by H. L. Valdez
"Just follow the escape plan," Gina reassured calmly, reposed in the front seat.
"What's the money for?" the soldier asked.
"A bonus. Mr. Endo said take everyone out for some fun," she said, turning around and watching the undercover police car follow her.
"Arigato," he said as both men grinned at each other, ignoring the young detective following their sedan as the officer increased his speed, careful not to lose sight of his suspects. Zigzagging through small streets, the detective became frantic keeping up the pursuit as he radioed for help and temporarily lost sight of Gina.
“Pull over! Hurry! Get out! You two stay down.” Gina ordered. Making a quick right turn, the detective noticed their car was parked sideways in the street, twenty-five feet from the intersection. Suddenly, he saw a man and a woman lying over the hood of the car with shotguns pointing at him. As he slammed the brakes, the squad car twisted into a skid as repeated blasts shattered metal, glass, and bone into unrecognizable fragments. Gina watched the squad car crash into a concrete utility pole and burst into flames as the two soldiers in the back seat chuckled, greedily counting their yen, and nonchalantly glance at the police car.
Being whisked away to the quiet luxurious Seijo district of Tokyo, Gina sat in silence pondering her life, the meeting with Tony Endo, and upcoming business events. This meeting would set the tone and define her role in the organization. Driving past mansions with orderly landscaped gardens, she brushed her hair and powered her face before arriving at a large steel gate that was opened by two paunchy, crew cut Yakuza guards wearing sunglasses. Exiting the sedan at the driveway, Gina walked the distance to the large house, admiring the manicured garden and lantern walk way. Composing herself in the fresh air, she approached the top of the stairs. At the entrance, two geishas wearing black and gold kimonos and elaborate obis wrapped around their waists, bowed politely, inviting her into the luxurious home, then escorted her to a small antique-filled study. Meandering through the room, she admired the objects d'art, speculating on their value.
"Gina Leung," Mr. Endo acknowledged, startling her, as she bowed lower and longer in deference to his position. At that moment she noticed his black suede slippers embroidered in gold with his initials, TE.
"Sensei, it’s an honor," she replied, as he bowed slightly. As she stood erect, she observed his black silk pajama pants, white silk shirt, and black silk smoking jacket.
"How is Sasha?" She inquired.
"She's changing."
“I heard it was a close call.”
"Let's talk," he suggested smiling, with the smell of incense lingering, as traditional and elegant Koto music played softly over the radio. Repositioning themselves, they stared into each other’s eyes, trying to sense the complicated inner drives that brought them to this moment. "Please, sit here," he said gesturing to a small settee as dogs barked outside.
“Don’t start the meeting without me,” Sasha said, entering the room, towel drying her hair and wearing a thick white terry cloth bathrobe with the gold hotel initials BHH embroidered on the robe. The Chairman looked up at Sasha admiringly; rising, he walked to a small table displaying several bottles of Japanese Sake.
"It's a miracle you made it back," Gina exclaimed.
“It wasn’t fun. I just arrived.”
“Pretty tough out there,” Gina remarked cracking her knuckles.
“We took quite a few casualties. Those guys were tough. They can compete. I underestimated them.”
“Did you expect that?”
“I was surprised.”
"This is a business where you sustain losses," Tony said, offering the women cold sake. “Time to drink.”
"I don't like losing," Sasha replied.
“You didn’t lose, you made it back,” Gina rebutted.
“Kanpai!" He said, holding up his sake cup.
"Kanpai!" They replied in unison, and then sipped the rice-based liquor as Gina watched Tony look hard into Sasha’s eyes.
“Ahhh, that’s tasty,” Gina replied, relishing the sweet drink.
"Please, both of you sit down," Tony said, setting his sake cup on the small glass end table.
“Thank you,” they replied in unison, glancing at each other.
“You are the first women to enter the inner circle. You are brave and loyal with good histories. You are descendants worthy of becoming the new figureheads. In a few weeks both of you will make decisions for the Council independent of any consultation. Sasha, you have skills in making deductions that produce money without an audit trail to the top. You improved the underground banking system that moves billions of dollars a year. It's this ability that endorses your recommendation. More importantly, I trust you, but trust is earned on a daily basis,” he stated, pausing to sip his sake as Gina lit a cigarette and Sasha observed the Chairman.
“Thank you.” Sasha answered, solemnly.
“Gina you have an excellent performance track record for solving problematic logistical problems. Your abstract thinking skills under pressure, combined with your money laundering capabilities make you a valuable asset.”
“Thank you, sir.” Gina replied respectfully. “But, what are you suggesting, now?” she asked, slowly exhaling cigarette smoke.
“In your position, you both must govern the ethics and morality of the men who work for you; they are loyal soldiers, take care of them and they will take care of you," he said composed, pausing to gather his thoughts while looking at Sasha in intense studied silence as she tried to reason through his inner fabric of defenses.
"I'm on your side," Sasha assured him.
“And, I pledge myself to you and the organization,” Gina added, and then glanced at Sasha.
"You must both be on my side," he informed them. “You must trust my judgments, always."
"I understand," Sasha answered, confidently gazing into his eyes.
"You both must be careful. This is a very dangerous business."
"I know. I know," Sasha said, deliberately brushing her damp hair.
“Life’s a crap shoot,” Gina replied grinning, snuffing her cigarette out in the red glass ashtray.
"I want you both to mediate contracts for the Council and the Commission. Always negotiate for twenty-percent of the initial delivery. If you don't see money change hands, say so, then distance yourself from any appearance of embezzlement or breach of trust. Couriers will deliver money each month to the Yakuza dons in Tokyo, and Los Angeles. Some warlords may get a bonus, but that’s your call. If a delivery turns sour, that person dies and any representative connected with the deal dies. If our member vouches for someone who betrays the organization, the member dies, then the informer. If you pay someone to do a job, he must produce or he dies. No second chances, ever."
"What about disputes we can't handle?" Gina inquired.
"The Commission adjudicates territorial disputes, settles business conflicts, and passes on execution sentences. Yet, you must maintain tight discipline over internal security," he answered. “Careless oversight is not acceptable. Everyone has an alibi when things go wrong. This leads to internal leaks.”
"It's going to be tough. Japan's National Police Agency wants to stop us," Gina said. "It's an important matter of saving face for the police. If they can't stop us, they will be disgraced and called ineffective," she said, cracking her knuckles.
"Interesting," Sasha replied, rising from her seat and walking to a corner table pouring sake from a tall brown bottle. After filling the cups, she set them on a black and red lacquered serving tray.
"Remember, keep your failure rate to a minimum and use deadly force when you see fit. But, before you leave for the world community, you need symbolic proof that you are part of the Nakama. Your spirit and position will be identified by a tattoo," he informed them, as they were about to be symbolically initiated into the inner circle. Filled with confidence, Sasha offered Tony the sake, then Gina. Holding up their cups, Sasha looked at her two friends then stared into Tony’s eyes for wh
at seemed an eternity.
"Kanpai." They said in unison, holding up their bamboo cups commemorating the start of the masculine group norm--the art of tattooing. Tattooing was a masculizing procedure in which one does not admit pain. The intricate, full-bodied tattoo suit could take a year or more to complete. Sasha and Gina would wear a single arm-and-shoulder dragon tattoo. The symbolically complicated dragon combined the elements of fire and water. The dragon is a reconciliation of opposites, a yin-yang creature whose existence symbolizes wholeness, strength, sensitivity, power, and benevolence. The dragon’s coiled shape suggests attributes of natural energy and perpetual change. The dragon is the mighty symbol of the force compelling production and destruction to emerge. To wear the dragon means to aspire to such dragon like qualities as objectivity, wisdom, cunning, and bravery.
During the month, the Edo style master skillfully used ten needles set in wooden bundles to establish their place into the Nakama. In their wisdom, Sasha and Gina mixed cocaine into the ink to kill the pain as a hard line design created the outline followed by precision carvings of deeper penetrating needles creating more vivid colors. Speeding up the tattooing process, both women immersed themselves in hot water, a painful process met with stoic acceptance.
Weeks Later
In the early morning following the ritual’s completion, Sasha and Gina were in the lush garden feeding plump Japanese Koi fish. A gold Matsubakai carp swam near the edge of the luxuriant pristine Koi pond, while the women were discussing immediate action plans. In the distance, Yakuza soldiers were wiping the black limousines with soft cloths as others leaned against the sleek sedans smoking cigarettes, waiting for orders.
"Yoshida!" Sasha called strongly, as he hurriedly snuffed his cigarette, exposing the border of his tattooed wrists as he walked.
"Yes, Sasha-san?" he asked seriously, as the peony border of his tattoo suit running around his neck became visible while standing in front of her.
"Get tickets for the football game and make plane reservations for Los Angeles. I need to get out of Dodge for a while," she directed.
"Sasha-san, where is Dodge?" he asked.
"Never mind. Never mind," she answered annoyed, waving him away. “Just make the reservations.” Sasha had a developed inner ear and innate third eye that gave her a heightened psychological awareness and a sensitive spatial acuity. She enjoyed Japan, but the cultural rule was that, the nail that stands out gets pounded down. It was her independent nature that put limits on the conformity necessary to survive successfully in the culture. She could play the role, but she could not hold a credible facade for long: life had to be on her terms.
“We need help with security. We lost quite a few men during your escape,” Gina informed her.
“I know, I underrated the determination and will of this Crisis Response Team. I thought they would be wet-behind-the ears rookies.”
“We lost fifteen soldiers in that fight,” Gina reminded her solemnly. “Sixteen including the guy you killed. And, eight wounded. It was a bad night.”
“Twenty-four out of action and sixteen killed? We’re supposed to take care of these guys,” Sasha said, sorrowfully. “This is so bad. I feel bad for their families.”
“We need replacements.”
“I don’t like losing our men. Any ideas?” Sasha asked, taking round fish food pellets from a large urn and violently throwing them into the crystal clear water.
“I’m going to the Philippines and hire extra hands, then to Vietnam and buy weapons.” Gina replied, watching the pampered bright metallic, red and orange Kujakukoi carp assembling and splashing on the surface, opening and closing their wide mouths competing for food.
“When will you leave?” She asked, deliberately throwing pellets at a Tri-colored red, white, and black carp as it turned and hid under the white petals of a Chromatella water Lilly plant, and disturbing a butterfly resting on its white and yellow center.
“Soon,” she replied, cracking her knuckles, watching a hummingbird insert its long beak into the sun yellow central petals of a deep purple Panama Pacific Lilly.
“I have to get even with that crisis team,” Sasha said bitterly, hitting a gold Matsuba Koi on the head with a pellet as it quickly turned and hid under the orange blossoms of a Peach Glow Lilly.
“Where is Dodge?” Gina asked.
“Kansas,” she replied, strongly flinging pellets at a large red, orange, and white Doitsu carp as it swam away and hid among Yellow Iris and Dwarf Cottontail plants.
“Koi fish don’t respond well to stress. Stress kills them,” Gina advised.
“When under stress, clean up the mess. Let’s clean up this mess,” she replied aiming at fish hiding under the crimson and pink petals of a Rembrandt Water Lilly. “Let’s also get the dummy drop rolling.”
“Don’t hurt yourself,” Gina advised, handing her more pellets, looking at each other in silent anguish, as the delicate and sensitive fish disappeared, hiding under water lilies, staring fearfully at Sasha.
The Game
24 August 1964. Tokyo, Japan. It was early afternoon. The Tokyo Summer festival was underway in the Ginza district of downtown. Under a hot sun with high humidity, colorful folk dancers rhythmically danced past yakitori peddlers selling skewers of beef, pork, chicken, and beer to yukata-clad bystanders who were watching white robed priests lighting torches for ritual purification.
"Buddhist beliefs hold that all departed ancestors return to their home villages," Butch told Velvet, checking his watch while advancing through the crowd.
"Good to know. But are we close to the travel agency?" Velvet asked, elbowing past the human congestion.
"It's close," he answered, checking the directions on a crumpled paper.
"I hope your friend can give us some leads."
"That's why I have a large informant network: to verify information," he said, walking down the narrow street filled with restaurants, bars, and gift shops stacked several stories high. Stopping at the end of the street, verifying the address, Butch noticed a tour bus being boarded. Velvet, staring through small binoculars, was searching for anything out of the ordinary.
"That's it! Let's move," he said, confidently weaving a path through the hordes of people.
"Butch, over here," Miko shouted, noticing him and directing him inside through the side door, as the agency staff was preoccupied with boarding passengers.
"Konichiwa," the staff said in unison, bowing as Sasha boarded the bus, as she suddenly looked back at the agency, spotting Butch and Velvet.
“This is Marshall Valentine from the States.”
“Welcome to Japan.”
“Happy to meet you.”
“This is not your office. What brings you here?” Butch asked, stopping at the desk.
“It’s my sub-contractor’s office. I’m helping with the football game. Also, many important Yakuza customers book their flights from here,” she answered, looking at the bus.
“Miko, do you know anything about an Elder Brothers’ meeting with the top Dons?” Butch inquired.
“Hmmm, well last month, a customer was making travel plans on the phone, and I overheard him talking about the syndicate Council holding a general meeting.”
"What were they up to?"
"I don’t really know. But, most of the syndicates leave in stages. A group left two weeks ago and now this syndicate boss today."
"Who is he?" Velvet asked.
"It's a she, not a he."
"A she?" Butch said, surprised. "Wow, a whole new ball game!”
"Where are they going and how many are in their group?" Velvet asked.
"First they’re going to a soccer game, then to Narita Airport for a flight to Los Angeles."
"She's gotta be a high roller and speaking English, otherwise, why go to L.A.?” Butch surmised.
"She's must be representing the Commission," Velvet said.
"How many people in her group?" Butch asked.
"Twenty-four," Miko replied, twist
ing her long black hair into a solid braid.
"They’re operating two security shifts, twelve men to a shift. They're running a port-and-starboard watch. Twenty-four hours on, then twenty-four hours off," Butch figured quickly, counting on his fingers.
"They're organized and dangerous. Be careful Butch," Miko said as her voiced cracked, while Velvet looked at them sensing an emotional connection.
"Anything else?” Butch asked quickly, trying to mask his amorous feelings toward Miko.
"Before they left, it’s our custom to take a group snapshot then sell it to the customer."
"Do you have a picture of her?" Velvet asked anxiously.
"Yes, here it is,” she said, taking an envelope from the top of her desk.
"Terrific!" Butch roared in satisfaction. “Which one is she?”
“The one in the center. Flanked by her body guards.”
“Wow, she’s beautiful,” Butch reacted honestly, as his body shivered in sexual delight.
“Can we get a passenger manifest?” Velvet asked, snatching the Polaroid snapshot from his hand.
"Where is she now?" Butch questioned glancing at Velvet, as she studied the photograph.
"On that tour bus that just left for the soccer game," she said, nodding toward the front door.
"Let’s grab a cab!" He said hurriedly.
"Stop. Don't leave through the front door." Miko said excitedly, shaking her hands in front of her. “Don’t let the staff see you.”
“Which way?” Velvet asked seriously.
"Here, go through here, through the alley," she suggested, leading the way.
"Thanks, Miko. You’re great," Butch said, lingering in front of her.
"Don't get hurt," she said, clutching his hand, staring into his eyes.
"I'll be all right, don't worry," he whispered, putting his other hand on top of hers.
“Call me,” she sighed, lovingly.
"I will," he whispered, readjusting his mood as Miko wiped a tear from her eye. Velvet studied them, sensing another emotional dimension. Watching Butch, she had a fleeting moment of clarity into his core character traits. Struggling to make sense of their relationship, she wondered about his thought process.