The Yakuza Gambit

by David DeLee

  “I became…friends with one of the blackjack dealers. She showed me inside.” He smiled at the memory. “And other things.”

  “And all that stuff about the safe?” Tara asked. “Were you a safecracker in a previous life?”

  “It’s something I do,” McMurphy said. “A game I play. I imagined how would I break into that safe; how would I get away with stealing that F16 fighter jet; how would I escape from this room if I were locked inside.”

  From the strange looks Kayla and Tara gave him, he said, “You know, in case I had to. You don’t do that?”

  “You’re a strange one, Skyjack McMurphy,” Tara said.

  “And yet, here we are,” McMurphy said, mimicking Bannon. “Skyjack, what do you know about Kwon’s safe?”

  Bannon cleared his throat, getting the conversation back on track. “A standard safecracking operation is out of the question then?”

  “Not without a lot more time than we’ll be able to get,” McMurphy agreed.

  “What about just stealing it?” Kayla asked.

  “At twenty-one hundred pounds.” McMurphy shook his head. “We’d need a crane to move it.”

  “And then how do you get it off the boat undetected,” Tara said.

  “And into what?” Bannon asked, rhetorically. “The way I see it, the only option is to get Kwon to open it for us.”

  “Oh, that sounds easy enough,” Kayla said. “Not.”

  “There’s more,” McMurphy said. “The Yakuza may control Chinatown but not without friction from the local triads. There’s been several attempts made on Kwon’s life over the years. Security around him is very tight. It’ll make forcing him to open the safe difficult.”

  “What if we got him to open the safe without knowing he was doing it for us?” Bannon asked.

  “What do you have in mind?” McMurphy asked.

  “You said Kwon likes to gamble. Does he play at his own tables?”

  “Sure,” McMurphy said. “That’s almost the point. Since he owns the house, he literally can’t lose.”

  “What’s his game of choice?” Bannon asked, the wheels turning in his head.

  “Oicho-kabu.”

  Bannon blinked. “Come again.”

  “It’s a Japanese card game,” McMurphy explained. “Sort of a cross between blackjack and baccarat.”

  “You know how to play?”

  “Sure.”

  Bannon smiled. He was familiar with both blackjack and baccarat. How hard could it be to learn. “Can you teach me to play?”

  “Good enough to beat him? Not a chance.”

  “All I need to know is the basics, and some simple strategies. Enough so I don’t look like a complete idiot at the tables.”

  “That I can do,” McMurphy said. “But you’ll need more than that to take down Kwon at his own game.”

  “Oh, I’ll have it. When’s Kwon’s next little excursion?” Bannon asked.

  “This weekend.”

  “Two days,” Bannon said, thinking. “That doesn’t give us much time. Can you get me on that yacht?”

  “Sure. My invite comes with a plus one. He likes when we bring guests on board.”

  “New fish to hook,” Tara said.

  “Exactly.”

  “We’re going to need a plus two for what I’m thinking to work.” Bannon said to Kayla, “And I’m going to need a few things from you.”

  Kayla signed. “Of course you will.”

  “Blades,” Bannon said, lifting his beer in a toast. “Break out your most glamorous cocktail gown. And make sure it’s something revealing. Very revealing.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Two nights later, Bannon, McMurphy and Tara stepped onto Toi Kwon’s yacht, the Bakuto, docked at Battery Wharf in the North End of Boston where the Main Channel met the Charles River. The Bakuto would set out from port at eight that night. As far as yachts went, Kwon’s wasn’t the fanciest one Bannon had ever been on, but at the end of the day, the guy owned his own yacht. So, there was that.

  And bought with blood money, Bannon reminded himself.

  The Bakuto had an overall length of one hundred and seventy feet with a thirty-four foot beam. As they boarded, McMurphy told them the yacht was powered by two powerful V-12, four-stroke diesel engines, giving the vessel a maximum speed capacity of fourteen and a half knots.

  The gambling tables would open up an hour later and run until four or five in the morning, before they’d return to dock.

  Bannon stepped off the stern gangplank. He turned and held Tara’s hand as she stepped down to the deck. McMurphy followed behind her, as did dozens of other well-dressed invitees. Bannon wore a black tuxedo. McMurphy’s tux was white. And Tara was stunning, dressed to the nines in a burgundy off the shoulder velvet dress that reached down to her knees, a heavy diamond necklace with matching bracelet, and strappy, open toed high heel shoes.

  Bannon looked her over. Not because she was beautiful—though she was—but to see if he could detect the Sig Sauer P220 she insisted on carrying in a lace holster strapped to her thigh. He could not.

  The three of them had discussed it back at the Keel Haul. When he’d questioned the wisdom of bringing weapons onboard, she calmly insisted. “The last time I boarded a boat unarmed, I was nearly killed. As it was, I ended up swimming in the Hudson River.”

  “She’s got a valid point, Brice,” McMurphy said. He argued on Tara’s behalf. “There won’t be any metal detectors or wands. Besides, Kwon’s too much of a misogynistic, narcissistic jerk. It would never occur to him a woman could possibly be a threat.”

  Bannon didn’t like it, but he agreed. He and McMurphy on the other hand opted to remain weaponless, not willing to risk being exposed if Kwon decided to search his male guests.

  McMurphy jumped down to the deck of the yacht, tugging at the collar of his tux. “This damned monkey suit must’ve shrunk. It wasn’t this tight the last time I wore it.”

  Tara, patted his stomach. “Ease up on the beer, big boy.”

  “Bite your tongue,” he growled.

  “I’m going inside,” Tara said. “It’s too cold out here to be dressed like this.”

  She headed for the midship section.

  Three plate glass panels made up the back wall with an etched glass panel door to one side. Cheery amber light glowed from within. Inside, gaming tables were covered in sheets. None were manned by dealers yet. They’d be uncovered and put into use once the yacht was twelve miles out, having reached international waters.

  Bannon and McMurphy moved to follow Tara, taking note of all the heads, men and women alike, that turned as she passed. Nor did they miss the backward glance she gave them over her shoulder and the exaggerated bump of her hip as she walked, playing the part of the femme fatale for all it was worth.

  “She’s having way too much fun with this,” McMurphy said.

  “You’ll introduce me to Kwon when you see him,” Bannon said, getting down to business.

  “That’s the plan. This tub’s got five decks. Above us the sun and bridge decks will be off limits. Only Kwon, his men, and the boat’s crew are allowed up there on these cruises. That’s probably where he is now. He likes to make a grand appearance.”

  “And the safe?”

  “Lower deck,” McMurphy said, opening the door to the main lounge. They stepped inside.

  “They’ll host the buffet and cocktail hour here. After that they’ll open up the four blackjack tables. They usually run one or two high stakes poker games in here as well. There’ll be two roulette wheels in the main dining room, forward of the lounge. Beyond that, the master stateroom is where the real action will be.”

  “The Oicho-kabu tables,” Bannon guessed.

  “Yeah. The stateroom’s a full beam wide with private balconies and panoramic views of the forward section and bow. Last time I was aboard, that’s where they set the Oicho-kabu tables up. These are all strictly cash games. When the drop safes get full, they’re taken below and stored in the vault,
but not put in the safe. That’s strictly for Kwon’s personal use. Besides, there’s no need. The vault’s fortified and reinforced with steel panels and an impenetrable door. Like its own little Fort Knox.”

  “What makes you so sure he’ll have the flash drive in the safe and not on his person?”

  I’m not sure of anything,” McMurphy said, steering Bannon toward the bar. “But he won’t have it on him. You get him riled up enough, you’ll see why.”

  Two dozen people mingled inside, mostly men, but a few women as well. All well-dressed.

  The floor was covered with thick maroon carpeting. A long teak and brass-appointed bar ran the length of one wall. There were no barstools, forcing everyone to stand. The bartenders were all Asian women, dressed in white shirts and black vests, and black slacks. The low murmur of conversation, the clinking of glasses and ice, and the pinball sounds of bells and whistle from several pachinko slot machines being played gave the room a distinct casino feel. Two spectacular crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling and reflected the sparkling light in their dangling diamond-shaped cut glass.

  They joined Tara at the bar. She ordered them drinks. When the bartender moved away, she said, “Kayla’s in position.”

  “Good,” Bannon said. “Any sign of out host?”

  “Not yet.”

  Not long after they got their drinks, the gangplanks were pulled back, ropes were unlashed from the pier’s pylons, and the V-12 engines rumbled to life under their feet. Water bubbled and frothed behind them as the Bakuto pulled away from the dock and they got underway.

  The next hour passed quickly as the three of them moved about the room. Bannon was surprised he couldn’t spot any cameras. A must-have in every other casino he’d ever been in.

  McMurphy shrugged when Bannon mentioned it. “No one in their right mind would try to rip Kwon off. Especially not trapped on his boat, twelve miles away from shore.”

  “Except us,” Bannon said.

  “When were we ever accused of being in our right minds?” McMurphy raised his glass.

  Bannon clinked it. “Point taken.”

  “Head’s up,” McMurphy said after a sip. “Here comes Kwon.”

  Across the room, three men descended the stairwell that curved along the back wall coming down from the sundeck above. A step ahead of the others, Toi Kwon, the oyabun, stepped regally down the carpeted steps, tugging at the cuff-linked sleeves of his tuxedo. Tall and thin, Kwon was younger than Bannon had imagined him to be, barely thirty-five if Bannon had to guess. His black hair was neatly cut and slicked back so it shined. Clean-shaven, he had a narrow face with a long, sloped nose that had a dimple in the tip of it that matched the cleft in his jutting chin.

  It was his eyes that caught Bannon’s attention though. Almond-shaped and black, like a shark’s. Soulless.

  The two men with him were dressed in simple black suits with thin black ties. Asian, it was immediately apparent they were twins. Tall, at least six feet each. They were thin and wiry, like their boss. They couldn’t weigh more than a hundred and fifty pounds apiece.

  A hush fell over the room as Kwon descended the steps. People stopped, turned, and watched.

  When he reached the bottom of the stairs, the milling guests moved toward him, forming two lines. He walked between the lines, like a celebrity on the red carpet, greeting the men with smiles and handshakes and the women with air kisses. His two bodyguards—for clearly that was what they were—remained a discreet step behind and to either side of him.

  “His muscle,” McMurphy confirmed. “Thug one and thug two are brothers, twins. Kin and Kyo Sanu.”

  Bannon gave them a second look. They were light on their feet. Their eyes darted back and forth, quickly scanning the room for threats. He noticed both were missing a section of their left pinkies.

  “What’s with the missing fingers?” Bannon asked.

  “I read about that once,” Tara said, keeping her voice low. “It’s some kind of old Yakuza ritual called yubitsume. A form of punishment in which one would cut off the tip of their finger and offer it to the crime boss as an apology for some committed transgression. For each subsequent wrongdoing, another section would be lobbed off. Barbaric. I don’t want to think about what they did when they ran out of fingers to cut off.”

  “Which one’s which?” Bannon asked.

  McMurphy frowned. “Beats me. Doesn’t matter. They’re both obsessed with martial arts, any and all forms. From people I’ve talked to they spend all their time studying it and practicing it. I’ve heard they’re favorites are Krav Maga and Ninjutsu.”

  “Ninjas?” Bannon said. “Really?”

  McMurphy shrugged. “So I’m told. Rumor has it they trained at some modern day togakureryu.”

  “A what?” Bannon asked.

  “A ninja school,” Tara offered.

  “Seriously?”

  McMurphy nodded. “All I’m saying is they’re deadly. If things go sideways, don’t underestimate them.”

  “It’s like he’s royalty,” Tara said of Kwon. “Don’t they know what he’s done? The crimes he’s committed?” She did little to disguise the contempt in her voice.

  “There’s two dynamics at play here,” McMurphy said. “Bad boy syndrome. Guys wanna be friends with ’em. Women wanna date ’em.”

  “Ugh,” Tara said. “And the other reason they’re fawning over him?”

  “One of Kwon’s most profitable operation is his loansharking business. Half the people in this room owe him a hell of a lot of money, and going deeper in debt every day because of the exorbitant vig he charges. A lot of them see this as a way to win their way out of debt.”

  “And how often does that work out for them?” She tossed back the last of her drink. “Idiots.”

  “You up for this?” Bannon asked.

  “Yes,” Tara said. “But I’m not going to like it.”

  “Understood,” Bannon said. “A man’s life is at stake, and maybe many more.”

  “I get it, Brice” she said. “You don’t need to sell it again.”

  Kwon, having reached the end of the impromptu procession, stopped in front of McMurphy. He spread his arms wide and smiled. “John McMurphy. It makes me so happy you’ve accepted my invitation and joined tonight’s cruise. It has been too long.”

  Kwon shook McMurphy’s hand and patted it warmly.

  Bannon noticed his smile never reached his cold eyes.

  “My ego needed to heal after the shellacking I took the last time.”

  “Perhaps your luck will be better this evening,” Kwon said, smiling.

  “I have a good feeling it will,” McMurphy said. “Allow me to introduce my friends. Toi Kwon, this is Brice Bannon and his companion Tara Sardana.”

  The yakuza leader gripped Bannon’s hand. They exchanged a good firm handshake. Kwon turned to Tara, who smiled brightly as he took her hand in his. He clasped her forearm as they shook hands.

  “A pleasure to meet you.” Tara bowed slightly.

  Kwon bowed in return. “The honor is mine, I assure you.”

  He stared at Tara and held her hand for a time longer than was necessary or proper. Tara let his hand linger on hers before she pulled away. He flashed her an endearing smile.

  Kwon pointed at McMurphy. “How are you two acquainted with this scoundrel here?”

  “Brice is a business associate of my father,” McMurphy said. “He handles…matters for him in Florida.”

  “Miami, primarily,” Bannon said.

  “I see. I must apologize for the chilly New England weather then. It’s not nearly as agreeable as Florida’s climate at this time of year.”

  “Perhaps not, but it is refreshing,” Bannon said. “The fall colors. The nip in the air. It’s a welcome change to the monotony of year-round summer.”

  Tara said, “It’s just cold.”

  Bannon put an arm around her shoulders and pulled her towards him. She took a step away. “I need another drink.” She left them and headed to th
e bar.

  Bannon, feigning embarrassment, smiled at Kwon. “She does hate the cold weather.” He looked around the room. The guests, having seen Kwon attention monopolized, had begun to drift away. “This is some boat of yours.”

  Kwon, ignored him, his attention still on Tara as she stormed off. Absently, he said, “So, John, will it be blackjack again tonight?”

  “They say, stick with what you know.”

  “Excellent advice.” Kwon turned back. “And you, Mr. Bannon. What is your game of choice?”

  “I’ve recently been introduced to Oicho-kabu.”

  “Have you?” Kwon asked, his interest piqued. “It so happens we have two Oicho-kabu tables operating tonight.”

  “So I’ve been told,” Bannon said. “It’s actually the reason I insisted John bring us aboard.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Kwon informed Bannon the Oicho-kabu tables were on the main deck in the forward stateroom, as McMurphy had predicted. The Yakuza leader wished Bannon good luck and even teased that he might join the table himself later in the evening.

  Bannon smiled. I’m counting on it.

  Kwon moved on, engaging with other guests anxious for his time. His bodyguards Kin and Kyo followed dutifully in his wake. Their dark eyes never stopped moving.

  Tara returned to them with a drink in hand. She sipped it through the tiny red stir straw.

  Waiting until Kwon was out of earshot, Bannon said, “We need to get him at that game.”

  “You start running the table, he’ll see it as a personal affront,” McMurphy assured him. “He won’t be able to resist stepping in to protect the house. He’ll see it as his duty.”

  “How do you know so much about him?” Tara asked. “About organized crime here?”

  “We better get started,” Bannon said.

  Kwon tapped a fork against his glass, gathering everyone’s attention. He made a long-winded welcome speech, concluding with a warning cautioning everyone to pace themselves for a long night ahead. The Bakuto would not be returning to Boston until dawn the next morning. With a smile he cautioned. Around him, dealers came into the room and uncovered the blackjack tables. Cards chutes, chip trays, and steel drop safes were put into place. To a polite applause, Kwon announced the gaming rooms were open. He wished everyone good luck with a bow.