Shadows of Tokyo

by Matthew Legare

  Lieutenant Nakajima obeyed and then dropped to his knees. “Zensei, what happened?”

  The sword rattled in Ryusaki-sensei’s hands. “That bastard Aizawa….he found me! Nakajima-san, we have been betrayed! Not only by General Sakamoto but within the Kusanagi Society!”

  Nakajima was taken aback.

  “Zensei…do you mean we have a spy in our group?”

  “How else could that miserable detective have found out where I lived?” Ryusaki-sensei snapped.

  The past failures replayed in Lieutenant Nakajima’s mind. Somehow, the Inspector had discovered Ryusaki-sensei’s whereabouts, despite bribing the koban police box in Asakusa.

  “Who is the spy, zensei?”

  Ryusaki-sensei shook his head. “I don’t know but you must help me uncover him.”

  Nakajima scanned through a list of suspects in his mind but only Reiko Watanabe’s face stood out.

  “Perhaps the Inspector is only obeying his duty, zensei.”

  Ryusaki-sensei scoffed. “His duty is to a corrupt government and he should die with it. We are at war now, Lieutenant…”

  Yes, it was war and Inspector Aizawa was a worthy adversary. So much so, that killing him seemed like a waste. If only he could be enlisted, they would have a valuable ally in their fight against evil. But first, proper punishment must be meted out to the traitor within their ranks.

  “Zensei, you must consider that the spy is much closer than you think.”

  Ryusaki-sensei’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

  “Who has known of our plot from the beginning?” Nakajima raised his pinky in the gesture for “mistress.”

  “Reiko wouldn’t betray me…” Ryusaki-sensei choked out.

  “Why not?” Nakajima demanded.

  Ryusaki-sensei averted his eyes. “She…she needs me.”

  “Does she? Perhaps Inspector Aizawa is paying her now,” Nakajima said.

  Ryusaki-sensei gave a pained gasp, before biting his lip. It was clear that he was solving the puzzle on his own, even if he didn’t want to look at the final picture.

  “You don’t understand, Lieutenant. We are bound together by the red string of love.”

  How sad. Flesh reduced even great men to foolish weaklings. Ah, how grateful he was to have remained pure.

  “Reiko Watanabe...Harutora…whatever she calls herself, is in love with money, zensei. She is a parasite feasting on your money.”

  Shame lowered Ryusaki-sensei’s head and shook his long, thin frame.

  “I must think things over. Kuroki-san, assemble my seven most loyal patriots. We’ll meet at the Dragonfly Tea House.”

  General Sakamoto’s headless and gutted corpse entered Nakajima’s mind.

  “Zensei, the Dragonfly might not be the best place to meet right now.”

  Ryusaki-sensei nodded his understanding. “Then we’ll meet at the Katsura Inn in Asakusa, two hours from now. And Nakajima-san…”

  “Yes, zensei?”

  “We must throw that barking dog off of our scent…and Superintendent Shimura will help us. Pay him a visit and make sure he understands that his assistance is required again.”

  “But zensei, where are you headed?”

  A mix of melancholy and fury bubbled behind Ryusaki-sensei’s glasses.

  “You’re right Lieutenant. Before we proceed, I must settle things with Reiko first.”

  Nakajima let his confusion show.

  “If Aizawa is there with her…,” he said, tapping sword with a stern face.

  “And if he’s not?”

  Ryusaki-sensei gave a conspiratorial look. “I have a plan to expose the traitor and deal with Aizawa once and for all…let me explain…”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  A dim light bulb flickered in the foyer, giving Reiko’s apartment building a dreamlike feel. After parting ways with Inspector Aizawa, she’d wandered Asakusa for nearly an hour, unsure of what she was looking for before finally returning home. Ascending the stairs, every shadow seemed to belong to sinister beings, aware of her treachery. This whole affair had given her newfound respect for spies. Years from now, future generations would learn of Reiko Watanabe, the Mata Hari of Asia. No, Reiko Watanabe, the poison woman was a more appropriate title.

  Opening her door, she sighed and fumbled for the light switch. Flicking it on, the entire room was illuminated, including Masaru, sword in hand, standing underneath the poster of Louise Brooks. Reiko released an involuntary scream as he rushed over and slid his hand tightly over her mouth.

  “Be quiet,” Masaru ordered in a whisper. “Were you followed?”

  Reiko shook her head and he removed his hand. Fatigue was carved into Masaru’s handsome face but his bloodshot eyes darted back and forth, alert and suspicious.

  “Not so loud,” he said. “The Police could be watching your apartment.”

  “What were you doing here?” she asked, lowering her voice.

  “Forgive me for lurking around like a thief in the night but I have reason to be cautious. My machiya was raided by Inspector Aizawa.”

  She feigned surprise. “Oh no! Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine.” His pink, puffy eyes narrowed. “Where were you?”

  “Just now?”

  “After you left my machiya. Where did you go?”

  Reiko searched for a convincing lie but the truth sounded more benign. “I went to see a picture. Sword of Justice. Remember when we first saw it together?”

  She offered a little smile, hoping to prey on any sentimentality he had left. Masaru set aside the katana, sank to his knees, and grasped her skirt.

  “Oh, Reiko…” He looked up at her with moist eyes and a pitiful, aching face. “Have you betrayed me?”

  “I would never…”

  The lie came easier than she had expected.

  “I knew you wouldn’t betray me. Because…because…” He gave a flustered but sincere smile. “Reiko Watanabe, I love you. Will you marry me?”

  Each word hit her like a fist and left her out of breath. Rarely did the Japanese confess their love for one another. Her parents certainly never did, nor did any of her past lovers. Even the proposal seemed un-Japanese. Most men asked women to marry them with the question, “Will you make me miso soup for the rest of my life?” Still, his words pierced her armor of cynicism. How nice it was to be a romantic idiot, even for just a moment.

  She caught her breath and said, “Yes, Masaru. Of course I’ll marry you…”

  He stood and wrapped his arms around her. It was shocking how much she actually missed this, like an invalid discovering her legs worked again. They were lovers again, transported back in time before everything was ruined. The other three million people disappeared and Tokyo became a city of two.

  He kissed her deeply before pulling her onto the bed. Hollywood had taught the Japanese how to kiss, which was almost unheard of in the past. Few men knew this art, but Masaru Ryusaki was an expert.

  “I…I love you, Masaru…”

  Did she really say that? It all seemed too staged. She looked around her apartment for cameras and lighting. But there was only Masaru Ryusaki, caressing her as if it were their first time. Within moments, he had disrobed and was working through her layers. Off came her leather gloves, cloche hat, coat, skirt, and stockings, tossed aside on the floor. She tore off her sweater and pulled him on top. They had done this dance a number of times, but this was the first in weeks that she’d felt something other than mechanical lust. Each passionate thrust sent waves of pleasure rippling throughout her body.

  Masaru collapsed beside her, ending this round with a deep kiss. It was moist and warm this time, but no less passionate. He reached his arm around and held her, running his long fingers across her delicate skin. Moments went by in silence until she couldn’t suppress a nagging question.

  “Why, Masaru? Why now?”

  Rolling over, he stared at the ceiling with a serene expression. “Tonight I experienced true terror. I saw myself in
prison, separated from you forever.”

  As if he couldn’t be any more charming. But she couldn’t pretend that she wasn’t flattered.

  “Does that mean you’ve given up politics again?”

  He turned to face her. His serenity evaporated, replaced by a grim fatalism.

  “Not yet,” Masaru said.

  “Why not?”

  “Reiko, I must fulfill my duty…to my men and the Emperor,” he said, stroking her cheek. “Only then will I be free to spend my life with you.”

  “Masaru, this can’t go on…”

  “I know. It will end soon. And then it will be you,” he leaned over and kissed her deeply, “and me, forever.”

  “I need a cigarette,” she said with a sigh. “And a bath.”

  “Later,” he said, hopping out of bed. “My men are waiting and I want you to come with me.”

  She sat up and gave a confused look. “Why?”

  “The supposed champion of the Kusanagi Society, General Sakamoto, has betrayed us. My men are confused, angry, and downtrodden. A geisha would lift their spirits.”

  She sighed. It was nice to have the old Masaru back, if only for a moment.

  CHAPTER FORTY

  Superintendent Shimura’s machiya was more spacious than most houses in Tokyo, made even larger by its near emptiness. Photographs on tables and dressers showed a young Joji Shimura in an Army uniform, Joji Shimura with his bride, Joji Shimura and his children, and even Joji Shimura with a fresh-faced Inspector Aizawa.

  “You have a beautiful family, Superintendent,” Lieutenant Nakajima said, accepting a steaming cup of green tea.

  Shimura, clad in a thick kimono, frowned and grunted. “The Great Earthquake took my wife and two daughters.”

  Nakajima gave a sympathetic nod and glanced over at the photograph of young Shimura in an old dark blue Army uniform, probably taken during the Russo-Japanese War. Ah, if only he could taste the glory of battle before…no. He needed to concentrate on why Ryusaki-sensei had sent him here.

  “Superintendent, I come bearing a request from our zensei…”

  “That’s why you’ve come calling at this hour? Couldn’t it have waited until morning?”

  “It’s a matter of urgency.”

  “Haven’t I already done everything requested of me?”

  “Yes and Ryusaki-zensei thanks you,” Nakajima said before taking a sip of the tea.

  “Then why haven’t I been appointed superintendent-general of the Metropolitan Police yet? Where is this coup d’état that Ryusaki-san promised?”

  “Our original plan has been…altered.”

  “Is that so?”

  Nakajima nodded. “Before any coup begins, we must know one thing…who is the informant that Inspector Aizawa has in the Kusanagi Society?”

  Shimura’s eyebrows raised. “I have no idea.”

  Nakajima took another sip of tea and tried to remain calm. “Are you sure? What about Reiko Watanabe?”

  “That moga?”

  “Moga, geisha…a traitor’s heart beats inside her no matter what outfit she wears.”

  “I don’t know any more than you do. The first I ever heard of her was when she and Ryusaki-san arrived at my office last night.”

  Nakajima gripped the teacup tighter. “Fine then. Ryusaki-zensei has decided to deal with Inspector Aizawa once and for all.”

  Shimura’s face clouded with worry. “What do you mean?”

  “Tonight, we want you to order Aizawa to somewhere remote…with no witnesses...”

  Shimura swallowed as his entire frame began to shake. “I didn’t agree to this…assassinating that villain Baron Onishi was one thing…but Aizawa?”

  Nakajima held up placating hands. “I don’t want him killed either. He’s an honorable man, simply doing his duty. But Ryusaki-zensei has decided he is too dangerous to be allowed to continue running around...”

  “Isn’t there some other way? Take him prisoner…without killing him…”

  “I would prefer that…but if he resists, we’ll have no other choice. Will you help us?”

  Shimura’s entire frame began to shake. Tears formed behind his glasses. “I believe in Masaru Ryusaki and the New Japan, Lieutenant…but Kenji Aizawa is like a little brother to me. He’s the only family I have left…and…he was my partner.” After a deep breath, Shimura steadied himself and with a face harder than granite said, “I cannot take part in this insidious plot.”

  Ah, such loyalty filled Nakajima with a burst of warmth.

  “Now if that’s all, Lieutenant,” Shimura snarled. “Please leave my house.”

  Nakajima took another sip of tea and contemplated what to do next. Neither he nor Ryusaki-sensei even considered that Superintendent Shimura would disobey an order. Although Nakajima admired the comradery between two former partners, Shimura was now a liability. He had proven to be a strong ally but would make an even more dangerous enemy. Without Shimura’s help, they would have to rely on Ryusaki-sensei’s contingency plan to eliminate Aizawa.

  “Kill him, Hajime-kun,” Chitose-oneesan whispered as her spindly form rose up from behind the Superintendent. The otherworldly presence had an almost hypnotic effect on Nakajima, prompting him to set the teacup aside and stand up. Shimura stood too and gave a farewell bow.

  Lieutenant Nakajima grabbed his saber handle and with one fluid motion, slashed the blade across Shimura’s upper torso. The Superintendent shrieked out pained, gurgling noises as he stumbled to the side, bleeding out all over the photographs. Nakajima stepped aside to avoid any splatter.

  After a few moments of writhing, Shimura vomited out a death rattle and collapsed onto the floor with a wet thud. Nakajima sighed and bowed deeply, reminding himself that Joji Shimura was simply an unfortunate casualty of war. Straightening up, he looked at the wispy form of Chitose-oneesan and knew there would be many more to follow.

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  It usually took hours for Reiko to don her entire regalia but Masaru insisted that they hurry. He helped apply her makeup, straightened her shimada wig, and tied her obi belt, something no man had ever helped her with before. The transformation from moga to geisha took a little under an hour and Harutora returned to the streets of Asakusa.

  Shuffling in her tight kimono and geta clogs, she glanced over at Masaru who slowed his pace. He also chivalrously carried her shamisen since singing was essential for any geisha party. But this was a party for the Kusanagi Society, which meant there’d be songs, games, and probably a hit list. She sighed.

  “Anything wrong?” Masaru asked.

  “I’m just cold. That’s all.”

  He smiled. “We’re almost there.” A few blocks later they ducked into the Katsura Inn and were greeted by a tiny woman in a near-permanent bow. Though geisha usually performed at tea houses, Reiko remembered several inns she had visited while training. There she and her oneesan would entertain wealthy foreigners whose entire Japanese vocabulary consisted of konnichiwa and arigatou.

  After removing their shoes, they were led into a private room where the seven founding members of the Kusanagi Society knelt along the sides. Kneeling at the opposite end were Makoto Kuroki and, unfortunately, Lieutenant Nakajima. After bows were exchanged, Masaru shut the door behind them and knelt like a good sensei rejoining his class. Reiko took a spot beside him as Masaru set the shamisen aside.

  “Before we begin, I have an announcement to make.” Masaru cleared his throat. “I have asked for Harutora…Reiko Watanabe…to be my wife. We will be married before the year is out.”

  Stunned gasps were the initial response until Kuroki threw up his hands and yelled, “Banzai! To the future daughter of the Ryusaki family! Banzai!”

  The patriots cheered and banzaied in celebration but across the room, Lieutenant Nakajima looked ill.

  “Zensei,” he said, slamming his hands on the floor. “This woman will be your downfall!”

  Masaru examined this challenge to his authority with a stern gaze.

&
nbsp; “I understand your concern, Lieutenant. But I can see with unmistakable clarity that her soul is pure.”

  Nakajima divided his quick, panicked looks between Masaru and her. The country monkey was in such humiliating agony that Reiko couldn’t suppress a smile.

  “Zensei, she has blinded you with lust!”

  “Enough!” Masaru roared, slapping the floor.

  “Please zensei...let me speak to you alone…”

  Masaru stood and followed Nakajima to a private room. From behind a shoji door, they looked like enormous shadow puppets come to life. After a minute of hushed words, Nakajima returned, his boyish face twisting in pain.

  Masaru reappeared, stern and implacable.

  “Zensei…please…” Nakajima said, lowering his head.

  “Go…now,” Masaru ordered, pointing to the door.

  Lieutenant Nakajima bowed an apology and kept his gaze planted on the floor while walking out, like a dishonored child. A sadistic glee welled up inside Reiko. Such humiliation must have been devastating.

  “Sensei,” Kuroki said. “What happened?”

  Masaru knelt back down and said, “Lieutenant Nakajima is no longer a member of the Kusanagi Society. We’ll carry on without him.”

  “What will we do without the Lieutenant? We have no access to weapons now,” Kuroki said.

  Masaru waved his hand. “We do not need him. My family’s estate has all the weapons we’ll need for the coming war. You see, men, I have already decided upon our next target.”

  “Who, sensei?” one of the patriots asked, leaning closer.

  “During his confrontation with General Sakamoto, Nakajima-san learned who has been pulling the strings from the shadows: Isamu Takano!” Masaru almost spat the name. “Apparently, that zaibatsu banker promised General Sakamoto that he would become prime minister after Inukai-san. But he must learn that the Kusanagi Society is not his personal weapon to be used and discarded! Takano must pay for this treachery…with his life.”

  The Kusanagi Society men growled like tigers in a cage. Their anger was contagious and Reiko’s hands began to tremble with bitter anger. Only the Great Earthquake had made her feel so insignificant. Isamu Takano was worse; an earthquake that could scheme and plot.