Sumotori: A 21st Century Samurai Thriller

by GP Hutchinson

31

  The next day, Tatsuyama and Shiori arrived at Kitanomaru Park a little before two o’clock. For nearly two hours, they cautiously wandered and inspected every garden path, glade, and vantage point. A few couples strolled the wooded pathways. Several mothers entertained small children on the greens. Tourists took photos in front of the Budokan arena and at the park’s reconstructed medieval gates.

  By four o’clock, they were confident the park was free of Yamada clan lookouts. They had encountered no males—alone or in clusters—who fit the gangster profile. Satisfied enough to advance the plan, the pair made their way to an overgrown corner of the park close to the statue of Yoshida Shigeru. There, screened by foliage, they could see without being seen.

  At twenty-five past four, Tatsuyama spotted Naoko. Here we go, he thought. Just as Shiori had predicted, she was coming from the direction of the Budokan. He gently tapped on Shiori’s shoulder and pointed in Naoko’s direction.

  Shiori acknowledged with a nod. The two waited silently.

  Naoko stopped near the statue. She wore jeans and a long-sleeve T-shirt, clothes she would normally reserve for lounging at home. Her hair was in a ponytail. She shaded her eyes and pivoted slowly, searching the grassy quadrangle. The rise and fall of her shoulders broadcast a heavy sigh. Arms folded, she began to pace.

  What’s on your mind, Naoko? Tatsuyama thought. Do you look tired, or is it just my imagination?

  Naoko left the statue to peer first down one tree-lined walkway, then down a connecting path. She returned to the sculpture of Prime Minister Yoshida. The statue, while not mentioned on the phone, was a reasonable place to expect to meet for a clandestine conversation. There was a lot of open space if you wanted to be seen. There were several shaded walkways close by if you didn’t. And few people made a point of visiting this particular likeness of this departed statesman anymore. Naoko proved the theory right by hovering within a few yards of the bronze.

  After a while and for just a few moments, Naoko looked down, as though reflecting on a memory. A bright, genuine smile suddenly replaced the anxious expression she had worn only seconds before. She looked refreshed, relaxed—even happy. She looked like the girl Tatsuyama had fallen for a few months ago. His heart warmed. Then, just as quickly as the reverie had brought a smile to Naoko’s face, it must have passed. She put the fingertips of both hands to her mouth, lifted her head, and resumed surveying her surroundings.

  As they observed Naoko, Shiori subtly shifted toward Tatsuyama until their shoulders lightly touched. They glanced at each other—a glance that lasted a little longer than perhaps it should have, in that moment, in that place. What’s going on behind those dark eyes? he wondered.

  Movement near the statue drew their attention back to Naoko. She was heading away, drifting slowly back toward the Budokan.

  “Time to move,” he whispered.

  Shiori agreed.

  Slowly and stealthily, the two slipped along behind hedging and trees. They paralleled the garden walkway that led to the Budokan.

  Tatsuyama kept Naoko in sight. As he and Shiori silently tracked her northward, he assessed every man or woman he spotted. Could that guy or those two be Yamada lackeys? His senses were on high alert. His heart drummed steadily, a few clicks faster than its usual cadence.

  He took Shiori’s arm and picked up the pace of their advance through the shrubbery. Once they were some distance ahead of Naoko and rapidly nearing the Budokan, he whispered, “OK, let’s take up a spot where we can grab her as inconspicuously as possible.”

  Tatsuyama again caught Shiori letting her gaze linger on his face, a cue he might have missed if he weren’t lingering too. They stalled. The cadence of his heart accelerated again. Not from fear or exertion.

  There’s no time for me to be thinking about this.

  But in that fleeting moment, he came to a life-changing realization: the warming of his heart when he saw Naoko relax and smile near the statue…he hadn’t been yearning to renew his relationship with her. His heart had warmed with relief for Naoko. He was happy that—if he and Shiori were successful—Naoko might finally know freedom from her father’s manipulation and tyranny.

  Just now, though, as he captured Shiori’s gaze, he realized that this girl—Saito Shiori—was the one he wanted to know. He wanted to discover everything about her, and he wanted to spend a very long time doing so.

  His hand on her arm…he didn’t want to take it away. They stood close. So close. Her breath possessed that sweet quality that only comes with desire.

  “I need to tell you something,” he whispered.

  Shiori took his hand in both of hers. “I know…”

  “Unfortunately, we have to move now.”

  She nodded, her gaze fixed on his.

  Being there to whisk away Naoko was dicey enough with clear minds and sharp wits, he told himself. There’d be time later to take up again where this moment left off.

  Tatsuyama looked away toward the Budokan, squeezed her hand, and forced himself to refocus on the mission. He surveyed the area ahead between them and the arena, looking for the best interception point. Should they approach Naoko next to the steps? At the edge of the trees there?

  Together they advanced a few yards farther, past another cluster of bushes. Tatsuyama stopped short and put his fist to his forehead.

  He looked back and forth.

  “I don’t like this, Shiori.” His voice was low.

  “What?”

  “This side of the Budokan. We’re too close to the moat. If this ends up being another trap, the moat won’t allow us enough room to run. We’d have to try to reach the bridge behind us or the park gate bridge ahead. It’s all too confining—too easy for gangsters to cut off our retreat.”

  They stood side by side, looking from the arena to the old, Edo-Period castle moat.

  “It didn’t look this tight when we combed the park this afternoon,” he said. “I don’t know why we didn’t recognize this for the bottleneck it is. If Yamada’s men block those bridges, we’re his.”

  Shiori tried to console him. “We were searching for suspicious people, not escape routes.”

  Tatsuyama wasn’t comforted. “We planned for everything to happen beyond the Budokan, over toward the station. Right here we’re more secluded. This is perfect if Naoko isn’t drawing us into a trap, but it’s horrible if she is.”

  “Then let’s get to the train station,” she said.

  His vision was focused beyond Shiori. “It’s too late,” he whispered.

  There was Naoko. Still alone, still searching for Tatsuyama. She crossed the driveway and ascended the south steps to the Budokan. At the top, she halted and scanned the park grounds. She started to head away from Tatsuyama and Shiori, but then wavered and reversed her direction. Now she was making her way around the side of the building facing the moat.

  Tatsuyama’s decision came instantly: they needed to go into the bottleneck. He and Shiori, screened by a narrow line of trees and shrubs, followed on, just behind and below Naoko.

  Tatsuyama said to Shiori, “If she’s still alone when we get to the bridge leading toward the rail station, we’ll have to make a quick judgment call. We’ll only have a second to decide whether anybody is following or waiting.”

  Shiori nodded. Her face revealed she was all business now.

  Naoko descended the stairs on the north side of the Budokan and stopped. She wrung her hands while she searched the area ahead. Then, Tatsuyama could tell, she gave up. Shoulders down, eyes toward the pavement, she trudged toward the samurai-era gatehouse that framed the way out of the park.

  There were actually two reconstructed gatehouses, set at right angles to one another. It would be risky to dash after Naoko around a blind corner and into the small courtyard between the two gates. These old portals were remainders of the outer walls that long ago surrounded a massive fortification compound. They were situated purposefully—not only to keep enemy forces out but also to create a killing ground. If enemy
combatants breached the outer portal, they would be delayed in the small courtyard between the gates. There, a rain of arrows could slaughter them with impunity. Today that courtyard could still be a killing ground, depending on who waited within it.

  He was about to tell Shiori that the risk was too big when Shiori unexpectedly whispered, “I’m convinced. She wants out. Let’s go get her.”

  Before Tatsuyama could stop her, Shiori was striding to catch up to Naoko. He didn’t like it, but he hurried and caught up with Shiori.

  Naoko had already made the turn into the first gatehouse. When Tatsuyama and Shiori reached the gate’s threshold, he gently grasped Shiori’s arm. Screening her behind his own frame, he stole a peek into the courtyard. Who occupied the killing field? It looked to him like ordinary pedestrians only. And there was Naoko, about to exit the bridge-side gate. He couldn’t see who or what waited beyond her.

  Fully committed now, Tatsuyama hurried into the courtyard with Shiori in tow. They headed for the exit portal. Naoko was on the bridge just yards ahead.

  “This could work, Shiori.” Tatsuyama felt a tinge of excitement as they picked up speed.

  From the gatehouse, Shiori sprinted in an effort to intercept Naoko before she reached the curb.

  Naoko plodded toward the street. Shiori closed in on her. Tatsuyama began to trot as well.

  Just then a silver Toyota limousine slid up to the curb at the foot of the bridge. Another silver luxury car skidded in behind it.

  Tatsuyama’s eyes widened. “Shiori!” he yelled.

  Naoko froze just as Shiori reached her side and clutched her forearm.

  Simultaneously both vehicles spilled out their passengers—Yamada enforcers in dark suits, plus Haruta.

  In a panic, Naoko desperately tugged her arm free from Shiori and turned to bolt into the park.

  Yamada thugs sped past Shiori in pursuit of Naoko. Shiori turned to flee for the park herself, but she didn’t react quickly enough. Haruta had her. She screamed and clawed. Two Yamada gangsters swept her away from Haruta, back to the street and into the limousine.

  A few random bystanders on the bridge briefly acted as though they might possess the courage to challenge the abduction. But Haruta needed only to exhibit an air of invincible authority. The mob lieutenant pointed to each would-be challenger, and they backed off like chided puppies.

  Tatsuyama’s fury boiled, but his many years of strict training taught him to keep emotions in check during a match.

  His mind went immediately into fighting mode. Read faces, his subconscious told him. Analyze stances, their balance, your opponents’ motion.

  Time slowed for Tatsuyama as it always did in a contest. He saw things, assessed them, and acted within a flow of portions of seconds. He needed to reach Shiori, but he realized that couldn’t happen until he had dealt with almost everything else between himself and the limo.

  First, the thug who had caught up to Naoko. The man’s arms locked tightly around her waist as Tatsuyama approached.

  Winding up his body, he spun back, sending his elbow smashing into the thug’s jaw. The dark-suited goon released Naoko and melted down to the bridge.

  A nearby gangster launched himself onto Tatsuyama’s shoulder, presumably aiming to bring the three-hundred-pound wrestler to the ground.

  I’m not going down!

  Instinctively calling on judo he learned in the stable, Tatsuyama rotated with the attacker’s momentum. It carried them both toward the bridge railing. Adding his own considerable strength, Tatsuyama continued the spin and slammed the thug’s spine into the bar atop the rail.

  Whether his back was broken or not, that assailant was out of the fight. Tatsuyama tipped the goon’s limp body over the rail and let it to plummet into the murky moat below.

  Where is Naoko? Tatsuyama wondered as he pivoted to face the third and fourth attackers together. In the split second between foes, he had his answer: two gangsters had been waiting just outside the gate, close to the bridge rail. They caught Naoko and started dragging her back to the limousine.

  The limo wouldn’t leave without her, he reasoned. The third and fourth attackers closed in on him. Both assailants drew up short as he squared up to deal with them. Their fists dug into their suit jackets and reappeared clutching blades of glistening steel.

  No time for this, Tatsuyama thought. With no further delay, he launched himself at the opponent on his right. Drive right through him. He used a sumo thrust that easily sent the mobster falling head over heels.

  The move cost Tatsuyama. His right side screamed in pain.

  He gritted his teeth. Get to the limo before they can load Naoko in. He rushed toward the car. His side felt odd.

  He could see into the back seat. In the dim light inside, he saw Shiori struggling. Now a gangster shoving Naoko. Almost there.

  The door slammed shut. The limousine lurched away into traffic, tires squealing loudly.

  Tatsuyama sensed the last two thugs closing in on him. He whirled to face them. Which would be first? They each gave him a wide berth as they fled toward the second car. He sprinted to catch at least one of them before they could make a clean getaway.

  Out of frustration and rage, he took an uncharacteristically wild swipe at the nearer of the two fleeing gangsters. He just barely clipped the man’s shoulder. Not only did he fail to arrest the mobster’s flight but he also overreached his own footing.

  He broke his fall with skill, but the car was already rolling. Like the limo before it, the vehicle shrieked away from the curb.

  Tatsuyama turned to look for further threats. Eyewitnesses surrounded him, slack-jawed. Others were chattering away on cell phones. Policemen flew to the scene from the subway station across the street and from inside the park. More closed in on motorcycles.

  Only then did Tatsuyama allow his emotions to breach the surface. “Noooo!” he bellowed. “Arienai!” [This cannot be!] “Nooo!” He sat down in the middle of the bridge and began to weep openly.

  32

  An old woman—one of the few who still dressed in the traditional style, in an appropriately subdued kimono befitting her age—was the first to approach Tatsuyama after the disastrous fray. From her shopping bag she extracted a wide, cloth sash, an obi she had evidently just purchased to wear with a kimono. She knelt in formal, seiza style beside Tatsuyama.

  “May I?” she asked, her fingers already on his shirt button.

  Tatsuyama nodded. She unfastened his buttons and exposed his bleeding right side. She pressed her new obi against his gashed flesh to staunch the bleeding.

  Policemen arrived in clusters, some dealing with the downed gangsters, some moving the crowds back, and yet others approaching Tatsuyama to ask what had happened.

  His wailing was over. He wanted to take action, not give reports.

  In response to their unceasing questions, he had but one answer. “Call Detective Kobayashi Koji.”

  Ambulances arrived. The emergency medical technicians wanted to take him away to the hospital, but Tatsuyama insisted on waiting for Kobayashi.

  He didn’t have to wait long.

  As Detective Kobayashi approached, Tatsuyama looked up and confessed, “It was a stupid plan—a poorly concocted and foolhardy plan.”

  Detective Kobayashi stooped close to him and murmured into his ear, “We need to talk about this in a place where others can’t hear. First let’s see if we can avoid the hospital.”

  Tatsuyama assured the paramedics he could walk to the ambulance. They made a great fuss about him walking so soon after someone had gashed him with a fighting knife.

  “I’ll be fine,” he assured them.

  Before standing, he gently patted the old woman’s arm. He smiled kindly at her.

  “May I have your name and address, please?” he asked. “So I can bring you a replacement obi?”

  She smiled back. “It is a simple, everyday obi,” she said. “Of no great value. You have too much about which to be concerned.”

  Tat
suyama pulled himself to his feet and bowed stiffly to her. “Doumo arigatou gozaimashita, obaasan.” [Thank you very much for what you have done, grandmother.]

  Once Tatsuyama was in the back of the ambulance, Kobayashi assured the attending medics that, if they would see to the necessary sutures and sterile bandages, he would take the victim to the hospital nearest to the Kasumigaseki headquarters of the Tokyo Metro Police. When they protested that violated protocol, Kobayashi leveled with them.

  “Look, this was a yakuza hit,” he said. He looked them each in the eye sternly. “If we take this man to the hospital as you plan, they may make another try on his life before the night is over. I have to deliver him to a safe house, and you need to be unaware of where I have taken him. You can’t tell the yakuza what you don’t know. Understand?”

  “What do we put on the paperwork, then?” the ambulance driver asked.

  “Write down that you stabilized the patient in the back of the ambulance,” he said, “and that you stepped away to ask the police to clear the way for you to leave. When you came back, the patient was gone. No sign of him.”

  The paramedics looked at Kobayashi dubiously.

  “Look,” Kobayashi said, “drive the yokozuna to the parking garage four blocks north and one block east. I’ll bring my car, and we’ll transfer him there, out of everyone else’s sight.”

  They finally acquiesced.

  After the transfer had been made, Kobayashi began to drive toward Kasumigaseki.

  “Where are we going?” Tatsuyama asked.

  “Headquarters.”

  “Are you kidding me?”

  Kobayashi frowned. “No, why?”

  “The same thing holds true there as what you told the paramedics about the hospital—unless your superiors decide to take me into protective custody. Even then, Yamada allies could spot me there and put out word.”

  “They’re going to expect me to file a report on what happened at the park.”

  “Please do file a report. I’ll tell you everything I can, but not at police headquarters.”

  “You have a better suggestion?”