Falling From the Floating World

by Nick Hurst

  ‘We?’

  I suppose it was obvious, but my suspicions had been swinging wildly for a month. Once I knew Takata didn’t want me dead I’d somehow separated him from everything else.

  ‘You look surprised?’ he said. ‘You knew we were involved. We were employed to minimise protests and scandals. From that point on, our interests were aligned to Onishi’s and the plant’s.’

  ‘And Tomoe’s father?’

  ‘We met – Onishi, he and I. He gave us the report and it – the original and a copy – was burnt. I think your friend Sakura may have told you this already?’

  I ignored the jibe.

  ‘And then?’

  ‘And then his house and office were searched for the other copies we knew he’d withheld. When nothing was found a further meeting was convened. In the course of this, he was persuaded to reveal another copy hidden in a security box.’

  I wondered at the ‘persuasion’ required to make a man give up the fruits of over ten years’ planned revenge.

  ‘While this was going on a visit was paid to his lawyers. They decided it would be appropriate to return the copy he had placed in their care for release in the event of his premature death. At this point it appeared that all copies had been retrieved and destroyed. It was around then Chōshi decided to take his life.’

  A very assisted suicide.

  ‘So why Tomoe? If all the evidence had been destroyed, it wouldn’t have mattered what she found out – she’d never have been able to prove a thing.’

  ‘People tend to become sensitive when matters are this serious. Even if there isn’t proof, they don’t appreciate someone digging about.’

  ‘Does that include you?’

  He ignored the question.

  ‘But the reason Onishi set the Ginzo-kai after her was because she did have proof.’

  ‘What do you mean? I thought you said all the files were destroyed?’

  ‘We thought they were. But young Chōshi-san started asking questions that suggested she had knowledge of their content. That strongly implied they were not. That put Onishi in a panic and he’s not the kind of man you want to have panicking over you.’

  Before I could point out he was doing exactly that, Takata wrapped things up.

  ‘You’re aware of how tragically events unfolded from there.’

  He actually looked quite sad as he said it but something wasn’t right.

  ‘But you were on his side. And Tomoe came to see you. It seems very convenient that the Ginzo-kai started acting for Onishi at that point instead of you.’

  ‘I see I still don’t have your confidence. It’s not unwise to view our world with an element of distrust – in fact it’s a trait that should stand you in good stead. Chōshi-san was similarly doubtful but for her it had less positive results.’

  The smile had faded from his lips.

  ‘We spoke a second time, a few weeks after the first. By then certain things had changed. I tried to convince her that both she and the report would be safer if it were left in my care. But in the circumstances it was difficult to convince her of my sincerity. She declined to pass it to me and I didn’t get the opportunity to persuade her again.’

  ‘You’d destroyed all the other copies and killed her father. I’m not convinced you’d have won her over however many meetings you had.’

  ‘The police reports are quite clear – Chōshi took his own life. Even if that weren’t the case, his actions prior to his death amounted to the same thing. When you cross from normal life into the world of the yakuza, you choose to live and die by our rules.’

  I wondered how that worked for people forced into it.

  ‘Your girlfriend understood that. I think you’re aware of it too.’

  Clearly there were no dispensations.

  ‘As for the other reports, they were destroyed to prevent them coming out in a manner that would have done us harm. At the time it was expedient – relationships that are no longer cordial were still functioning then. But when another copy became available – believe me, with things as they’d become I would have ensured it didn’t come to any harm.’

  ‘Why? Surely you needed them all destroyed? You said it yourself – your interests were aligned with theirs.’

  ‘Our interests were aligned but things change. Life leads us down unexpected paths.’

  He studied me a moment, trying to decide whether to break his information on a need-to-know rule. I was suddenly unsure I still wanted to know more. I’d half killed myself in search of answers but all they had brought me was pain. I was worried what else I might hear. What other ways my memories of Tomoe could be spoiled.

  The thought of her pulled me together. Her death couldn’t be left unavenged.

  ‘Onishi and I go back a long way,’ Takata started, having apparently decided to break his cardinal rule. ‘We met when he was a young, up-and-coming politician and I was a junior in the yakuza ranks. We found we worked well together. I provided assistance in turning out his vote; he opened doors for me in return. I then fed him a cut from the opportunities these created and so it went on. A virtuous circle, or perhaps a profitable one if the choice of words doesn’t seem apt.

  ‘But as we made our way up our poles we inevitably saw one another less. Open socialising between figures in our arenas is frowned upon and would have been detrimental to us both. As the literal distance widened we could have drifted metaphorically too. But we were fortunate to have Kōda-san and through him our relationship remained strong.

  ‘Unfortunately he passed away and things changed. Men who float effortlessly between the over- and underworlds are rare. Perhaps a worthy successor will emerge soon but we lacked for one then. Rather than agreeing to a temporary alternative, Onishi decided it was a role he could absorb. That was decades of power corrupting good sense. It made him forget we live in a world of specialities, that the kuromaku is a position only men born to it can fill.

  ‘I tried to make the point but Onishi suspected me of manipulation. As time went on, he became more twisted by power-lust. He turned his back on decades of cooperation and started playing us off against the Ginzo-kai.

  ‘It came to a head in a meeting between us, not long after I first met Chōshi-san – I think you may have heard about it already. Now he’s trying to undermine me and have me deposed. That would strengthen his position with the Ginzo-kai and give him far greater influence over us.’

  ‘How can he undermine you? Like you said, you operate in different worlds.’

  ‘We work in different realms in the same world,’ he corrected.

  ‘The floating world?’

  ‘We operate in its shadows. Onishi is the storm cloud that blocks out the sun.’

  His face darkened as though to make the point.

  ‘As you can attest, we hold influence with sections of the police but there others who give their allegiance to the Ginzo-kai or to him. We started facing problems from them. At the same time, the Ginzo-kai became increasingly aggressive and started to expand into our territory. On top of that a whispering campaign about me was initiated.’

  I had an idea what that was about but I felt awkward acknowledging it and gave him a quizzical look.

  ‘We sometimes work with the police. We’ll help them bust us for something insignificant and perhaps have someone do a bit of time. It gives them face and keeps the public off their backs – the other yakuza do the same. But recently there have been acknowledgements of my support where I haven’t helped, in matters that have been detrimental to the yakuza. I don’t need to tell you that the future for an informer isn’t very bright.’

  He said the last part in his usual easy manner, as though he was discussing a recently developed flaw in his golf swing.

  ‘You don’t seem very worried,’ I said. ‘Isn’t this a major problem for you?’

  ‘I suppose so, but I’ve been in the business a long time – I don’t intend to be so easily removed. It’s been more frustrating than anything. As I mentio
ned previously, I was hoping to focus on more constructive aims.’

  His mind seemed to wander to his programme for generational change. I was more concerned about what was happening now.

  ‘What are you going to do?’

  ‘They’re panicking and that will lead to opportunities. What’s more important are your next steps.’

  ‘I don’t know what they are,’ I said, my anxiety building. ‘I appreciate your faith, but I’m not sure you’re on the right path if you’re expecting the answers from me.’

  ‘Rest up and get your head back together – the answers will come. You’ve done all right so far.’

  ‘That was different.’

  ‘It was the same. One thing though – you can’t go back to your place and you shouldn’t go to Chōshi-san’s. They’ll be watching them both.’

  ‘Weren’t they before?’

  ‘We made sure our presence was felt. That made them more circumspect, along with the rumours you were MI6.’

  It didn’t take much guessing as to their source.

  ‘The gloves are off now though. You’ll need to go to a safe house.’

  It no longer seemed so bad. I thought of somewhere in the countryside or one of Tokyo’s nicer spots.

  ‘We’ve got a place you can go to in Ikebukuro.’

  ‘Ikebukuro?’

  Ikebukuro was a few stops north of Shinjuku. It was as dirty and noisy and just as much hassle but it lacked the compensatory buzz. It also didn’t seem particularly safe.

  ‘Aren’t there a lot of yakuza in Ikebukuro?’

  ‘There are. And not a single one will have a clue who you are. Forgive my bluntness – I recognise your strong, distinct features,’ he said gallantly. ‘However, many in our industry have had little to no interaction with Europeans. To them you all look quite the same. It will be less dangerous for you to be mixed in with other foreigners than secreted away somewhere you’d stick out like a sore thumb.’

  It made sense but I could think of preferable alternatives nonetheless.

  ‘In any case, every time I’ve told you to rest you’ve ended up criss-crossing the city like a bloodhound that’s picked up a scent. I think it’s better to leave you the option to act on your instincts. If we stick you up a mountain there’s not going to be much you can do.’

  He called out.

  ‘Matsumoto.’

  The name rang a bell. The door opened and I recognised my greeter from earlier, now less distinguishable for having cropped his hair from the luxuriant style Kurotaki had abused.

  ‘Thank you, Clarence-san – I look forward to seeing you again soon.’

  I realised I was being sent on my way. I got to my feet.

  ‘Of course,’ I bowed. ‘I hope I’ll be able to help.’

  With that I was shuffled out of the room and the temple. Despite the odds, free to die another day.

  SEVEN

  It was hardly surprising it wasn’t a journey of non-stop chatter. Our only previous conversation had involved him threatening to beat me into contortions that would terrify a gymnast, and his general demeanour was on a par with Kurotaki’s. This time the silence was welcome. I had a lot to take in.

  I wanted to think about Tomoe. I suppose I wanted to start the grieving process, to try to come to terms with the horror of her death. But I couldn’t give myself over to her because of everything that had just been thrown at me. Some of it possibly by her.

  If I was to believe Takata, all the complex strands led to a simple end: the scheming of a corrupt politician and a brutal yakuza gang. Getting retribution was going to be far less straightforward.

  I sat back to reflect on what it would involve. I’d be going after whoever forced Tomoe into the water business and whoever drove her to her death. That meant taking on Yabu, Tokyo boss of the Ginzo-kai and guilty on both counts. And Onishi, the puppet master choreographing events from above.

  They were two men I should never have known about but for their appearances on TV and in the press. Two men who certainly shouldn’t have been aware of me. Yet somehow I’d arrived in a situation where I was to try to take them down while they did their best to kill me. Considering they were two of the most powerful men in Japan, I had to think their chances of success were far better than mine.

  I finally had the answers I’d been seeking. Except for one. The one that had been nagging at me from the start. The one that had nearly killed me as I sought it.

  What was I going to do?

  I fell asleep almost before my head hit the pillow in my sparsely furnished new home. It was getting dark when I woke. I stretched and my bumps, bruises and amputations reintroduced themselves in a sharp shock of pain. Admitting defeat in a brief attempt to get up I rolled over and realised there was one spot of discomfort that had held itself back. A sore piece of skin the size of a horimono courtesan that Horitoku had been filling in.

  And for some reason it made up my mind. As outlandish as it was I decided to go with Takata’s suggestion. I’d trust Tomoe to provide my answers. I’d put myself in her hands.

  It seemed so simple. Sit back, relax and wait for the solution to be placed before me. My plan of action decided, I even managed to drag myself the few feet to the sofa to watch an evening film. When it finished I tumbled back into bed and slept again, this time for the night.

  I woke the next morning still far from comfortable but everything seemed to hurt just a little bit less. It wasn’t such an effort to get out of bed and by the time I’d showered I was close to feeling refreshed. The problem with my plan struck me soon after that.

  Once you’re done sleeping, there’s very little you can do in a twenty-square-metre flat. I switched on the TV to see a presenter shouting, his key phrases flashing in neon on the screen. I’d been beaten around the head enough recently – I didn’t want to inflict equivalent punishment on my sense of sound and sight. I flicked through another couple of channels then turned to my phone for distraction before I gave up on that.

  I tried the kitchenette, walking the three strides from the fold-up sofa to a radio on top of the fridge. I bobbed my head to a song briefly but bored of the one that came after that.

  I looked around for something else to distract me but I’d exhausted all the possibilities the flat had. I cursed it, without apparent effect, and gave up.

  Despite Takata’s reasoning I felt far from safe as I stepped into the street. I scanned it both ways but there were only a couple of lookalike salarymen and a few students milling around. I looked harder, wondering where the Takata-gumi man was. I’d been left an emergency number and told there would be someone nearby at all times. I couldn’t see any likely candidates but I still had the uncomfortable sensation of being watched.

  I headed down the road and then wandered into side streets. Signs for girly bars and massage parlours immediately caught my eye – they were exactly the kind of places to attract yakuza for work or play. The thought sent a shiver down my spine. The lack of stimulus in the flat seemed to have been over-compensated. A happy medium might be better sought elsewhere.

  I got off the train at Harajuku and, unusually, felt pleased to have arrived. It was hard to imagine anyone but schoolgirls, shoppers or tourists wanting to get caught in the crush. It certainly wasn’t the kind of place to top a yakuza’s go-to list.

  I let myself be washed by the tide of people down Omotesandō Dōri but soon fought my way off to the left. I was rewarded with instant calm. Twenty metres down the small side road and I was where I wanted to be: The Ōta Memorial Museum of Art.

  It was Tomoe who’d recommended it, a small museum housing one of Japan’s biggest collections of ukiyo-e. It was one of her favourite places and as such seemed a prime candidate for a venue if she’d had a message for me she wished to hide.

  They changed their exhibitions on a monthly basis and I stopped outside to see what was on.

  ‘Flowers of the Floating World – The Courtesans of Yoshiwara’.

  This was it. It was to
o much to be coincidence. Tomoe’s message had to be inside.

  I came out an hour later soothed by the museum’s understatement, made melancholy by Utamaro’s languid charm – and just as ignorant of what to do next. For despite the apparent sleight of hand by the gods there was nothing from Tomoe. I had no better idea of how she wanted me to take her revenge.

  I sat on a step outside and shut my eyes. Perhaps I had received some kind of clarification, but from my unconscious instead of the Divine. Because it was suddenly obvious. It was time I returned to reality and stopped looking for answers in dreams and messages from the dead. I’d allowed Takata to overwhelm me. I’d let him project his desires onto Tomoe and through her onto me.

  Now was the time for it to end. I’d thought of her as a force of nature but it hadn’t prevented her from being killed. That alone should have made me see sense. However much she’d seemed to encapsulate life, she’d been as mortal as the rest of us. Instead of trying to lift her above the fact, it was time to let her rest.

  Despite it leaving me at a dead end, the moment of clarity brought a kind of peace. That night sleep came hard and fast. I woke as though from a coma ten hours after I’d lain down. But even if I hadn’t been aware of it, my brain must have been active while I slept. Because the well-reasoned closure I’d gone to bed with had been discarded with the previous day.

  It didn’t make sense. This implacable drive was more like Tomoe. But as much as I tried I couldn’t rediscover the sense of the evening before. However sound my rationalisation, an internal imposter was leading me another way. Whatever had lodged itself in me was relentless in urging me on.