Instinct took over, forcing Jun to slip into the pool, standing, in order to bow respectfully. Finding himself suddenly up to his hips in the scalding water, he winced in pain.
Oto’s gruff voice echoed off the tiled walls. “Don’t burn yourself, my boy.” He pointed into the water below Jun’s waistline. “You’ll find that thing useful on occasion.” Slick black hair edged with silver covered the Father’s head, framing his dark eyes and permanent scowl. Two dog tags suspended on a silver chain hung halfway down his bare chest.
The leggy blonde towered over the five-foot-five mafia leader. She removed the older man’s towel, revealing the tattoos painted across his sagging belly. Intricate drawings of dragons and samurai covered his entire body except for his feet, hands, jowly neck, and face.
The woman removed her own towel and placed it next to Oto’s. Jun remained standing, his eyes lingering on her body, watching transfixed as a train of silky hair fell down her back to her perfectly formed hips.
Oto spoke while shuffling across the tiled floor. “She is something, isn’t she? I bought her in Singapore. I hate Americans, but for her I’ve made an exception. She can’t understand a word we’re saying, but who cares?” The older man clambered into the hot water, followed by the elegant blonde.
Jun sank down to his neck, choosing to remain silent, unsure of how to appropriately respond.
“You’re probably wondering why you’re here.”
“Yes, Father.” He knew that he should focus on Oto, but he couldn’t stop his focus from drifting toward the pink breasts peeking above the water line.
“I wanted to commend you for obtaining the information last night at the shrine.”
“Thank you, Father.”
“But did you really need to kill the diplomat?”
Shamed, Jun lowered his eyes. A story needed to be quickly created. “The man threatened to inform the police. I couldn’t let that happen.”
“But you must understand that his death raises questions with the authorities, and smoothing these things over costs a great deal of money.”
“Very sorry, Father.”
Oto ignored the apology. “However, I’ve used the information from the business card you obtained. A cleaning crew will bug Murayama-san’s office tonight, after which I want you and Hiro to take the van and start listening.”
“For what?” Jun sat up higher.
“I’m looking for a brown leather satchel containing a priceless old book. I want you to recover it.” Oto’s dark eyes burned bright. “But―I don’t wish to coerce Murayama-san directly. He was a diplomat and the police could surveil him as well after the unfortunate shrine murder. It will be slower this way, but less obvious.”
Jun felt a swell of pride. I’m being asked to carry out duties directly for the Father!
“And I have another task.” Steam rose into the already moist air as Oto continued speaking. “I’m growing concerned about your Yakuza brother, Hiro. I’m hearing reports that he’s acting strangely again. I believe he’s been tainted by weak Western influences.” Oto’s flat nose wrinkled. “All foolishness! The family is what matters. And his heart may not be with our family anymore. Do you understand?”
Jun’s chin dipped into the water as he nodded.
“He tried to leave us once. It was years ago. He was young, and I thought he learned his lesson, but perhaps not,” Oto said. “Let me know if you see anything unusual in his behavior.”
“Yes, of course, Father.”
The blonde woman whispered into Oto’s ear. He splashed a hand, giving approval for her to leave the bath. “These Americans can’t take the heat.”
Rising up and swinging her long, smooth legs up over the tiled edge of the bath, the woman fully exposed her entire body. Jun could feel himself becoming aroused, and in an attempt to avoid being noticed, he clasped his hands together in his lap while his gaze followed her every move.
Oto cleared his throat and the two men briefly locked eyes. “I too was once a young man.”
Jun felt a hot rush of guilt spread over his face.
“Don’t be ashamed, my boy. It’s only natural to be attracted to her. In fact, I’m feeling generous. You may have her for a few hours.”
Jun wiped his brow with a single wet hand, marveling at the father’s generosity.
“Woman-u!” Oto’s English word boomed and echoed in the little room. “Give-u him-u good-o time-u.”
She wrapped herself in a towel and showed her perfect white teeth in a dazzling smile.
Jun rose rapidly, sending a wave cascading over the pool’s edge and onto the floor. He bowed while keeping his hands folded tightly over his groin, attempting to awkwardly scale the bath’s edge.
As the door closed, the aging leader drew a napkin-sized white terry cloth out of the water. Folding it twice into a small square, he placed it on top of his head and settled deeper into the warm water, dreaming of the diary that would soon be his and the riches within.
IT WAS meant to be a pleasant evening of traditional Kabuki theater, and normally Max would have been excited about trying something new. But as he pressed down the crowded sidewalk, surrounded by bright neon-crowned buildings, he felt a clear sense of trepidation. Yoko, the Dragon Lady, was waiting for him, and her reaction was going to be unpredictable at best.
Delivering his resignation letter just hours before had lifted a huge weight from his shoulders. Yoko had been on the phone, planning an upcoming art exhibit, with her back to the door. Her vicious cat, Luciano, reclined on a guest chair, hissing as Max entered the office. Tossing the sealed envelope onto the desktop, he dashed out before she could spin around her high-backed chair.
He knew he would miss teaching the kids, but he was weary of Yoko’s lies and her ever-changing stories. She’d successfully seduced him with a position on the new board of directors, however in the end she was simply placating him. Having his school expansion ideas repeatedly agreed to, then ignored, had shown her objective wasn’t to create a viable business. And as if to add salt to the wound she had insisted he run her errands. The expensive purchases of clothing, along with the growing pile of Tiffany’s boxes, were a constant reminder of her true objective. Their once close friendship dissolved into silence, and as the quiet tension escalated, he grew confident that Yoko’s true agenda remained hidden behind a well-crafted layer of deception. She’d manipulated him, treating him like her blond poster boy, just so she could gather more investors. He was merely someone to distract the students’ mothers while Yoko reached her greedy hand into their purses and robbed them of their life savings.
In a country where he could barely manage the language, Max felt powerless to stop the wheels in motion. But his resignation was one thing he could still control. Tonight would be the last night he would play the part of Yoko’s Exotic Pet.
Walking a jagged line through the sea of strolling shoppers, he adjusted his blazer, which was beginning to show its age. Reaching into an inside pocket, he glanced at his grandpa’s pocket watch and saw that it read 7:10 p.m.
Damn. Ten minutes late already.
He had seriously considered backing out of this choreographed event. But he’d agreed to the outing a month ago and costly tickets had been purchased. His students’ mothers would be waiting. Expectations would be high, and he could not bring himself to disappoint them.
From the opposite side of Ginza’s Harumi-dori Avenue, Max could see the white Kabuki-za building a block away. Dramatically bathed from below in brilliant light, the recessed center of the historical façade created the impression of a sixteenth-century Asian castle with matching east and west wings. The vision was striking, and he wondered what it would have been like to attend the original opening in 1889.
Crossing at the busy intersection, he stared up at the overhanging clay-tiled roof. Dual blood-red banners flapped in the evening breeze. Adorned with thick black kanji lettering, they hung past the matching third-floor balconies and framed the downward-sweeping lines
of the black and gold second-story marquee. As he drew closer to the building, he could see Yoko’s unmistakable bobbed haircut near the entrance. She was attending to her entourage of ladies. Gathered near the front pillars, they stood chatting beneath a string of glowing red lanterns.
He tried hard to ignore the nervous sweat soaking into his undershirt.
As if she heard his quickened heartbeat approaching, Yoko turned toward him and dipped her head in a slight nod. “Thank you for showing up.” Her lips, which normally arched downward, lifted at the corners into a forced smile that didn’t match the dark tone of her eyes. “You’re late.”
“Yeah . . . well,” he muttered, looking away.
She raised a single pencil-thin eyebrow. “I assumed you’d be early, since you left the office in such a hurry.” Not allowing him time to respond, she turned back to address the dozen women clustered together, holding her hands outward like a maestro conducting an orchestra.
He watched the ladies nodding heads while they drank in her animated narration—lies, he was sure—punctuated at the end with a noisy laugh. Why don’t they see through her? It was clear she was hard at work, since the only two terms he’d been able to understand were his own name and the word for “corporation.”
Max took a step backward as Yoko finally broke away from the group and moved toward him.
“We’re just waiting for Mrs. Hirano before we go in,” she said.
“Fine.” He made a point to avoid eye contact. She certainly can’t overlook her wealthiest contributor.
Reaching into her Prada handbag, Yoko drew out the resignation letter and thrust her manicured hand toward him. “You forgot this.”
It was clear the envelope had been opened, and he heard himself bite back. “I didn’t forget that letter. I quit.”
Her eyes grew even darker. “I don’t accept.” The paper shook in her outstretched hand. “You can’t take a board position and then simply resign.”
Glancing over Yoko’s head, Max caught a glimpse of several women curiously eyeing them, and he made a point to temper his rising frustration. “We shouldn’t talk about this here.”
Yoko waved dismissively and her tone grew curt. “They can’t speak English and have no idea what we’re talking about.”
“I want my passport back.”
“Is that what this is about?”
“It’s not the only thing, but you’ve had it for weeks, and I’ve asked for it at least three times.”
“I told you the lawyers need it for the legal paperwork.”
What bullshit, Max thought. “Really? Is that the latest story?” His body tensed—he hated arguing. “Last week when I politely asked you it was another excuse, and the week before that something else. I’m surprised you can keep all the lies straight in your head sometimes.” He waited for the explosive fireworks, but they didn’t come.
“Max, please.” She drew out her words and softened her tone. “Something has upset you, and we need to talk about it.” She folded the letter back into her purse. Lifting her head, she smoothed the sides of her hair. “Let’s have brunch tomorrow. It’s Saturday. We can discuss whatever is bothering you.”
He had witnessed this bait-and-switch tactic before, and he wasn’t about to fall for it again. “I have plans with Tomoko all day.” He stared with rigid eyes. It was only a partial lie.
“Well, then, Sunday, perhaps.” She stepped closer. “We were so close. Let’s mend the fences.”
Well, she does seem sincere.
Before he could respond, the moment was broken by a braking taxi. Mrs. Hirano was finally arriving. Yoko’s change from conciliatory friend to money-hungry parasite was instantaneous. She pressed Max backward with a sharp elbow and stepped on his foot as she rushed to the cab door.
Watching her at work, Max was astounded at himself. She had almost beguiled him again. What was it about her personality that blessed her with the ability to charm and control? A few more seconds and he would have agreed to brunch with a simple shrug of his shoulders. He resolved to grow a thicker skin, become tougher. In the meantime, however, he would have to find a way to get his passport back while attempting to avoid her for the next two weeks.
Max followed while Yoko ushered her wealthy little flock past the bowing attendants and into the red-carpeted theater lobby. She was unlike anyone he had ever met―a master of manipulation. And as the closing doors blocked out the bustling street noise, he couldn’t help but wonder who had taught her to play this high-stakes game.
Saturday, April 21
TOMOKO COULD see her breath as she perched against the low wall in Sapporo’s Odori Park. Her cell phone was pressed to one ear as she left an answering machine message.
“Hi Max. I’ll be on my way home to Tokyo soon. Meet me in Roppongi tonight, instead of Shibuya. I miss you. Bye-bye.”
The jeans she was wearing offered scant protection against the chilly stone, and she rocked from side to side, shivering in the early morning sunlight. A few more minutes of this and she would be taking the coat from the bum sleeping on the bench behind her. Miki was fifteen minutes late, and Tomoko felt ready to kill her.
Certain she heard her name being called, Tomoko attempted to block the glare from the bright eastern sunrise. In the middle of the park plaza, she could see the outline of someone jogging toward her. She desperately hoped it was Miki, but it couldn’t possibly be. The person heading her way was wearing a pair of thigh-high black-and-white striped stockings and pink Converse Chucks. Her friend was much too conservative for an outfit like that.
“Oh no, you’re freezing! I’m so sorry,” panted a familiar girlish voice.
Tomoko stood to get a better look, and her jaw dropped. “Wow, I can’t believe it!”
Miki’s flattened, shoulder-length, bleached blonde hair was held in place at the front with three pink plastic barrettes. A white T-shirt covered in large black stars peeked out from under a red Betty Boop jacket, and her pleated miniskirt almost covered her leggings. She was a five-foot-tall billboard begging for attention.
“You like?” Miki spun around. “Here, put this on.” She handed over a silver goose-down coat.
“Thank you. I’m so cold.” Tomoko’s voice rose close to a whine. “And you’re really late.” She could barely take her eyes off her old college friend.
“Hey, you’re the one who came this far north without warm clothes.” Miki stepped closer to help. “This sticks sometimes.” She twisted the zipper and it finally moved.
“Well, it’s spring in Tokyo.”
“Which is five hundred miles south of here,. Come on, let’s walk and heat you up.” Miki’s bracelets rattled as she adjusted her shiny pink purse.
“All right, but you need to explain your outfit.”
“So you don’t like it?” Miki placed an index finger on her lower lip and stared up with a pout as they both broke into hysterical giggles.
Morning traffic was light, and they crossed the street to the next section of the park. “You try working in a boring government job. I have to wear this awful uniform and the work is so, so, so boring.” Bitterness edged into her voice. “I didn’t get an exciting job like you.”
“I know,” Tomoko conceded. “But you deserved it.”
“Well, some of us are short and a bit on the fat side.” Miki snickered self-consciously, before holding up an open hand. “You don’t need to say anything. I’m happy you got the job. And besides,” she said, throwing her blonde head back, “I’ve decided that I’ll simply compensate with style.”
Tomoko nodded and enjoyed the warmth beginning to build up inside the jacket. “So why are we meeting here? My hotel is only a few blocks from the TV Tower.”
“I was worried about handing over private government information with too many people around. I could get in trouble, you know.” Miki scanned the area. Several other couples could be seen, but nobody was paying them any attention. “I know my job is bad, but I can’t lose it.”
“W
ell, if you’re playing secret agent, you’re not exactly blending in with those stockings.”
They both laughed.
“It took me about a week, but I did get most of what you’re looking for. Although, if you don’t mind my asking, why do you want the information?”
“I just have a strange feeling about Max’s boss, Yoko. Something isn’t right.”
“You’re really crazy about this American guy, aren’t you? Tell me what he’s like.”
Tomoko beamed as she spoke. “He’s tall, with amazing blue eyes.”
“No, not that. I’ve seen pictures already. You know what I mean. Most white guys are bad news—they come here for a while and then they’re gone.” Miki snapped her fingers. “I want to know what he’s like. Does he have money? Do you love him?”
“Don’t worry. It’s only been a couple of months, and we’re taking it slowly.”
“You’re avoiding the question.”
“Fine. If you must know, he’s kind-hearted and he makes me laugh. I know that sounds dumb, but it’s true. You remember the guys we went to school with? They got jobs with big companies and became exactly like all the boring businessmen we used to ridicule. Well, that’s not Max. He’s spontaneous and willing to try new things. I know it sounds ridiculous, but I’ve always pictured my life as an adventure. I think it can be that way with him.”
Miki pressed on with the line of questioning. “So what about his family?”
“He hasn’t said much, really, other than that they moved around a lot. His mother lives somewhere in California. She’s extremely religious, a Christian, but we’ve only talked about his father once—sounds like a drinking problem—he changes the subject whenever I ask.” They crossed another street and continued strolling east. “He’s mentioned his grandfather a few times. They were close before he died . . . I get the feeling that’s why Max likes spending time with Mr. Murayama.”
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