Once cleared, Shimano drove to the front entrance where he was met by two yakuza bodyguards.
“Please step out of your vehicle and prepare for a body search,” ordered the yakuza. Shimano complied and presented himself dressed in a custom-tailored silk suit. The gangster used both hands to check Shimano’s arms, waist, hips, and ankles. He examined Shimano’s Rolex watch and inspected the inside of his Gucci shoes while Shimano stood waiting on a rubber mat provided for the purpose. “You’ll need to leave your cell phone with me,” said the yakuza. He took it from Shimano, stepped back, and bowed politely.
The second yakuza pointed to two double doors. “Enter the ballroom and walk through to the end. Our boss is expecting you,” he said.
Shimano followed the directions and reached the garden where the crime boss waited. Sato was wearing a blue yukata summer kimono tied with a wide indigo-colored sash. Edges of his tattoos made famous by Facebook posts and magazine articles seemed to leak out of his shirt sleeves and pant cuffs. Sato was kneeling and studying his koi pond. Several guards wearing conservative-colored business suits stood near their crime family’s boss. They observed Shimano with what he interpreted as a mixture of curiosity and contempt.
Sato scooped out a small deme fish and deposited the two-inch animal into a plastic bag full of the pond water. Its fins flowed like angel wings and round eyes bulged out as the dark-gray fish swam frantically around the enclosure. Shimano stared at the creature and moved his hand to his face to touch a mark left while shaving. The art dealer bowed low with his hands resting on his thighs and waited for Sato to acknowledge his presence. Sato turned and looked at him for the first time since his arrival in the garden and cleared his throat.
“Please take care of your humble servant,” said Shimano while his eyes continued to stare at the grass in front of him.
“Let me show you around,” ordered Sato. He pointed at a waterfall at the front of the estate. “It’s my pride and joy and functions with first-rate hydro-technology imported from Paris. The waterfall is assembled with rock from the Japanese Alps, as is my koi fish pond.”
“It’s lovely,” said Shimano.
“Shall we walk over to the sakura trees and you can expand on the topics introduced over the phone? It is truly an intriguing project, and I’d like to hear some details,” said Sato. They moved to the edge of the yard lined with sakura trees. “Observation equipment both visible and camouflaged is positioned strategically amongst the landscape. Eavesdroppers are discouraged and nudged away from our vicinity by my men. You can speak freely,” said Sato.
“I’m sure you’ve reviewed the potential profit from a transaction of this magnitude,” said Shimano.
Sato eyed Shimano, and the art dealer felt the hair on his arms stand up and a frosty chill run down his back in spite of the August heat.
“Men who ignore details and focus on profits rarely have good fortune. I built on the success of the Japanese economic bubble years of the ’80s by shifting the family’s focus to credit card fraud, extortion of corporations, and the manipulation of the real estate market. The internet opened a new universe of opportunities for organizations such as ours, and we pioneered the production and distribution of online pornographic material in Japan. We did all this without risking our entire portfolio. You’re the kind of man who bets his entire estate on number 8 at the craps table.”
“I’m sorry for misrepresenting myself. I’ve brokered multimillion-dollar art deals and received suitcases full of cash for some of the most famous paintings in the world, but this project challenges me,” replied Shimano.
“Your candor is reassuring. Let’s start again, and you can give me an informative summary of what you consider essential to our collaboration,” said Sato.
“Our supplier will use extraordinary resources to transfer a container to a Japanese freighter who will deliver the load to Yokohama,” said Shimano. He waited for Sato’s nod and continued, “It’s our task to have the container clear customs and divide it into three separate shipments. We will then forward it by sea on three different vessels destined for multiple American cities.”
“You need the strength of my business infrastructure and global network to enable the execution of the shipping logistics and facilitation of the sales distribution,” said Sato.
“Correct. We also need your capital support as seed money for the operation,” replied Shimano.
“This is the most difficult part of the project. To clear customs and redirect the shipment, we’ll need to engage and accommodate large numbers of officials, dockhands, and law enforcement. It will also create the risk of exposure, as I’ll need to liquidate and move assets. My lawyer will create shell companies and money will be moved with caution, but it remains a dangerous exercise,” said Sato.
“Yes,” replied Shimano.
“What type of investment are you willing to offer as a demonstration of your commitment?” asked Sato.
“It will take some time to liquidate two French Impressionist paintings I’ve stored in my vault, but they are worth several million dollars,” replied Shimano.
“Would you be willing to deliver them to my estate as collateral?” asked Sato.
Shimano swallowed. “I would,” he said.
Sato smiled. “Maybe we can do business. Let’s walk down this path to my house, as I’ve got something to show you,” he said.
Chapter 14
Yokohama
Sato placed his hand on a Secom electronic sensing plate positioned on the wall. Its technology recognized his blood-circulation pattern and the door lock released. Shimano followed Sato up a solid mahogany staircase. They reached a secured entrance at the top of the stairs and Sato placed his palm on another Secom security pad.
The access area lit up, revealing a dozen more yakuza soldiers, also dressed in dark suits. Some stood guard at the doors and others were focused on computer monitors, but each and every one jumped to attention when Sato entered. “Follow me,” said Sato, and the two men walked down the four-meter-high and three-meter-wide hallway. Each of their steps on the marble floors resonated down the corridor. The formally dressed yakuza bowed as the two men passed.
They reached the end of the hall and stood before a large doorway. It was decorated with elaborate wood carvings and stone etchings. “This was once the gateway to the onsen hot spring bath. The operation required experts to drill down thousands of meters before reaching the mineral-rich geothermic steam and water. It was an investment amounting to millions of yen, but we don’t even fill the large bath anymore. The room’s designated for other purposes now.” Sato nodded to one of his men, and the door was opened to the once-fragrant and steamy center of social activity.
He led the way into the barren room where a twenty-five-meter-long pool and its side tubs waited dry and covered in dust. Large bay windows were painted black and offered no view of the garden and nearby parks. Fat black flies lay dead on the tile floor and spider webs left undisturbed in the room’s corners shifted as a breeze followed from the open door. Plastic walls enclosed a corner of the room about five meters square and stretched from floor to ceiling. A plastic bathtub was placed in the middle of the pen and covered with synthetic rubber sheets.
Sato clapped his hands twice to initiate a flurry of activity in the hallway. Commands in a guttural tone were followed by the sounds of moving feet, and doors were heard opening and slamming shut. A handsome young man dressed in a stylish summer robe appeared at the doorway. “Sorry to disturb you. May I enter?”
“Hai, come in,” said Sato.
The yakuza was followed into the room by two low-level thugs smelling of cigarettes and sweat. They seemed to be carrying an injured animal wrapped in a blanket. The two thugs dropped their burden and a teenaged girl fell onto the hard floor. She made no effort to protect herself as her broken body made contact with the tiles. Her teeth were chipped, and her mouth and chin were covered in blood. She wore a torn and soiled T-shirt, and Shimano averted h
is gaze from the injured girl.
“You boys have been busy. How did the film work go this morning?” asked Sato.
“Hai, we did our best,” replied the older of the two thugs.
“You two are dismissed,” said Sato.
One of the chimpira looked at the girl as if appraising and enjoying a final review of his handiwork. Minoru Sato cleared his throat and the two thugs froze. “One moment,” said Sato, pointing at the younger thug. “Your friend is dismissed, but you wait here,” he said. The younger mobster turned to face Sato while the second almost broke into a run to escape the room.
Sato turned his attention to the young thug who dropped to his knees.
“Stand up and pay attention. Do you understand the concept of an object lesson?” Sato put up a hand to prevent a response. “Do not answer a rhetorical question. An object lesson is a practical demonstration of a principle,” said Sato, and he looked over the people in the room. “To be effective, it must be observed by individuals who will benefit from a better understanding of our ideals. Go to the kitchen and get the other Filipina girl and Nori Nakada.”
“Understood,” said the punk and hurried out of the room.
Sato gestured toward the battered teenager lying on the floor. “There will be a class taught on several planes of understanding this afternoon.” He paused before returning his attention to the girl lying in her own filth, “Samantha tried to leave her place of employment before fulfilling all her obligations to the family. Killing her might not change behavior in general but it most certainly will send a message to her colleagues.”
The handsome yakuza returned to the spa room carrying something the size of a golf umbrella wrapped in a traditional black furoshiki cloth. A short man with horrific scars on the right side of his face escorted a young woman with the aid of the punk. She stumbled as if impaired and the young thug worked to keep her upright. She stepped past the bloodied girl on the floor without any sign of concern or comment. When the short man passed Shimano, the art dealer averted his eyes, and the act was not lost on the scarred yakuza or Sato.
The short man touched his face with his right hand. “You don’t like these marks? They’re souvenirs left by my first boss who thought burning my face with a cigarette was suitable punishment for not exceeding my collection quota,” said the yakuza.
Shimano remained quiet while shuffling his feet and keeping his gaze on the ground.
“Tell me what you think of my face,” screamed the ugly little man.
Sato stepped between the two men. “Nakada can be sensitive about his appearance, but he’s one of my best-performing soldiers. He’s far surpassed his tormentor who is no longer a member of our organization,” said Sato.
Nakada smiled after Sato’s comment and stepped close to Shimano. “The bastard no longer walks with the living. Who are you?” he asked.
“Shimano and I are going to do some important business. We’ll discuss details later, as we should move on with the tasks at hand. All the players are here, and we can begin the object lesson,” said Sato.
Nakada sneered at the art dealer and stepped away to assist the other two men in dragging and pushing the two women to the center of the room. Nakada forced the second Filipina to the floor where she remained without protest. “These women are guests in our country and their families agreed to accept large loans from our philanthropic organization. They promised to repay these generous cash loans through labor at our recreational facilities. The two women live in our dormitories and enjoy all the benefits of a safe environment and a much-improved lifestyle. One might expect some gratitude and respect, but they’ve neglected their obligations.”
Sato walked over to Samantha, whose blood had dried to blackish crud on and around her half-naked body. She moved her head to look up at him and whimpered. “You caused a lot of trouble for us,” said Sato while shifting his focus to the art dealer. “Two questions: One, should we kill Samantha? And two, who should do it?”
Shimano hesitated with a reply and the sounds of the air-conditioning system seemingly grew in volume until he spoke. “No, you shouldn’t kill Samantha,” replied Shimano.
Sato clapped his hands. “Ingenious, my friend. We shouldn’t kill Samantha, as the act would accomplish nothing. We want her to learn from punishment and live on to become an evangelist for our cause.”
He nodded to the handsome yakuza who unwrapped the furoshiki cloth and lifted a katana for everyone to see. The sword and scabbard were offered to Shimano. “What do you want me to do?” asked Shimano. He glanced at Nori Nakada who scowled back while leaning against the wall to support his leg. Sato and the handsome yakuza looked at him with an unshielded expression of amusement, and Shimano understood his discomfort was a source of pleasure to the crime boss and his disciples.
“Samantha will have medical care to repair her injuries. Maybe she’ll have breast augmentation and other plastic surgery to assist her sales ability. This will be a good investment, as these women are in serious debt to us. Cash loans must be repaid with interest and their debt is compounding,” said Sato.
The gangster pointed at Shimano. “Kill Jessica, and Samantha will bear the responsibility. She will carry the message to her peers, and it will become a true object lesson for everyone at her workplace.”
The blood left Shimano’s face, and his complexion turned to a delicate shade of gray. He moved to the wall and slid to the ground before throwing up everything in his stomach. “You’re a weak and disgusting excuse for a man,” said Sato, and he turned toward the young punk. “Do you understand the wisdom of my methods?” No answer came from the thug, and Sato slapped his arm. “I didn’t think so,” he said and moved to the Filipina. “She is beautiful and popular with her peers at the soap emporium. Samantha will take responsibility for Jessica’s death and will become a pariah amongst the girls. She will be our dynamic advertisement for good behavior.”
The room grew quiet and Samantha’s quiet sobs drowned out the hum of the air-conditioning system. “There’s a practical aspect to today’s exercise. It’s common knowledge that Jessica is a lazy bitch. Even now she’s stoned out of her mind on some pharmaceutical. This little princess never meets quotas and is a bad influence on the other girls,” said Sato.
He brushed Jessica’s cheek and ran his fingers through her hair. “Now come over here, my pretty lady.” He took the girl to the corner of the room where the tub was secured by the plastic walls and said, “Sit here.” He nodded to the punk. “Bring one of the cleaners into the spa.”
The young thug hurried to the door and opened it, exposing several men waiting outside in the hall dressed like astronauts in fully equipped hazmat suits. The apparatus was made of Teflon and heavy PVC with some natural rubber in the seams. Each suit was enhanced by breathing devices similar to scuba equipment. The class 1 safety equipment had “walked out” of the back door of a TEPCO warehouse during the nuclear meltdown crisis in Fukushima. “The boss wants one of you to come inside now,” said Nakada.
The cleaner standing nearest to the door walked into the room and his rubber boots squeaked as he crossed the tiled floor to stop three meters away from his boss and bow.
“Go inside the chamber and ready the bath,” ordered Sato.
The cleaner followed Sato’s instructions and pulled hard on the plastic door, and the airtight rubber seal brushed tightly on the floor. He closed the door behind him and completed his simple but dangerous task by removing the lid from the plastic tub and placing it in the corner.
“Drag Samantha over to the booth beside Jessica. Everyone else come here and view the bath,” ordered Sato. He pulled the plastic bag holding the deme fish out of the inside pocket of his yukata and handed it to the cleaner as he returned from the enclosed room. “Take this and empty the water and fish into the tub,” said Sato.
The cleaner opened and closed the large plastic door and walked to the tub, emptying the plastic bag’s contents into the container, causing its fluid to steam
and bubble. The fish leaped about frantically for a few seconds before dying. The water turned red around the little animal and the entire fish evaporated before their eyes.
“Can you imagine what’s in the tub? It’s hydrofluoric acid, useful for dissolving biomaterials. There isn’t a crime without any body. One cup will burn its way through the floor but not if the floor is protected by plastic. Everything must be rubber or plastic when we use hydrofluoric acid.” Sato paced a few yards and stopped. “I got the idea from Saddam Hussein and his sons who erased political prisoners with a bath full of hydrofluoric acid.”
Shimano looked around the room and realized he was the subject of everyone’s attention. He wiped the remains of his breakfast from his mouth.
“We make serious business partners,” stated Nakada, and the four yakuza laughed.
“Good. There’s a lot of heavy lifting to do,” replied Shimano.
Sato nodded in agreement and abruptly turned and pointed at Jessica and the young punk. “It’s time to start having some fun with these two idiots. Begin with the insolent little shit who thinks one of my girls is a punching bag.”
Chapter 15
Bangkok’s Suvarnabhumi Airport
Gregg Westwood was the first passenger off the plane in Bangkok. He kept a steady pace for twenty minutes using moving walkways before reaching customs. Suvarnabhumi Airport was the world’s fourth-largest single-building airport terminal. Gregg estimated he’d walked over a considerable portion of its 563,000 square meters, welcoming the exercise and chance to stretch after the five-plus hours of travel. Teams of exotic-looking air hostesses passed by on their way to gates, catching the eyes of men and women alike. He passed a Thai massage center full of customers enjoying the inexpensive treatment.
The Courier Page 6