NEVER SAY DIE: Mark Cole Takes On the Yakuza in His Most Thrilling Adventure Yet!

by J. T. Brannan

  Cole was glad things were back on track, but he suddenly realized that he could gain something from the situation, and punish Mitsuya for his greed, use his own ploy against him.

  ‘I appreciate that greatly, Mitsuya-sama. Many thanks, really.’ He wiped his brow again, the nervous lawyer, in over his head. ‘And yet I still feel terrible about the whole thing. Brooke Kayne had nothing to do with Aryan Ultra, of course, or what happened to your daughter; but as an American, I find what happened to her despicable in the extreme and would welcome the opportunity to apologize to her in person. It may help smooth things over, yes?’ Cole nodded his head, as if his mind had just been made up on the issue. ‘Yes, I will issue a formal apology on the behalf of the American gangs so that we can move on properly.’

  Mitsuya waved a hand in front of him, shaking his head. ‘No, Mr. Jowett, no, that is really unnecessary. Really. She is my adoptive daughter only, not my true flesh and blood. A personal apology is not needed, I assure you. I will pass on what you have said though, I will make sure she gets the message.’

  You son of a bitch, thought Cole. So now she’s only your adoptive daughter?

  Cole could see what she was to Mitsuya – a pawn in a game, to be used as he saw fit. Despite himself, Cole wanted to launch himself across the limousine and rip the man’s eyes out of their sockets.

  But instead he held it in and pushed the issue further, knowing how it would have to end if Mitsuya followed normal Japanese etiquette.

  ‘Please,’ Cole said with practiced earnestness, ‘you seemed so upset earlier, it is the least I can do, really. You must let me see her in person and apologize, I would hate this affair to tarnish our future relationship. Please accept my offer, I insist.’

  Mitsuya stared long and hard at Cole, his bluff called. How would he react? Cole had no idea, but did know it was his best chance of getting to see Michiko. He waited in anticipation, and this time the nerves were genuine.

  Eventually Mitsuya nodded his head, the gesture angry and irritated, yet resigned to the situation nevertheless. ‘Very well,’ he said, affecting a smile which conveyed no warmth whatsoever. ‘I appreciate your kind gesture.’

  Mitsuya turned to the driver behind him and barked orders in Japanese, and the vehicle immediately started to slow before making a sharp turn.

  Mitsuya turned back to Cole, regarding him coolly. ‘As luck would have it, Michiko works at another club I own. We will meet her there.’

  Cole nodded his thanks, delighted.

  He was going to see her.

  He was going to see Michiko.

  What he would do then, however, he had no idea at all.

  They had been heading south, across the Sumida River toward the Chuo ward and its infamous red-light Ginza district, but had altered course to drive back north toward the Taito ward which was directly across the river from the Ryogoku Kokugikan where they had just come from.

  There had been little talk in the car since Cole’s obligation had been accepted, and he had used the opportunity to track their progress, memorizing their route in case he should need to use it again.

  With darkness slowly falling, they entered the Taito area, which housed Ueno Park – a place famed more for its indigent population than for its beauty. And Cole could see that the rest of the area was much the same, a stark contrast to the relative luxury Cole had seen across the river.

  Taito was obviously a low rent place, and Cole thought back to what he had read about the area during his research. But he soon found he didn’t need to – Mitsuya had found his voice again, and began to play the part of tour guide.

  ‘Not quite so impressive as other parts of Tokyo, eh?’ he asked with some amusement. ‘Our own offices used to be here, believe it or not. A lot cheaper than Marunouchi, I can tell you that. But times change, and we managed to move on and upwards. Time hasn’t changed this area though,’ he said with a mixture of regret and resignation, but also a hint of superiority.

  Cole could see what he meant; the neighborhood was a glut of low-rise housing and cheap eateries, wrapped up in concrete and despair. He could see homeless men and women everywhere, businesses boarded up, other citizens moving carefully through the urban decay almost as if it might infect them if they lowered their guard for a second. It wasn’t the Tokyo that they showed in the glossy brochures.

  ‘San’ya,’ Mitsuya said. ‘At least that’s what this area used to be called, it’s been broken up into smaller neighborhoods now but it’s still the same to me. A lot of day laborers live here, lots of cheap housing. I used to live here myself, a long time ago.’ He shrugged, not sure whether to be melancholy or joyous. ‘It dates back to the Edo period, the place was designated for lower caste workers – tanners, butchers, leather workers, slaughterers. The burakumin. A perfect place for a ninkyo dantai group like the Omoto-gumi to get started, eh? The workforce was already here, ready and willing.’

  The limousine had slowed, cruising the quiet, darkening streets, and Cole felt an air of menace surrounding him, encroaching on him.

  ‘So what sort of place are we going to?’ Cole asked.

  ‘Oh,’ said Mitsuya with a warm smile, ‘you will like it a lot. It’s a special place of ours, off the beaten path, a secret club. We have gambling there, sometimes we arrange animal fights – you know, cocks, dogs, you name it. Big business.’ His smile widened. ‘And then there are the girls, of course.’

  The convoy of limousines rounded a corner into a narrow, unlit alleyway, and began to roll to a stop.

  The bodyguard got out of the front and moved to the passenger door, opening it for Cole and Mitsuya.

  Cole made a move to get up, but Mitsuya raised a hand to stop him. ‘Remember,’ he said, ‘this place is off the books. Only our elite clientele knows it’s here, competition just to get through the door is fierce. We have movie stars here, politicians, singers, you name it. The top of the top. That’s why it’s here, out of the prying eyes of the police or the media. Some of the homeless people around here actually work for us, keep an eye out for anyone that shouldn’t be here. Nobody knows this club’s here that we don’t want to know, and I intend it to stay that way, you understand?’

  Cole nodded his head, pretending to be impressed. ‘The girls?’ he asked, the excitement of Hank Jowett the sleazy lawyer masking his deep feelings of unease about Michiko’s work here. Mitsuya had denied that Michiko was a working girl, but had he just been saying those things to gain concessions on the deal? She was a beautiful girl, and Mitsuya would certainly welcome the money she could bring in to a place like this.

  Mitsuya smiled his shark-like smile. ‘They are the very best,’ he said. ‘And here, they will serve your every need. There are no limits here.’

  And with that he stepped out of the limousine and strode toward the narrow black door being held open for him, light spilling out from within.

  Cole’s heart had dropped at Mitsuya’s words, his worst fears realized. He had seen things in his life that the average person would never believe, but he found it hard to accept that Michiko worked in a place like this. She was his daughter.

  The thought of what Michiko had been forced to endure – what she might be enduring right now – steeled the resolve in Cole’s heart and mind.

  He would get her out of this hellhole, or he would die trying.

  PART TWO

  1

  The interior of the club was decidedly more impressive than the drab, colorless exterior, Cole soon discovered; it was immaculately decorated and furnished, a high-end temple to Bacchanalian delights.

  They had been welcomed inside by too unlikely doormen – evidently sumo rikishi from the nearby stables, huge men who dwarfed the narrow entrance. Cole knew from the thin cotton yukata robes and the wooden geta sandals they wore that they were from the lower ranks of the wrestling hierarchy; Asada had informed him that you could tell which rank a rikishi belonged to by the clothes they were allowed to wear in public. Wrestlers of the jonidan and below could
only wear the yukata, even in winter. Harsh perhaps, but Cole was sure that such huge men wouldn’t feel the cold like a normal person would. And at least the thin robe wasn’t able to conceal a weapon. Not that they would need one, Cole thought again; their whole body was a weapon.

  Once inside, Cole noted that – even at this early hour – there were plenty of customers, each of whom looked to be of the sort that would have no problem affording the terrifyingly high prices. From the dimly-lit, glass and chrome lounge area to the wide, well-stocked bar, the club – which was so secret it didn’t even have a name – was certainly impressive.

  The place was labyrinthine, and as the well-dressed manager escorted them through the building, Cole saw that there was a network of interconnecting bars and lounges, with private rooms leading off from them. Cole also noted stairs – some open, some private and guarded – dotting the club, leading to who knew where.

  And all through the club – gliding through on high heels, or else tending to the guests at their tables – were a string of beautiful hostesses, each one more lovely than the next. They poured sake for their clients at private tables, laughing at the men’s jokes, hands patting their legs, eyelashes fluttering flirtatiously. And every once in a while, a girl would take a customer by the hand and lead them to a set of stairs.

  Cole had no illusions about the sort of place this was, and Mitsuya was pleased to confirm it only moments later, when they were finally seated at a private corner table with a view of the rotating stage upon which two naked girls danced and turned, advertising their wares for the hungry customers. Asada Kohei sat with them, alongside two other black-suited men, grim and silent. Both bodyguards had bulges under the armpits, denoting the presence of handguns.

  Cole had also seen a smattering of other such hoods around the place, dark suits covering hardened muscle and deadly weapons.

  ‘The bedrooms upstairs are fairly luxurious,’ Mitsuya said as they sat, ‘although we keep some others which are dirty and quite horrid – you never quite know what some people prefer, and we try and cater for all tastes here. Downstairs we have basements where other . . . desires can be satisfied. And I’m not just talking regular bondage, but sometimes some really intricate role plays. Some of our guests like to pretend they’ve killed a girl, we have fake policemen raiding the place, find the client covered in fake blood, you know . . . real crazy shit.’ He smiled, and Cole’s stomach turned at the thought of what went on here.

  ‘I bet you can charge a lot for services like that,’ he said, still playing the greedy lawyer.

  ‘Oh yes,’ Mitsuya said, accepting a glass of champagne from the manager and offering one to Cole. ‘Depending on the scenario, we can charge over three million yen per hour, that’s about thirty thousand dollars. And,’ he said as he held up his champagne flute in a toast, ‘the great thing is, they keep coming back.’

  Cole clinked glasses with the man, pretending to be impressed. ‘I’ll drink to that,’ he said.

  ‘The gambling occurs in various locations throughout the club, some open, some more private, a variety of different games, all for big stakes, we have some really high rollers here, the same ones who fly off to Vegas and drop millions on a single game. The animal fights go on downstairs in the basement levels too, out of the way of the rest of the club. Some people love it, some people do not, you know how it is. We must respect every client’s wishes, after all.’

  ‘Of course,’ Cole said, sipping the champagne, careful not to drink too much. He wasn’t used to it, and didn’t want to compromise his performance if he had to get physical at some stage during the night. He looked around the club, hoping he wouldn’t see Michiko come naked out onto the stage, then turned back to Mitsuya. ‘Did you say that Michiko works here?’

  Mitsuya nodded his head. ‘All in good time, my friend,’ he said. ‘First, let us drink and discuss business a little, hmm? Then you can offer your apology to the girl and we can ‘seal the deal’, as you Americans like to say, yes?’

  ‘Yes,’ Cole said, hoping that business could be cleared up quickly, ‘that sounds like a good idea.’

  He held up his glass and they toasted again, Cole’s mind focused only on finding Michiko and getting her the hell out of there.

  An hour passed, and the details of the deal were ironed out – costs per girl, numbers, who would bear the costs of bribing officials and arranging documents, the exact route through Mexico and beyond, what contacts would be required on the Japanese side, compensation arrangements for ‘late or damaged goods’, and a scheme of bonuses if things continued to work out.

  All told, it was a good deal and – if it actually existed – would have netted Brooke Kayne and the Aryan Brotherhood an excellent annual income. Cole had been forced into concessions on price due to the nature of Michiko’s treatment in America, but he was still surprised by what Mitsuya was prepared to pay; Caucasian girls must really be a money-maker in Japan, and he’d noted that the few western girls in this club had been the first to be snatched up by eager customers. He supposed it was a taste for the exotic, the same reason many western men traveled to Asia, only in reverse.

  They were on their third bottle of Cristal, Cole careful to let Mitsuya drink the lion’s share, and with the deal all but done, Cole again approached the subject of Michiko.

  ‘So,’ he said, ‘I think that about settles it then. All that’s needed now is for me to offer my apologies to your daughter, and we can conclude our business and I can start relaxing.’ He offered Mitsuya a smile to intimate that his relaxation would involve full use of the club’s facilities, a part of the sleazy lawyer’s character that he was sure Mitsuya would expect.

  ‘Of course,’ Mitsuya said, obviously happy with the deal, ‘of course.’

  Cole didn’t know how the manager knew he was needed, but some sort of professional sixth sense brought the man immediately over to them. Mitsuya barked at him in Japanese, and the manager scurried quickly away.

  ‘She will be with us soon,’ Mitsuya assured him. ‘But she needs her sleep, so I do not wish for her to be here for long. Offer your apologies, see that she accepts them, and then let her be on her way. You understand?’

  ‘Yes,’ Cole said, noting the edge in Mitsuya’s voice, the steel in his eyes. ‘Yes, of course. I won’t keep her a minute longer than necessary.’

  ‘Good,’ Mitsuya said, offering Cole another glass of champagne before something caught his eye. ‘Ah, here she is now.’

  Cole turned in his seat, seeing first the returning manager and then the girl following behind him; young, uneasy, wary like an animal which had been caged too long and was unused to being out in the open.

  Michiko.

  His daughter.

  For a split second, Cole could see the confusion on her face; the hope, the fear, the faith, the despair. He knew she would be wondering why he was there, her mind racing. What was he doing in the club? Why was he drinking with Mitsuya? What would it mean?

  The look was gone as soon as it appeared, the girl covering it with an effective mask; and it was only then that Cole realized she was walking slightly stooped, as if she had been recently injured. Was she still suffering from the gunshot wound? He felt the guilt flooding through him, then cut it off before it interfered with what he had to do.

  His mind flashed for a moment on Nakamura, the man’s hopes for Cole’s investigation. He wanted Michiko, hoped she could be used against the Omoto-gumi. Would Cole live up to his side of the bargain, if he managed to get her out of here? Seeing her now, his will to protect her stronger than any feeling he had experienced in years, since – yes, he could admit it now – since he had lost his other family, his wife, his son, his daughter, to the callous thugs hired by Charles Hansard. He had come so close to saving them, but had ultimately failed. He had avenged their deaths time and time again, but it hadn’t brought them back, hadn’t filled the void that their deaths had left within him.

  He could see now why he had come to Japan; it was for
redemption. He had failed his family before, and was determined not to do so now. If he could save Michiko, he could in part atone for his earlier failure, one which still ate away at him inside, day after day.

  He wouldn’t fail again, he promised himself that.

  He stood, bowing to Michiko politely. ‘Michiko-chan,’ he said with formal courtesy as his daughter returned the bow, ‘my name is Hank Jowett, I am legal counsel for Brooke Kayne, a man known to someone you were unfortunate enough to meet recently, Clive Haines.’ He paused to check her reaction, but there was none. ‘I am sorry, you seem to be injured still, would you like a seat?’ Cole gestured for her to sit, and before Mitsuya could protest, she glided past him and sat down on the leather couch.

  ‘Are you still suffering from what happened in Tucson?’ Cole asked with concern.

  There was a pause, and Cole noted that her eyes flicked toward Mitsuya momentarily before she answered. ‘Yes,’ she answered simply, but Cole read between the lines; whatever her prior injuries, they had been recently worsened by the attentions of her adoptive father. The desire to kill Mitsuya worsened in Cole’s gut.

  Cole shook his head in sorrow. ‘I am truly sorry,’ he said, looking her in the eye, her gaze meeting his directly. ‘I am sorry for what happened there.’ And it was true too – he wasn’t just sorry about her treatment at the hands of those Aryan thugs, although that was a large part of it; he was also terribly sorry that he had shot her, even in self-defense.

  ‘I asked to see you so that I could formally apologize on behalf of the American people for your treatment in our country. Mr. Kayne had no direct business dealings with the AU, but we feel a mutual responsibility toward you and would like to express our honest and sincere regrets for what happened to you in the United States. The Omoto-gumi and Mr. Kayne’s organization are about to enter into a business deal with one another, and we do not want there to be any bad blood. I hope you will accept our apologies.’