by Rory Pralte
Ichi Taduii had arrived early. He had been contacted at home by a messenger on Sunday and summoned to a meeting at the Imperial Hotel, suite 207, for ten o’clock on Monday morning to address his lord and master Michael. He had decided to get to his desk on the sixteenth floor of the Watanabe building to at least put in an appearance before leaving for his meeting with Michael. Appearance and face were still very important for Japanese business and Ichi did not want to draw any obvious attention to himself. He was in enough trouble as it was.
Patrick Chase had arrived even earlier for a surprise meeting with Ichiro Taduii. He arrived at the front desk at eight o’clock sharp, announced himself to the young receptionist in the centre of the desk and boldly stated he had an appointment with Taduii-San at 8.15 and that he had come from England for the meeting. The girl checked her diary and then made two internal phone calls. No one had any information on the meeting. The girl checked with Patrick. Did he have the correct building? There were numerous ones in the area. Was he sure it was Watanabe Trading? He quietly and firmly confirmed the appointment. Eventually another girl appeared from the elevators.
“Please follow me Mr Chase, Taduii-San is not here yet. But will you please wait in one of our visitor rooms?”
They entered the elevator and ascended to the sixteenth floor and Patrick Chase was shown into a small meeting room.
“Would you like coffee or tea?” the young girl enquired.
“Green tea, dozo,” replied Patrick.
The girl giggled at the Englishman’s pronunciation and left the room. Patrick sat down. His hands felt slightly clammy but he was in good shape, well prepared, cool and quietly confident. He had to try to give the air of someone who knew more than he did. The girl returned with a small cup of green tea. Patrick thanked her and sipped the tea and waited. It was 8.15.
At 8.20 Ichiro Taduii arrived at the Watanabe Trading building. Just as he was about to enter the elevator, a girl from reception approached him. “Taduii-San,” she said as she bowed slightly, “you have a visitor. We could find no information as to the appointment but a member of your section has taken care of him and he is waiting in one of your visitor rooms.”
“What is the name of the visitor?” replied Ichiro.
“A Mr Patrick Chase, from England,” the girl replied. Taduii’s eyes widened and the girl, seeing the look on his face, retired back to her desk with a small bow and thank you.
Ichiro Taduii was puzzled and worried. What the hell was the Englishman doing here? Should he ring Michael at the Imperial before seeing the Englishman? He better had.
Ichiro Taduii went straight to his desk, looked up the number for the Imperial Hotel in his contact book and dialled it.
“Imperial Hotel, how can I help you?” answered reception.
“Suite 207, Michael Shoner,” Taduii answered. The phone rang and after eight or ten rings a voice answered.
“Yeah, who is it?”
“Michael is that you? It’s Ichi here. I’ve just arrived at my office and that crazy Englishman, Chase, is here waiting for me,” Taduii blurted out.
Michael answered, abruptly and succinctly. “Meet him, say nothing, find out what he wants, where he’s staying and be here on time at ten. You’re in enough trouble. Don’t let me down. And for Christ’s sake, say nothing.”
Ichiro Taduii swallowed hard. From the information that had been gleaned from the club girl and the actions so far, this Englishman was very serious and meant business. It was a very nervous Ichiro Taduii who approached the meeting room door .
Little did he know that the waiting Englishman, Patrick Chase, knew nothing of the events that were frightening the life out of Michael and Ichi, or of the additional happenings that neither party knew about but which were to spin the webs even tighter.
Taduii’s hand gripped the meeting room door, he took a deep breath and turned the handle. Immediately he was face to face with the Englishman who he believed was threatening to turn his world upside down. The Englishman stood facing him, hand outstretched and said “Taduii-San?” in an enquiring voice. “So very nice to meet you at last.” Two firm but slightly sweaty hands clasped in greeting.
“Please sit down,” said Ichi. “Would you like tea or coffee?”
“More green tea, thank you,” said Patrick.
Taduii pushed a small bell and the Japanese girl appeared. Taduii spoke to her in rifle-shot-fast Japanese and in an abrupt manner. The girl retired.
Taduii turned to face Patrick. “It is very surprising to see you this morning and so early. How can we help you?”
Patrick looked at Ichiro Taduii, knowingly.
“It’s a simple matter of dishonesty, deception and a need to correct this. I will explain more fully, Taduii-San, but I believe you have unwillingly been a party to a royalty fraud and I hope when I have explained this you can assist in putting this right.”
The girl entered the room and placed more tea, two glasses of water and two hot towels before the two men.
Patrick looked at her.
“Domo arigato,” he said, and picking up the hot towel, wiped his hands whilst looking directly at Ichiro Taduii. Taduii was perspiring freely and Patrick thought his left eye had developed a nervous tick. He seems very concerned, thought Patrick, slightly puzzled. Good! He spoke again to Ichi.
“Don’t forget your tea, Taduii-San. Now, let me see, where was I? Oh yes, the problem we need to solve.”
He continued, “Taduii-San, as I am sure you are aware, Michael has proposed certain unacceptable conditions on the takeover of our company. This is regrettable but a matter for him. As a close associate of his you, I hope, are not aware that he has licensed your trading company with our products without any right whatsoever to do so. I have reviewed this with my lawyers and they have expressly urged me to take out injunctions and inform any interested parties of the fact that you are not entitled to approach them with any offers for these products and if you do then they may become parties to the deception.
“I have stated that I do not think you are aware of the position and that I would propose to you that a settlement to our company is made forthwith whereby we would accept an up-front payment and secured deferred royalties to allow the current illegal licensing to proceed legally and allow you to proceed with commercial exploitation without interruption.”
Patrick paused. Christ, Taduii really seemed upset. It was difficult for Patrick to comprehend. The approach he was making, although factually correct, actually was made with little commercial strength. Yes, he was aware of licensing that had occurred and, had the takeover of the company gone ahead as expected, then it was just a little premature. However, with the change of events, the real commercial threat that Patrick could bring to bear - given the comparative financial strengths of the potential adversaries - was zero. However, Patrick was totally unaware of the other real threat hanging over Michael and Taduii, following the revelations gleaned from the ‘barrel up the pussy’ episode!
At that moment, the phone rang. Taduii answered, slammed the phone down and roughly gestured to Patrick to wait for a moment as he had to take an important call. He quickly returned to his office, grabbed the phone from his desk and, with trepidation, put it to his ear.
“Taduii here,” he said in a weak voice.
It was short. It was Michael. “Listen, Taduii. Something serious is happening. Pyo Han has been found dead.” Ichiro Taduii was dumbstruck.
“Are you still there?” screamed Michael.
Taduii managed a gagged “Hi”.
“Get the hell over here now. We need to talk. Tell that bloody Englishman you have a family crisis or something and arrange to meet him tonight and find out where he is staying. Hurry.” The phone went dead.
Ichiro Taduii was ashen faced. He breathed in deeply and lit a cigarette. Jesus Christ, what was happening? He sat for a few moments and then
beckoned one of his assistants from across the room. “Listen. Tell my visitor I have been called away on urgent family business. Tell him I am sorry but I will meet him tonight at his hotel. Give me two or three minutes to get out of the building then tell him.” Taduii left immediately for a meeting at the Imperial that he could well live without.
Patrick was waiting patiently. He certainly seemed to have hit a nerve with his approach. In a funny way he was excited, maybe he could get some recompense after all.
Just then a round-faced Japanese entered the room, bowed slightly and sat down opposite Patrick. “I am sorry,” he said, “Taduii-San has had some very bad personal news. He has had to leave to attend to this. He apologises but would like to meet you tonight. What hotel can he meet you at?”
Patrick thought quickly. Beware. They’re snakes. “OK,” he said, “I am sorry to hear about Taduii’s problems. Tell him I will meet him at the Rugby Bar of the Shiba Park Hotel at 7.30pm.”
There was no way Patrick was going to reveal his hotel. He had learned too many lessons from dealing with this crew!
It took Taduii twenty minutes to get from the Sumo Watanabe Building in Shinjuku to the Imperial Hotel, not bad timing at all, given Tokyo’s notorious traffic. The taxi, a Toyota, was immaculate, like all Tokyo’s taxis. Taduii did not notice. He was in a daze. He felt sick. This meeting was going to be very unpleasant.
It took Patrick a similar time to return to his hotel but he made sure he was not followed. The taxi he took from the Sumo Watanabe Building took him to the shrine near to Shiba Park, and he walked the rest of the way. He wanted to keep his location to himself. He did not trust either the Skymar or Watanabe mob one bit. He was quite correct.
Taduii entered the Imperial and went straight to the elevators, past the welcoming bows of the multitude of staff.
*
At the same time, Paul Schmidt, a tall, blond, blue-eyed German, boarded a Korean Airlines plane from Seoul to Narita with a case full of money and a jaunty spring in his step. The stewardess on the plane glanced admiringly at this attractive man. If she’d known how much money he was carrying her admiration might have grown beyond all bounds.
*
Michael was not his usual smooth-looking self as he opened the door of his suite to Ichiro Taduii. Taduii looked anything but relaxed - he looked, and was, very hot and bothered. He was led through to the lounge area of the suite and there, already seated, was Jumbo Kiwakura, Skymar’s Japanese Manager. Kiwakura rose as they entered and bowed slightly to Taduii, who responded in kind.
“Sit down,” snapped Michael, “and listen well. Taduii, you are in big trouble. Due to your inability to keep your mouth shut when you’ve been rolling around with your whores, and due to the actions of this crazy Englishman, our whole set-up here and in the States and Korea could be blown apart.” He stared straight at Taduii, who was sweating profusely. “You’ve heard the news about Han’s death in Korea. God knows how and why but I can only assume that the Englishman was responsible. He obviously will stop at nothing. Have you arranged to meet him tonight?”
Taduii swallowed. His throat was very dry. He croaked, “Yeah.”
“Where?” said Michael.
“My assistant arranged it - I will find out when I return to my office.”
“Fuck you, Taduii,” said Michael. “You had better not screw up anymore.”
Michael continued. “What did he have to say for himself at your meeting this morning?”
“He was complaining of dishonesty, deception and a royalty fraud,” replied Ichi, tentatively.
“Is that all? Did you keep your trap shut?” said Michael.
“Of course,” replied Ichi. “Anyway, with the events that took place, that was about the sum total of our conversation.”
“Thank Christ for that,” sighed Michael. “Now look. This is what I want done. You meet that Patrick tonight as arranged. You listen. I know he needs money. See how much. Entertain him. And let me know the score. I am prepared to offer him $70,000 maximum to settle anything and everything.”
The two Japanese present looked at each other. Both waited for the other to speak. Michael looked at them in turn. “Well?”
Jumbo Kiwakura spoke. “Michael, I think we will have to offer more than $70,000. The licence we wrote that the Englishman knows about was worth $10 million! He’s not going to settle for $70,000. If he’s prepared to kill Pyo for something to do with him being aggrieved he might carry on if we don’t offer a significant amount, maybe half a million, or even a quarter would be more of a gesture.”
“No way,” said Michael. “Taduii’s got us into this mess and he can get us out. $70,000, and if he won’t accept it I want him removed and it will be Taduii’s responsibility and cost to do so. OK, Taduii, that’s it. Go do your best and let me know the outcome tomorrow. Now leave, and for Christ’s sake don’t fuck up, there’s too much at stake.”
Taduii wearily raised himself up, and muttered a goodbye. “Show him out,” Michael curtly spoke to Kiwakura.
The two Japanese went through to the door of the suite. When they were out of earshot, Taduii-San turned to Kiwakura and said, “He’s mad. How am I going to settle this for $70,000? And as for his suggestion, I can’t get involved with murder. No way.”
Kiwakura looked at his Japanese colleague. He knew the score. They had all been bought by Skymar. They enjoyed the high life. But it all hung by a simple thread. You did what you were told. Otherwise, it was out on the street.
“You have to find the solution, Taduii,” said Kiwakura and bowed slightly, opened the door and ushered the man from Watanabe Trading out into the corridor.
“Sayonara,” said Kiwakura and quietly but firmly closed the door. He was going to get as little involved in this matter as possible. He would preserve his position, perks and lifestyle at any expense. He returned to Michael.
Taduii-San left the Imperial. It was only 9.45. Christ, he needed a drink and time to think. He got a taxi and asked to be taken to Shinjuku, but not to the Watanabe building, to one of his local clubs where he could still get a drink and think for a while. He was in deep trouble alright.
When Patrick had returned to his hotel, having made sure no one was following him, he went and sat in the coffee lounge, ordered a pot of black coffee and thought about his meeting. It seemed to have gone well, especially the effect his statement seemed to have on Taduii-San. He was surprised. Maybe the man from Watanabe Trading really didn’t know about Michael’s and Skymar’s deception. It seemed very unlikely. However, the plan was set. There was nothing to lose given the circumstances. He would have to wait until this evening and see. Mustn’t count his chickens, but maybe the nest egg his company needed was available.
Patrick returned to his room, opened his briefcase and sifted through the papers and contacts. His next two hours were spent ringing round the companies he knew and had found out about from his contacts with Skymar during the supposed takeover period. He now had to work hard to make appointments to try to get some future business for the boys back home. Their future depended on it. After two hours of ringing he had fixed six appointments for the coming week. One was for that afternoon on Sakadori Avenue, not 30 minutes’ walk from the hotel. It was with Motu, a similar trading company to Taduii’s Watanabe. At that meeting that Patrick would learn a piece of information that would have a profound effect on his meeting that evening with Ichiro Taduii. The information itself was not terribly startling, but like all information, imparted at the right time to the right people and in this case, spoken of totally innocently, it would have ‘rifle shot’ responses. Lady Luck certainly seemed to be with Patrick at the moment.
*
Conversely, for Paul his run of good fortune was just about to run right out. The smiling Japanese customs official, who jokingly said, “Have you got anything to declare?” when Paul approached him at the baggage check at Narita
Airport, was not joking at all. “Sorry,” said Paul, “nothing today.”
“Can I see in your case?” the customs official asked. Paul left his briefcase on the ground and lifted his suitcase onto the stainless steel counter separating the two men.
“No,” said the customs official, firmly, “your briefcase.”
Paul reluctantly lifted the case. The official looked at Paul; something was wrong.
“Have you got anything to declare?” he said to Paul as he flipped the locks of the case and opened the lid. The customs man’s eyes widened. It wasn’t every day he saw a case stuffed with money. He closed the case, beckoned one of his colleagues and asked Paul, “Sir, please will you come with us? We won’t detain you long. We would like to discuss some matters. Please follow my colleague,” and the three of them walked through two doors into a small room. Paul heard the doors click shut behind him as the second officer followed him into the room.
“Please sit, Sir, we need to ask you some questions, starting with an explanation as to the source, ownership and why you are bringing so much money into the country. Please note, Sir, that your answers are being recorded. If you have anything to hide we would suggest you tell us now. It will be for the best.”
Paul sighed and falteringly replied. ”Look, the money is from a legitimate business deal in Korea. It was paid to me by my contact there, by Pyo Han of the Binhu Company. I can give you his address and contact number.”
“Please do, Sir,” replied the customs man. “We will check out your story, but I must remind you that it is an offence to bring more than $10,000 into the country in cash, without declaring the source and reason for the need for that level of cash. You have failed in this respect and in the interim it will be necessary to detain you, for the moment.”