The Yakuza Path: Better Than Suicide

by Amy Tasukada

  “What do you think you’re doing?” Nao yelled with each kick. “I’ll kill you! I’ll kill you for what you did to this city!”

  “Father Murata!” Kurosawa gasped. The extra muscles Kurosawa carried made him slow. “What are you doing?”

  “Don’t you fucking stop me,” Nao hissed through his teeth, “or I’ll kill you, too.”

  Kurosawa shook his head and stepped to block the entry of the alley.

  The dealer’s leg went limp, and a grin crossed Nao’s face. He grabbed the dealer’s collar and slammed him against the wall.

  “Who are you with?” Nao asked the dealer. “Are you part of the Korean mob, or are you doing this on your own?”

  Snot mixed with blood oozed out of the dealer’s nose. His mouth opened, and a sob wrenched out of his body along with a tooth. His silence ignited Nao’s rage.

  Nao grabbed a chunk of the dealer’s dark hair and pulled until more cries escaped. He inched closer, the dealer’s breath warming his cheek.

  “I asked you a question.” Nao yanked harder. “Now who are you with?”

  “I’m trying to make money,” the man sobbed.

  “Then who’s your supplier?”

  The dealer shook his head but gave no reply. Nao knew how to make men talk.

  Nao punched the dealer’s stomach. The dealer blinked, and Nao slammed the dealer’s head against the ground.

  “I said who gave you the drugs?” Nao demanded.

  “Please, you can take them. You can take them all.”

  “Take what? The drugs?” Nao’s nostrils flared. “You stupid bastard. You think I give a fuck about the drugs?”

  Nao snatched the backpack from the ground and tore it open. About fifty white baggies fell out along with twenty packets of green Ecstasy pills. Nao’s stomach lurched.

  “You want to feel what you’re doing to the city?” Nao asked.

  He grabbed a fistful of packets with his bad arm while he wrapped the fingers of his good arm around the dealer’s throat. He shoved the packets into the dealer’s mouth and stared into the dealer’s eyes as he struggled for breath.

  The dealer spit up a few packets, but Nao shoved them back down his throat. In one swift motion, Nao pinched his nose and covered his mouth. The dealer thrashed but Nao climbed onto him, riding out the first chaotic spasms. Nao knew the dealer understood he was going to die right there by his hand.

  “How do you like it?” Nao laughed.

  Once the twitching stopped, Nao stood and cleaned his bloodied hands on his pants, but blood clotted on the bandage and dampen his skin. His muscles relaxed, and his thumping heart slowed.

  Shit. The dealer was dead.

  Nao ran his fingers through his hair. He hadn’t meant to kill him, only knock him around and make him confess to everyone involved. Then Nao had planned to tie him up and leave him for the police to deal with. With the dealer dead, it made the whole situation more difficult. Maybe it could still work.

  “We need to get this cleaned up,” Kurosawa said.

  “No, we don’t,” Nao replied.

  “You fucking killed someone. Of course we’re cleaning it up.”

  Nao rubbed his temple and then pulled out his phone. He turned it on and ignored the blinking red light and all the random junk popping up on the screen. He flipped through the contacts, hoping Sakai had entered Detective Yamada’s phone number. The detective had been as close to his father as a police officer would get to a mob boss.

  After a few moments, the screen highlighted Yamada’s name.

  Nao called, and a wave of curiosity washed over him. Did he have the personal number of Yamada, or was he calling his work desk? Nao had assumed all the numbers were carried over from his father’s phone and then updated when someone died or was promoted in the aftermath of the war.

  “Hello?” Yamada’s groggy voice called.

  The number must’ve been his personal one, unless he slept at his desk.

  “Found who’s behind the drugs.”

  “What? Who is—”

  “He’s waiting in an alley in Shima for you.”

  Nao ended the call before Yamada could say anything more.

  Kurosawa cross his arms. “What’s the call about?”

  “It doesn’t concern you.”

  Nao walked away from the corpse and into the street. Kurosawa grabbed Nao’s injured arm. It was a habit he was not going to miss when he replaced him.

  “And what are you doing?” Kurosawa said.

  Nao’s pressed his lips together. If he didn’t tell Kurosawa anything, he might go ahead and text someone to clean up the body, and Nao couldn’t leave Yamada with no one to blame. Nao had found the right person behind all of it and not some low-ranking Matsukawa like Yamada wanted.

  “The cops want someone to blame. They’ll be happy to blame everything on him. Do you understand?”

  Kurosawa gave a small nod. “As you say, Father Murata. It’s getting late. Let’s head back home.”

  Nao’s eyes narrowed. Kurosawa had no right to order him around, which only made Nao want to do the opposite.

  Going to a club had always calmed his thoughts before. The meds Nao took for his arm caused some sleepless nights. Perhaps blowing off some steam with a few beers would help. He could make Kurosawa squirm at a gay club as payback for his generous offer with the female prostitutes.

  “Let’s go look for someone more my taste.” Nao grinned. “After all, they serve all types in the red-light district.”

  KUROSAWA HAD MADE it clear he didn’t care for Nao’s interest in men, and Nao couldn’t stand Kurosawa echoing each step he took. Nao would show him that being his shadow meant following him to a male whorehouse. Kurosawa wouldn’t last twenty minutes. Then he’d leave Nao to drink away his aching muscles and black out the realization that he still couldn’t control himself during an adrenaline-filled fight.

  They traveled down the block where the blur between female brothels and those mixed with men emerged. The exclusively gay clubs were further down, but Nao enjoyed the mixed brothels, which always served better alcohol.

  A pop song greeted them as Kurosawa opened the door. Framed photos of the top-selling prostitutes in various photoshopped glamour shots hung along the matte-black hallway before opening up to the lounge. Nao licked his lips and glanced back to Kurosawa. His upturned nose was wrinkled in disgust—exactly the reaction Nao had hoped for.

  “Mr. Murata,” the hostess greeted. “What a pleasure to have you here.”

  Nao’s rise in the Matsukawa had made national news, but the hostess knew his name because most establishments in Shima paid protection costs to the family. With a yakuza stationed on every street, their response time was quicker than the police’s. They could resolve issues more quickly and quietly for everyone involved.

  “Here’s our menu. Take your time looking it over.”

  She handed Nao a tablet and tapped through the first few pictures. She grabbed another for Kurosawa, but he crossed his arms and walked to the other side of Nao.

  “Do you think this one gives good head?” Nao held up the tablet for Kurosawa to see. He stood silent. “I asked you a question. I expect an answer.”

  Kurosawa’s cold eyes glanced over Nao before looking away. “I wouldn’t know, Father Murata.”

  Maybe Nao could get Kurosawa to walk out in ten minutes if he kept on asking his opinion on men, but after the first, he walked far enough away that Nao would have to shout to be heard over the music.

  Nao hid a yawn and handed the tablet back to the hostess. “I want him.”

  “You’ll love Kohta. He joined us a few months ago, and is really popular.” She looked at Kurosawa. “Did you see someone you want?”

  “Come on, Kurosawa. How can you know if you don’t like them if you haven’t tried? You might enjoy it.” Nao laughed.

  Kurosawa said nothing.

  The woman smiled at Nao when it was clear she wasn’t getting an answer. “What services are you looking
for, Mr. Murata?”

  Nao glanced over the price menu for the diverse services the prostitutes offered. Almost every sexual fantasy was legal in Japan, except for actual penetration. He ordered a blowjob and loved the grimace on Kurosawa’s face when he did. Nao imagined each open display of his sexuality as one more dent in Kurosawa’s noble bodyguard image. Hopefully after few more lewd comments it would break and Kurosawa would leave.

  With everything ordered, the hostess escorted Nao into the brothel. It was larger than the female one Nao had gone to with the other godfathers. A dance floor with a disco ball held a dozen ladies and men. Their charming prostitutes refilled their champagne glasses. Alcohol always made the club more than the sex acts.

  The hostess led Nao to a corner booth with a view of the dance floor. Kurosawa fidgeted on the edge of the booth, his face as red as the wine a bartender brought for Nao.

  “You’ve never visited a male brothel before?” Nao asked, yelling to be heard over the music.

  “It’s my first.”

  “You know what? It was my first time at a female brothel.”

  “I hope you find it satisfying,” a voice whispered centimeters away from Nao’s ear.

  Kohta’s large Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he spoke, beckoning Nao to bite it with each syllable. Nao was either too tired or too distracted to comprehend the other words coming out of Kohta’s gorgeous mouth as he scooted in beside Nao.

  “What?” Nao blinked.

  “I said, what should I call you?” Kohta’s deep voice made Nao’s toes curl.

  “Nao.” There was no need to use last names here.

  “If they told me I was seeing a Nao, I would’ve thought it was a girl.”

  Nao was a common girl’s name, but people almost never bothered to alert Nao to it.

  “And who’s the gentleman over there?”

  Kurosawa crossed his arms. “I’m not here to talk to you.”

  Nao sipped his wine then yawned into the glass while watching Kohta’s features distort through the glasses. The floppy black hat perched on Kohta’s head contrasted against the waves of shoulder-length dirty-blond hair. The hat made him look a little ridiculous, but not as out of place as his sunglasses.

  “Why are you wearing sunglasses?” Nao asked. “You know you’re inside?”

  “They’re Gucci and look good.”

  “What?”

  Kohta laughed. “You have an Armani suit but don’t know Gucci?”

  “I don’t care for brands. So take them off because they don’t impress me.” Nao ran a finger down the front of Kohta’s black leather pants. “And you are here to please me, after all.”

  “If you don’t mind, I’d rather—”

  Nao narrowed his eyes. “I do mind.”

  Kohta sighed and took off his glasses, revealing haggard dark circles underneath milk-chocolate-colored eyes. No wonder he wanted to wear sunglasses with those bags that even his bad attempt at makeup couldn’t hide. His eyes, though, were still alluring. They kind of looked like Shinya’s, and Nao could’ve stared into them for hours. Kohta’s blond hair reminded him of Shinya’s, too.

  Nao bit his lip.

  He was doing it again. Thinking every man who winked at him somehow resembled the man he had wanted to spend the rest of his life with.

  Shinya had been murdered, because Nao hadn’t been strong enough to protect him. His death had driven Nao out of the Matsukawa and into life as a celibate tea merchant. Then, four years later, Saehyun had smiled at him and started to look like Shinya, too. Before Nao had known it, he’d been screwing one of the leaders of the Korean mob who had been trying to take over Kyoto.

  Kohta looked like Kohta and no one else. He was giving Nao attention because he paid him.

  “Let’s get you a refill,” Kohta said.

  Nao blinked. He had finished off his wine while his thoughts were distracted by Shinya. He could blame it on the lack of sleep bringing his dream to life, couldn’t he? Because if stepping out of the headquarters meant being barraged by the past, he’d never see the city again.

  “I’ll take another,” Nao said.

  Maybe another drink would numb his feelings toward past lovers. Kohta called back the bartender, who refilled Nao’s glass. Then the whore took out a deck of cards and shuffled them.

  “You like to play cards?” Kohta asked.

  “I like to play with a lot of things.”

  Kohta fanned at the deck. “Here, pick a card.”

  Nao raised a brow. Could a prostitute really be so dense? “Is this some kind of trick?”

  “It’s not a trick until you pick one.”

  Card tricks weren’t something Nao expected from a prostitute. A host would do whatever he could to entertain people and encourage them to buy more drinks. Card tricks weren’t going to make Kurosawa uncomfortable enough to want to leave.

  Nao glanced down to Kohta’s crotch and then palmed it. “Can I pick this one?”

  “I don’t think you want that card to disappear.” Kohta gave an uneasy laugh, and his inner thighs tightened under Nao’s hand.

  Nao would humor Kohta for one trick. He was trying to blow off steam from the drug dealers and Yamada. A card trick might be amusing. Nao plucked one of the fanned-out cards.

  “Memorize it, and then put it back,” Kohta said.

  Sipping his wine, Nao put the card back in the stack. His focus kept going to Kohta’s mouth while he shuffled the cards. Would it taste like alcohol or the last person he’d been with?

  Kohta held one up. “Is this your card?”

  Shit. Nao had forgot the card. “Wow, that’s it.”

  “What?”

  “That’s my card.”

  Kohta’s eyes narrowed. “No, it’s not.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Kohta grumbled, lifting up Nao’s coaster and pulling out a card. “Because this is your card.”

  Nao wanted a prostitute, not a magician.

  “I forgot what it was.” Then Nao was lost in Kohta’s eyes again. In a blur of sleep deprivation and alcohol, Kohta’s eyes became Shinya’s again. “I’m really sorry.”

  “It’s okay, we can try it again.”

  Kohta reshuffled the deck.

  Nao finished the rest of his wine in one gulp. The excursion needed to end before Nao passed out from exhaustion or Kohta ended up turning into Shinya’s double and Nao had to relive the night he’d died all over again.

  “I was distracted by your mouth,” Nao said. “And I’m not paying you to play cards. So let’s get down to business.”

  “If that’s what you want to do.” Kohta cleared his throat. “The girls usually like to be entertained for a bit before.”

  “If you haven’t realized yet, I am not a girl.” Nao rubbed his temple.

  “I didn’t mean it like that. I’m used to putting on a show—”

  Nao lifted Kohta’s jaw and licked his throat, tasting every centimeter of his salty skin. It was more forward than anything Nao would normally do, but the point was to get Kurosawa to leave. Kohta would’ve sat there for hours talking or doing more card tricks unless Nao added the pressure.

  “The show is in the back,” Nao said, then looked back at Kurosawa. “Why don’t you go home? I might be here a while.”

  “I’m your bodyguard. I’m supposed to follow you.”

  “Kohta’s going to suck me off, and then who knows?” Nao cocked his head. “Do you really want to be around to hear the moans of two men together?”

  Kurosawa cleared his throat. “Until you find a replacement for me, I’ll do what is expected of me. It’s my duty to you and the Matsukawa as a whole.”

  Kurosawa was too damn dedicated. Nao sighed. Maybe once Kohta let out his first moan, Kurosawa would get embarrassed and leave.

  Maybe sleeping with more people would help Nao get over Shinya. First loves were hard to forget; Nao had tried to for years, but flashes of Shinya always appeared. When Saehyun had gone down on him it had been S
hinya’s name on his lips when he’d came.

  All three walked to the back rooms, and Nao’s gaze darted to Kohta’s ass. Shinya’s had been better.

  Nao gave Kurosawa one last offer to leave before heading inside the door Kohta opened. His hands slid over Nao’s chest, then one by one the buttons of his dress shirt came off.

  Kohta’s fingers were hot against his skin. Nao swallowed, his chest growing heavier with each breath. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe he could never get over Shinya. Maybe he was never meant to.

  He looked away.

  The room was the same as any other place offering massages. It held a sunken tub where Nao would be cleaned off first, and the blow-up mattress where he could be rubbed with oil and massaged with a blowjob to end. When Nao had ordered it, he hadn’t actually thought of the ending, only making Kurosawa uncomfortable.

  Nao closed his eyes. He’d only wanted to end the night drinking at a club, because it was how he used to end every rough night when he’d first joined the Matsukawa. But back then he’d end up at a host club with Shinya smiling and refilling his drink. Then they’d stagger back to Nao’s apartment and would make love as the sun rose.

  A chill snapped through Nao, cutting off the memory like a broken tea tree branch. Kohta had slid off his jacket and shirt. Dried blood browned the gauze around Nao’s arm. It should’ve been changed hours ago.

  “You’re hurt, but it looks like it’s not the first time for you,” Kohta said and pointed to the thin scar on Nao’s neck.

  Nao rubbed the old wound, a constant reminder of his weakness. He and Shinya could’ve still been enjoying watching each new day in each other’s arm if Nao hadn’t broken the nose of a Tokyo yakuza flirting with Shinya.

  “Do you want to take off the bandage before getting into the tub?” Kohta asked.

  “Don’t worry about it. I’ll keep my arm out.”

  “What happened?”

  “I got shot.”

  “With a gun?”

  “That’s how you get shot.” Nao shook his head. “Look, I’m tired. So let’s finish.”