Sumotori: A 21st Century Samurai Thriller

by GP Hutchinson

  Tears rolled down her cheeks again, salty on her lips. She didn’t want to give Yamada the pleasure of seeing her cower in terror. She wanted to defy his arrogance.

  He began the tortuously slow ritual draw of the bow as it is practiced in kyudo, Japanese archery. His arms rose with the bow.

  Shiori trembled and struggled to free herself. She couldn’t. I can’t breathe, she panicked.

  He released the arrow.

  Reflexes spun her head away from the target that hung barely above her left shoulder. The thwack of the arrow tearing into the target sent an involuntary spasm through her frame. She couldn’t hold back crying aloud now.

  “Don’t shoot again,” she tried to say, only the words came out broken, drowning in her tears.

  “Listen to me,” Yamada called out from the gallery.

  Her tears came so profusely that they cast a wavering filter over her eyes. She heard his cold voice, but could no longer make out his face.

  “If you want this to stop,” he said loudly in a voice empty of emotion, “all you have to do is agree to bring Tatsuyama to me.” He turned to an assistant to select another arrow.

  Shiori’s ankles and wrists were bound in place by thick white cord. It was soft. It didn’t dig into her skin as she fought instinctively to tear herself free and bolt for safety. But neither did it yield.

  Another wave of fear washed over her. She couldn’t answer Yamada.

  “Will you bring me Tatsuyama?” he asked.

  She squeezed her eyes closed. Somehow she began to shut it all out. She let go. Pain and fear and Yamada didn’t matter anymore.

  Then, in her mind she saw him, the yokozuna. They were sitting on the eighth floor above Hole in the Wall. She heard him say, “I’ve never done karaoke before,” and she heard herself laughing softly.

  Eyes still closed, she exhaled. I’ll take an arrow in the chest before I’ll give Tatsuyama over to this despot.

  The third arrow nicked her shoulder. When it bit her, she flinched. It felt like red-hot metal.

  “The next time,” Yamada said, “I won’t miss.”

  Shiori blacked out.

  35

  Back at the Nominosukune shrine, Tatsuyama and Kobayashi had set about deducing where Yamada would have taken Naoko and Shiori. How they would execute a rescue depended, naturally, on where the rescue had to take place.

  “Kobayashi, you said a little while ago that Tokyo is the biggest city in the world. And anyway, who’s to say Yamada has limited himself to keeping the girls here in Tokyo? He has connections throughout the country. How do we even begin to know where to find them?”

  “We have to start by asking why he kidnapped them.”

  Tatsuyama watched the flame dance in the old lantern on top of the storage cabinet. “Naoko? He may want her back simply because he’s her father. I think it’s still kidnapping, though. She’s twenty-six years old. She ought to be free to come and go as she wants.”

  “You assume she’s twenty-six because that’s what she told you. She could be anywhere from eighteen to—I don’t know—maybe twenty-nine.”

  “So if she’s only twenty…”

  “She’s the daughter of a yakuza boss,” the detective said. “As long as she’s unmarried, he’s probably going to insist on dictating where she can live.”

  “Does that complicate things for us legally, then?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “If she wants us to rescue her,” Tatsuyama asked, “can we do it? Or does her father’s word override her choice?”

  “If she’s twenty or older and if she wants to leave her father’s home, we can make it happen. It’s not the legality I’m concerned about, though—it’s the potential lethality. Yakuza have long memories.”

  Tatsuyama nodded. He wondered if he’d ever again be able to walk down the street in Tokyo without looking over his shoulder. Would any of them be able to?

  “As for Shiori,” Kobayashi said, “I think he took her strictly as leverage against you.”

  “That’s what I warned her about when that punk tried to nab her at the curb in Kyoto.”

  Tatsuyama eyed Kobayashi. He deliberated whether he should tell the detective that he suddenly found himself romantically interested in Shiori. This guy won’t believe me, he thought. Dating Naoko until ten days ago and now ready to drop everything for Shiori. Worse yet, he might believe me and then decide my mind’s too clouded to stay on the case with him. And I’m not about to sit and wait while somebody else crawls their way to an answer.

  “Yamada isn’t holding her for money,” Kobayashi said. “He’s playing for power first. He has only one purpose in mind for Shiori—using her to force you to sign a contract with the new Yamada Sumo Association. Your servitude for her freedom.”

  Tatsuyama paused. “If it were only about me, I’d trade places in a heartbeat. But I can’t sell out sumo’s place in Japanese culture.”

  “He’s a criminal. There’s no reason you should have to make the trade or sell out.”

  “So where do you think he’s holding them?”

  “His place on Tokyo Bay is a fortress,” Kobayashi said. “My first guess is that he has Naoko there…because his paternal claims are strongest there. Old-school judges just might pardon him for kidnapping his own daughter if he simply brought her home.”

  Tatsuyama sat up. “What about getting a search warrant and a dozen officers and paying Yamada a visit at home to see if Shiori’s there, too?”

  “I remember seeing a film when I was in the army. It showed satellite footage of a convoy of UN inspectors approaching one of Saddam Hussein’s alleged weapons of mass destruction facilities. In the footage, you could see Iraqis delaying the inspectors at the front gates of the facility, literally, until a convoy of Iraqi trucks had rolled out the back gates. If we went to Yamada’s front gate with a search warrant, we wouldn’t get through the front door until long after Shiori had been taken out the back.”

  Tatsuyama shook his head. “You’re not as dumb as the UN. I’m sure you’d cover all his exit routes.”

  “We’d have to cover the bay, too. Yamada has several boats.”

  “Time is precious, Kobayashi. Shouldn’t we get boats and backup coordinated right away?”

  “Time is critical. But I don’t believe Naoko and Shiori are in mortal danger yet. He may frighten the hell out of them, but he won’t harm his own daughter…or Shiori.”

  “Not even in a fit of rage?” Tatsuyama visualized Yamada unleashing cold fury against Shiori for having helped him escape the trap at Hole in the Wall. A jolt of fear for her life ran through him.

  “He’s more calculating than that. He doesn’t throw away assets, and right now holding Shiori gives him an edge over us.” Kobayashi folded his hands on the table and stared at them for a moment. “Tatsuyama, let me tell you the main reason I’m hesitant to do what you’re suggesting.”

  Tatsuyama noted Kobayashi’s grave expression.

  “I’m extremely confident that the vast majority of officers within the police department are dedicated to the law, our country, and the people of Tokyo. But there’s no way of knowing precisely who within the force has given in to Yamada’s overtures. We know that some of Tokyo’s police officers have been bought out by Yamada. It may be as few as two, or it may be twenty-two. No matter how few their numbers, though, I’m not willing to gamble on how high or deep Yamada’s power spreads. I might quietly enlist the aid of one or two of my closest friends, but beyond them, the risk involved when Shiori and Naoko need rescuing is just too great.”

  Tatsuyama swallowed hard. Going up against yakuza felt like walking on the edge of a sword. One slip could be very painful. He felt as though he had been dragged back into the age of shinobi, ninja, and court intrigues. He nodded. “OK, limited police support.”

  Kobayashi drew his mouth into a thin line. “I’m sorry.”

  It was silent for a moment before Tatsuyama spoke again. “So do you think that’s where Shiori i
s? At his place?”

  “I wouldn’t think so. If we were to find her at his place, it would be impossible for him to escape some measure of incrimination. He’ll want her where—if she’s found—the blame will fall on someone else.”

  Tatsuyama got up and began to pace. “Yamada’s clever. He won’t answer questions about Shiori unless we bring concrete proof that he’s committed a crime. Is there anyone else in his organization that would be easier to pick up and question about where Shiori is?”

  Kobayashi was looking over the notes he had made on his iPhone. “Who has to know where Shiori is right now? You give me a name, and I’ll tell you whether that person would be easy to pick up and question.”

  “Haruta would know where the girls are.”

  “Agreed,” Kobayashi said. “Picking him up for questioning is possible, but not necessarily easy.”

  “And probably my nemesis from Shibuya 109, Yamashita. He was at the samurai house with Haruta and Yamada when they took Naoko there.”

  “True, and so was Ota, right?

  “Hai,” Tatsuyama said. “And some young guy—maybe our age.”

  Kobayashi scrolled through his notes. “We could get Yamashita—and probably make him talk—but he’s not as likely to know details about Yamada’s plans. Ota is interesting. I’m not sure how he fits in, but I want to follow up on him. And we haven’t identified the young guy.”

  “If he’s connected with sumo, I’ve never seen him before.”

  “He looked familiar to me, but I haven’t been able to place him,” Kobayashi said.

  Tatsuyama stopped his pacing. “Speaking of unknowns, did your investigation identify whether anyone from Coach Ikeda’s stable went over to Yamada’s side?”

  Kobayashi nodded. “When I went to the stable yesterday and found it empty except for Yoshio, the one defecting rikishi Yoshio mentioned by name was Uesugi. He said that Uesugi had encouraged the others to go over to a Yamada stable.”

  “Uesugi.” Tatsuyama crossed his arms. “Talented, but always too lazy to advance well on his own. I suppose he’ll rise a level or two for turning himself into a recruiter for Yamada.”

  “He wouldn’t do us any good in finding the girls, but he might be able to shed some light on what happened to Coach Ikeda.”

  “I wonder how many left with Uesugi.”

  Just then the old priest, Kubo, tapped on the sliding door separating the guest room from the rest of the old wood and mortar house. He slid open the door and made one last offer to serve tea before he would retire for the night. Both Kobayashi and Tatsuyama accepted the offer. Within minutes Kubo returned with a tray bearing two fresh bowls of bitter green tea. He set the tray down on the low table, bowed slightly, and turned to leave the room.

  At the last moment, he stopped, turned back toward Tatsuyama, and said, “Yokozuna, please pardon me for hearing your conversation. These poor walls are not very thick. Your discussion is certainly safe with me, but as I could not help hearing what you and the detective said, perhaps I could offer a bit of practical advice.” He paused, waiting for permission to go on.

  “Please, do go on, Kubo-san,” Tatsuyama said. “Tell us what’s on your mind.”

  The priest simply said, “Perhaps you will want to speak to Kimura Shonosuke. But first, rest well.” With that, the elderly cleric slid the door panel closed and went off to his own quarters.

  “Who’s Kimura Shonosuke?” Kobayashi asked.

  “That’s the honorary ring name given to the tate-gyoji, the highest ranking referee in professional sumo. Over the many years sumotori have come to this shrine for ritual ceremonies, the old priest must’ve met the tate-gyoji. And I think Kubo-san just identified an ally we can truly trust—someone who couldn’t be drawn into the Yamada camp by any amount of money or force.”

  Kobayashi picked up his tea bowl. “That’s wonderful. Great to have another ally…but can he get us the information we need?”

  As Tatsuyama stared at the flame in the old lantern again, he felt a spark of hope reignite in his soul. “I doubt Kimura Shonosuke knows Shiori or anything about Shiori, but…he can get us very close to someone who most definitely does know.”

  The detective looked intrigued.

  “The thing is,” Tatsuyama said, “we’ll have to go to the one place I’ve been avoiding most since this whole affair began.”

  36

  Shiori leaned forward from the storage room wall. She wasn’t about to take off her pullover shirt, not even to let Haruta clean and bandage the two-inch-long gouge the arrow had carved in her shoulder.

  “You’ll have to work through the hole the arrow tore in my clothes,” she said, her voice thick but no longer shaking.

  He knelt on one knee beside her, blotting the wound. “I don’t have to work through anything. But I’ll respect your modesty.”

  The yakuza goon at the door grinned.

  Shiori returned a cold stare.

  “I’m not going to lure Tatsuyama anywhere for Yamada-san. So what does he plan to do with me now?”

  Haruta paused from working on Shiori’s arm and looked her in the eyes. “Don’t be so sure about what you will or won’t do. Yamada-sama still has an abundance of resources, any number of which may persuade you to change your mind.”

  She drew back slightly.

  Haruta tried with no success to tear off a piece of medical tape. “This plastic stuff just won’t tear,” he muttered.

  “Here, boss.” The gangster at the door pulled a folding knife from his pocket and handed it to Haruta.

  The older man cut the tape and set down the knife next to his knee while he positioned the bandage on Shiori’s shoulder.

  She glanced furtively at the blade, then at the gangster.

  What if she could distract them—get them talking, rambling? Could Haruta or that goon forget about the knife? Could she slide it underneath the edge of the futon with her foot?

  Haruta cut another strip of medical tape and set the knife down between his knee and her foot once again.

  “What would Yamada-san want Tatsuyama to do for him?” she asked.

  “Ah, so you are thinking,” Haruta said. “Very good.”

  “Well?”

  The goon leaning on the doorframe stared down the corridor.

  Haruta applied another piece of tape to the bandage. “Above all Yamada-sama would want Tatsuyama to help assure that certain inevitable changes in sumo go smoothly.” He admired his work on the bandage.

  I’ve got to get him to look me in the eyes while that goon is looking away, she thought.

  “Tatsuyama had a great interview on TV last week. Is that the kind of thing that he could do to support Yamada-san? Interviews and such?” She tried to slide her foot toward the blade without being obvious.

  Haruta reached down, retrieved the knife, and rose to his feet. “You just keep thinking about those kinds of opportunities for your friend Tatsuyama. Working for Yamada-sama could end up being a rewarding arrangement for him…and for you.” He handed the knife to the gangster.

  Shiori’s heart sunk.

  “We’ll check on you again in a little while,” Haruta said as he turned to leave.

  The goon stepped out of the doorway, leered at her as Haruta exited, and then pulled the door closed. A metallic click followed.

  Disappointed about the knife, she sighed. At least they left the light on.

  She got up from the futon, swaying on her feet momentarily. Once the wooziness passed, she began to survey the small room for anything that could be used as a weapon or to help her escape.

  A broom and a dustpan stood in the corner next to an upright vacuum cleaner. Could she do any damage with the broom? In this confined space, probably not. At least not unless someone came to her alone and she could catch them totally off guard. She’d probably just make them angry. Then what?

  On the shelves were cleaning products—window cleaner, bleach, scouring powder. What about bleach to the face? She stopped herself. What
kind of person was she becoming? So she could knife someone? Spray bleach into their eyes? She shook her head.

  Even if she did blind them with bleach, how far would she get before gangsters responding to all the noise would catch her?

  “You never know,” she whispered.

  She scanned the room one last time. Nothing else seemed useful.

  Returning to the futon, she tried to make herself comfortable. A wounded shoulder and an uncertain future—neither helped.

  What Haruta had said gnawed at her. Yamada had other resources that could make her change her mind. How far would Yamada take this? More pain? Denying her food, water, sleep? Injecting her with drugs? If she didn’t cooperate, would he resort to something as vile as selling her into the sex trade? The thought sent a shockwave through her core.

  She considered whether yakuza might ever bluff. The news articles about Coach Ikeda returned to mind. Yamada wouldn’t bluff. Not now.

  Then the real question began to emerge. She couldn’t determine how hard Yamada would press her. She could only decide how much she would resist in order to protect Tatsuyama.

  Was she willing to pay the ultimate price when that price could be worse than death?

  Her chest heaved. She stared at the door as though wishful thinking alone could make it open. I just want to go away with him and not look back.

  Still clinging to hope, she curled up on her side on the futon.

  37

  Detective Kobayashi left the shrine at half past eight on Saturday morning. His first stop was a barbershop. There he got his hair cut to look as clean and bureaucratic as possible. Afterward he took a taxi to the Ryogoku Kokugikan, leaving his own car in a parking garage near the barbershop.

  Wearing shades and carrying the sports section of Saturday’s newspaper, Kobayashi stepped out of the cab looking just like any other fan who was anxious to experience the excitement of the May Grand Sumo Tournament.

  While he doubted that Yamada Hideyoshi or Haruta would show up at the arena before one o’clock, he couldn’t be as certain about Yamashita. At any time, the Yamada clan might send the former sumotori to the arena as a messenger or as a spy. Kobayashi would have to be alert.