Sumotori: A 21st Century Samurai Thriller

by GP Hutchinson

  The inspector nodded and spoke into his handheld radio. “Sergeant, I’m going to have Detective Kobayashi speak to you. What he tells you will take high priority. On my authority, respond immediately with all appropriate and necessary resources.”

  43

  They say you only have one chance to make a first impression. Shiori’s first impression of Ota was distinctly unfavorable. Naoko had recoiled from him as though his wrinkles were contagious.

  “Come on, ladies,” he said. “Slide out of the van. My argument is not with you.”

  His words were not as calming as he probably intended.

  Shiori didn’t see that she had a lot of choice about getting out of the vehicle. On the other hand, she didn’t want to seem too eager to do Ota’s bidding. So she hesitated, but not long. She didn’t want him to repeat his demands.

  “Your stay with me will be short, I can assure you,” he said.

  Ota was flanked by two young men in tight, dark suits. One of them mimed a kiss at Shiori.

  Gross, she thought. Once out of the van, she tried to put Ota between herself and the playboy. Talk about choosing the lesser of two evils.

  Ota frowned at his underling. “Behave, Fumio.”

  Fumio and his colleague snickered.

  Naoko crawled out of the van and remained close to Shiori. “Where’d Hideo go?” she asked.

  “He needed to run another errand for me,” Ota said. “Follow me, please.”

  Without making eye contact, Naoko fell in behind him.

  Run another errand for me, Shiori thought. So Hideo the policeman works for yet another shady character. Poor Naoko. She wondered what the crime boss’s daughter could be thinking. Used by her own father. Betrayed by Hideo. And now we’re in the hands of Wrinkle-san. What would he have in store for them?

  Ota led the group toward the center of the cavernous, empty warehouse. Everyone’s footsteps reverberated off the distant, dark walls. The concrete floors were dusty, and the air was warm. To Shiori it smelled like cardboard boxes that had been delivered through the rain. Two worn chairs of the type commonly found in low-budget waiting rooms faced each other in the middle of the floor.

  “Sit,” Ota said, pushing Shiori and Naoko toward the chairs.

  Shiori eyed Ota suspiciously. The shove wasn’t necessary. And it belied the statement that his argument was not with them.

  The crime boss nodded. Fumio tossed the other goon a couple of zip ties. His rough hands forced Shiori’s wrists to the chair frame. She felt the jagged plastic dig into her skin as he cinched the zip ties tight. Naoko hissed in air as the other goon cinched her wrists.

  Ota stood pompously between Shiori and Naoko. “This is the situation, ladies: the yokozuna Tatsuyama will need to come here personally to collect you. If your deliverer fails to respond appropriately within a reasonable time, you will be turned over to a third party whose interests in you are none of my business. Either way, your wait will not be lengthy.”

  Ota then turned to the thugs. “These ladies are important to my purposes,” he said. “You don’t want to interfere with my purposes. Just leave them alone, unless a problem should come up. And if a problem comes up, let me know. I’ll decide how to handle it.”

  He then strode off into a dim corner of the warehouse. The sound of a metal door opening and closing resonated through the musty air.

  Fumio and the other goon drifted over to a table beneath a dim light at the edge of the room and set about mumbling and chuckling between themselves.

  Shiori didn’t know who to fear more—Yamada or Ota. Both men treated human beings like plastic tokens on a cold metal checkerboard.

  She took in her surroundings. If Tatsuyama needed to come there personally to get them, she assumed someone knew how to contact him. Someone had to let him know where they were. But what if they couldn’t contact him?

  And why had Ota taken Naoko from Yamada? Why was he going to offer Yamada’s daughter to a third party? Who could understand the way yakuza dealt with each other?

  Her shoulder hurt. Her wrists hurt. She was tired and hungry. She wanted a bath in a safe, clean place. But she had to be alert. They would move her and Naoko sooner or later. She had to be ready for any opportunity at any moment to exploit the tiniest careless move they might make. What more could she do?

  Her gaze came back to Naoko, who stared blankly at the floor.

  “Naoko,” she said.

  “Hai?”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Naoko looked up. “Why are you sorry? I’m the one who got you into all this.”

  Shiori drew her lips into a line. “I’m sorry Hideo betrayed you.”

  After a moment, Naoko said, “You wouldn’t believe the story of Hideo and me. Not in a hundred years.”

  “I don’t know how long we’re going to be here, but I’m willing to listen.”

  Naoko let out a slow sigh. “I met this nice-looking guy one night down in Shibuya. Found out he was a police officer. I thought, ‘Just my luck! My yakuza father will never let this happen.’ So we dated secretly. Or so I thought. Nothing is secret from my father. When he found out about Hideo, as I expected, he forbid me from seeing him.”

  “But somehow you continued to see him,” Shiori said.

  “Actually, Hideo did something really risky—he showed up at my house. I didn’t want to think about what my father would do.”

  Shiori tried with some success to use her uninjured shoulder to wipe a stray strand of hair from her cheek. “What did he do?”

  “I was shocked. My father came up with this unbelievable mission for me. To test my loyalty to the family. He told me to fake attraction to this sumotori for a few months. In the meantime he said he would determine if Hideo posed any real danger to the family. He said if all went well, maybe I could date Hideo.”

  “You didn’t wonder why your father wanted you to date a sumotori, of all people?”

  Naoko shook her head. “The Yamada and sumo actually go back a long way together. My father sometimes talked nostalgically about the way things used to be between our family and sumo back in his grandfather’s day.”

  Shiori studied Naoko’s face. “So your test period with Tatsuyama wasn’t up yet when you brought him to the concert at 109.”

  “I knew the concert marked the end of the test period.” Naoko’s gaze dropped to the floor again. “My father lied about what was supposed to happen at 109, though. He said a meeting would be arranged that would make Tatsuyama a hero.”

  It was quiet, except for the drone of their guards’ conversation over against the wall. The warehouse lighting was dim but seemed brighter directly above them as daylight turned to dusk outside.

  “And now you find out Tatsuyama wasn’t the only person to be set up,” Shiori said. “Do you have any idea who’s playing whom? Your father, Ota, Hideo?”

  “I have no idea. My father told me to go to a dinner Ota was hosting for Tatsuyama. Ota showed up at my father’s old house. Turns out I don’t even know the real Hideo. One thing’s for sure: I’m finished with all of them. Even if I have to go to Brazil to get away from them. Even if it takes a year to work out the details.”

  Shiori flexed her hands to try to stimulate some blood flow.

  “I don’t know what to say, Naoko. But you should know that Tatsuyama never gave up on trying to help you.”

  Naoko met Shiori’s gaze. “Back in January I had no way of knowing it, but Tatsuyama really is the most decent guy I’ve ever met.”

  Shiori nodded.

  “If we get out of here safely, Shiori…stay with him. Treat him the way he deserves to be treated, all right?” Naoko didn’t look away until Shiori answered.

  “I will,” Shiori said. “If that’s OK with him.”

  Naoko nodded.

  Shiori looked toward the steel door in the far corner. “He’ll come for both of us. It won’t be long.”

  He would come. She was confident. Unless he was injured…or worse.

 
; 44

  Tatsuyama sat on the edge of a riser near the dohyo, waiting for the anesthetic to numb his side. His arm rested on the shoulder of the medical assistant who had administered the drug.

  “We’ll have you restitched in no time,” the sumo association doctor said as he prepared a needle and suture. “They knifed you pretty good yesterday, didn’t they?”

  “Sou desu.” Tatsuyama nodded, but his mind was elsewhere.

  Tilting his head back and letting his gaze drift across the geometric pattern of the arena’s rafters, he breathed easily. To think, the nightmare may very well be over…

  Kobayashi approached.

  “How’s it looking for us?” Tatsuyama asked unhurriedly.

  The detective nodded. “Good, I think.”

  “By the way, how’d you get Uesugi to confess right there in front of Yamada—and on NHK TV at that?”

  Kobayashi grinned sheepishly.

  The doctor murmured, “Excuse me. You may still feel a little pinch.”

  Tatsuyama resituated his arm. The doctor went to work stitching.

  “I really had only two things to go on,” the detective said.

  Tatsuyama raised his eyebrows.

  “Yoshio told me Uesugi was a ringleader in turning sumotori from Coach Ikeda to Yamada. Aside from that I noticed evidence of a violent struggle in the entryway at the stable. That’s really all I had.” He shrugged.

  “When did you decide Uesugi had done more than just talk against Coach Ikeda?”

  “Honestly?”

  Tatsuyama angled his head. “Don’t tell me…”

  “Hai, on the spot—we were desperate. Your plan had taken us about as far as it could have, and I needed a quick public confession.”

  “You were bluffing?” Tatsuyama sat up.

  “I told Uesugi we had his prints from the stable and his DNA from under Coach Ikeda’s nails.”

  “But you didn’t.”

  Kobayashi took out a piece of chewing gum. “The truth is the police hadn’t dusted for fingerprints yet, not even by yesterday. And as for Coach Ikeda’s fingernails? Who knows? Maybe there’s some Uesugi DNA there, maybe not. I guess he had a conscience…or maybe he liked my suggestion about getting a lighter sentence in exchange for cooperating.”

  A nip of electricity ran through Tatsuyama when he realized just how close to the edge they had come.

  “I’ve got to admit,” he said, “when the police superintendent showed up and Yamada was still making threats—even though he was pinned there like a skewered eel—I thought I might be the one going off to jail again. That public confession saved all of us.”

  “Glad the gamble paid off,” he said. “If you’ll excuse me, though, it looks like the superintendent and his staff need me again. I’ll be right back.”

  Tatsuyama nodded and shifted slightly so the medical assistant could properly tape the sutured wound.

  Once the doctor was finished and packed up, he patted Tatsuyama’s shoulder and said, “Perhaps you’ll want to sit still here for a few more minutes.”

  “Arigatou, Sensei,” he said with a polite bow.

  Minutes later Tatsuyama’s attention was fixed on the huddle of law enforcement officials a few yards away when he felt someone standing over him on the other side.

  “Stay seated, yokozuna, and don’t call any attention to us.”

  Tatsuyama’s head whipped around. It was a policeman, a handsome young officer whose face looked vaguely familiar. He wore no identification on his chest.

  “Unless I call Ota-san with a favorable answer from you within the next five minutes,” the officer said, “Naoko and her friend will be relocated once again.”

  Tatsuyama furtively glanced around for help.

  “You’re waiting for word that Tokyo police have safely rescued Naoko and the other young woman from Yamada’s place, aren’t you?” The policeman grinned.

  Tatsuyama didn’t like the grin, or the tone of voice.

  “I’m afraid the police won’t be delivering that message, yokozuna.”

  “So Yamada’s people have already passed off Naoko and Shiori to Ota. What—”

  “You want to see the two alive and well, I believe,” he interrupted. He seemed to enjoy toying with Tatsuyama. “Ota-san is waiting to see you. Sooner would be better than later.”

  How bad would it be for the girls if he simply nabbed this guy and handed him over to Kobayashi right now? He needed to buy a minute to think. “Have I seen you before?” he asked. “Were you at Kitanomaru Park yesterday?”

  The policeman shook his head. “When you last saw me, I was standing next to Naoko. Her father had an arrow pointed at your back.” He smirked. “I don’t suppose Yamada will do that to you again.”

  Tatsuyama stared at him. A memory flashed through his mind: the open back room of the samurai house. The guy wearing the T-shirt and sports coat with the sleeves pushed up. This was likely no mere errand boy.

  “I remember you there,” Tatsuyama said. “What’s your name?”

  The policeman hesitated. “Hideo. You don’t need my family name.”

  Tatsuyama eyed him warily. “OK, Hideo. Maybe your name’s not Yamada or Ota, but you’re in deep with both of them. Are you another of their bought-and-paid-for policemen? Or are you really a policeman at all?”

  Hideo looked around the arena floor. “This wouldn’t be a good time or place to answer a question like that, now would it?”

  Tatsuyama sensed Ota’s five minutes ticking down. If he called Kobayashi over right now, what would Ota really do to the girls? Could the police force this guy Hideo to give up information that might save the two? Rising to his feet, he asked, “What’s happened to Shiori and Naoko?”

  Hideo grinned arrogantly. “They left Yamada’s place of their own free will.”

  “To go straight to Ota? I don’t think so.”

  “They’re safe for now.”

  For now. The veiled threat angered him. Was this Yamada’s backup plan?

  “Since I’m wearing a police uniform,” Hideo said, “I can probably escort you out of this arena without anyone stopping us.”

  I bet you could…escort me right into a cluster of revenge-minded yakuza. “No, thanks. I’m fine right here…for now,” he said. “Tell me what’s going on.”

  “I think this little interview is over. Your indecision is going to cost you. Or the girls.” He turned to walk away.

  “Wait!” Tatsuyama grabbed Hideo’s bicep. “Just tell me plainly: what does Ota want?”

  “He would prefer to discuss that with you face-to-face.” Hideo shook his arm free.

  Tatsuyama felt his cheeks go hot with frustration. He had thought victory was in hand.

  “No, I think an interview like this is exactly what we need, Hideo. Last chance for you, friend. Why don’t we step over there and discuss this with your fellow police officers?” He nodded his head toward the superintendent.

  Hideo’s grin returned. “Unless I call Ota-san with a favorable answer from you within the next three minutes now, Naoko and her friend will be taken away. I have no idea where Ota-san will send them. But remember this: Ota-san doesn’t have the same fatherly affection for Naoko that Yamada does.”

  Would Ota dare hurt his boss’s daughter? Or have I had this wrong all along? Is that old shark Ota actually Yamada’s boss? Tatsuyama glanced at Kobayashi and the superintendent. Still busy. He looked into Hideo’s eyes. Ota’s messenger was clearly ready to walk.

  “I’ll go,” Tatsuyama said. “Act like you’re leading me out.”

  Hideo smiled. “Wise choice.”

  As Hideo reached to take his arm, Tatsuyama snatched his wrist and ripped him forward. Snagging him in a choke hold, Tatsuyama drove him like a bull toward Kobayashi and the inspector.

  “They’re dead!” Hideo sputtered. “Those girls are as good as dead, yokozuna!”

  45

  Apparently what the surrounding policemen saw was that one of their fellow officers and T
atsuyama were grappling. They swarmed in on the two.

  “Let go of the officer! Now, sumotori!” an armed policeman barked. “Let go and get on the floor, face down! Now!”

  Tatsuyama held tight till Kobayashi trotted over. “Don’t be so sure this one’s really a policeman, after all,” he told the detective. “Or if he is, he’s been bought by Yamada…or Ota.”

  “All right, we’ve got him,” the superintendent said. “Let go, Tatsuyama.”

  Tatsuyama’s heart was pounding. Anesthetic notwithstanding, he grimaced from the strain on his stitches. He released Hideo.

  Hideo glared at him, his face fiery.

  “Do you recognize this guy, Kobayashi? From the back room of the samurai house?”

  Kobayashi nodded. He addressed Hideo, “Are you with Tokyo Metro Police? Really?”

  Hideo didn’t answer.

  “What’s the truth?” the detective asked. “What are you up to?”

  Hideo eyed the officers surrounding him. He kept silent.

  “According to this guy,” Tatsuyama said, “Yamada’s people don’t have the girls anymore. Ota does.”

  Kobayashi grabbed Hideo. “Is that right?”

  Still silent. Jaw set.

  “Where’s Ota holding them?”

  Not a word.

  “He told me Ota wants to see me face-to-face,” Tatsuyama said, “and that if he didn’t call Ota within the next couple minutes to let him know I’m coming, Ota would send the girls somewhere else.”

  “Tatsuyama, did this officer give you his name?” the superintendent asked.

  “Hideo. No family name.”

  The superintendent stepped close to the traitor. Nose to nose, eye to eye, with a tone as unbending as granite, he said, “Hideo, you’re going to make the call Ota is expecting. You’re going to make certain Ota believes Tatsuyama is cooperating one hundred percent. Now your future depends on this call. Understand?”

  Hideo rubbed his neck. “Who’s Ota?”

  Kobayashi expelled a loud breath. “The guy you were standing next to at Yamada Hideyoshi’s old house. Tatsuyama’s not the only witness who can testify that you have personal dealings with Ota and Yamada.”