The Yakuza Path: Better Than Suicide

by Amy Tasukada

  Kohta had driven him to drink with suggestions of more champagne. The whore had probably figured out that at the bottom of a flute he looked like Shinya. Kohta’s features would grow wider, and his hair would straighten. Then he could convince Nao he’d paid for magic tricks.

  Nao winced and rubbed the bridge of his nose before swallowing down the lingering acid in his throat. He pulled the covers over his head and snuggled up next to his pillow. It was too early to come to terms with any of yesterday’s failures. He hadn’t found any more of the Korean drug dealers and still didn’t know which Matsukawa traitor had taken Miko’s drugs. He’d find them after he slept. He needed to forget the crushing responsibilities weighing down on him for a few more hours.

  “Father Murata?” Aki’s voice came muffled from behind the door.

  His lascivious voice could turn even a thank-you into dirty talk with his thick dialect. Nao ignored him.

  A few minutes later Aki called out again and knocked a little louder on the door. Nao couldn’t escape him.

  “Come in.” Nao groaned.

  Aki opened the door and gave a low bow while Nobu pranced inside. She meowed, weaving in and out of Aki’s legs, before pouncing on Nao’s chest. She kept on meowing until Nao rubbed under her chin.

  “She missed you while you were gone. She paced between your bed and bathroom, meowing. I tried playing with her, but she would go right back to it after a few minutes.”

  Nao could listen to Aki talk all day. Even his headache lightened with each syllable he spoke.

  “Are you in charge of her?” Nao asked.

  “One of the newer recruits is, but I’m a lighter sleeper.” Aki smiled and placed a tray of tea and miso soup beside Nao. “I hope you’re feeling better.”

  Aki’s well wishes grew Nao’s hatred of himself a little more. His throat suggested he must’ve spent half the night with his head in a toilet. He rubbed his forehead, eliciting a meow from Nobu because he’d stopped petting her.

  “I’m fine,” Nao lied.

  He couldn’t let himself sink so low again. First he had to figure out who had taken Miko’s drugs and whether it was the Matsukawa or a Korean mobster from the Blood Magnolias branch in Osaka selling them. Nao shook his head. They could both be dealing for all he knew. He was worthless.

  Nao sipped the tea, letting the warm liquid drive away the lingering stomach acid. The first sip filled him with the light hint of astringency and a subtle plum aftertaste from the particular infusion of oolong. Once he finished his sip, Aki pushed away the kitten from Nao’s soup.

  “It’s an honor to make tea for you, Father Murata. I hope it’s to your liking.” Aki bowed and his bangs fell into his eyes. His cuteness made Nao’s headache worse.

  “Next time don’t bring the tea prepared. I want to be able to see the leaves before and after they’re steeped. It’s the tea seller in me.”

  “As you wish.”

  Nao looked into his cup to avoid staring at Aki. “I’m happy to have one underling who is able to make tea correctly.”

  “I’m glad you enjoy it.”

  Another sip and the scratchy burn in Nao’s throat disappeared. Most underlings would’ve left after Nao had confirmed the tea was satisfactory, but Aki stayed. His lips pressed together as if he wanted to say more.

  Nao cleared his throat. “Is there anything else?”

  “Yes, Father Murata, sorry. Detective Yamada called a few minutes ago and requested you meet him. I gave Kurosawa the address.”

  “The detective called here?”

  “He requested you come immediately, or else I would not have disturbed you.”

  “Tell Kurosawa to get the car ready.”

  “As you wish.” Aki bowed and left.

  If Detective Yamada wanted Nao, it wasn’t good. He put the cat on the floor. She found the futon Nao slept in as appealing as his lap.

  He opened his closet and pushed back his hanging suits. Gucci, Versace, and more brands in some foreign language Nao couldn’t read. The different yukatas he slept in were the only clothing made in Japan. He’d help put money back in the Japanese economy after dealing with the detective and the drug problem.

  Confined into a restrictive black suit, Nao made his way downstairs. Kurosawa met Nao at the bottom.

  “You have your phone?” Kurosawa asked.

  “We need to go.”

  “You need to have it on you in case you decide to run off.”

  Nao shrugged. “Or you could learn to keep up with me.”

  “I’ll get your phone.” Kurosawa sighed. “You can’t drive so I know you can’t wander off too far.”

  Kurosawa bounded up the stairs while Nao walked the few steps to the vestibule. A pair of shoes was left out for him, but the gasoline-colored synthetic leather pair weren’t his, but Kohta’s.

  “Here.” Kurosawa shoved Nao’s phone into his jacket pocket. “It’s even charged so make sure you keep it on. I already have the car ready. So get your shoes on.”

  Nao glared at Kurosawa. “What kind of bodyguard are you?”

  “What?”

  “You let a whore walk off with my shoes.”

  Kurosawa crossed his arms over his wide chest. “You ran out of there like you’d seen a ghost.”

  “You’re always too busy on your phone to even realize half of the stuff going on. I could do a better job without you.”

  Kurosawa puffed out his chest. “It’s not always about what you want. It’s about what’s good for the family.”

  Nao eyes narrowed. “I am the family.”

  A sharp pain gnawed at Nao before he realized Kurosawa had grabbed his arm. Kurosawa’s nostrils flared as his thumb dug into the hole Nao’s stitches tried to close.

  “I didn’t tell you to drink a whole bottle of champagne in under a half hour, to walk around Shima until four in the morning, or throw up half the night once we got home. Do you even remember any of that, or were you too fucking wasted?” Kurosawa tightened his grip. “I had the same three hours of sleep you did. So don’t pretend like you know what’s good for the family, because you can barely take care of yourself.”

  “Let go of me or you’re dead,” Nao said through clenched teeth.

  Each second that Kurosawa’s hand stayed ignited Nao’s blood. He had taken down men bigger than him, and an injured arm wasn’t going to hold him back from his threat. Their eyes met, and Kurosawa’s grip loosened.

  Kurosawa held up his hands and stepped a foot back. “Forgive my indiscretion.”

  “You don’t deserve forgiveness.” Nao straightened his sleeve, happy Kurosawa knew Nao didn’t make threats unless he meant them.

  “Let me earn your forgiveness then. Allow me to help look for whatever it was you were searching for last night,” Kurosawa said.

  Nao ignored the guard and opened the shoe closet. He owned other shoes, but he didn’t like them as much as the three-buckled boots Kohta had snagged.

  “You defeated all the Koreans,” Kurosawa said as Nao laced on some dress shoes. “The drug dealer you caught must’ve been the last one who didn’t run back to Osaka where he belonged.”

  Whatever blind faith Kurosawa had in Nao was misplaced. Nao couldn’t have expelled all the Koreans because their influence still lingered in the streets. Did the other Matsukawa take the same wishful thinking about him? Nao had the same admiration for his father, and all of the lies he’d told Nao had come undone after his death.

  Nao stood. “Let’s go.”

  Kurosawa opened the door, and the pair walked to the car.

  While Kurosawa drove, Nao checked the news on his phone, still nothing about the body in the suitcase or the drug dealer in Shima. Maybe the police owned a furnace like the Matsukawa did for dealing with unwanted bodies. He couldn’t blame them. The Koreans had killed the spirit of the city, and another shocking death would be like a bullet to the gut.

  “Where does the detective want us to go?” Nao asked.

  “Shima.”

&
nbsp; Nao closed his eyes. The Matsukawa hadn’t used Miko’s stash of drugs during the war, so someone had to have taken them after. Someone had used it recently since it wasn’t put back in the right place and the dust had been unsettled.

  Sakai was a money-hungry businessman, and even a small amount of drugs would bring in enough cash to make it worthwhile. For Ikida, dealing with his dying mother’s final affairs had to be costing him, and Fujimoto had recently bought a new wardrobe, no doubt in hope to find a new woman. They each had a reason, and one of them turned into a traitor.

  Nao leaned his head against the window…

  ♦●♦

  Kurosawa tapped on the car window, waking Nao up. He stretched and got out of the car. Nao doubted anyone would look for a good time in the whorehouse without the neon lights pulling attention away from dirty stucco. Two police cars were parked around the corner, but with no crime scene tape or media hanging outside, it didn’t appear like anything had happened within. Perhaps Detective Yamada didn’t want whatever the incident was in the news as well?

  “Do we own this place?” Nao asked.

  “No, and they don’t pay protection money either.”

  It was a bit odd, but not unheard of. Nao willed his hangover away as he and Kurosawa walked into the brothel. Like in the house Kohta worked, the pictures of the prostitutes lined the entry walls.

  An officer greeted them and then escorted Nao to one of the back rooms. Another incident Yamada only wanted Nao for. The officer abandoned Nao once Yamada opened the last door in the hallway and beckoned him in.

  “Why am I here?” Nao asked.

  Yamada closed the door behind them. “What took you so long?”

  “You’re the one who asked me here without any warning.”

  “Why haven’t you brought me someone to blame for the drugs.”

  Nao’s muscled tensed. “I called you two nights ago—”

  The rest of Nao’s words left him when his gaze fell to the body on the blow-up mattress. Her hair frizzed around her head like a static cling, and her veins marred her graying skin.

  “You wanted me to be a real detective so I was one. The Korean in the suitcase died because the ketamine he dosed off of was laced with powdered bleach.” Yamada pointed to the dead woman. “She died the same way.”

  “I gave you the drug dealer.”

  “If the dealer was alive and could’ve confessed to the Korean in the suitcase, it might’ve been a different story.”

  Nao crossed his arms. “You can pin anything on someone when they’re dead.”

  “But not when the drugs they’re dealing were clean.”

  “So you’re fine planting evidence on the Matsukawa when it’s convenient but not on some dead drug dealer. You want to pin something on us so the Kyoto police look tough on organized crime after what the Koreans did.”

  Yamada sighed. “Look, Murata. I get it. You’re the new boss. You want to show everyone you’re tough and don’t play ball with the police.”

  Even if there was a chance the drugs had come from a traitorous Matsukawa and not a Korean, Nao wasn’t going to surrender some non-connected underling to take the blame. If he was going to hand over any Matsukawa it would be the one who’d taken took Miko’s drugs.

  The city hated the Matsukawa enough. During the war with the Koreans, the average citizen couldn’t tell the difference between the two with so many foreigners joining the Matsukawa ranks. Every shop the Korean mob destroyed had been blamed on the Matsukawa. Nao wasn’t going to add pumping the city with drugs to the list of things the people would hate them for.

  “We had nothing to do with any of this,” Nao said. “The Matsukawa don’t deal drugs.”

  The detective slammed his fist against the wall. “It doesn’t work like that, Murata. I say we need someone to blame, and you bring me someone. The city needs someone to take the fall for all of this.”

  Nao shook his head. “I care about Kyoto more than you could ever understand. It’s the only thing I have left.”

  “Then listen to it scream for justice.”

  Nao’s heart pounded in his chest, and a high-pitched ring screeched in his ears. Kyoto was screaming for justice but not the blind justice Yamada wanted. Nao would find the real person dealing and gut them open himself if he had to. Handing over a random underling to take the blame was not the kind of godfather he wanted to be.

  “Time’s up.” The detective rubbed his hands together. “The arrangement is off. Welcome to the twenty-first century and all the laws that go with it.”

  “What?”

  “This mess.” Detective Yamada pointed at the woman. “It’s one of your men’s fault. You ordered it so it’s your fault, too. They’ll be down another godfather in less than three weeks.”

  The detective reached into his pocket and pulled out a pair of handcuffs then took a step closer to Nao. Nao stepped back in the opposite direction. Yamada was crazy.

  “Don’t resist and make it worse for yourself,” Yamada said.

  “Wait.” Nao let out a steady breath.

  “Who did this? Give me a name.”

  A second passed, and Yamada reached out and snagged one of Nao’s wrists. He pushed back, but Yamada slammed him against the wall, knocking the breath out of him. Nao couldn’t get caught up in some lie Yamada created. Nao couldn’t leave the Matsukawa. It would mean Sakai would take over, and he cared more about profits than anything honoring the city.

  “Not even your best lawyer is going to get you off,” Yamada said, fumbling to reach for Nao’s other arm trapped in the sling.

  “Listen to me,” Nao said, happy the sling was good for something. “If I pick a random guy to give you, then the real person goes free. People will keep on dying from tainted drugs, but give me a week and I can work up the drug line and hand you the real person behind it.”

  “Murata…”

  “We want the same thing. We want Kyoto clean. When I hand over the real guy, you can throw the biggest press conference ever and get the whole city’s trust back into the police.”

  Out of the corner his eye, Nao watched Yamada’s face. It was the blank stare of a weathered cop, and Nao could only surrender to his mercy.

  “Give me a week as a last favor to my father,” Nao said. “Then if I don’t hand you the real person behind bringing drugs into Kyoto, I’m yours.”

  Yamada’s stone face cracked into a grin. “Five days. And if you don’t bring me the real person, I’m declaring it a state of emergency and clearing out every last Matsukawa from the city.”

  “I promise you’ll have whoever is behind this. You have my word.”

  Yamada let go of Nao and laughed. “If it was anyone else I wouldn’t trust them, but for you I’ll take the chance. I think you’d die before letting anything bad happen to this city.”

  “I almost did,” Nao mumbled.

  Nao opened the door and stepped through. Kurosawa waited at the mouth of the hallway, and for once he wasn’t on his phone.

  “Five days, Murata, and not an hour longer!” Yamada yelled after him.

  Nao’s hand curled into a fist as he walked past Kurosawa.

  “Let’s go to Chen’s. This is his ward. He’s partly to blame for this mess,” Nao said.

  “IT’S EARLY FOR CHEN’S ward. They keep a Shima schedule,” Kurosawa said, opening the car door. “It might be better to wait a few—”

  “I don’t care.” Nao slid into the car.

  “Whatever you say, Father Murata.”

  Nao tapped his finger against the door while Kurosawa drove. Chen should know something about the drug dealers in the area. If anything, he could confirm the Koreans were out of Shima. Although, it wouldn’t stop him from lying to look better in front of Nao. Anyone he asked about the drugs could lie.

  Not only was the traitor tainting Kyoto, but also killing the people with it. Perhaps it was for the best. Drugs eventually led to death, and the ones tainted with bleach got the job done faster.

&
nbsp; The ride to the ward’s safe house took ten minutes. All the while, Nao’s head pounded with rage at the thought of someone betraying the family. After talking with Chen, he’d get a better idea how drugs bubbled up in the streets. The car came to a stop. Nao rubbed his sweaty palm on his slacks and waited for Kurosawa to come around and open the door.

  “They’re probably still asleep,” Kurosawa said. “I tried texting Chen about us coming, but I never got a response.”

  Nao stepped out of the car. “They can go back to sleep after I’m gone.”

  A utility pole stood outside the gate of the beige two-story safe house. Each of the eleven wards had a safe house and a leader who lived there. Each ward leader controlled their collection of recruits, who’d graduated from the main house with sworn allegiance to the Matsukawa. The division made it quicker to respond to each ward’s needs.

  Kurosawa hurried ahead, pressing the intercom button at the gate entry. They waited. Nao glanced up to the inverted arrows of the Matsukawa crest displayed on the building.

  “Are those bullet holes?” Nao pointed to the crest and the holes in the stucco.

  “The Koreans did it to most of the safe houses.”

  “Why haven’t they been fixed yet? Bullet holes don’t belong near the crest.”

  Kurosawa pressed the intercom buzzer again and gave a small laugh. “It’s hard to fix stucco with all the rain.”

  “Get your phone out and call them,” Nao grumbled. “This is ridiculous.”

  Gates had been added to all the safe houses when Nao had been still a teen. They prevented rivals from slamming their cars into the Matsukawa buildings but added the inconvenience of having to be buzzed in at each one.

  “Hello?” An electronic voice came over the intercom as Kurosawa reached for his phone.

  “It’s Murata,” Nao said.

  “Father Murata? Come in! It’s a pleasure to have you visit.”

  The gate buzzed open, and Nao walked to the safe-house entry. Kurosawa followed behind. The front door opened before Nao could even pause.

  A snaggletoothed recruit bowed. “Father Murata.”