But even if the tickets sold well and the hall was full, the sponsor of the dance still had another big worry—an attempt by certain students of rival schools to get hold of the ticket money. The sponsors had to get the money away without being noticed.
"There are a lot of guys from across town here—Takeshima and his gang. But they're keeping quiet for the time being because of the detectives," said Katsumi.
"That's right. We've got eight of them, thinking there might be trouble. We're not like some others who make it easy," Ryoji replied.
"But they know you're sponsoring the party, don't they?"
"Probably."
"Then that's why they're here. They're going to try something. That'll be fun!"
"In half an hour I'll be leaving with the money, in Katayama's car. To be on the safe side, we'll pay up tomorrow."
"Fine. That's better."
Something moved in Katsumi's mind. As he made his way out, he looked anxiously around for any of the Takeshima gang in the crowd. He spotted one who, seemingly aware of the plain clothesmen, was making the best of the good music by dancing.
He noticed Katsumi and asked, "How's it going?"
"How're your business prospects? Really packed in tight tonight!"
The student looked at Katsumi inquiringly.
"What kind of thing is that to say? We're here just to dance."
"Fine! By the way, do you know who's running the dance? Someone's going to pull in a lot of cash tonight!" Katsumi remarked.
"Don't you know?"
"No, except that it's some group from the school. It's written on the ticket."
"Then they're pulling a fast one on you, Katsumi. We thought you had a share in it."
"Who said that? Anyway, I've got something better to talk about."
Then Katsumi caught sight of Takeshima approaching.
"I've got some news for you," he said to Takeshima. "I'm keeping out of it all since it's being run by a group from school, but I can let you in on something. How much'll you give me for it?"
"What are you talking about?"
"About the dance proceeds."
"Come off it. There's at least a dozen cops around."
"No problem."
Takeshima gave Katsumi a searching glance.
"Okay, Katsumi. If it goes smooth, you get thirty percent."
"That's a deal. Well then, a little while ago I heard the guys who seem to be in charge talking. I heard them through the window. They said they'd be leaving here with the cash in half an hour, and that to be on the safe side they'd put off paying until tomorrow. Their car's a '54 cream Pontiac. They said it was the third one from the right. I've checked it. So just park your car at the bottom of the slope near the gate; you've only got to wait for their car."
"Are you telling the truth?"
"Why not? I don't gain anything by giving you the wrong information. You'll get at least thirty thousand. I'll come around to your place at ten tonight for my share."
"Okay. A '54 Pontiac, right?"
Katsumi reckoned there would be nothing to lose either way. Ryoji, his brother, and Katayama would get into the car. Ryoji and Katayama would put up a fight, even if Ryoji's older brother didn't. At any rate, he'd see Ryoji fighting again—in fact a good fight might put the old fire back into his friend.
Katsumi was pleased indeed at the thought. And, if Ryoji didn't put up a fight, then he would wash his hands of him.
Ryoji's character had changed a lot since high school days when he and Katsumi had been the closest of friends, members of the same class and the same clubs. Now Ryoji hardly ever accepted Katsumi's invitations to the kind of escapades that they used to enjoy so, and if Katsumi pressed the matter, Ryoji would merely say that he'd gotten tired of it all. Nowadays, if Ryoji came across some of the students from across town who often hung around the billiards hall over their favorite coffee house, he would not carry the old chip on his shoulder. His reputation still earned him a certain amount of respect, especially if Katsumi was with him, but it certainly was not the same old Ryoji who had once knocked down three newcomers with a pool cue, merely because they hadn't treated him with what he considered the proper respect.
When they were freshmen at the university and used to spend a good deal of time playing billiards near the campus, their cronies would often call up and ask them to come join in an impending brawl. On such occasions, Ryoji and Katsumi were always eager to answer with a "Hang on! Keep 'em talking till we get there!" The two would dash out, well aware that the eyes of their friends were on them. Wasn't it Ryoji himself who would make more trouble if the earlier dispute appeared to have been resolved before he arrived?
One Christmas when they were in the third year of high school they had gone to a cabaret to amuse themselves. A hostess recognized them and came over to their table to greet them. An American soldier whom she had been sitting with grumbled at her when she returned and hit her with the flat of his hand. It was Ryoji that saw it happen and ran over and pulled the surprised soldier to the middle of the floor and then kicked him flat. Just as another soldier had gotten up to help, Katsumi lashed out with his foot and then delivered a blow to the mid-section that doubled up the second American.
Ryoji and Katsumi then asked the band to strike up "Jingle Bells," and the two triumphant students, in time to the music, started to dance over the two soldiers sprawled together on the floor. The rest of the customers, who were all drunk, began to clap in rhythm.
However, a normally hostile fellow from the neighborhood came up and told them that another G.I. had gone for the police. He advised them to get out through the back exit. The two stared for a moment, then nodded their thanks and hurriedly dashed out and down the rear stairs.
Of all his escapades with Ryoji—drinking, whoring, fighting—that had been the best.
But lately whenever Katsumi tried to cheer Ryoji up by recalling their good times, Ryoji would screw up his face and say: "Can't you lay off that kind of talk? We were just kids then."
"Kids? When did. you get so old?"
Katsumi did not like the feeling this new Ryoji gave him—the feeling of suddenly being left out in the cold. Looking at Ryoji lying on his back on the campus lawn, he could see what looked like a sense of peace and satisfaction in his face.
"What's changing him this way—his age? Then what about me?" Katsumi wondered.
"Something good going on these days that I don't know about, Ryoji?
"Not a thing going on—that's just it. Life's not interesting."_
"Life? You sound like you know all about it."
"No, it's just that I feel something empty in life these days."
"Huh? What are you talking about, empty?"
"When you and I were in high school, we really did some terrible things, you know."
"Ah, come off it. We had great times, and we don't have to stop now."
"Let's drop it! We were just kids. We did whatever we damn well pleased and thought it was great. But that can't go on forever. If you think what you've done isn't wrong—if you can persuade yourself everything is right—fine, but can you really have confidence in what you've done?"
"Sure, sure I can!"
"Can you, really? How can you say it so easily? Don't you have any scruples at all? Are you really sure what you are doing is what you like best and what's the best for you?"
"Sure, why not? I do just exactly what I feel like doing. That's all I know—that's all I'm able to do."
"Well, I'm sick of just doing things from force of habit."
"From force of habit? You wouldn't be sick of anything if you still did whatever you like! What do you want to do most right now? Just think it over. And let me ask you another thing. Is there anything better to do than what we've been doing so far? It might not make life so worth-while, but what else do we have? Like that son of a bitch Yoshimura, always so deep about everything—I hate the way that bunch of phony geniuses runs on."
Looking intently at Ryoji, he
went on.
"I don't want you or anybody else questioning my conduct. I do what I do because I want to. That's all. I think it's crazy to ask yourself a lot of silly questions about 'why this' and 'why that.' It's impossible to find out what significance your conduct has that way. Do what you please and sooner or later you'll find where you are."
The words had come out bitter as if retched up.
"People who keep on worrying and repenting make me sick. There isn't anyone who really knows what's the best thing to do!"
Ryoji smiled but said nothing.
After telling Takeshima about the money, Katsumi headed for the parking area to watch from the shelter of the trees at the front of a building.
"I don't care what happens to him," he said to himself. "He's finished as far as I'm concerned if he goes on putting up no resistance."
Katsumi really hoped that Ryoji would let himself go. And besides, if there was a fight, he would have a chance to lay into Takeshima too.
Katayama turned the car and picked up Ryoji and the others who had gone out across the terrace. The car threw up bits of gravel as it started. Katsumi ran up to the stone wall by the front gate and peered out from behind one of the trees waiting for the car to come by.
He saw a couple of students beside a car that blocked the way out. They were looking into the engine as if trying to repair it. Katayama's car coming down the gravel path stopped, its horn tooting. Just then four more students ran up and surrounded the car. Katsumi couldn't hear the low voices.
After a few moments somebody made a sign for the obstructing car to get clear of the gate, and Katsumi saw whoever it was thrust something into his pocket and walk away from Katayama's car. The way was clear for Ryoji and his friends to drive off. The four got into the other car and it moved away, while their two remaining accomplices walked back separately.
The fight Katsumi had hoped for failed to come off. Takeshima and his gang had got what they wanted without it. Katsumi was angry, because of Ryoji's cowardice, not because he cared who ended up with the dance money. Getting more and more furious by the moment, he pulled off a branch of one of the pines growing there, tore it into pieces with trembling hands, and flung it on the ground.
"To hell with him! He's just a dirty coward. I've had enough of him!"
As Katsumi ran back, he kept slipping on the wet lawn and grazed his knees several times. Each time he fell, he angrily tore at the grass, frustrated at seeing his ideal destroyed in front of his very eyes. He went to the cloakroom to pick up his coat. The two students he had seen by the car went out ahead of him. He caught up with them and asked what had happened.
"We couldn't see exactly because we had to stay by the car," they said. "But they agreed to thirty thousand yen. It was all settled without a snag."
The two looked at each other as they saw Katsumi bite his lips.
"Did they? That's good," he said. "By the way, Takeshima hangs out at the New Moon, doesn't he?"
"Yeah. But if he's not there, they'll all be at the Carib."
Hearing this, he hurried off down the pebble road.
Hell! I've sold out Ryoji! He'd have fought them if they hadn't had a gun. I know he'd have put up a good fight. The more he thought of what had happened, the angrier he got. Wordlessly he thrust out his empty glass.
The student who had the bottle filled the glass and looked around at his comrades.
"You don't have to put it down so fast, just because it's free, you know."
Katsumi dashed the contents of the glass on the floor.
"Hey, what do you think you're doing!"
"Ah, you're all wet!" said Katsumi sarcastically. "I'm kind enough to swallow the stuff for you, and it probably didn't cost you anything. You scrounged it off somebody. You've never paid out of your own pocket in your life. You just hang around your pals here and slobber up their booze—I know!"
The one with the bottle glared at him.
"I guess you got guts for coming here all alone," he said. "But then you didn't have much choice did you?"
"Quiet, Sugiyama!" said Takeshima. "Have some more, Mr. Katsumi Shimada, and forget about these idiots. You're my guest."
"What are they, bodyguards or something?"
"In a sense, because characters like you come in occasionally."
"And do you drive them away with your pistol?"
"Don't be dumb. We can't use it too often."
"You show it off like a kid with a new toy. Customers come here at the risk of death, I guess. Seems like six tough guys like you shouldn't need a gun."
"Watch it! You'll have no complaint when you get your cut of the money. I think you've had too much whiskey."
"I don't feel a thing, Killer."
Slowly Takeshima looked around, scratching his ear and smiling. "It sounds as if you want to cause trouble. These boys have had about enough of you, so you'd better take your cut and get out before it's too late."
Katsumi also thought that things were getting hot.
"Okay, I'll clear out—I don't want to stay in a dump like this. Let's have my share, and make it snappy!"
"You'll have it all right. Here!" shouted someone behind him. Katsumi turned around instinctively and got a glassful of gin in his face.
The alcohol almost blinded him; then somebody hit him. He wavered. Someone else kicked his legs from under him. Still unable to see, Katsumi crawled around groping for a chair. They kicked him in the face several times, but with the help of a chair he managed to get to his feet. And then suddenly he flung the chair at the electric light bulb overhead, smashing it to bits.
"Turn on the small one at the door!" someone shouted.
"Someone go to the exit—don't let him get away!"
They all stumbled around in the dark. Two managed to hold Katsumi down. Even after the light had gone on again, he was still half blinded.
"That's for taking advantage of me!" Takeshima kicked him in the ribs. Katsumi let out a shout, twisting his body in an attempt to protect himself.
"Tie him up! Tie him up!"
One of them pulled the slender buckskin belt from Katsumi's waist and tied his hands, knotting it quickly to the back of a chair.
"Bastards! I can't see!"
"Shut up! That won't kill you!" Takeshima retorted, slapping him across the face several times. "Can you see better now?"
Takeshima, who had been the most restrained of all, was now the maddest, jumping and laughing as if he had gone crazy. He was as happy as a boy playing the general who now had the enemy at his mercy. His desire for revenge was like a child's, fiercer than an adult's. Prancing up and down in front of the victim he would suddenly turn and beat Katsumi on the face or poke him in the stomach. That seemed good torment, so he poked once again. Katsumi spat a mouthful of blood and saliva. It spattered over the front of Takeshima's white shirt.
"You little . . ."
"Tough luck! Now your best shirt is dirty. Better hurry and wash it or it'll leave a stain!"
Too angry to speak, Takeshima lashed out and knocked Katsumi, chair and all, to the floor.
"Is that the best you can do?" said Katsumi from the floor. "You're not much even when I'm tied up, are you?"
"He talks too much! What are we going to do with him?" asked one of the group.
"Get Tezuka and Yamayoshi," replied Takeshima. "They must be at the New Moon. Gall 'em up—it's quicker. If they aren't there, go and find them. They had a hard time on account of this guy. We'll pay him back double."
Someone went out to the telephone booth. A minute later: "They're not there," he said coming back. "But I'll find them."
The others went on drinking, leaving Katsumi on the floor beside them. The scuffle had made them thirsty.
"Give him a drink," one of them said finally. Another stood up and held out a glass.
"Have a drink, friend."
Katsumi was silent.
"Not interested, huh?"
"Then let him have it this way."
Take
shima took the glass in one hand and held Katsumi's nostrils shut with the other. When Katsumi gasped for air, Takeshima poured in the whiskey—and then threw the glass and what was left of the whiskey into his victim's face. Katsumi's forehead bled freely and the whiskey stung his wounds.
"Dirty yellow bastard!" he coughed out.
"He seems to be speaking. Can you still speak?"
"I was wrong from the start . . . the way you got the money off Ryoji and now . . . a bunch of dirty double-crossers . . ."
"Shut up! You think we're boy scouts or something like you? Why don't you shut up for a while!" one of them retorted, punctuating the remark with a kick at Katsumi's face.
Katsumi gritted his teeth and clenched his tightly bound hands to endure the pain. The buckskin belt cut into his arms—yet somewhere, somehow, he also felt a strange sensation of pleasure.
"Tezuka and Yamayoshi'll give you something to remember, too. They were in bed for a week once on your account, so they won't be long coming tonight. Just wait a bit!"
Takeshima gave him another blow. Katsumi felt the congealed blood split and the warm fluid flowing again. It ran down into his eyes, oddly enough easing their soreness, and as the pain diminished, Katsumi felt another being within him struggling hard to see.
It was like living in a nightmare from which there was no escape no matter how he tried; he could only see dim red figures even when he opened his eyes wide. He tried to wrench his hands free of the belt that held them.
"No, I'm not dreaming. There's pressure on my hands. I'm still alive! I can feel the belt," he said to himself, twisting his hands about frantically.
"Bastards!" he shouted.
"Still full of energy? Just wait a while, and you'll soon quiet down," Takeshima said.
"Can you still see?" someone asked, poking him with his finger.
"Sure he can—if he couldn't he wouldn't be afraid of anything."
"Yeah, that's right."
They got drunker and drunker as they planned what they were going to do with Katsumi. One drink after another increased their enjoyment of the prospects.
"Shall we make him look like 'Scar-face?"
Season of Violence Page 6