The Yakuza Path: Better Than Suicide

by Amy Tasukada

  She rubbed her breast against his arm, squeezing the “muscles” Nao knew he didn’t possess. Her nipples popped through her thin shirt, which would’ve been attractive on a guy, but the mounds of flesh surrounding the hard nub looked awkwardly cumbersome.

  “I haven’t been to a gym in a while. I owned a teahouse until a few weeks ago.” The champagne had loosened Nao’s tongue perhaps too much, but he couldn’t sit there silently letting his thoughts carry him away.

  “What was that like? It must’ve been hard running a business.”

  The two women had decided to be Nao’s best friends for the evening, and with the selection of men in their late forties and beyond, he couldn’t blame them for trying to stick with the youngest choice. Unfortunately for them, the caresses and sweet conversational foreplay of drinking and singing were lost on Nao. If there had been male prostitutes at the brothel, it might’ve been a different situation.

  The Tokyo and Osaka godfathers finished their song, getting a cheer from all the prostitutes and yakuza. Nao clapped, happy it was over.

  “Why not go up there and sing with your friends?” the blonde asked. “If you’re shy, we can join you.”

  Nao crossed his arms. “I don’t do karaoke.”

  “I’ll do it!” Fujimoto hopped up and joined the duo of godfathers with a handful of ladies.

  Their auto-tuned voices echoed across the room as the blonde refilled Nao’s champagne flute. Alcohol distracted him from the catastrophe the day had turned into. Prostitutes were the same in every city, but the geiko of Kyoto… Nao sighed. He shouldn’t dwell on what the other godfathers considered a good time.

  With two a.m. approaching, it seemed impossible for the old men to stay up so late. Nao had to meet with Sakai in the morning to discuss the business side of the Matsukawa. He hadn’t thought much about it before, but with the late hour and the amount of alcohol in his system, he knew he’d regret the morning.

  Even if the alcohol dulled the pain in his arm, his doctor would yell at him if he realized he’d drunk so much on the antibiotics. Nao rubbed his face as he remembered he hadn’t taken the medicine today anyway.

  Nao’s ears rang, muffling the electronic music in a searing silence. One of the women’s hands squeezed Nao’s thigh, and all his thoughts flooded to Saehyun. Why couldn’t his memories stay on his father’s funeral? It was easier than remembering every smile and caress Saehyun had given. Nao shouldn’t have saved him from the canal. He shouldn’t have agreed to letting Saehyun suck him off. He should’ve been able to see through his lies.

  Saehyun had led the invading faction of the Korean mob, and Nao had ultimately killed him to save Kyoto. Nao tried to swallow the thickness coating his throat, but his chin quivered the more the memory stuck. Saehyun had looked so happy when he died. His blood-stained teeth had smiled at Nao as he’d pulled the trigger. Nao had wanted to die that night. Hell, he still welcomed death each time he closed his eyes and in the void of darkness resurrected memories better left forgotten.

  “You okay, baby?” the brunette asked.

  Nao blinked and covered his mouth. He could never go back and change what he’d done. If only Saehyun had listened to him, then he’d still be alive… somewhere.

  “Maybe we should get you some more to drink.” The blonde laughed. “You look kind of out of it.”

  He needed to go, but it might look bad abandoning the other godfathers. He stared at the floor. He couldn’t even hold back his memories anymore.

  “Baby, it’s going to be all right.” The blonde tapped the other woman. “Go get him some tea. He said he liked tea.”

  Nao didn’t want tea but didn’t say anything as the woman stood. The karaoke song ended in a final measure of misplaced notes. Tokyo laughed as Osaka kissed the woman next to him. The other yakuza tugged the prostitutes to the hallway of rooms in the back.

  Good, he could get some sleep while they went at it.

  The brunette came back, handing Nao a cup of tea. He took the cup but didn’t drink. It would keep him up, and there was no way the prostitute cared about the proper temperature for the green tea she offered.

  “Why don’t we go to the back, like the others? We can distract you from whatever you’re upset about.” The brunette winked.

  “I want to stay here.”

  The blonde stood, teetering in her high heels, and placed Nao’s teacup on a nearby table. Then she grabbed Nao’s hand and gave it a tug.

  “Come on, it’s your turn, big boy.”

  “I didn’t reserve any company.” Nao pointed to Kurosawa, who sat a few feet away. “Maybe he’ll have you.”

  They were the only yakuza left in the front of the brothel.

  Kurosawa smiled. “I got them for you.”

  “Why would you do that?”

  “To help you relax.”

  “Women don’t interest me.”

  Nao frowned. Kurosawa had manhandled Nao into talking to the detective, acted formally when they were around anyone else, and thought female prostitutes would help him relax. If he planned on getting on Nao’s good side it wasn’t working.

  Kurosawa leaned back in his chair, his grin wide on his face. “Give them a try. The other godfathers are having a good time. You should, too.”

  “You paid for them. You go relax.”

  The blonde winked. “Don’t worry. We’ll make you feel good.”

  “They’re my gift to you, Father Murata. Take it as an apology for earlier today with the detective.”

  “Everyone knows I like men, and you give me female prostitutes as an apology? Not only is that an insult, but you’re grossly overstepping your boundaries.”

  Kurosawa crossed his arms, his jacket cutting his bicep. “Forgive me, Father Murata. I remember your father saying you’ve never been with a woman. How can you know you don’t like them if you haven’t tried?”

  “You knew my father?” Nao’s jaw clenched.

  “I was three positions away from the head of the street team. I knew him well, which was why Sakai thought I’d make a good bodyguard.”

  Nao rubbed his temple. He didn’t want to think about his father discussing the finer points of his son’s sexual preferences so casually around others. Nao never hid his orientation, but telling the whole family he’d never been with a woman crossed the line.

  “You might’ve gotten along with my father, but this isn’t going to work out between us. Come tomorrow, I’m going to replace you.”

  Kurosawa shrugged. “I won’t stop you, but these poor girls will be the only ones not getting paid tonight.”

  Nao couldn’t tell if it was the alcohol or the pathetic look on the blonde’s face, but guilt pulled at him. The lady might have a kid at home, or if she had a bad month and needed the money it would be his fault for the lack of cash. The ladies had tried to cheer him up, even. They were sweet, but the wrong sex. The least Nao could do was sit in the room and take a nap on the bed.

  “Fine.”

  Nao followed the women to the back hall, their heels clicking on the vinyl floors. The edges of the room hazed, and Nao’s head ached from the alcohol in his system. He chewed on his lip and glanced back to Kurosawa following behind. The moans and groans from the other yakuza echoed through the hall.

  “Are you going to come in with me too?” Nao raised an eyebrow. “Making sure they do what was paid for?”

  “I’m still your guard, so I have to follow you, but if you prefer, I can wait outside.”

  “Outside sounds good.”

  Nao’s stomach churned, and he swallowed back the acid boiling up. He hoped every day as the Matsukawa godfather wouldn’t end up with him in a sleep-deprived and drunken mess. All his memories of his father in the syndicate were of him working at his desk.

  The ladies opened the doors, and Nao stepped inside. Champagne no longer covered the scent of sex, and the disinfecting chemicals sitting in the corner didn’t ease Nao’s twisting stomach. The sheets on the blow-up mattress looked clean even
if the dim light made it impossible to detect any faint stains.

  He stepped toward the bed, ready for a nap, but the blonde pinned his shoulders against the door. The back of Nao’s head bounced off the hard surface, and the room spun. She unlaced his tie and slid it through his collar. Her movements were all too fast, and before Nao realized what happened, the blonde’s lips were centimeters from his. He pushed her away.

  “I meant what I said back there,” Nao said. “I want to take a nap. I know he paid you, but we can sit there and moan for a bit if you think he’ll want his money back if we don’t do it.”

  “We know how to deal with your type.” The blonde got on her knees and looked up at Nao. “Something was upsetting you. We can make you forget about it even if it’s only for a few minutes. Close your eyes and pretend I’m a guy.”

  “It doesn’t work that way.”

  The blonde snapped her fingers at the other. “Go get the stuff so he can relax.”

  “He doesn’t look—”

  “He will once he relaxes, and that can do it. You heard how much extra the old guy would tip if we got this guy to cum.”

  “Ladies, I—”

  “Don’t worry.” The blonde smiled.

  Nao didn’t want to hurt them. If he took even a step forward, he’d end up kicking the woman over.

  The brunette rubbed her neck. “I don’t want to force him.”

  The blonde grabbed the other woman until she fell beside her. “This is our job. Give it five minutes, and he’ll want it.”

  Nao narrowed his eyes as the blonde pushed back the cleaning supplies and pulled something out of a box. She pounced on Nao. Her lips smashed against his, and her tongue licked for entry while the brunette grabbed one of his wrists and unbuckled his belt. The blonde reached inside his pants. Nao opened his mouth to yell at her, but it was all she needed to shove not only her tongue, but a pill down his throat.

  The gritty pill caught in Nao’s throat like bitter matcha, and he coughed.

  The blonde looked down at the other woman. “He’ll be begging in no time, then we’ll make more in twenty minutes than we have the last six months.”

  “What the fuck did you give me?” Nao wheezed out between coughs.

  “Don’t worry. It will help you enjoy what we have to offer.”

  Nao gagged, the pill unmoving. Both women kept their distance as he heaved. His pulse throbbed in his arm.

  “Come on, baby. Relax and swallow,” the blonde said.

  “What is this?”

  “It’s Ecstasy.” She shrugged. “Don’t worry, it’s legal in the US.”

  Nao’s eyes widened. Ecstasy was what Detective Yamada had said was in the suitcase with the Korean drug dealer. He leaned forward, choking as the pill lodged itself deeper.

  “Swallow, honey. We can get you some water.” The blonde took a step toward Nao.

  One more hacking gag, and the champagne of the evening spilled onto the bed along with the green pill eroding at the edges. The words of the detective pounded in his ears. The memory of the body stuffed in the suitcase, the smell of his decaying corpse tickling Nao’s nose.

  “Where did you get these?” Nao wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his coat.

  The blonde smiled. “Let’s put this behind us. We can still have a good time. Come on, you’re a yakuza boss. You know how to have fun.”

  “Where was the dealer?”

  “Some street in Shima.”

  If any part of Kyoto were controlled by the Matsukawa, it would be Shima, the red-light district. There couldn’t be drug dealers there, because the Matsukawa would’ve shut them down within days.

  Unless a handful from the Korean mob Nao hadn’t exterminated were dealing. His eyes glazed over, and his mind flashed. It was his mistake for unknowingly letting some of the Koreans live. Of course, they weren’t all staying at their safe house when he shot it up. The ones who’d lived must’ve stayed silent and kept on selling drugs in the aftermath of the war.

  Nao grabbed the blonde’s arm. “Where specifically did you find the drugs? Which street? Who did you talk to?”

  She shrugged. “I can’t remember.”

  “I want an answer.”

  “It’s all over the streets.”

  Nao shoved the woman out of the way and tore open the door. There he was, getting assaulted by a prostitute, and his bodyguard had stood outside listening to the whole thing without moving a finger. Those broad shoulders and muscles were pointless.

  It might take hours before the godfathers finished their business. Nao had put up with enough of their antics for the evening and no longer cared about abandoning them.

  “Father Murata. You’re done kind of quickly.” Kurosawa’s feet pounded against the floor as he caught up to Nao.

  “I need to go.” Nao glared. “You can tell the other bosses and Fujimoto good-bye for me.”

  Kurosawa laughed.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “They told me you’d try to get away from me, but I didn’t believe them until now.”

  “I have a good history of ditching my bodyguards.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll follow you and message Fujimoto a good excuse to tell the other godfathers why you weren’t able to say good-bye.”

  “You can stay here.”

  “Afraid not.” Kurosawa shook his head. “It’s my job to follow you when you’re outside headquarters.”

  Nao stopped, and a grin spread across his face. “You might not like where I want to go next.”

  THE NEON LIGHTS of the Shima red-light district haloed in the light rain. Nao bit his lip, as his vision curled in a misty haze. Perhaps he’d swallowed enough of the drug to affect him, or his lack of sleep finally caught up to him.

  Nao didn’t walk in the drizzle very long before Kurosawa chased after him with a clear convenience-store umbrella. He held it over Nao’s head and kept up with his fast pace. Nao could add holding up his own umbrella to the list of things his position overqualified him to do.

  Women cooed, beckoning to Nao as he walked by, but their voices scratched his nerves like the pill had scratched his throat. Nao didn’t care about the rain dampening his clothes or the women wanting to lure him to their brothels. He cared about the Matsukawa name, tainted by the war with the Koreans.

  The average citizen couldn’t tell the difference between the Matsukawa keeping the streets safe and the Korean mob causing all the trouble. He needed to find the leftover pockets of Korean activity and destroy them before word got out to their allies.

  “Who’s the ward leader in charge of Shima, again?” Nao asked.

  “Chen.”

  “Chinese?”

  “He lived in Japan all his life. The ward’s safe house is back that way. Do you want to go there?”

  If Chen had been on top of his ward leader duties, there wouldn’t be a drug problem in Shima to begin with. If Nao confronted him, everyone would know the Koreans hadn’t fully left Kyoto. The war everyone said Nao single-handedly won would still be raging. Everyone would think he’d lied so he could become godfather. It would be best to deal with the small pocket of Koreans secretly.

  Nao peered inside another side street to try to find the dealers “all over Shima” as the prostitute said they were, but after fifteen minutes he still found nothing.

  “Chen keeps Shima hours, so now would be the time to visit,” Kurosawa said.

  “How long has he been the ward leader?” Nao asked, trying to distract Kurosawa.

  “About four years.”

  That meant Chen had become ward leader after Nao left the Matsukawa to deal with tea leaves instead of collecting on debt payments. Nao didn’t want to admit it, but Kurosawa could answer everything about the ward leaders.

  Nao stopped.

  A man with a backpack across one shoulder talked to a lady. Nao squinted, trying to make out the man’s features, but the shadow of the two buildings made them impossible to discern. She brushed the man’s palm, handing o
ver some cash. The man unzipped the backpack and palmed something white into the woman’s hand. She walked off while the man stayed put.

  Nao couldn’t allow the Kyoto streets to become dirty with such filth. The dealer would pay.

  Nao’s hand clenched into a fist, and he broke into a run.

  The dealer fled, pushing over a trash can, which Nao leaped over. The dealer weaved in and out of Shima’s streets, but Nao kept up, only a few feet behind each turn and obstacle pushed into his path.

  Sweat glistened on Nao’s forehead, but his deep breaths helped drive more adrenaline through his body. His veins screamed in fiery pain, and each beating thump of his heartbeat echoed in his injured arm.

  If Nao stretched out his arm, he could grab the dealer’s backpack, but Nao knew better. The dealer would slip out, leaving the drugs. Nao wanted to pound the dealer’s face into the ground until his hands were crimson from the criminal’s blood.

  Each cool inhale and exhale ignited the person Nao knew he really was, a fighter. He’d known the moment he took the first swing when he was thirteen. Each new battle had grown easier while the thrill of power stroked a deep primordial urge within. The smallest dose of adrenaline kicked the monster inside and took over all of Nao’s thoughts.

  The pursuit led him to abandoned streets. He jumped and caught the hem of the dealer’s T-shirt. They both tumbled down into the dirty alleyway. The motions slowed, and Nao scrambled, grabbing hold of the dealer’s feet.

  “Get off me!” the dealer yelled. His thick Korean accent made Nao’s ears ring.

  “Shut up!”

  The dealer kicked at Nao, but he dodged, tightening his grip on the man’s foot until his knuckles ached. They needed to get out of sight. No one needed to see what he was going to do.

  Nao dragged the dealer behind a collection of trash cans. The scent of rotting food made Nao gag, but it was the perfect place. The dealer squirmed, clawing at the concrete, but Nao wouldn’t let go. Instead, he wrapped the man’s leg in the crook of his good arm and held the dealer up like a fish ready to be gutted. The man jerked, but it didn’t stop Nao from kicking him in the face.

  Again and again, Nao landed his boot on the dealer’s jaw, nose, and eyes. With each kick, Nao lost more and more of his lucid thought until he had become the person he’d tried to bury when he left the mob years ago.