by H. L. Valdez
“I can do this!” Primo yelled excitedly, emptying two magazines of ammunition from his Thompson submachine gun.
“I got it!” Rita yelled, and rapidly began firing and reloading.
"Get the boats into a circle," Marco ordered, paddling into position by degrees, preparing to board the bobbing seaplane.
“At last,” Rita sighed, struggling to grab the plane as bobbing waves undermined her footing as the boat rose and fell in the rough swells.
“Don’t jump!” Velvet shouted, struggling to get up, holding her chest in pain, staring at Rita. “Wait until the boat rises, then jump in.”
“Justin, throw us a line!” Butch hollered.
“Here!” Justin yelled, throwing the knotted fathom rope, then reached to grab Rita’s hand as the boat rose with the swells.
“Everyone hold on to the rope,” Marco yelled, as rain pelted his face. Then, with Justin’s help, Marco also jumped into the fuselage and began helping the others board.
“I’ll take it from here. Start the engines and get us out of here,” he said as Justin quickly made his way into the cockpit and started the engines.
"What's that bumping and scraping on the hull?" Velvet shouted with uncertainty.
"Either sharks, turtles, or coral." Butch answered, as a massive dorsal shark fin silently sliced through the choppy waves. Velvet’s eyes followed the bioluminescent trail movement of its large fin, swimming away from the seaplane.
“Get me in quick!” Velvet shouted, shaking in fear, activating her phobic reaction. “I hate sharks!” she said, trembling.
"Sit toward the back," Marco suggested, gripping her hand and pulling her into the plane. Spanky jumped in as Butch followed then Butch began sinking the boats with repeated shotgun blasts. Spanky flinched as Butch fired, then barked as Butch secured the door tightly for takeoff. Turning, Butch observed the emotional sting of the battered crew as they quietly attend to themselves.
"Get us out of here," Marco screamed toward the cockpit. Accelerating the engines, Justin gripped the yoke, feeling the strong vibrating thrust of controlled power as the plane skimmed the white caps. Striking the foamy sea with a kiss from the hull, he roared from the dark ocean, rising into the air exposing a large shark head painted on the hull with "Hammerhead" brilliantly painted on the belly of the craft. Flying through a ceiling of thick moisture laden clouds, Justin adjusted his coordinates, relishing the aeronautical adventure. Bouncing in the turbulence in the rear fuselage, Rita was providing medical treatment to the team.
“You’ll be okay,” Rita said to Velvet, bandaging and stitching her wound. “This cheap bullet proof vest worked. But you’ll be sore and bruised for a while.”
"Everyone did a real good job," Marco said with an appreciative smile.
"Thanks," the crew mumbled disjointedly. Marco turned, glancing out the window, aware of the seriousness of the mission.
“Let’s have a look at your leg,” Rita suggested, cutting open Marco’s pant leg with scissors as Velvet and Butch inventoried their surroundings and remaining supplies then began reloading weapons. Inquisitively, Spanky sniffed the nooks and crannies of the bulky plane and urinated on a bulkhead marking his territory.
"I want you to know Butch, I'm proud of you. You took a pounding out there for us," Velvet said, placing her hand on his bruised back. “Thank you,” she whispered, gently squeezing, massaging, and rubbing his neck as they sat in a rear corner. "I'm going up front," she said rising, unsteadily making her bumpy way to the cockpit. Butch, stimulated to fullness, sat alone squeezing himself.
“Make some coffee,” she suggested, turning and making eye contact. Dripping with lust, scrutinizing Velvet's alluring sultry movements, Butch sat engrossed with sexual projection. Entering the dimly lit cockpit filled with monitoring devices and regulators, Velvet stood pensive watching Justin navigate in the rainstorm, realizing the great amount of engineering required to steer the complicated craft in turbulent weather.
"You guys okay?" Justin asked, plotting a route through the clouds.
"We'll make it. I just wanted to thank you for doing so much," Velvet said with a demure smile.
"Sure, but that's why they black mailed me, rather…hired me. I steal planes for a living," he said as she watched him calculate the configuration of dials, levers, and switches.
"What's our destination?” She asked softly.
"The Dispute Resolution Center. All we do is land in Tokyo Bay and roll onto the airport tarmac," he answered casually.
“Are you sure about that?”
“I’m not sure about anything.”
"When do we land?"
"Right now we're bucking crosswinds. Hopefully, we'll find a strong tail wind and make it before daylight."
"Sounds great," she said as Butch suddenly entered, offering them instant coffee.
"I'll take those," Velvet said, turning to Butch as he hesitated for a moment, then handed her the coffee and returned to the rear fuselage.
"Thanks," Justin said politely, staring into her dreamy eyes.
"Sure," she replied, staring into his soul. "So you're familiar with this air route?"
"I can read a map. Besides, you don't have to be a genius to get from point-to-point," Justin said, adjusting himself in the seat, as Spanky entered growling and sniffing, then stood rigid with his tail extended.
"Spanky smells dope!" Velvet volunteered.
"He senses something," Justin said.
"Better listen to him."
"I'd better pay attention for a while."
“OK. If you need anything, let me know,” she said supportively, turning and closing the cockpit door behind her.
"It's a nefarious condition," Justin mumbled, sipping his coffee while staring at the moon and rubbing his eyes, thinking a lot needed to be coordinated.
“Hey hard guy,” Rita said entering the cockpit, interrupting his mood.
“At last, I’m bleeding here, and I’m falling asleep.”
“Put it on auto pilot,” she said calmly. “And remove that jump suit,” she recommended, locking the cockpit door. Justin took a deep breath, glanced at her, and then at the clouds, then scratched his neck.
“You want me to take my pants off in front of you?”
“If the doctor can’t see it, the doctor can’t fix it,” she replied watching him reluctantly set the automatic pilot. “I also have to look at your head, it’s still raw,” she said, as he slid out of the cockpit, looking at her skeptically, then slowly began removing his soiled jump suit. Rita, sitting on a small seat designated for the flight engineer, watched him disrobe, admiring his muscular, and fit body.
“Take everything off,” she suggested calmly, watching him squirm uncomfortably. “You need to be examined.”
“Rita,” Justin mumbled self-conscious, slowly removing his underwear. “This ain’t right,” he blushed.
“Come closer,” she suggested, firmly gripping his thighs with both hands, and pulling him closer. “I’m you doctor.”
“This is embarrassing,” he said, thinking that he hadn’t stood naked in front of a woman in over a year.
“Just relax,” she suggested, smoothly, touching his hard stomach.
“I’m trying. But it’s not working,” he replied, as his member became mildly firm.
“I have to examine you,” she said softly, holding him, easing him closer, and witnessing him being stimulated.
“Careful now,” she warned. “He looks happy.”
“He has a mind of his own,” he replied, looking down at his erect penis.
“Turn your head sideways and cough,” she directed, placing her finger under his testical as he took a deep breath, coughing, looking at the coastline and the warm strong Japanese current rich in plankton, joining in churning integration with the cold Oyashio current flowing down from the arctic off the coast of Tohoku, creating the largest fishing zone in Japan.
Night Flight
18 July 1964. Hours Later. Justin, unknowi
ngly sitting on six heroin bricks under the pilot's seat, was thinking about the Japanese coastline with its inlets, deep trenches, sea-mountains, plateaus, and ridges. Peering through binoculars, he spotted the red blinking beacon lights of Tokyo tower standing 1,043 feet above sea level in the heart of the Roppongi nightclub district. Approaching Tokyo Bay on a near empty fuel tank, euphoria from Rita’s injection, and anxiety about the mission, moved through his body.
"Stand by for landing," Justin announced over the intercom, attentively watching the water, judging time, distance, and speed. "The water always wins," he mumbled, keeping the nose up while bouncing off Tokyo Bay as the Hammerhead’s keel eased into the water.
"Almost there," Marco announced, looking through the window on the exit door.
"It's about time," Primo answered grimly.
"Butch, are we meeting with your chief investigator?" Velvet asked, adjusting her jacket and shoulder holster.
“Yes, Detective Ota should be there,” he answered, bouncing in the water as the craft maneuvered toward the tarmac.
“What’s going through your head Marco?” Velvet asked.
“We need a de-brief to examine some facts.”
“We also we need a conflict resolution strategy,” she replied.
“Rita, wake up,” Primo said, nudging her awake.
“I’m awake,” she said, rubbing her eyes from inside her sleeping bag.
"OK, listen up!” Marco stated. “When we leave this aircraft, we're walking into an international corporate shakedown. We’ll be unmasking the secret lives of people who were taught opportunism, cleverness and cunning, not fairness and equity. The torch of crime and insanity is being passed around by lunatics with no common sense,” he told the somber group as Justin powered the plane onto the entry ramp then taxied along the tarmac to an eventual stop. Nearby, detectives were adjusting the collars of drug-sniffing dogs, while others sat in police cars and blue police busses, smoking cigarettes.
"Why all the police?” Rita asked, looking from the portal window and swallowing her prescription cocktail.
"Our job is to deliver evidence," Velvet replied.
“Evidence, right. That’s right. I’m a cop now, I remember that.”
Sitting in the blue police bus with steel meshed windows, Detective Tsutomu Ota was reviewing several reports and scribbling notes. Tsutomu had spent countless hours talking to informants and listening to recordings from wiretaps and hidden microphones. For months, he had been translating cryptic conversations in obscure Japanese and Chinese dialects and finally concluded that none of the code words were constant. Leaving the bus with a sense of failure, Detective Ota greeted Detective Moriguchi with a deep respectful bow as he stepped off the plane. Responding with a quick courteous bow, Butch summoned his men to look for heroin aboard the plane, then walked to the bus. In rapid succession, police poured into the plane as Justin sliced his way down the exit ramp. Routinely, the ground crew began refueling the aircraft, checking oil levels, and evacuating the lavatory remains. Rita, leisurely rolling up her sleeping bag, observed the intensity of the search activity, while Spanky, with a bandage on his head, growled at two drug-sniffing dogs. Butch, Marco, and Velvet entered the police bus, and began debriefing with Tsutomu, a seasoned detective in the Department.
"Bad news. This is the way the odds fall," Tsutomu began, sitting in the driver’s seat, facing the group. “Our main informant said that two kilos of heroin a month were being delivered to a Chinese restaurant in the Ginza district. Unfortunately, the restaurant owner was found dead, and another two guys were found dead in a car across the street from the restaurant -- one in the front seat and another body in the trunk. Then, our informant was found dead floating in Tokyo Bay.
"How did this happen?" Butch asked, with disdain.
"Apparently, a Yakuza knew who our informant was, and what he looked like. When our informant went undercover, he had another informant introduce him to one of the Yakuza's drug overseers. Later, that Yakuza was arrested and he saw our undercover officer talking with our informant from the narcotics unit. But, the Yakuza was released on a technicality. We assume he told his boss about our informant." Tsutomu answered with a somber face. "We have taken the situation as far as intelligence can take it. Now we must go the next step."
"You mean shoot it out?" Marco asked.
"Maybe?" Tsutomu answered, grinning.
“When did all this happen?” Velvet asked.
“Almost two weeks ago?”
"Are we being forced to produce statistics?" she asked.
"In this case, international law operates through a different mechanism," Tsutomu said, watching Rita running toward the bus.
"Anything else, Tsutomu?" Butch asked frustrated.
"Police in Kobe reported that thirteen members of the syndicate's Elder Brother Council will hold a general meeting with eighty of the syndicate's top dons who control a network of individual sub-gangs," Tsutomu declared, scanning his notes.
"What's the purpose of the meeting?" Velvet questioned.
"They’re promoting some rank and file members into the inner circle,” he replied.
“How does that work?” Velvet questioned.
“Japanese gangs have complex family relations that are created at elaborate ceremonies where members sip sake to seal their vows of fidelity,” he informed them.
“And then?” She asked, curiously.
“Through these rites, the Yakuza develop intricate elder and younger brother relationships and dedicate their lives to their father, or boss," Tsutomu answered patiently, as everyone listened attentively.
"Hey everybody, one of the ground crew made a run for it carrying a bundle from the plane," Rita said panting, hopping the stairs into the bus.
"Where is he?" Marco asked.
"He's heading for the monorail," she said, pointing toward the commuter train. “Primo is already following him.”
"It’s a short ride. Let’s meet Primo at the end of the line," Butch said hastily.
"Let’s follow him!" Marco urged.
“This is not good. Primo should not be alone,” Tsutomu said turning abruptly, starting the engine, then began racing the police bus toward the train station. Butch radioed other units, activating them toward the train station. Primo sprinted after the ground crew member who was catching the 4:45 AM monorail train to downtown Tokyo. With his stitched arm throbbing in pain, he ran up the long flight of stairs leading to the train platform. Cautiously, he dashed across the deserted train platform then darted into the train as the doors automatically closed behind him. Catching his breath, he stood with confidence, looking through the glass-door as the train silently rolled away from the platform. Never one to tip his hand, he moved away from the door and sat down, sensing he had been followed. In the front seats, two old men, pretending to be sleeping, sat with their eyes closed and arms folded. Primo, relaxing his guard for a moment, yawned, and stretched backwards, then from the corner of his eye he saw two bulky Yakuza soldiers enter the car from the adjoining car.
"Oh shit," he mumbled. "Here we go!" he said out loud, rising to his feet
“Whap!" he shouted, punching the Yakuza in the face. In that instant the second yakuza hit him with a thick chain, stunning him for a moment. The first Yakuza shook his head then fiercely punched Primo in the face with his large fat fist, knocking him backward. The men in the front seats kept their eyes shut, and heads down. The second Yakuza raised the silver chain, whacking the thick steel links against Primo’s face, sending blood spewing from his forehead, nose and mouth. The first yakuza immediately punched Primo in the eye. Swiftly, the other gangster wrapped the chain around Primo's open mouth, violently yanking his head backward.
"Yoisho," the first Yakuza grunted in Japanese, punching Primo in the stomach with left-right combination punches with all his might. Primo buckled over falling to his knees, then was kicked in the face and the stomach. Yanking the chain from his mouth, the massive Yakuza soldier raised the h
eavy chain and with all his strength slammed it against Primo's head; raising the chain he beat him again, and again.
Primo was caught with quick efficiency as the fearsome heavyweight soldiers handcuffed him to the overhead steel stanchion of the seat, leaving him suspended with his arms above his head. Taping his eyes shut, they punched him senseless until he was bleeding and motionless. The old men on the train kept their eyes closed, never looking up. The two soldiers stood silently next to Primo's hanging body, wiping blood from their hands on a small towel, arrogantly observing the passengers for the slightest provocation to continue their violence.
On the streets below, early morning road crews were digging up the street with jackhammers as road guards, waving red flashlights, were regulating traffic to a slow, impatient crawl. Sitting in the police bus, Marco and Butch stared at each other in despondent disbelief. Arriving at the Hamamatsucho train station, the fifth stop, the Yakuza soldiers walked across the length of the platform past salaried-men sleeping on wooden benches covered in newspapers, hung-over after a night of heavy drinking. Side stepping their pools of vomit, the soldiers hastily made their way down the long stairs, entering the back seat of a waiting luxury sedan. Slamming the heavy door, they breathed a sigh of safe relief as they sat back in the thick cushioned comfort of the soft leather seat.
"Job done," they told Gina Leung, as the chauffeur drove away from the station.
“Did you get the heroin?”
“Yes, our informant found it on the plane,” he said, handing her six kilos of heroin wrapped in wax and covered in a brown cloth bag. “What’s next?”
"Mr. Endo wants to have a meeting," she answered, handing them a brown envelope filled with Yen.
“Arigato,” the yakuza said, accepting the money while watching Gina unwrap the cloth verifying the S stamped into the wax sealant.
“Good, this means no evidence,” she replied, folding the cloth.
"We're being followed," the driver announced, looking into the rear view mirror at a car in close pursuit.