The Yakuza Path: Better Than Suicide

by Amy Tasukada

  “I expect to know before the week is over.”

  “Certainly, Nao.”

  “Nao?” His nostrils flared, and a fire burned in his stomach.

  “Old habits.” Sakai smiled. “I’ve known you since you were born. It’s going to take some time to get used to saying Father Murata. And you seem to like using first names. I’ll be in touch.”

  The door closed behind Sakai, and Nao slammed his fist against the table. It rattled his bone and ignited the nerve endings in his damaged arm. He sighed and sank into his chair. He couldn’t allow the old man to get to him even with the cheap jabs he got in.

  Nao poured himself another cup of tea and petted Nobu a few times before grabbing another folder. He’d understand the words if he read it enough. He needed to be a good godfather, and he couldn’t appear weak in any aspect of the Matsukawa. Miko was counting on him, but more importantly, the city needed him.

  A loud thud caused Nao’s gaze to dart over the file. Nobu ran to the closed door as tea spread into the open drawer.

  “Bad kitty. Don’t knock over the tea.”

  He grabbed the napkin under Sakai’s teacup and tried his best to soak up the liquid, but the tea streamed into the drawer. Nao grumbled and pulled his sling out of the drawer. Tea dripped off the nylon, and he tossed it on the floor. The office supplies inside became coated in tea, but the liquid seeped into a corner and disappeared underneath.

  Nao narrowed his eyes and tapped against the bottom ,getting a hollow thud. The drawer had a fake bottom.

  “What was Father hiding?” Nao mumbled.

  The wood scraped Nao’s finger as he scratched at the corner. His fingernail caught the edge. A gun rested in a shallow pool of tea. It wasn’t surprising, but Nao raised an eyebrow at the key beside it. The tag attached resembled the type used for Kyoto’s main train station lockers, the same station where the Korean drug dealer had been found.

  Why would his father have kept a locker key hidden in his desk?

  Nao dried the key on his pants, and the work on his desk no longer felt important. Father wouldn’t have been so careful to hide the key yet keep it close if it wasn’t important.

  He needed to see what was in the locker.

  Nobu squeaked a thank-you as Nao opened the door. He headed downstairs, but Kurosawa’s voice came through the bathroom door, stopping him. Another reason to dump Kurosawa, talking on the phone while in the bathroom was disgusting.

  Nao leaned against the door. Kurosawa’s words were unrecognizable at first, but then…

  “Yes, Sakai. I’ll know to keep…” Kurosawa said.

  Sakai had left less than twenty minutes ago. Kurosawa could’ve talked with him then, unless he hadn’t wanted anyone to know about their conversation.

  Nao swallowed and lingered in hopes of hearing more, but only heard a few of Sakai’s unintelligible yelling and quick apologies from Kurosawa. Father’s locker key burned in his pocket.

  Screw it.

  He wandered into the kitchen and found Aki putting together his lunch.

  “Put my lunch in my office,” Nao said. “I’m going to grab something from my room. I don’t want anyone to disturb me while I work. Can you make sure no one comes in?”

  “Without fail.”

  Aki smiled, and the scratching at Nao’s subconscious about Sakai and Kurosawa’s conversation subsided. Aki’s smile had to be his best feature, and Nao could imagine it charming any new business owner into handing over protection money.

  Nao stayed in the kitchen until Aki climbed the stairs with his lunch tray. Then Nao slipped out of headquarters and headed for the train station.

  NAO JOINED THE CROWD of suited salarymen rushing about the train station. Sunshine filtered through the steel-and-glass cage of the large building. The air-conditioning came as a welcome relief to the humid summer, but the black floors and gray walls weren’t the Kyoto Nao loved. Yet wearing the constraining suits didn’t keep anything but Western traditions alive.

  He tugged his collar, and the comforting image of a noose braided into his imagination. It would’ve been easier if he had died. Then the overwhelming reality of being godfather wouldn’t throttle him.

  A twenty-four-hour news station flicked between mundane stories, but for as long as Nao vacantly watched, nothing aired about the Korean drug dealer in the suitcase or the one he’d left in Shima to take the blame. Perhaps Detective Yamada wanted to announce catching the criminal at a press conference. Holding such a big event would cast some positive light on the police, which they’d lacked since the Korean mob invaded.

  Nao shook his head. The Matsukawa worked harder at keeping the city safe and helped out the average person more than any cop. He’d given a scapegoat to the detective; from there, it was Detective Yamada’s job to weave the story. Drugs weren’t Nao’s problem anymore.

  The lockers matching the key were by the movie theater. Nao took the escalator down and examined the posters for Western movies plastered along the shiny walls. He’d never realized how the West infiltrated everywhere. Before, his world had revolved around his apartment and his teahouse skirting the historic district, and both had been kept to purely Japanese aesthetics.

  Nao passed the moviegoers and entered the locker area. A clothing advertisement of an athlete with neon-yellow pants and a firefly-orange shirt hung along a wall. It was so garish even Saehyun wouldn’t have worn it.

  Saehyun…

  A string of curses flooded Nao’s mind for even thinking about the three-month fling with the Korean second-in-command. It didn’t matter that Saehyun had driven Nao out of his world of hiding and obsessive compulsion to run away from his memories. Saehyun had been the enemy, and Nao had shot him like he would any other threat to the Matsukawa.

  Dispelling his thoughts, Nao pulled the key out of his pocket and found the matching number to the tag. He inserted the key into the bottom locker and turned the knob until the door sprang open. A blue duffle bag stuffed to capacity sat within.

  Nao slung the bag over his good arm. It was too light to be filled with guns, but there could be a single one wrapped in towels in case someone opened the bag. Considering how the detective had treated him at their last meeting, Nao wouldn’t be surprised if Yamada were to jail him for possession of an illegal weapon before his lawyers managed two words in defense. Nao needed to open the bag where no one could see.

  His boots echoed as Nao strolled out of the locker room and into the nearest bathroom. The same gray walls greeted him, and the lingering smell of bleach drifted in the air. He checked that all the stalls were empty before locking the bathroom door behind him. The last thing he needed was a citizen walking in on him when he unloaded the weapons. He dropped the bag in front of the toilet in the largest stall and kneeled on the floor.

  The zipper groaned in the empty room, and Nao’s eyes widened at the contents.

  Instead of towels hiding a single weapon, a dozen large plastic bags filled to bursting were inside. Nao’s hand shook as he clutched one of the bags. It popped opened, spilling out a hundred smaller baggies, each containing two of the green Ecstasy pills like the ones the prostitute had shoved down his throat.

  His heart pounded against his ribs, each thump pulsating against the stitches in his skin. He shoved the pill packets back inside the bag, but more spilled out. Each time he grabbed one, his trembling hands sent more flooding to the ground. His insides plummeted like the spent casing of a fired gun. The other dozen bags inside contained more baggies filled with white powder or pills.

  The Matsukawa didn’t deal drugs. His father had always said it, yet here they were, portioned into sizes and ready to push on the streets. What other lies had his father fed him?

  Vomit pushed up from his stomach and burned his throat. He covered his mouth until he reached the toilet, and the morning’s miso soup burst free. His stomach squeezed out everything inside until his breaths came in dry heaves and short gagging coughs.

  He backed into the bathroom doo
r and sank onto the floor. His father had allowed the Matsukawa to sit on the drugs. Nao covered his face with his hands, wishing the darkness to swallow him whole. His thoughts raced in an infinite cycle of disbelief and supplications of death.

  A thump against the bathroom door broke the cycle. Nao couldn’t stay in there forever. Eventually a maintenance person would unlock the door. Then a single thought etched in Nao’s mind. He wasn’t his father just because he held the same rank. Whatever reason his father had for keeping the drugs was no longer an option.

  Nao clawed open one of the bags and shoved a handful of the drug packets into the toilet and flushed them away. Each bag he burst open sent particles floating into the air. They clung to his pinstriped jacket. He snatched at the other baggies, unable to get rid of them fast enough.

  With the last bag swirling in the toilet, Nao double-checked all the duffle bag pockets, making sure every bag was gone. Nao stood and balled up the duffle in his fists and dumped it in the trash. He splashed water on his face and dusted off his coat, getting even the smallest particles off him.

  Nao gulped down the acid still stinging his throat. Perhaps Detective Yamada had been right accusing the Matsukawa of dealing. Only Miko would know for sure.

  He let out a steady breath then unlocked the bathroom door and strolled out. Nao’s phone lit up as he turned it on. He’d been out less than an hour, and Kurosawa had called him five times. Aki must’ve not understood “don’t let anyone disturb me” also meant Kurosawa. He’d probably forced himself in the office even if Aki protested.

  Nao ignored the messages and headed out of the station. He scrolled through his contacts until he got to Miko.

  Before Nao’s father had died, he’d named Miko as the next godfather of the Matsukawa. Her six-year jail sentence made it impossible for her to serve. So she’d named Nao as active godfather until her return.

  Nao hovered over the number of the prison where she was contained. Allowed only one phone call a month, the Matsukawa had agreed to call her the end of each month. If he called, it would break the arrangement with the prison. Then once the end of the month came, everyone would know he’d called out of turn.

  Invading the Koreans’ safe house was supposed to be his suicide mission. He’d never intended to live in the aftermath. He‘d never intended to have responsibility of the whole Matsukawa pressed against his chest like a nail being hammered down.

  He stopped outside the bicycle racks and reminded himself to breathe. Citizens and tourists walked about. They weren’t in fear someone might steal their unlocked bike or take their wallet while in a crowded street. When the Koreans had been in Kyoto, everything had stood on edge.

  A tight smile crossed his face. While he lived he could keep Kyoto out of the Koreans’ reach and protect the average citizen from the horrors of the underworld. If he died tomorrow then at least he would have done what he could.

  Nao called Miko, and the guard took about ten minutes to bring her to the phone.

  “What’s going down?” Even Miko’s disembodied voice could command all the yakuza in Kyoto.

  “I found a key—”

  “Nao? Did something happen to Sakai?”

  Nao pressed his lips together. Last time, Sakai had made the call while he’d listened on speaker.

  “Sakai’s fine,” Nao said.

  “Did the Blood Magnolias send another one of their Korean mob branches?”

  “Kyoto is still in our hands—”

  “Then why did you call out of turn? We agreed on the end of each month, not the second week.”

  Nao couldn’t have felt more like a disobedient child. The acid burning at his throat reminded him of his cause.

  “I found a key in Father’s desk, and it led to a locker with some stuff.” Nao tried to be as vague as he could. There had to be someone listening in on the conversation.

  “Ah, you found that. What about it?”

  Nao bit his lip. “I didn’t think we did that kind of thing.”

  “It was a contingency plan,” Miko said.

  “Contingency plan?”

  “We use it when our funds get low.”

  Nao’s mouth dropped. If there’d been anything left in his stomach, he knew it would have ended up on his shoes. All these years he had believed the Matsukawa never tainted the streets with such filth, but they had. Flashes of the body inside the suitcase clouded his vision. Yamada had been right for coming after them.

  No. It wasn’t right.

  The duffle bag had been full, and Nao hadn’t ordered any drug deals to happen. What the detective had tried to pin on the Matsukawa was stuff the Koreans were dealing.

  “Nao?”

  Nao shook his head. “H-how long has it been going on?”

  “Since always. We only need a small amount to get the cash fast. Every syndicate does it.”

  Miko talked so easily about infesting the core of Kyoto like the Koreans did. Even thinking about it made Nao’s stomach lurching.

  “Is that—” Nao cleared his throat. “Was that the only bag?”

  “There’s a key in my apartment to another locker.”

  “Where?”

  “In my copy of I am the Cat. Did Sakai not tell you about them?”

  Another reason to distrust Sakai. If he’d kept the drugs secret, no doubt there were other things he hid. Everyone knew he’d wanted to be the godfather while Miko was away. If Nao was jailed, too, Sakai would get what he wanted.

  “Who has your house key?” Nao asked.

  “Fujimoto, maybe? My home is in his ward.” Her voice rose. “What’s this all about?”

  “I’m trying to get all our assets together.”

  “Then go talk to Sakai. He knows where everything is.”

  “I don’t trust—”

  She sighed, and Nao could imagine her rubbing her temple. Women weren’t common leaders in the underworld, but she had enough charisma that any man would follow her orders.

  “Sakai knows his place,” Miko said. “He knows I chose you, because you weren’t a coward when the Korean mob tried to take over. Even if he’s a chicken, you can trust Sakai. He will do whatever is necessary for the longevity of the Matsukawa.”

  Nao pressed his palm against his pants. “I really don’t know if I can trust anyone right now.”

  “The face of the yakuza is changing, even in Kyoto. Everyone is leaning more toward legal business. Sakai knows the future.”

  Nao looked down. He couldn’t go against what Miko said. He trusted her more than most of the living family members.

  Miko continued. “Your goal in the next few months should be to gain the confidence of all the family members. They don’t know who you are, and the older members remember you as a teenager. You earned a lot of their respect when you stopped the war. So go build up your relationship with the family, and be the godfather they need while I’m gone.”

  “I’ll try my best.”

  “What else is going on? Surely the bags weren’t the only reason you called out of turn.”

  Nao gulped, and his gaze darted back over the people. “The police are really breathing down my neck. The detective is trying to find any excuse he can to put me in jail and give the Matsukawa the boot out of Kyoto.”

  “He had a relationship with your father. He won’t put an end to the Matsukawa without a good excuse, so don’t give him one.”

  So if it was up to her, she would’ve given someone up.

  “I’ll try,” Nao said.

  “Shadow Sakai, and he’ll teach you everything.”

  “Yeah.”

  Nao hung up the phone, but he couldn’t leave the drugs in the Matsukawa’s hands. He would see Fujimoto about Miko’s key, and then he would make sure the bag hadn’t been disturbed then flush it down the toilet.

  The Matsukawa didn’t deal drugs, even if everyone sold them as a contingency plan. They could sell his old teahouse or stocks if they needed funds.

  Then he’d search all of Kyoto to find
every last Korean scum dealing drugs. He’d win over both new and old Matsukawa recruits, dealing with the issue himself.

  Nao pulled up the number and called Fujimoto.

  “Hello, Fujimoto?”

  “Yeah, Fat—” Static cut into the line. “—need?”

  “Do you have Miko’s key?” Nao asked.

  “What?”

  “Miko’s key!”

  Static came down the line again, and Nao cursed.

  “Where are you?” Nao said.

  “I’m… gym.”

  There was only one gym Fujimoto could be at, since no other gym would allow membership to anyone connected with the yakuza. Nao pressed his lips together. He’d sever every drug tie the Matsukawa possessed.

  HIGH SCHOOLERS GATHERED outside the Matsukawa’s boxing gym. The delinquents were part of a necessary cycle of becoming acquainted with members and, over time, seeing if the yakuza life was for them. Given a year or so, Nao would watch their jumpsuit-wearing backs as they scrubbed the floors at headquarters. Although, the bunch looked like they could barely dress themselves let alone be willing to put in a day’s work.

  Nao scrunched up his nose. He’d never scrutinized the group before, but they would be the future of the Matsukawa. He made a mental note to get together with the person in charge of the recruits and review the methods of turning high school dropouts into yakuza. Since he was a godfather’s son, he’d gotten to skip a lot of the hard labor of scrubbing toilets and cooking meals.

  The gym smelled the same—cold metal and old sweat. With one glance, there was no doubt the gym belonged to the Matsukawa. Dragon, tiger, and cherry blossom tattoos welcomed Nao further inside. Tattoos, though becoming more mainstream, were still considered the mark of the underworld, and over half the people in the gym had their bodies covered. The others had the inverted arrows of the Matsukawa crest tattooed on their arm or chest.

  As Nao passed various members jumping rope or punching a bag, they would stop and bow to him, but he passed them. He only needed to get Miko’s house key from Fujimoto.