by H. L. Valdez
Within thirty minutes, Sasha met her four bodyguards in the Kabuchiko District, Tokyo's red light zone in downtown Shinjuku. This was their first meeting in over a month, and with a sense of relief and feelings of accomplishment, she relaxed, celebrating life, singing, drinking, and eating. Her true self returned as the five drank throughout the night, welcoming daylight with hot sake, radishes, miso soup, tofu, rice, beer and whiskey. All were in good spirits as they left the private club entering a black luxurious limousine chauffeured by a young, thinner, and junior Yakuza soldier. Sasha felt happy; she had a good time laughing at the odd jokes told by her guards. A sense of unity vibrated through the group, they trusted and protected each another. They were good men, she thought; they had wives and kids -- she liked them. Sitting between the two massive guards, Sasha closed her eyes, resting her head on the massive shoulder of Yoshida, her oversized bodyguard, drifting into slumber land.
Meeting the Chairman
5 July 1967. The morning drive to Tony Endo's house in the exclusive leafy section of Seijo, a suburb of Tokyo, took forty minutes. Sasha was sleeping in the back seat of the Mercedes as the limousine rolled to a slow stop in front of the Oyabun's opulent mansion.
"Sasha-san, we're here," the driver announced, setting the emergency brake.
"Already?" She replied as a massive guard opened her door.
"I need some sleep," she said, resting her head on the muscular frame of Yoshida, her primary bodyguard.
"Come on, I'll carry you, come on," another guard said, reaching into the back seat to lift her out.
“I’m okay, I’m okay, I can do it," she replied, rubbing her pounding forehead, stepping out of the car. "I'm a mess," she sighed. "It's all your fault," she said, shaking her finger at the sumo-sized soldiers. “Wait. Wait.” She suggested, returning to the back seat, brushing her hair and touching up her makeup.
"We will wait, "Yoshida answered. “But we're all hungry," he said, as the muscular, fit, crew cut men, dressed in black suits and ties, bowed to her in respect as she left the car.
"Alright, knock it off. Stand up straight," she replied good-naturedly, entering the manicured Japanese garden. Each guard watched her, absorbed in his private thoughts as she gave life to movement wearing white Capri pants, a white blouse, white tennis shoes, and a white ribbon in her hair. Lighting cigarettes and leaning against the car, they talked about their new assignment. Reporting to Sasha was a recent duty for all of them, and they had to adjust to a new organizational order. Discipline was paramount.
A frail, gray haired Japanese woman dressed in a Tsukesage, a glossy surface and dull back semi-formal kimono, with satin weaves, answered the door, quietly leading Sasha to an antique filled study. Alone in the room, she examined the antique Ukiyo-e painting and admired a rare print of the series Eight Views of Gallant Men, a detailed copperplate engraving. A subdued light inside a small rifle cabinet illuminated a Kabuki actor print as well as pistols and rifles from the 1894 Sino-Japanese War with China, and the 1904 Russo-Japanese War with Russia.
"Welcome home Sasha, you stayed away too long," the Chairman said smiling graciously, his heart racing in excitement, as she turned, elated to see him.
"It's good to be back," she replied, her head pulsating from alcohol as they embraced in a lingering hug, crossing the boundary line of friendliness into familiarity.
"I didn't realize how good it felt until I was here," she said with a sense of well-being, as they held each other tight.
“I missed you,” he said, kissing her on the cheek.
“I missed you, more than you know,” she answered, holding him. “Your tiny mustache tickles.” She giggled.
“Come on,” he suggested, breaking the embrace, leading her to the adjoining room, rubbing his hand over his crew cut.
"Do you remember Gina Leung?" he asked, looking at Gina.
"It's been a while," Sasha said; trying to recall when they last met.
"At least ten years ago," Gina replied. "Our families had a dinner party in Tokyo," she said, stepping forward, and shaking Sasha's hand with a strong impersonal expression, her eyes hollow of humor. Her calmness and tranquility were chilling. Sasha stared into her plain eyes as Gina stared evenly back at her. Gina was strong, wiry and sturdy, with short black hair, deep set brown eyes, and a smooth complexion
"She's your counterpart. Her father is the leader of a major Triad family in Hong Kong,” the Chairman mentioned, casually. "Well, please, sit here," he suggested, gesturing to the settee with an open hand. "Something to drink?" He asked.
"Ahhh, whatever you’re having Tony is fine with me," Sasha replied, not wanting to drink, but realizing it would be improper to say no. “How about you Gina, any preferences?” Sasha asked, as Gina looked at her skeptically, then at Tony.
"Anything." Gina replied coolly, as the suave Chairman walked to a wooden cabinet selecting a twine-wrapped pottery jar filled with shochu, a potent aromatic sake type drink made from sweet potatoes from Aomori prefecture, in the Tohoku region, in northern, Japan.
"Sasha, as you may remember, Gina is an official in the Triads’ nine member Governing Control Committee," Mr. Endo said, putting ice in the crystal glasses, and filling them with shochu. "Gina holds the rank of Sing Fung, or Chief of Recruiting. She’s been involved with the family business all her life and they have 100,000 members belonging to more than 50 Triads in Hong Kong."
“I’m impressed,” Sasha replied.
“Here, sip this, don't gulp it,” he suggested, serving the liquor as Gina rose from her seat accepting the drink. Returning to the cabinet, Mr. Endo studied a variety of shochu bottles, each having its own unique taste and strength.
“I won’t gulp it,” Sasha said under her breath, gripping the glass.
“Something wrong?” Gina whispered.
“I'm fine, I’m really fine,” she replied quietly, rubbing her pulsating head.
“Sasha, I know you're moving through many transitions with new responsibilities and pressures. After all, life is a trial by ordeal. But Karma is like a rope, it has a beginning and an end,” he reassured her, standing in front of the cabinet.
“I can handle it,” she answered confidently.
“I know you can. As you both know, a new age of thought is emerging. You must create a policy to support your circumstances. It can be done. It must be done,” he tutored, supportively. “Today the two families will merge. Both of you will become a team,” he said, as they looked at each other surprised. “To your global success. And, to the new vanguard of the drug movement,” he announced proudly, raising his glass.
“Thank you,” they said in unison, raising their glasses to him, then to each other, while looking into each other’s eyes, trying to find the balance between suspicion and trust.
“You both have a common history, a common bond, and a common goal,” the Chairman said affectionately, as music from the Koto played softly in the background.
“I don’t get it? Why the change?” Sasha asked.
"You both possess benevolence and righteousness as well as jingi, that is, a balance between humanity and justice to make human relations smooth.”
“I appreciate that,” Gina said, ladylike, wearing hiking boots, baggy cargo pants with multiple deep pockets, and a matching dark green T- shirt.
“It’s more of a family decision,” he said softly.
“I am honored. I pledge my life to my family and their decisions,” Sasha replied humbly.
“Me too,” Gina said, with some tone and attitude.
“Gina, just so you know, when I met Sasha's father, he was a young foreign correspondent. The day was September 2, 1923, the day after the Great Kanto Earthquake. It was the greatest natural disaster of modern times. Tokyo and Yokohama fell to rubble. Fires raged day and night, over 100,000 people died. People were fighting and dying, it was mass hysteria and chaos,” he said reverently, as Sasha closed her eyes. “Sasha’s father helped me when I was in shock, and bleeding in the street fro
m a head wound. After that, he stayed in Japan and began working with me, then eventually married a Japanese woman.”
Sasha rose from the settee with her empty glass, feeling sad listening to the story. Tony gently took her glass, refilling it with shochu made from millet.
“On the other hand, Gina's grandfather and my father were friends from the early Shanghai days before Japan invaded Manchuria in 1931,” he said, handing her the smooth but potent drink.
“Sasha’s father and I met Gina's grandfather, through my father. Then through Gina's grandfather, we sold morphine to soldiers fighting different wars, especially when Japan invaded China in 1937; we did real well.” He smiled.
“Why did you do so well?” Gina asked, scratching her ear.
“At the time, there was a morphine and opium shortage; and it marked another serious entry into the opium market,” he said, pausing to sip his drink, recalling historical events, while studying the women’s reaction and mood. Gina set her drink on the small glass table, and methodically began cracking each knuckle of her manicured fingers. Annoyed with the cracking, Sasha glanced at Gina’s unpolished nails, then returned her attention to Tony, the International Chairman of the Supreme Council.
“Sasha, at the time of the earthquake, I asked your father to help me distribute morphine and that's how he got started in the business,” he stated, noticing Sasha’s annoyance.
“Gina, let me refill your glass,” he suggested, as Gina rose from the settee handing the empty glass to Mr. Endo.
“As it stands, Gina will inherit her ailing father's business,” Tony announced, handing them both a large ceramic sake cup filled with cold sake.
“Time for guinomi.” He announced. “You must drink it in a single gulp,” he suggested, as Sasha stared at the demitasse-sized cup filled with the dry exclusive sake. “To your success,” he toasted, smiling, as Gina swallowed the drink in one long gulp. Sasha steadily drank the sake, thinking of her father. She was crying on the inside, secretly longing for her parents. She was wishing for a life that wasn't so difficult and harsh. She wanted a life of peace, children and marriage. But for now, she was forced to accept her fate. Both women felt uneasy, and questioned the forced alliance; they were independent decision-makers, self-reliant, accustomed to power, and giving orders. Working together meant sharing power. Both women stared at each other in a new alliance of inter-dependence. The new blueprint for global narcotic trafficking was unfolding. The balance of power was shifting.
“Thanks, Tony. Thanks for everything,” Sasha said affectionately, finishing the sake. Gina gazed at Sasha. Sasha looked at Tony.
“All right,” Tony said sighing. “Let's talk business. It's fair to say that your mutual cooperation will be important to your long term survival,” he said, sitting down. “The drug trade is becoming more competitive, dangerous, devious, and drug wars will take many lives,” he said seriously.
“We're losing people now,” Gina said, pulling a pack of Mild Seven cigarettes from her baggy trouser pocket.
“I'm having problems with one of my compartments,” Sasha stated. “Security problems. We just lost a shipment,” she informed them in a low voice, rubbing her neck.
“That has to be fixed. I want both of you to go to Vietnam and handle the situation. No bodyguards and keep a low profile,” he ordered.
“How did you get this information?” Gina asked.
“I have informants in the Vietnamese bureaucracy; also Japanese police arrested a heroin courier in a boat near Izu,” he said sternly. “My contacts with the Metropolitan Police Department said heroin was on the boat. They did not say it was yours, but we don't need police holding evidence against you,” Tony said concerned, as Sasha remained silent.
“We need that evidence,” Gina suggested.
“First, plug that leak in Vietnam. Then eliminate the guy from the boat!” He ordered, as Gina tapped out a cigarette from her pack, offering Sasha a smoke. Sasha withdrew a book matches from her purse, tore off a paper match, then struck the red sulfur tip against the small abrasive striker of the matchbook; both women lit, and puffed their cigarettes, evaluating each other. Exhaling the thick smoke, Gina noticed the Beverly Hills Hotel logo on the matchbook cover, and then refilled their cups with shochu.
“Both of you must practice underworld diplomacy,” Mr. Endo told the women.
“What do you mean?” Sasha questioned.
“Gina controls an equally powerful crime syndicate whose size and sophistication rivals your own,” Mr. Endo said, setting his cup on the antique table. “Probably bigger.”
“So, it will be the both of us running the business,” Gina stated, taking a drag from her cigarette.
“Can you both work together?” Tony asked, looking at the women. Sasha stood up swaying for a moment, then walked to the window and opened it. Breathing in the fresh air, she watched the heavyset guards leaning against the black limousines smoking cigarettes, and brushing their close-cropped hair. Yoshida waved to her as the other guards motioned her to hurry up. Sasha wiggled her fingers, nodding her head.
“We can work it. My concern is that the Yakuza don’t have a good distribution system outside of Japan,” Sasha answered awkwardly, holding onto the window frame.
“And they don't speak English well enough to make a drug deal,” Gina said, putting out her cigarette in a red crystal ashtray, watching Sasha precariously leaning out the window inhaling the fragrant morning air.
“We also need a stronger presence in California,” Sasha said, taking another deep breath experiencing a déjà vu.
“Those hippies need drugs,” Gina said in a somber tone.
“You are the new generation. You both speak Japanese, English, and Chinese, that’s another reason you were both chosen,” he replied. “But, the biggest issue is this government Crisis Response Team that is forming. My police informants say they will grow stronger and more powerful. Also, pay attention to Vietnam; that area needs your attention. You must act quickly and decisively. Show no mercy. Let no one escape,” he said anxiously, thinking of the hazards involved.
“I'll take care of it,” Sasha answered confidently, shaking her head, and watching brown fan-tailed warblers flying around the trees, listening to their melodious chirping.
“What are you thinking?” Gina asked.
“It's time to change,” Sasha blurted, watching the birds descend, as their white tipped tails opened like a fan.
“Are you dropping in or out?” Gina asked, watching Sasha brace herself as she rocked back and forth, trying not to fall out the window.
“I'm in,” she answered, swaying as the guards waved to her, and she waved back.
“Seems like your thoughts are miles away,” Gina observed out loud.
“I’d rather be walking along Venice Beach watching weight lifters and sipping margaritas, and just forget about the responsibilities.”
“Get your head straight for this job,” Gina stated. “We’ll have our girlie time.”
"No worries. I'm cool," Sasha replied, dropping her cigarette out the window. “My true-self, my self-image, and my ideal-self are a little mixed up. Yeah, I'm a little screwed up right now,” she said, watching the bodyguards rubbing their stomachs. “But that won't get in the way of business.”
“I believe you.”
“Are you hungry?” Sasha asked.
“Not really.”
“Well, we're going to breakfast with the boys. They need supervision. And we're just the girls to supervise them,” Sasha told her, signaling the guards to hold on. Gina and Sasha looked at Mr. Endo, who was asleep on the settee, and being attended to by the Kimono clad housekeeper.
“Let's go,” Gina whispered, gesturing with her thumb. “We'll come back later.”
“Okay, okay,” she mumbled, clearing her throat slightly, while staggering away from the window trying to maintain her balance. “Wait. I want to kiss Tony goodbye. It’s important. It may be the last time I see him. You never know.”
> “Go ahead.”
“Psychologist’s say we have 28,000 days to live, if we’re lucky,” Sasha stated, putting her arm around Gina’s shoulder, stabilizing herself.
“Is that right?” Gina replied. “But how many days do you spend recovering?” she asked gripping Sasha’s slim waist, as they walked out the door.
“How many days do you spend sleeping?” Sasha asked, walking down the path leading to the limousines.
“Don’t know?”
“Let us help!” Yoshida volunteered, as three burly soldiers briskly approached them.
“Go ahead! Take her!” Sasha suggested pointing at Gina.
“Here we go,” Yoshida roared, picking up Sasha in his arms.
“Here we go!” the soldiers repeated in broken English, forming a chair with their arms, swooping Gina up in one motion.
“Whoa! Hey,” Gina blurted, clinging onto them for balance, being carried to the car. “Hey, come on, enough!” she repeated, trying to steady herself. “You guys need supervision,” she giggled, resigning herself to the absurdity of it all.
South China Sea
6 July 1964. The South China Sea. Primo Pascal was aboard the mammoth aircraft carrier, U.S.S. Midway, in the Fleet Admiral’s Ward Room, sitting at the oval conference table pouring scotch from his canteen into a glass. Detective Butch Moriguchi sat near the head of the table sipping hot tea, waiting for the meeting to begin. Rita Rios, with her magnum strapped to her thigh, sat diagonally from Butch reading a Stars and Stripes newspaper article about the New York World’s Fair. Justin Fortune sat opposite Primo reading the book Fanny Hill. The ship's radio played A World Without Love, by Peter and Gordon.
“Spanky!” Butch shouted at the fifteen-inch high Japanese Shiba dog, with small almond shaped eyes. Startled, Rita flinched, lowering her newspaper to stare at Butch. Springing to his feet, Spanky focused on his master. Primo sipped his drink, watching the highly cunning and psychic Japanese dog hold its position in the corner of the room. Justin paused to watch Butch motion Spanky forward with his finger. Highly accustomed to hunting small game, Spanky trotted boldly and nobly. Rita admired the powerful, well muscled, and fiercely proud Shiba with its bushy curved tail, and dark brown straight coat.