. He wasn’t wearing underpants. He could see the outline of Gen’s cock head. He couldn’t help himself. Fear of sudden death and fear of never experiencing the wonders of sex again brought him up on his knees. He gripped Gen’s hips, drawing the man closer to him.
He slid the pants down until that gorgeous cock that haunted his sleep sprang out, bouncing against his lips. It pulsed against his tongue as he licked it. It was a thrill to know Gen wanted him, too.
Gen stroked Kono’s head, allowing him to savour the taste, the smooth hardness of the cock in his mouth. Gen was so close to coming, Kono began to tease the salty juices in a trance-like state.
He was surprised when Gen pushed his face away.
“Mou ii yo. Enough!” Gen pulled up his pants over his swollen shaft. “You have multiple enemy forces…unseen attackers waiting for you, my friend.” He circled Kono, his words turning angry. “You’ve forgotten all your taninzugake.”
“No, I haven’t.” Shit…how can I possibly have a boner when this guy’s gonna try and beat me to death?
“Attack. Defend. Counter.” Gen’s thoughts punctured the fragile membrane of self-control in Kono’s brain.
Kono stilled his reeling thoughts, dropping down on the mat and rolling on his back as Gen lunged a foot out, almost kicking him in the head. Gen’s fist came next, which Kono caught in his hand.
“Good! Soft boy. Come on!” Gen yelled out taunts, surrounding him.
He’d taught Kono well. He slipped all but two takedowns and as the two men writhed on the mat, he felt Gen’s hardness against his thigh.
“Don’t fuck me,” Gen moaned. “You need your source.”
“I won’t fuck you,” Kono said. “I’ll suck your cock and take you with me.”
Gen grinned as Kono stripped the man’s pants off, taking possession of Gen’s sweet cock again. His fingers played with the man’s ass and balls, the smile leaving Gen’s face as Kono suckled the head only, making Gen whimper for more. Kono took his time, his thumb following the path of his tongue on the silky skin of the shaft.
Humping Kono’s face, Gen seemed to lose control as Kono took him all the way to the base of his cock. Kono slid two fingers into Gen’s ass, loving the way the man in his arms trembled as he came.
Gen shook, his cock unleashing what seemed like months of unspent fury.
Kono released Gen’s cock from his mouth and knelt between his legs.
“I’d tell you to come back and get what you started,” Gen said, when he caught his breath, “but you’ll meet another.”
Kono kissed him. “I’ll come back. You have the sweetest ass in town.”
He bent and kissed Shiro’s cock head still leaking against his belly. Man, he was hot. If nothing else, Kono felt the rage of having to stop. He’d kill whoever the fuck prevented him from taking Gen’s fine piece of ass.
* * * *
Shiro awoke when a couple of fire trucks flew by the front of the hotel. He grabbed for his watch and looked at the illuminated dial and saw that it was just after eight o’clock. Less than three hours until the scheduled meet. He sat up with his legs over the side and ran his hands through his hair, yawning. When he went to stretch, he was reminded of what Nobuo had done to him.
He decided to take a bath and stripped off his remaining clothes and walked into the bathroom. He ran the water, surprised to actually find hot water and filled the tub and got in. As he slid down into it, he felt some of the aches and pains of his body begin to fade away. He felt good for the first time since leaving Tokyo but realised he was hungry.
After soaking in the tub for a half-hour, Shiro got out, dried off and dressed in the same clothes he’d had on when he came into the hotel. He would have to buy some clothes since some had been left behind at the apartment and he would not chance going back to retrieve anything.
Instead of putting the gun back into the bag, Shiro slipped the gun into the rear of the small closet in the room and put a trash bag over it. He then went down to the front desk and sought out the clerk.
“Can you tell me where the nearest restaurant is that has halfway decent food?”
“I suppose it depends on your definition of ‘halfway,’ but I’d suggest you walk two blocks that way,” he said pointing across and up the street, “and watch for a deli on the corner. It’s a bit expensive but you won’t find better sandwiches in New York.”
“Thanks, appreciate it,” Shiro said as he turned and walked out of the hotel looking around once more. As he walked, he thought about the meeting that would happen shortly and how best to tell Kono what was going on. Shiro hoped that Kono wouldn’t set him up for arrest by having other officers ready to pounce on him when he showed himself.
Just before reaching the deli, a car blew its horn just when it was directly abreast of Shiro, causing him to flinch and duck. When he realised that the driver was honking at the cab in front of him, he felt both foolish and relieved. He closed the distance with the entrance of the deli quickly. After ordering and sitting down at a table with his back to the wall watching the door, he felt much better. The desk clerk was right on the money and the food was the best Shrio had consumed since landing in New York. He noticed a newspaper somebody had left behind and saw Kono’s face on the first page. He picked it up.
The article said that the Grand Jury had voted to allow the trial of Shun’ichi Harada to proceed. The trial promised to be sensational, the first of its kind for New York City. The reputed Yakuza clan leader Shun’ichi Harada still denied his true identity in spite of his dental records and fingerprints being on file. It was, in fact, his own dentist Shun’ichi had murdered trying to retrieve the only record anyone had of his teeth. The trial would be watched closely by other countries plagued by the notorious Japanese equivalent of the mafia. Shiro scanned the rest of the article. He already knew that Harada had been caught at Kennedy Airport using fake identification.
He stared at the photograph of the man who’d taken his mother from him. Cold, dead fish eyes. He thought about the live, sushi fish and put the paper down. His
heart pounded. He looked at his watch and saw he had just over two hours until he was supposed to meet Kono. Should he go early and check the bar out, or stay at the hotel and go at the last moment? Either way, he had to return to the hotel in order to get the gun.
Shiro left the deli and walked back to the hotel.
“You were right, good recommendation on the deli,” he said as he passed the desk.
“Good, glad you liked it. It’s hard for a New York deli to mess up a Rueben, know what I mean?”
Shiro laughed and gave the thumbs up sign to the clerk as the gate to the elevator closed once more. When he was back in his room, he checked the clip in the weapon and slipped the gun in his back waistband of his jeans. He didn’t bother with the extra clip. He looked at himself in the mirror, combed his hair and left the hotel again, this time for the Iron Hand.
Before he walked through the front doors and back out onto the streets, Shiro had decided to take a cab to the bar even though it wasn’t much further than the restaurant. He felt he should limit his exposure somewhat and taking a cab would help him do that. It took almost longer to flag down a cab then it took to get to the bar once he finally got a cab.
“Where to?”
“The Iron Hand, please.”
“Are you kidding me? It’s only a couple blocks away!”
“I’ll make it worth your while, don’t worry about it. I’ve got a swollen ankle.”
“If you’re going to that place, it’s probably from having your legs bent back over your head,” the pissed off cabbie said.
Shiro chose to ignore the insult and looked around for signs of anyone following.
Once outside the club, Shiro’s stomach tightened with tension as the possibility of immediate arrest, or worse, waiting for him once he walked through the doors. He wondered if there would be many Asian men in a gay bar in Manhattan, and if Kono would be hard to spot.
He paid a ten-dollar cover charge and got his ticket, which entitled him to one drink. The bar was only about half full, with the haze of smoke filling a side room where a pool table was the centre of attention for at least ten guys. Shiro walked over to the bar and sat down at one end, which was furthest from the door, and looked around. As far as he could tell, Kono was not at the bar and wasn’t due for another hour or more.
My Yakuza Page 6