Remember Tokyo

by Nick Wilkshire

  “His prices are the best in the market.” Kobayashi gave him a reassuring nod, as the old man handed him his crabs and then followed Kobayashi to the other end of the table, where they chatted for a few minutes as he prepared two more small bags of what looked like crayfish and possibly salmon, but Charlie wasn’t sure. When he was done, the vendor did the tally and Charlie tried to understand but failed. “How much did he say?”

  “It’s very reasonable,” she said, reaching into her purse, but Charlie was first off the draw, handing the old man a ten thousand yen note. He grinned and took the note, turning to his cash box to produce six thousand yen in change by the time Kobayashi had her purse out and realized what was going on.

  “No, Charlie. I can’t let you …”

  “It’s done,” he said, taking the bills and bowing. “Arigatou gozaimasu.”

  The old man bowed and gave him a broad grin, then muttered something to Kobayashi, who responded with an admonishing frown.

  “What did he say?” Charlie asked, as they made their way on to the next row of stalls.

  “He says silly things sometimes.” She turned away in embarrassment. “Would you like to get a coffee?” she asked, as they made their way back toward the market entrance.

  “Thought you’d never ask.”

  They found a coffee shop on the main street leading away from the market, halfway back to the Metro station, and Kobayashi ordered cappuccinos. She insisted on paying and he decided not to fight, finding them a table by the window instead. Outside the sun was still bright and warmed the inside of the crowded café.

  “I did some research last night,” he said, after they had settled in their seats and had begun to sip their coffee.

  “What kind of research?”

  He described what he had learned about the yakuza, from their roots that went all the way back to samurai days, to their role in the bubble of the early nineties, and their current incarnation. She listened intently, sipping her coffee and nodding from time to time.

  “And why were you doing this research?” she asked when he was done.

  “I was thinking of that photo, and the possible connection between Nippon Kasuga and the yakuza guy.”

  “Hmm.” She gave him her usual inscrutable look.

  “What?”

  “I did some research, as well,” she said, after a brief pause. “I spoke to my colleague in organized crime, about whether he had heard of Nippon Kasuga.”

  “And?”

  She shook her head. “They’re not known to have connections to illegal activity, but he mentioned that their name came up in a bid-rigging investigation.”

  Charlie’s ears perked up at the news. He had noticed that this type of scam was one of the yakuza’s bread and butter business lines. It was usually related to construction projects, though.

  “What sort of government contracts would be awarded to a securities firm?” he asked.

  “Their alleged involvement was … indirect. And anyway, it looks like they may not have done anything wrong.”

  “Could they be involved in securities fraud with the yakuza?”

  She drank the last of her coffee and set the little cup back on the saucer in the delicate and precise manner that he had noticed in all of her movements. “Yakuza organizations are involved in securities fraud,” she began. “But things have changed since the nineties. There are frequent investigations into banking irregularities now. Companies that break the rules are de-listed all the time.”

  Charlie nodded. What she wasn’t saying was that her precrash predecessors had been all too willing to turn a blind eye to the yakuza saturating the market with bad debt. The staggering losses had changed all that, and forced the authorities to start enforcing the rules. He understood her reluctance to divulge this to an outsider, respected it, even. She had her pride.

  “What are you thinking?” she asked, surprising him — with the probing question, but also with the look in her eyes, which had become interrogative.

  Charlie shrugged. “I was just trying to imagine what the connection to Nippon Kasuga is.”

  She kept her eyes on him for a moment and then, just like that, her features reverted to the soft and delicate version; a demure smile teased the corners of her mouth, then faded as quickly as it had appeared. “It is possible that they are not involved willingly.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Have you heard of sōkaiya, Charlie?”

  He shook his head. For all he knew it was one of the exotic species of seafood that they had seen on display at the market.

  “The word in English is …” She paused for a moment, looking out the window for a second until he saw the flash of recognition in her eyes and she turned back to him. “Extortion.”

  “Do you mean corporate extortion?”

  She nodded. “It begins legitimately. Individuals linked to yakuza gradually buy up stock, become involved in a corporation. At first, no one knows. Then they attend a shareholder meeting and make themselves known.”

  “And tell the directors to start following their instructions, or else?”

  “Something like that, yes.”

  Charlie nodded. “And I guess not too many people say no to the yakuza.”

  Kobayashi said nothing for a moment, running her finger around the rim of her cup. “How much do you know about Mr. Lepage’s activities back in Canada?”

  Charlie shrugged, hoping his internal debate about whether to share the details of the RCMP report with her remained hidden behind a casual facade. Dixon had not emailed a confirmation to proceed, though he thought that likely had more to do with the fact that it was Saturday morning and Dixon hopefully having a life outside work. It would probably come in on Monday morning. “Not much, I’m afraid,” he lied, deciding to withhold Dixon’s discovery that the company Lepage worked for might be linked to white collar fraud. He hated lying at the best of times, but it felt especially wrong right now. He looked down at his cup and stirred the foam at the bottom. When he looked up, he was expecting to be caught in those piercing eyes, but Kobayashi was smiling.

  “You like him, don’t you?” she said.

  “Who, Rob? Sure, he seems like a stand-up guy.”

  “What is stand-up?” she asked, cocking her head to one side.

  “It means decent … good.”

  “Ah.” She nodded.

  They chatted about the case for another ten minutes when she suddenly changed the topic.

  “So, how do you like Tokyo?”

  “I like it just fine.” He leaned back in his chair. “I’m starting to get more familiar with the Metro stations, and the crowds.”

  “Is it so different in Canada? You have big cities there as well, no?”

  “Big is a relative term, and I spent most of my time in Ottawa recently. I’m from the East Coast originally, where the cities are much smaller. A lot more open space.”

  “You miss it, I can see.”

  He shrugged, wondering whether that was true. He didn’t miss Ottawa, particularly the memories it evoked, and though he did have a soft spot for St. John’s, he’d been away so long that he felt like he’d lost the connection. In fact, it occurred to him that he didn’t have any real connection to anyone or anything that he could think of. He could have said that was the price you paid for going from one foreign posting to the next, but he had only been in the rotational stream for a few years. The way he had spent the previous fifteen were what bothered him now.

  “I didn’t mean to … pry,” she said, and he realized his face must have betrayed his thoughts. He smiled and shook his head, noticing the containers of seafood sitting on ice in their bags at the end of the table.

  “I was just thinking about what I’m going to do with all those crabs.”

  “You have to eat them, Charlie.” Her face lit with her smile. “And while they’re fresh.”

  He pointed to Kobayashi’s bag of tuna. “What about you. How do you eat the tuna?”

  “S
ushi,” she said, as though it went without saying. “Please take some and try for yourself.”

  “I wouldn’t know what to do with it.” He waved a hand as she reached for the bag.

  “It’s very easy to make. I could show you.”

  He looked at her and couldn’t resist trying. “How about now? I have a pretty well-stocked kitchen, even if I don’t know how to use half of the stuff,” he added. She looked down momentarily and her eyes had changed when she looked back up. He had made a gross miscalculation and crossed the line. He went into damage control right away. “I’m sure you have better things to do on your day off,” he said with a nonchalance he didn’t feel. “Besides, I have a family recipe for crab au gratin that never fails.”

  “I have an … engagement with my parents this afternoon.”

  “Of course,” he said quickly, wishing he had kept his big trap shut.

  “But what about this evening?” she said. Charlie hesitated for a moment, not sure if he had heard her correctly, then she added: “I can show you how to make sushi and you can show me how to make crab oh …”

  “Au gratin,” he said, finally able to unfreeze the blank expression on his face. “That sounds great. I live on the embassy compound, so I could meet you at the front entrance to the Aoyama-itchōme Station … around seven?”

  “Seven is good.” She handed him the bag of tuna. “I look forward to it.”

  CHAPTER 26

  Charlie stood at the Aoyoma-dori entrance to the Aoyama-itchōme Station — the nearest to the Canadian embassy — and looked for Kobayashi among the ever-present swell of people emerging from the station onto the street. There had been a noticeable drop in temperature when the sun had gone down, and Charlie could feel the damp chill seeping in through his raincoat. He didn’t really have a medium-weight coat that would be suitable for a Tokyo winter, and the heavy one he had used to survive Ottawa and Moscow seemed over the top here, though he noticed many of the passing crowd were dressed in parkas and puffy coats worthy of the Yukon Quest, despite the temperature still being well above zero.

  He was thinking where he might find something without spending a month’s salary — from what he had seen so far in store windows, clothing wasn’t cheap in Tokyo — when he spotted Kobayashi coming up the stairs. She had switched her capris to black pants tucked into low-heeled boots and substituted a peacoat for her windbreaker. He saw recognition in her eyes and also noticed, as she came closer, that she was wearing makeup. It wasn’t much, just a subtle highlighting of her eyes and lips, but the effect was significant. He wondered whether the occasion called for a two-cheek peck but decided to stick with the bow. When in Rome …

  “Hello, Charlie,” she said, after reciprocating the bow then rubbing her arms and giving a noticeable shiver.

  “It’s really cooled off, hasn’t it?”

  She nodded, then smiled. “You must think me foolish for believing this is cold, with you being from Canada.”

  He shrugged as they set off down Aoyama-dori. “Actually, I was just thinking I need a warmer jacket.” He pulled at the collar of his raincoat. They chatted as they walked the short distance to the embassy compound, where they stopped briefly at the front gate to sign Kobayashi in as a visitor before proceeding to the complex of staff apartments behind the main embassy building.

  “It’s very quiet,” she remarked as they made their way up the stairs and Charlie got out his key.

  “It usually is. Saturday night, so most people are probably out.” He opened the door and showed her in.

  “It’s very … big,” she said, surveying what to Charlie had seemed a somewhat compact single apartment by Canadian standards.

  “Really?” He took her coat and gave her a quick tour of the living room, dining room, and kitchen. “There’s a bedroom and a guestroom that I use as a study,” he added, then felt suddenly awkward for some reason, as though Kobayashi might find such a waste of space for one person reprehen­sible. But if she was offended, she gave no indication.

  “Would you like a glass of wine? Or I’ve got some sake.”

  “Wine would be very nice, thank you.”

  Charlie busied himself with uncorking the wine and pouring it into the glasses that he had carefully washed and polished an hour ago. When he turned around to hand her a glass, she accepted it with one hand and held out a gift-wrapped box with the other.

  “Oh, you didn’t have to … thank you.” He accepted the rectangular box, beautifully wrapped in green paper and silver ribbon.

  “Please, open it.” She seemed to sense his hesitation.

  He obliged, setting his glass down on the counter and carefully undoing the wrapper. Inside the box were six sets of chopsticks, the handles decorated with the same intricate carving beneath a colourful lacquered finish. There were six matching, curved oblong discs at one end of the box that looked a bit like pebbles rounded by ocean waves. He recognized them as the stands for the chopsticks to rest on when they were not in use.

  “They’re beautiful.”

  “I thought you should learn on a good set,” she said with a smile.

  “Now I feel bad.” He set the box down on the kitchen table. “First you supply the tuna, now this?”

  “But you forget that you’re the host, Charlie.”

  “In that case, thank you, and welcome.” He raised his glass. “And cheers.”

  They drank their wine and chatted for a while, then Kobayashi got down to business, pulling the tuna out of the fridge and some seaweed wraps out of her purse. Charlie focused on the rice and paid attention as she described her family’s method of preparing sushi that had been handed down for generations. He had prepared the crab in advance, so it was only a matter of putting it in the oven, and before he knew it, the meal was ready and they moved into the dining room, where the table was already set. Charlie had never considered himself much of a sushi fan, but whether it was Kobayashi’s recipe, her preparation, or the atmosphere, he found himself enjoying the meal immensely. They had also switched to sake for the meal, and he poured the last of the first bottle into their cups as they finished up the sushi. Eventually, the conversation turned to business. It was Kobayashi who brought it up — Charlie being quite content to continue discussing Japanese culture and where to eat in Tokyo all night long.

  “Do you have any more thoughts about your Mr. Lepage?” she asked. Both her tone and body language were consistent with a casual inquiry, but Charlie felt immediately on edge. Whereas Kobayashi had been pumping her sources for any information on a possible link between Lepage and Nippon Kasuga, he had been sitting on the RCMP report. Dixon still hadn’t emailed, but as he sat there, inches from her across the table, with a glass of wine and half a bottle of sake warming his insides, he knew he had made up his mind.

  “Actually, I did learn something interesting myself.” He drank the last of the liquid in his cup as he took the plunge. “It turns out that Lepage’s employer back in Canada might have been involved in some shady dealings.”

  Kobayashi’s face remained impassive but she leaned forward ever so slightly at the news. “What kind of dealings?”

  “Fraud of various kinds. Stock fraud, insider trading, online scams. But much like Nippon Kasuga here, there’s no hard evidence to incriminate the firm, just indirect evidence. They’ve never been officially charged and I’m not even sure if they’re under surveillance.”

  “That is interesting.” She tipped back her own cup. He reached over to the side table and took another bottle from his thinly stocked bar and opened it. He hesitated before filling her cup. “Would you like me to warm it … or chill it?”

  She shook her head. “Room temperature is fine. But maybe I’ve had too much already.”

  He waved off her protest and continued pouring. “It’s not like you’re driving anywhere.”

  “It really is very good sake,” she said, making him glad he had followed Redford’s recommendation, there being a dizzying array of different brands available. I
t was a bit like buying vodka in Moscow, where the prices and qualities varied so much from one brand to the next.

  “So you don’t think Mr. Lepage or Nippon Kasuga were involved in anything illegal?” There was a hint of challenge in her voice, just below the calm surface.

  “I didn’t say that. I’m just having a hard time imagining Rob was knowingly involved in something illegal. I mean, you said yourself this practice of sōkaiya — or corporate extortion — is pretty common. Maybe Nippon Kasuga was involved and he didn’t know.”

  She nodded, apparently turning something over in her mind before continuing. He was half expecting her to switch into interrogation mode, but the smile on her face and the way her shoulders relaxed suggested just the opposite.

  “You like to see the good in people, don’t you, Charlie?”

  “I like to think I know people — deep down, you know?” He shrugged, adding: “I’m not always right, but I’m not always wrong either, and I’d prefer to err on the side of good.” She was nodding, but he wondered if she thought him a fool. “Maybe that makes me naive.”

  She frowned at the word, and shook her head vigorously, before placing her slender hand on his. “I don’t think so. I think to see good, makes you good.”

  He smiled at her simple eloquence, then looked down at the delicate bone structure of her hand, enjoying the way her cool touch sent a shock wave up his arm and down his back. He decided to throw the last of any caution to the wind.

  “I learned something else about Mike Seger,” he said, watching as she remained impassive. “He was a consultant for a company that did some business with Lepage’s company.”

  “So, it is possible that they worked together?”

  He nodded. “Although Seger never mentioned that — only that he and Rob knew each other growing up.”

  “But you said you had doubts about whether that was true,” she pressed. “And there was nothing on Lepage’s email to confirm that Seger had been in touch with him on a personal level … and we know now that Seger did not come to Tokyo from Hong Kong, as he said he did.” Charlie had to admit that, objectively, it was much more likely that they were connected on a professional level rather than a personal one. It didn’t help that Lepage’s missing memory left him unable to confirm whether he and Seger had been friends at some point. “And you say Lepage can’t remember Seger as a friend,” she added, as though reading his mind.