Shadows of Tokyo (Reiko Watanabe / Inspector Aizawa Book 1)

by Matthew Legare

  “Lieutenant Nakajima, reporting for duty!” she said. A few patriots chuckled while Nakajima stared with wide, hateful eyes. She bent over and started the phonograph again. The scratchy trumpets blared and “If Ten Thousand Enemies Should Come” served as background music for her finest performance.

  “Come on men, follow me!” Reiko kept her salute as she paraded around the machiya, stomping her boots. “Ah, wait, is the enemy this way or that way? Damn it all…Manchuria is so vast! I think I’m lost…I haven’t been many places outside of my rice farm in Tohoku! Brrrr…and it’s so much colder here!”

  She chattered out a rattle of machine gun fire. Drunken laughter filled the room.

  “I’ve been shot! The gods are so unfair! I didn’t even get to kill a single enemy soldier! And even worse,” she sank to her knees, clutching her gut, “I still don’t know what it’s like to be with a woman!”

  Now even Masaru laughed. Time to close the curtain.

  “Banzzzai to th-the…accckkk….” she coughed, gurgled, and keeled over dead, tongue out for good measure. Applause followed laughter. Reiko bolted upright and bowed. She spun around and saluted Lieutenant Nakajima, who looked like a grenade ready to explode.

  “Disgraceful!” he screamed, leaping to his feet. “Zensei, she insults the honor of the entire Army!”

  Masaru gave a dismissive laugh. “An Imperial soldier shouldn’t give the words of a woman much weight, Nakajima-san. I’m sure that she was only teasing.”

  Reiko showed her glee with a triumphant, taunting smile. “Of course! It’s all in good fun, Lieutenant.” She tore off the service cap and slapped it onto Nakajima’s head. “You’ll probably need that.”

  Lieutenant Nakajima shook with impotent fury as his explosion of anger fizzled out like a bottle of Ramune Soda. She already pitied the poor Chinese soldier who would face him when it bubbled back up. She slipped off the boots and returned to the genkan.

  A little man in a brown overcoat and flat cap stood there, removing his snow crusted shoes. His face was swollen with bruises but that Charlie Chaplin mustache was all she needed to recognize Makoto Kuroki. Without a word, he walked past her and into the main room. Reiko tossed the boots aside and followed him.

  “Kuroki-san,” Masaru said. “I’m glad I persuaded Superintendent Shimura to release you!” The patriots chuckled. “Now you can drink to our great victory and enjoy Lieutenant Nakajima’s sokokai!” Masaru extended a bottle of Kirin beer with a grin.

  For several moments, Kuroki stared blank-faced at his sensei until, with one fluid motion, he reached into his coat and pulled out a revolver. Without a word, he pressed it under his chin and curled a finger around the trigger.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  A silent, thick tension swept over the machiya. Reiko clamped a hand over her mouth, stifling a scream. Nakajima edged closer to Masaru while the other patriots sat wide-eyed, staring at their sensei for guidance.

  “Kuroki-san,” Masaru said, still holding the beer bottle. “What are you doing? Put that gun down!”

  “I’m sorry sensei…but I must kill myself…it’s the only way to regain my honor...”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Ryusaki-sensei….we have been betrayed!”

  Reiko’s heart skipped a beat but she kept herself steady.

  Like a striking viper, Nakajima lashed out and knocked the revolver out of Kuroki’s hand. The little man vomited a pained cry and fell to his knees. Reaching into his coat, Kuroki presented a red pamphlet with yellow characters. A hammer and sickle emblem was stamped at the bottom.

  Lieutenant Nakajima traipsed across the machiya and inspected the revolver. “This is a Russian gun,” he said, holding it up. “A Nagant. Kuroki-zan, where did you get this from?”

  Kuroki bit his lip as the tears flowed. “From General Sakamoto. Last night….after Superintendent Shimura released me, there were three soldiers waiting. They drove me to the Army Ministry to meet with General Sakamoto personally. I was so honored…I thought he was going to congratulate me—” He gave a pitiful sob. “—but instead he offered me a deal…he guaranteed me entrance into the Army and service in Manchuria…if I…if I assassinated you, sensei!”

  Masaru’s face drained of color. “Assassinate me? Why?”

  “I don’t know…but he gave me that gun and this pamphlet so we could blame it on the Communists. Forgive me sensei….it’s my dream to follow my brother into the Imperial Army…I shamefully accepted the offer…I was going to assassinate you tomorrow after Lieutenant Nakajima departs for Manchuria….”

  No one spoke, but Reiko could almost hear the curses echoing in Masaru’s mind.

  “But I couldn’t deprive Japan of you, sensei…that’s why I wanted to kill myself in front of you…to show you how truly repentant I am!” Kuroki’s words devolved into soft, pitiful sobs.

  Masaru leaned over and said, “Your actions speak louder than words, Kuroki-san. I forgive your moment of weakness. The Kusanagi Society still needs the service of such a sincere patriot…but you must tell me what Sakamoto is planning.”

  At once, Kuroki looked like a man reborn. Wiping his tears, he said, “General Sakamoto said that if I didn’t assassinate you, he’d have the Kempeitai arrest you and then…and then torture you into confessing that you’re secretly a Red!”

  With a ferocious growl, Masaru hurled the beer bottle across the room. It shattered near the phonograph like an artillery shell.

  “That traitor! General Sakamoto must be working for the Seiyukai! He used us to get rid of Baron Onishi!”

  The patriots of the Kusanagi Society hissed like snakes ready to bite.

  “We cannot rely on a new shogun to carry out reform…we must do it ourselves,” Masaru said, pacing back and forth.

  “How sensei?” Kuroki asked.

  Masaru gave a dark look. “The body of Japan has become infested with parasites,” he began. “The treacherous advisers who surround the Emperor. Communist traitors and greedy capitalists. And above all, every politician in the Diet. We’ll have to kill these vermin one by one. Within a week, ten evil men will die. Then, twenty more. By the end of the year, every villain in Tokyo will fear for his life!”

  The Kusanagi Society roared a triple banzai cheer, amplified by bloodlust.

  “But first…General Sakamoto must pay for his treachery,” Masaru said.

  Lieutenant Nakajima stood at attention. “Zensei, I volunteer!”

  Masaru gave a solemn nod before turning to Reiko. “Leave us. This is no place for a woman. I’ll call for you later.”

  She couldn’t agree more. After a deep bow, Reiko grabbed her cloche hat, put on her shoes, and slid open the front door without looking back. Asakusa was still busy and bursting with life, oblivious to the plots and intrigue being hatched right behind her. Although her legs trembled slightly, she walked away from the machiya with quickening steps.

  *****

  “Surrender now or I shall punish you with my sword of justice!” the benshi declared as the samurai hero confronted a horde of bandits at their camp onscreen.

  “Ha ha, arrogance will be your downfall samurai,” the benshi gave voice to the bandit chief. “It’s fifty to one!”

  “I am never outnumbered,” the benshi said in his most heroic voice, “as long as the gods of justice are on my side!”

  Things didn’t look good for the samurai, but since the movie wasn’t even half over, it was doubtful he’d die just yet. A slender silhouette crept across the screen, just as the samurai drew his sword and rushed toward the enemy.

  “Would the young lady please take a seat?” the benshi asked politely, but with enough hiss to let his annoyance show.

  Reiko Watanabe ducked in and out of rows, peering and prying in the darkness. After a sheepish scan of the aisles, she zeroed in on Aizawa and took a seat next to him.

  “General Sakamoto betrayed them,” she said, staring ahead at the screen. “He sent Kuroki to kill Masaru.”


  “He’s dead?”

  “No, Kuroki couldn’t go through with it and begged forgiveness. Masaru has gone completely insane. He’s talking about assassinating everyone. Sakamoto, politicians, Imperial advisers. Hundreds.”

  Aizawa figured his name would eventually wind up on that list too.

  “Watanabe-san, where is he? I have to know.”

  She continued to stare at the screen where the samurai hero fought off waves on oncoming bandits with ease. That is, until the bandit chief rushed back to his tent and returned with a woman, arms tied at her sides.

  “My lord’s daughter!” the benshi said in the samurai’s voice. “You villain!”

  “Haha, surrender now or she dies!” The bandit slid a dagger underneath the maiden’s throat.

  The screen faded and the benshi cried, “What will become of our heroes?” The pianist upstairs banged out a dramatic score, hinting at their fate.

  “Watanabe-san…”

  Reiko turned to face him. Illuminated by the projector’s pale, flashing lights, she looked as if she’d just stepped out of the movie screen.

  “He’s nearby,” she finally said. “Just a few blocks north. Third machiya on the left on Kototoi Street. The one with a Rising Sun flag out in front. You can enter through a side door in the alleyway.”

  Aizawa scanned every inch of her face for duplicity but her brown eyes shone with a sincerity he often saw in murderers ready to confess.

  “Were you followed?” he asked.

  “No. They were too busy planning which politician to shoot next to worry about me.”

  “Wait here,” he said, standing up. “I’ll come and get you when it’s all over.”

  She nodded. Onscreen, the bandit chief raised his sword over the maiden’s head, who awaited decapitation with a look of dread. Aizawa knew how she felt.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  As Lieutenant Nakajima neared the Dragonfly Tea House, a toxic mix of emotions swirled in his head; hate and confusion, rage and mistrust, a need for an explanation and a desire to kill. How could General Sakamoto, war hero and future shogun, betray them? Nothing made sense anymore. Perhaps, just perhaps, there was a good reason for all this. But in case there wasn’t…he gripped the Army saber at his side.

  After a quick phone call to Sakamoto’s residence, his wife explained that the General had not returned home yet and even asked where he might be. Nakajima had an idea. Aside from the Army Ministry, the Dragonfly Tea House was where Yori Sakamoto spent most of his time. It was here, back in January, where Lieutenant Nakajima and other staff officers had first met with Sakamoto and hatched their plot to overthrow the government. So many plans and strategies were discussed that the Dragonfly Tea House became a sort of command post for the Showa Restoration.

  Twanging shamisen music drifted out of the tea house. His khaki cape billowed in the wind, allowing him to view the Nagant revolver stuffed into his belt, which might be fired after all. Nakajima’s grip on the saber tightened. Paper lanterns hanging from the tea house’s exterior illuminated two enormous men crammed into long gray overcoats. They guarded the entrance with crossed arms and stern faces. Former sumo wrestlers, judging from their size and build.

  “Who are you?” one asked.

  “Second Lieutenant Hajime Nakajima! Adjutant to General Zakamoto,” he said, snapping to attention.

  The two traded glances.

  “And who are you?” Nakajima asked.

  “We work for Takano-san,” one said.

  Takano? Ah, it made sense now. That zaibatsu must have plenty of enemies to station bodyguards wherever he went. The telltale signs of a shameful life.

  “I’m here to see the General.”

  With skeptical eyes they examined Nakajima. Underneath his cape, he slid his hands over the Nagant, wondering how many bullets it would take to fell a sumo. After a few moments, the two bodyguards stepped aside and he slid open the front doors. Inside, he found a row of shiny leather shoes, geta clogs, and a pair of black boots that towered over all of them.

  Without removing his own boots, now encrusted with snow, Nakajima walked into the main room. Underneath the paper screen of Mount Fuji, knelt General Yori Sakamoto with an unbuttoned collar and reddened face. A smiling geisha refilled his cup with sake.

  Another kneeling geisha strummed her shamisen and sang. A pair of grinning fools, the Seiyukai bureaucrats he’d seen a few days before, clapped along like monkeys. But the most nauseating sight was Isamu Takano and his glittering Rolex, coolly smoking a cigarette. Nakajima suppressed an urge to draw the Nagant and open fire.

  General Sakamoto threw back the shot of sake before turning his attention to Nakajima. Suddenly, his face erupted in shock.

  “Nakajima, my boy!” he said as a geisha helped him to his feet. “What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be enjoying your sokokai?”

  Traitor or not, Lieutenant Nakajima stood at attention before his superior. “I must talk to you alone.” He parted his cape to reveal the Nagant.

  General Sakamoto swallowed hard as the red drained from his cheeks. He walked over to Takano and whispered a brief conversation. Through a veil of cigarette smoke, the banker studied Nakajima with contemptuous eyes. The geisha suddenly stopped playing, cutting the bureaucrats off mid-song.

  “Hey, sssoldier boy,” the geisha said with a drunken slur. “Don’t you know better than to leave your boots on inside? Sssuch manners!”

  “Oh, leave him alone,” the other geisha said. “Welcome to our party! Errr…what rank are you anyway?”

  Nakajima said nothing, keeping his eyes focused on Isamu Takano. The banker’s high cheekbones, narrow eyes, and pointed face were more fox-like than human. And foxes were often the villains in Japanese fairy tales.

  “She asked you a question, sssoldier boy,” the drunken geisha fired back. “What’s the matter? Too good to talk to a woman?”

  Lieutenant Nakajima glared at her.

  “Or maybe the only woman he’s ever talked to works in Yoshiwara?” the geisha said with a laugh.

  The bureaucrats and geisha cackled like cawing crows. Nakajima dashed across the room and grabbed the laughing geisha by her collar like a cat by the scruff of its neck. The shamisen fell to the floor and clattered as silence swept over the tea house. The geisha stared back in mute horror.

  “Lieutenant! Put her down at once!” General Sakamoto roared.

  Nakajima released his grip and the other geisha rushed over to comfort her.

  “I think we should be going, General,” Takano said, putting out his cigarette. “Thank you for the party.” He stood and looked at Nakajima with a mixture of contempt and pity, like an impudent child about to be spanked. “Come ladies, my Bentley is parked around back. I’ll drive you home.”

  After a round of bows, Takano walked out, followed by the geisha and the Seiyukai bureaucrats. Once they were alone, General Sakamoto rushed Nakajima and struck him with a hard slap across the face.

  “How dare you come here uninvited and insult my guests?”

  Again, Nakajima showed the Nagant, quieting the General.

  “Remember the Nagant revolver that you took off a dead Russian officer during the Battle of Mukden? This wouldn’t happen to be it, would it?”

  “What are you implying, Lieutenant?”

  “That you betrayed us.”

  “Such impudence,” Sakamoto snarled, reaching for the Nagant. Nakajima pulled the revolver out of his belt and turned it on the General. “Lieutenant, put that down. That is an order!”

  That might have worked days earlier, but Lieutenant Nakajima only obeyed orders from honorable men. “Is Takano behind this? Did he pay you?”

  “It’s not what you think, Lieutenant. I didn’t do it for money.”

  Nakajima kept the Nagant aimed at him. “Then why?”

  “You wouldn’t understand….young men are so hotheaded.”

  “Explain,” Nakajima demanded.

  Rubbing his temple, the General sighed. “J
apan is not Brazil or Argentina. A military coup won’t work here.”

  “The Showa Restoration is not a mere coup d'état,” Nakajima said. “It will purify Japan from top to bottom!”

  General Sakamoto groaned and held up a weary hand. “Consider our past attempts. In March, the plan failed after Ryusaki was arrested. In October, we tried again without any civilians involved…but our plan still met with failure! The political system is already too firmly in place, Lieutenant. It’s best to work inside it rather than trying to destroy it.”

  “And does that mean,” Nakajima felt his mouth go dry, “this plan to install you as shogun was all a farce?”

  General Sakamoto averted his eyes. “Takano-san has guaranteed me vice-presidency of the Seiyukai. After Inukai-san retires, he will nominate me as his successor. Then, I will reform Japan through legislative means. But first, we had to get Baron Onishi out of the way…he was a threat to Seiyukai leadership in the Diet.”

  Nakajima’s entire frame shook. “Y-you used us as puppets!”

  “Be reasonable, Lieutenant! If a horse charges directly at you, you must mount it from the side and take control of the reins. To stand in front only means you’ll be trampled. This is why our so-called ‘Showa Restoration’ has met with failure. The political parties are here to stay.”

  The words hit Nakajima like a stab in the throat, silencing him.

  “Think of it this way, Lieutenant. The campaign in Manchuria is almost over. Another month or two and we’ll control the entire region. Our troops will soon share a border with Soviet Russia. What have we mobilized for the Manchurian Incident? Almost nothing. A few units from home, but our overseas forces have carried most of the burden by themselves. Our industry is stagnant. If our nation today engaged in total war, like the one that erupted in 1914, it would break under the strain. Look at what happened to Germany. But total war with Russia and America is approaching. Our empire will need the cooperation of all aspects of society; the Army and Navy, the zaibatsu, and yes, even the Imperial Diet. As a self-installed shogun, I would earn the resentment of these men. However, as the legitimate prime minister, I would be the rightful head of government, chosen and approved of by His Majesty.”