Tokyo Noir: The Complete First Season

by J. Scott Matthews

  “The governor? City Assembly? How far up are we talking?”

  “Yup, them. And all the guys at the federal level too.”

  Mei looked somewhat taken aback at that.

  “Oh, don’t act so innocent,” Kentaro chided. “Think about it. They’re politicians, politicians need to run campaigns to stay in a job, campaigns cost money, and money isn’t free. But gangsters have money and are willing to part with it, for certain favors. It’s always been this way and always will be.”

  “I still think you should stamp out corruption wherever you see it. Cut out the cancer, even if it means losing part of the body.”

  “It gets a little harder when the cancer fights back. I’m not saying it can’t be done. You just have to be smarter and subtler about it than taking a blowtorch to the roots of corruption.”

  Mei considered this as she sipped her coffee.

  “Anyway, how did your meeting with Endo and the others go? Total clusterfuck, or just a partial clusterfuck?”

  “Total clusterfuck. They want me to run everything by this Ozaki guy.”

  “Never heard of him.”

  “He’s with the Dark Army.”

  Kentaro looked away and grimaced but didn’t say anything.

  “What?”

  “I just don’t have a good feeling about them.”

  “The Dark Army? What do they want, anyway? I only started hearing about them about a year ago, now they’re everywhere.”

  “As if this city didn’t have enough cancers to worry about, now we’ve got this one too.”

  “Who are they?”

  “Near as anyone can tell, they grew out of the Patriot’s Guard of the Japan Patriot’s Society and the Rising Suns, two ultra-right-wing groups that merged a few years back. Their big break came when they aligned themselves with Shinjiro Nakatoni, former high-ranking Self-Defense Forces official turned defense contractor. He gave the Dark Army the funding and legitimacy they were lacking.”

  “What’s their deal?”

  “Hard to say exactly. Power would be my guess. Their stated goal is law and order and ‘national pride,’ which usually means racism and isolationism. The unofficial patrols they’ve been running are gaining legitimacy. Plus now they provide security for just about every major politician in the country. This gives them enormous pull.”

  “Really? I didn’t think politicians were in the habit of taking advice from their bodyguards.”

  “They usually aren’t, but two members of the National Diet under their protection met with unfortunate ends last year. Accidentally, of course. Though it was strange that both were outspoken critics of the Dark Army.”

  “You’re not buying the official story?”

  Kentaro shook his head. “Both cases were highly suspicious, yet they were able to have the investigations quashed both times. Most of the other metropolitan and federal-level politicians have been a lot more muted in their criticism since then.”

  “Well, looks like they’ll be unofficially taking part in the investigation, so we’ve got to get used to it.”

  Kentaro sighed. “I guess, but I don’t have to like it. Be careful with this Ozaki guy. Don’t give him anything more than you have to.”

  “I’ll be careful at first, just to get the measure of him. But as far as I’m concerned, if they help us catch this guy, then they’re on our side.”

  “And again, what side is that?”

  Mei shot him a look. “The law.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  “… so while I’m standing there shooting the shit with my boss, this white boy ambles up from out of nowhere, looks Moto right in the eye, and says, ‘You’re getting fucked.’”

  “Well, I didn’t say it directly,” Vasili corrected him.

  “Ha-ha!” Nobunaga says, slamming the table with an open palm. “I almost forgot! He couldn’t even speak Japanese back then, so he says it into his phone to have it translated!”

  Kameko and Nobunaga’s date, an uncomfortably young woman named Miho, both laugh. Vasili just gave a sideways grin. He couldn’t remember the last night he had taken time off to spend with friends. He kept reminding himself he needed to take time every now and then to enjoy the stone palace he had built for himself. After all, wasn’t that the whole point?

  “See, Moto used to collect the envelopes for the week at this skeezy little izakaya on Thursday nights. He would sit there chatting with whoever came in, sipping sake and collecting his take. And for a couple of weeks, this big white guy had been there, just watching. Never said anything, never made a move, nothing. We tried scaring him off a few times, but it didn’t take.”

  “You guys weren’t that scary.”

  “So anyway, Moto looks at me, but I just shrug. I don’t know what’s going on. And the guy says—into his phone’s translator—‘No, leather-boy here is okay.’”

  “Wait, wait, leather-boy?” Kameko asked with a smile.

  “I used to wear a leather jacket back then,” Nobunaga said. “Because I was so cool.”

  “Right,” Miho said.

  “Anyway, this white devil goes on to lay it out for Moto. Seems that two of the other lieutenants figured out that by a certain point in the night, Moto was usually too shitfaced to count the envelopes. So they would show up later and carry an envelope with the full amount owed in one pocket, and a light envelope in the other. If he was drunk, he’d get the light envelope. But if they knew he was going to count it, they’d pull out the correct envelope.”

  “How did they know if he would count it?” Miho asked.

  “Moto asked him that very same question. He said, ‘They can tell how drunk you are by how red your face is.’ Now, I thought for sure Moto was gonna have me shoot this guy in the back alley. But instead, he says he wanted to test this theory. So everyone goes back to their starting positions, and we wait for the guys. Sure enough, it goes down exactly how Vasili said it would.”

  “So what did he do?” Miho asked.

  “Moto had them beaten until they promised to repay him their ‘back taxes,’ then made Vasili a job offer right there on the spot.”

  “Even though you couldn’t speak Japanese?” Kameko asked him.

  “I learned eventually. Language skills didn’t impress Moto. Ability and honesty did.”

  “And you figured all that out from just watching them?” Kameko asked.

  Vasili nodded. “It was obvious what they were doing, if you were paying attention.”

  “And just why were you paying attention for weeks on end?”

  “Eh, that’s a story for another day. Basically I came over with a crew that got busted, leaving me stranded. I had to look for work real quick. And while I didn’t have a resume, I had my smarts.”

  “But certainly not good looks,” Nobunaga said with a grin.

  Nobunaga was one of the few people who could bust Vasili’s balls like that and get away with it. The two had been close ever since that night. Nobunaga had left one detail out of the story when he’d told it, and that was that Moto hadn’t nearly ordered that Vasili be taken outside and shot. He had ordered that. The only thing that had stopped this was Nobunaga, who’d stuck his own neck out by insisting they hear the funny-looking gaijin out. Vasili not only loved him for that, he loved him for leaving that detail out of the story every time he told it. Nobunaga was solid like that.

  He had been fit back in his youth, when he still wore leather jackets. But now that he dressed like a mafia don, he had the body to match, as he had filled out quite a bit since then. His rotund body conspired with his thinning hair to make him seem older than he was, but he had a keen mind for business and a no-nonsense practicality to him.

  Now he was primarily based out of Chiyoda Ward. Specifically, Kasumigaseki, the seat of Japan’s central government. He had fewer traditional criminal interests than the other bosses, as his role was more of a political fixer for the organization. He had extensive contacts in the long-ruling RDP party. He made sure the good old b
oys in the seats of power were taken care of—with lavish gifts and all-expenses-paid trips, drugs, women, gambling, whatever—and in exchange he called in favors for himself and the Kaisha at large. While he didn't earn the organization much in revenue, he was invaluable to it in terms of his political influence and advance knowledge of which way the official winds were blowing.

  “But enough ancient history,” Nobunaga said. “Baby, would you excuse us for a few minutes? I’d like to talk business with these two.”

  Miho pouted but walked over to the bar and began texting on her phone.

  “Which college did you find her at again?” Kameko asked.

  “Oh, she’s told me the name before, but I keep forgetting it. The reason I wanted to talk shop here is because I heard you recently had a sit-down with Eriko. How does she look?”

  “Like shit,” Vasili said. “I don’t know how much longer she has, honestly.”

  Nobunaga leaned back and shook his head. “Goddammit. That’s not what I wanted to hear.”

  “It’s a damn shame,” Vasili agreed. “Especially for a good woman like that.”

  “For a good leader like that,” Nobunaga said. “We’re not likely to see her equal anytime soon. Least not from that kid she shat out.”

  “He sat in on our meeting.”

  “Like he’s being groomed?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Not good, not good. Who do you like instead of him? If you could choose.”

  “You or me, ideally,” Vasili said. It was only partially a lie. He had no desire to wear the crown himself. “Failing that, Takabe.”

  “Okay, who could you live with?”

  Vasili had to think about that. “Toru. Maybe Uchida. Maybe Hashimoto.”

  “I can see Toru being good,” Nobunaga agreed. “Uchida … kind of scares me, and I’m not afraid to admit it. Hashimoto I’m not so sure about. Maybe if she was able to excise the stick that’s perpetually up her ass.”

  “So who else do you like?” Vasili asked.

  “I could see Fujita making a good replacement. He’d be a good face for the organization.”

  Vasili waved a hand dismissively. “He’s a good talker, sure, but I don’t think there’s much to him.”

  “He’d be good PR. Put a handsome face on the Kaisha, make us look younger.”

  “Why are you looking for a handsome face when you’ve got one right here?” Vasili said, motioning towards his own concrete slab of a face.

  “Because you frighten children,” Nobunaga said. “Now here’s a question for you: who would be last on your list of preferred successors? Aside from Chobei, of course.”

  “Of course. Let’s see … Matsuo, for starters. And of course Yoshii and that viper Miyagi. Akiyama is in their orbit, which puts him on my shitlist.”

  “Agreed. That whole contingent I could do without. I would also add Nagai and Takeuchi. Too violent and hotheaded for my tastes. What do you think about Lee?”

  “Eh, mostly I don’t,” Vasili said.

  Just then Vasili realized that his silenced phone was ringing. Yukari Sato. Damn, he didn’t want to talk to her, but looked like he had already missed several of her calls. He excused himself to call back in case it was an emergency.

  “What?” he said into the phone when he was away from the table.

  “Oh, real nice greeting, after I’ve been calling you all day.”

  “Is it urgent? Something to do with Shoichi?”

  “It is urgent, but it’s not about him.”

  “I’m in the middle of dinner with some people now, so if you—”

  “Right, I’ll get to the point. I need money.”

  “What else is new?”

  “It’s just for a little while. To tide me over until I get the advance from that new show.”

  “Ah yes, your new yakuza family drama.”

  “So you’ve heard.”

  “I have. Can’t say I’m happy with it.”

  “Don’t worry, there won’t be anything personal in it.”

  “Still, I don’t like any undue attention, and this will bring plenty.”

  “Look, it’s just—”

  “How much do you need?” Vasili said, rubbing his face.

  “About fifty million yen should do it.”

  “That’s not a small amount.”

  “Well, doing a press tour is expensive! I need new dresses, professional hair and makeup people, not to mention—”

  “Yeah, and that pricey new penthouse apartment must have really put a dent in your careful budgeting.”

  “Got to keep up appearances. So will you help me or not?”

  “Alright, alright. I’ll see what I can do. But I’m a little tight right now. So this is a loan, not a gift. You pay me back when you get the advance.”

  “How very generous of you.”

  “Best I can do right now. And now I need to get back to my dinner.”

  Just another headache, he thought to himself as he rejoined the others.

  “Who was that?” Kameko asked.

  “Eh, a call from the past.”

  “And how is your ex doing?”

  “Let’s talk about anything else.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Tamazaki scanned the crowd around him, wishing he were absolutely anywhere else. He held a half-empty glass of beer in his hand that had gone flat and warm long ago. No matter, it was just for show. He needed to keep a clear head. But he still needed a visual indicator to show that, hey, he was enjoying this gathering just as much as the next guy.

  He wasn’t, though. Because the next guy was probably a star athlete, or a television personality, or an up-and-coming recording artist, or someone who actually belonged among the Tokyo high life. Not some scrappy corner-kid made good who had followed the Path since he was little. He shouldn’t be here. Hell, they shouldn’t even be having this party.

  As Chobei’s right-hand man, Tamazaki had told his boss time and again that they shouldn’t be hosting such parties. They were a liability. Yakuza had no business mingling with civilians, much less getting drunk or high and potentially giving up classified information. He had seen Chobei do it too many times to know that the danger was real at such parties. Chobei used to pretend to take his concerns seriously. Now he didn’t even bother to do that.

  But since most of his other yes-men were scared to stand up to their boss, it usually fell to Tamazaki to try to keep him in line. Now he wandered through Chobei’s lavish Tokyo penthouse, warm beer in hand, trying to find his boss.

  On his first pass through the room, he saw two actors with feature films currently in theaters, three older men and one woman who he thought were politicians, and more beautiful women in slinky evening dresses than he could count. But no Chobei. He was about to head out to the veranda when he noticed something out of the corner of his eye. At a group of couches and chairs around a coffee table, he saw something snap into focus between the shoulders of two women with their backs to him. He saw it was Chobei’s face, one nostril dusted white and two enormously dilated pupils staring straight ahead above a jagged grin.

  Tamazaki immediately corrected course and hurried in that direction, cursing silently to himself. A coked-up dog was even harder to keep on a leash than a sober one, and Chobei on coke was a dangerous animal indeed. Tamazaki hurried over and leaned in close to whisper in his ear.

  “Hey, boss, I don’t know if doing coke out in the open is the best idea. You never know who’s watching.”

  “Good point.” He handed the rolled-up ten-thousand-yen bill in his hand to the hot young thing next to him and pointed at the table. “Clean that up.” She sank to her knees, only too happy to comply.

  “Okay, now you promised!” said one of the other women around the table. “Tell us some stories!”

  “Yeah,” chimed in the guy to her left, “it’s not every day we get to talk to someone on the Path.”

  “Well, I really shouldn’t,” Chobei said with a smile. He was clearly relish
ing the attention.

  “Come on!”

  “Sorry, ladies and gentlemen,” Tamazaki said with a smile, “but it’s a tight brotherhood and we’re sworn to secrecy.”

  “Tamazaki is right,” Chobei said. “Men in our position can’t be too careful. We must be discreet.”

  “That’s no fun,” pouted one of the women. “Can’t Kintamazaki here hold his silence while you tell us some stories?”

  “Hey, Kintamazaki!” Chobei said with a laugh. “I never thought of that!”

  Of course you haven’t, Tamazaki thought. Because it’s a dumb joke and even those are above you.

  “Just one?” the girl pressed.

  “Oh, I don’t know, I really shouldn’t …”

  But you can’t help yourself, so you will, Tamazaki thought with a sense of resignation. He had seen this same pattern play out so often that he knew the script by heart. First Chobei played it off, then he acted coy, then after a few lines or a couple drinks, he would tell people where the bodies were buried. Sometimes literally. So starved for approval was he that he’d throw his caution away if it meant some positive attention.

  And just as Tamazaki feared, soon Chobei was telling the onlookers about yakuza life. He was coked out, rushing through his story at a thousand words a minute. When he finished, Tamazaki tried to put a stop to it again.

  “Well, we could tell you guys more, but then we’d have to kill you!” Tamazaki said with a smile. Except for some nervous laughter, most of the people there just ignored him.

  “Are you worried at all about the Taira-kai?” asked a muscular guy at the edge of the group. “I hear they’re moving into Kawasaki big-time.”

  “Sorry, who are you again?” Chobei asked in a voice dripping with contempt.

  “My name is Yoshitomi, I play ball for the Kewpie Mayo Sluggers.”

  “And just what the fuck would a baseball player know about the Path?” Chobei spat.