“You are a gracious host Ozawa-san, but I will not sully this house with my ways,” said Roman, bowing again. Ozawa gave a small laugh, the lines on his face twisting around his mouth.
“You're careful. That's good,” he said, though Roman may have heard a little disappointment in the man's measured voice. Perhaps Ozawa relished the moment that a guest performed a slight so that he could fully reprimand them. Such a man was very dangerous. “Let us get down to business, shall we? I am led to believe that you have a unique and prodigious chemical talent.”
Roman bowed again. “You honour me.”
“Not at all. Your reputation is well known. You have been making a name for yourself for many years. I would have contacted you before but you are very hard to track down.”
“A necessity I'm afraid. The government does not have such an admiration for me,” said Roman, stopping short of revealing the international bounty that they had placed on his head, although it was likely that the amount would be paltry to a man as wealthy as Ozawa.
“A shame,” said Ozawa, sounding as if he truly meant it. “You are unique, as far as I can tell. A valuable asset. Let me go over the details so we are clear... this is a parting gift for my daughter. She has chosen to marry for security rather than love. It is not right that I should hold a grudge against her simply because of her choice. These are modern times and we must move with them. If this is the life that she has chosen then I will support her as best I can.”
His voice was low and measured, almost robotic in its intonations. Clearly this was a man who considered every word that passed his lips.
“What exactly do you require to complete the... ah... treatment?”
“A few minutes with Kuri will suffice,” said Roman, feeling a twinge go up his leg from sitting on his knees. He could never get used to it.
“Is that all? How does the process work?” asked Ozawa, leaning in slightly.
“Trade secret, I'm afraid,” said Roman, used to deflecting such enquiries.
Ozawa frowned before sitting back. He waved his hand vaguely towards a set of double doors to his right.
“She is waiting for you, through there.”
Roman bowed again and carefully got to his feet in an effort to keep his pins and needles from showing. He padded across the mats to the wood and paper door before sliding it open to reveal a young woman who at first sight seemed a polar opposite to the picture he had seen previously in the magazine.
Kuri was seated in the same position as Ozawa, legs folded under her and hands laid gently upon her knees. She was wearing a fine patterned Komon – a kimono made up of a rich red cloth – faintly patterned with the same design that her father had woven into his clothing: two intertwined Koi carp repeating in an endless wave. Her hair was dyed to a shade of mixed red and auburn and tied up behind her head with hair sticks in a surprisingly modest style. She smiled faintly at him as he entered and gestured for him to sit, waving her hand gracefully towards a cushion laid out in front of her.
Roman knelt down, taking in his surroundings. The room was rich with traditional paintings and sculptures, no doubt costing far more than the average household made in a year judging from the names on show on the plaques that ran alongside each piece. Many were credited to Hokusai, one of Japan's most famous artists. A detail started to try and drag his attention to it but an impatient cough from Ozawa brought him back and into the moment.
“A beautiful room,” said Roman, smiling at Kuri. She simply nodded, her eyes cast down towards the mats in front of her. Roman looked back through the still open door to see Ozawa watching him closely, his face as impassive as ever. Roman cleared his throat and began with his usual explanation of the dose.
“This is quite a simple and safe procedure. After initial dosing you will need to sleep for roughly twelve hours, as associations in your mind are subtly altered to give new meanings to interactions with... Haruba,” said Roman, remembering the name of her husband to be. He usually spent a considerably longer time discussing the case with the patient before dosage, so was winging it a little. Kuri glanced up a little at the mention of Haruba’s name. Her eyes showed... something, before she cast them back down to the pristine mat below. The sense of a missed detail started to force its way into his consciousness again and he looked around himself casually, making a show of stretching out before he began (as if it were necessary). Part of the joy of having such a secret procedure was the fact that no one could know when he was doing something out of the ordinary. He spotted the guard standing behind Ozawa, closely holding his advanced light machine gun as if ready for immediate attack. This was not so out of the ordinary as Ozawa was obviously a very prominent figure...
Then why haven't I heard of him...
The thought flashed through his mind and he grabbed on to it firmly. His subconscious was his greatest asset, an extra sense that kept him out of trouble on many an occasion. Roman looked back at the rest of the room where Kuri was seated and the detail that had previously been desperately vying for his attention leapt into his mind and did a pirouette. Roman stretched his neck slowly from left to right.
“A problem?” asked Ozawa, his voice indicating that the words could either be a statement or a question, and that Roman should begin. He had to find a way to stall the man.
“Perhaps,” said Roman, trying to choose his words carefully. “I need to be alone with her for a few minutes. There are things that myself and the patient must discuss before we begin.”
Ozawa narrowed his eyes, his lips twitching.
“Please, begin.”
Roman took a deep breath, ready for the rebuttal.
“This will not proceed unless I have privacy. I must insist.”
The sense of insult was obvious on the face of Ozawa, but Roman had felt far greater concern as soon as he had seen a print that he himself had stolen under a different guise years ago, before passing it on to a prominent figure in the Yakuza...
Ozawa stood up without a word – showing a body that was far from infirm – and turned on his heel, walking at a brisk pace into the hallway. Roman waved his hand as nonchalantly as he could towards the guard, indicating that he should follow Ozawa’s lead. The guard capitulated with a frown, pulling the paper door shut. A paper door, hardly the most soundproofed of materials. He had to be quiet, and quick. He threw protocol aside and slipped across the mat towards Kuri, crouching by her shoulder. She didn't even look up, keeping her gaze locked downwards. Her right hand was gripping the thumb of her left hand with such strength that the tip was turning white. It told Roman everything that he needed to know.
“Kuri, do you want to marry Haruba?” hissed Roman as quietly as he could manage.
Despite her attempts at self-control, her lip was trembling.
“Kuri...”
“They have my partner. They'll kill him if I don't capitulate. Just do what you have to do.”
The words were quiet but the power behind them was surprising. This was not an empty headed starlet but very clearly someone doing their best under great duress. Roman had to think fast.
“He's here?”
“Upstairs, somewhere,” replied Kuri. She quickly glanced up towards him, her eyes glittering with repressed tears. “Please, don't do anything reckless. I can't let him die.”
“I won't, I won't...” said Roman, “but I can't dose you if there are no feelings to begin with. It doesn't work that way.”
It was a lie but he couldn't condemn her to a life as a slave. It was the main reason he had always kept the formula a secret. In the wrong hands Cupid would become a very dangerous drug...
“No, you must, I... I will try to force myself to feel...”
“You may as well try to grapple smoke while you're at it, you'll have about as much success,” muttered Roman, rubbing his chin in thought. Am I really going to do this?
He turned back to Kuri and moved his face close to hers, grabbing her cheeks with his hands. He felt the wetness of her tears soaking her skin.
He wasn't sure if that was even true but he still needed her on side before he could begin. She seemed frozen for a few moments, not even breathing, before finally nodding in agreement. Roman closed his eyes and took a deep breath before standing up and sliding the door open. He strode towards the guard purposefully and a glance from the man told him that Ozawa was still there, standing in the hall to one side. At the sound of Roman's footsteps Ozawa rounded the door and faced him, his countenance a dark mix of impatience and disgust.
“The dose won't take...” said Roman casually. He saw the old man's eyes twitch, widening with the pressure of his anger.
“What do you mean?” replied Ozawa, making to stride past him. It was all the opportunity Roman needed.
With a kick of his leg Roman knocked one of the ancient swords off a rack to his left and grabbed it out of the air, whilst also reaching for Ozawa. He pulled the startled man into a hold and pressed the blade of the sword against the soft, wrinkled skin of his neck.
“You keep these swords sharp...” said Roman, noticing a small droplet of blood start to bead in a minute cut on Ozawa's neck. He hadn't meant to cut the old man but hopefully it would persuade him that Roman meant business.
“They were made for battle, they need to be sharp,” replied Ozawa through gritted teeth.
Roman looked towards the guard who had instinctively raised his gun and held it trained on him.
“Drop the weapon now or I open his neck,” said Roman, his voice thick with affected malice. The guard narrowed his eyes, looking towards Ozawa. Roman's fortune depended on whether the old man felt confident enough to risk his own skin. He was relieved to hear the old man mutter a few words in Japanese before the guard laid his gun down on the mat at his feet.
“Good. Now go and fetch him.”
The guard flexed his neck and muttered a few syllables in Japanese, but he wasn't as secretive as he'd hoped. After living in Japan for several years, Roman was now almost fluent.
“You know who I'm talking about...” said Roman, inclining his head as he pressed the blade against Ozawa's neck again, feeling the old man's body stiffen in anger. “Get him and bring him down here now.”
The guard looked at Ozawa again for guidance, his thick brow creased. Ozawa gave a grunt of acquiescence and the guard turned and headed upstairs, muttering in frustration. Roman couldn't blame him. To be confounded by a man who sold love; that was truly an insult.
“Kuri...” said Roman, hearing the shocked breathing of the woman behind him, “get the gun.”
Kuri padded across the floor quickly and retrieved the light machine gun, holding it carefully but confidently enough for Roman to see that she had used a similar weapon in the past.
“Good, now get behind the screen door into the other room, I want you hidden. Now you...” said Roman, lowering his voice to a whisper as he placed his head by Ozawa's ear, “you will let them go together or I swear I will cut your throat. I don't care how powerful you are in the world of the Yakuza, right here and right now, you're just a sack of blood next to a blade...”
The old man started to laugh mirthlessly, his body shaking with each breath.
“Yakuza? You damn gaijin fool, you have no idea... I was...”
The sound of footsteps on the stairs dragged Roman's attention back to the hallway. The guard loped in and was followed by a second guard – this one with a combat rifle strapped to his back – who led a heavily muscled man into the room. Roman could tell at a glance that the captive was a Yakuza. He had a strange relaxed gait, as of a cowboy without a horse, all wiry legs shoved into leathers with a black sleeveless top on that showcased full sleeve tattoos. His head was shaved bald and there was a nasty scar running from the centre of his forehead, across an eye and down towards his ear over his cheek. Kuri ran forwards and wrapped her arms around him, and the Yakuza returned the show of affection by planting kisses on Kuri's neck and face as he picked her up and swung her around, laughing raucously. For a moment Roman thought that Kuri had endangered herself by leaving her hiding place but the second guard made no move to attack.
The Yakuza soon turned his attention to Ozawa, smiling a wide grin that showed three gold teeth and made his skin stretch around his scar. He strode forward and bowed deeply, before speaking honorific Japanese in a deep baritone voice.
“I feel honoured that at last you have agreed to our union, your generosity will not be forgotten.”
Roman felt the old man's body tense, before he spoke only two words, pushed through his teeth with vitriol.
“Get out.”
The Yakuza bowed again, before looking towards Roman and nodding in thanks. As Roman watched, the Yakuza turned and grabbed the gun from Kuri's hands. For a moment Roman thought the world around him was on the brink of exploding into violence, but luckily the Yakuza was just using the weapon as an insurance policy. Both he and Kuri began to back out of the room and head towards the front door. The guards stood back impassively to let them leave, their arms crossed. Kuri gave Roman one last glance, with gratitude clearly displayed in the tears in her eyes, before they were gone. A few seconds later Roman cast a glance through the nearby window just in time to see them leave through the gate, running down the gravel road towards their freedom.
Roman turned his attention back to Ozawa as he started to feel an acute sense of danger slipping back into the situation. The second guard pulled his rifle around to bear on him and the first guard rubbed his hands together meaningfully.
“Can I just ask...” said Roman, pulling the old man backwards a little, but finding him a lot harder to move than before, “where you got the second print from the left? The Oda general?”
“It was a gift, from that waste of breath that has taken my daughter, thanks to you...”
So if the item was a gift... that means... “Ah, of course. So you are...?”
“The primary investor in ParCorp. I am the face behind the mask, the arm behind the hand. Some have called me the most powerful man in the world. You have made a gross error on this day, Black Cat,” continued Ozawa, digging his heels in to stop any further progress. The blade dug into the old man's neck a little more but he didn't seem to care. “Now that my daughter is gone, I have no more need to be careful. Despite what you may think, I love my daughter and want only the best for her, and by marrying Haruba she would have been safe with a loyal, honest and hardworking husband. Now she is gone, and you will pay the price.”
The speed and strength of the elbow that Ozawa threw into Roman's side made him gasp. He released his grip, staggering backwards. The old man, possessing the poise of a far younger man, reached for another one of the swords. He waved a hand for the guards to stand back, before reaching up and dabbing his fingers against the wound on his neck. It dripped a line of red down his blue kimono.
“It is quite a challenge to draw blood from Ozawa. Do you have the skills to see your challenge through?”
He placed his hand back on the handle of the sword, holding it out two handed in front of him, with the point angled towards the ground. He relaxed his legs, falling into a low stance that showed many years of experience.
“Do you even know how to use that thing except with empty threats?” sneered Ozawa, as he started to approach, one foot after the other, slow, methodical. Roman backed up more quickly, heading back into the other room. He looked around for some way out of the situation. Eventually he sighed, straightened up and threw his sword to the mat.
“You're right, I can't use a sword. I can barely cook a steak, truth be told.”
Ozawa's eye twitched. He took another step forwards.
“Would you really kill an unarmed man?” asked Roman, raising his hands above his head. A smile played across Ozawa's lips.
“After what you have done
today, I wouldn't give it a second thought.”
“You know,” said Roman, looking to his right, “I have to respect your deference to tradition. This truly is a wondrous house.”
Confusion briefly rippled across Ozawa's features before Roman darted to the side and threw himself through the paper window to the grounds outside. He managed to land and roll his shoulders on the grass and get back to his feet all in the same movement. He heard Ozawa bellowing curses from behind him like a wounded beast as he sprinted towards the rapidly closing gate. He could hear his own breath and involuntary yelps of panic as he ran, just managing to curve his body and slip through before it clanged shut. A bullet cracked into the surface of the road behind him but he didn't stop to see how far behind his pursuers were. He simply focussed on the road ahead, running wildly past rice fields as surprised workers looked on from inside their plastic bio-domes. Each footstep was a thunderclap in his ears but they weren't loud enough to drown out the sound of another bullet as it zipped through his legs and smashed into the grit ahead of him.
His heart leapt into his throat as he spotted the taxi ahead, starting to pull away.
His breath burned in his lungs as his arms pumped furiously with one last push for safety. He saw the taxi momentarily halt, its red brake lights a beacon of hope and safety. The back door opened and without a thought Roman plunged inside, skidding across the seat and into the burly form of the scarred Yakuza.
Chapter 3
The city came into view slowly, colossal towers punctuated with red and green luminescent pinpoints, bursting out of the suburban sprawl like fingers clawing at the dark sky and grasping for the barely visible stars.
“Techosaka, great choice... we can lose ourselves here, no problem,” said the Yakuza in a thick accent as he stared out across the night-time landscape. The traffic was surprisingly light and they had made their way to the city within two hours of leaving Yokohama.
Roman hadn't intended to bring them back with him. After escaping from Ozawa's they had made their way to nearby Yokahama, where they had left the taxi driver with cash in his hand and the promise of silence on his lips. Roman's intention had been to head back to Techosaka under the anonymity of night, and as such he found himself staying in Yokohama for the day with the couple as they took their first steps into a terrifying and exhilarating new freedom. Their time had been spent lying low in various gambling dens, arcades and cinemas, whilst going through the theatre of small talk for fear of drawing attention by discussing the day's events openly. All three had bought new clothes and disposed of their old ones, a habit that the Yakuza seemed equally at home with as Roman. Where Roman had dressed down into jeans, t-shirt and a jacket, the Yakuza had gone the other way and chosen a suit, buttoned up high to hide his tattoos. Kuri had gone for baggy clothes that hid her form and made her almost androgynous, with a cap and hood pulled down to keep her well known face from view.
The Real Thing Page 4