Flask of the Drunken Master

by Susan Spann

  “Karma?” Father Mateo asked.

  “Does he know the word?” Mina addressed the question to Hiro.

  “I recognize it,” the Jesuit said. “I don’t understand why you think your husband’s karma caused his death.”

  Kaoru scowled. “It was not my father’s destiny to die in the street like a dog.”

  Mina looked at her son. “Does your disbelief change what happened?”

  Kaoru did not answer.

  Mina’s gaze returned to the priest. “Do not mistake my acceptance for lack of emotion. I deeply regret my husband’s death. I will miss him as long as I live. But, as a Buddhist, I must strive to sever worldly attachments and to accept the things I have no power to change.”

  Tears welled up in her eyes but did not spill over. “I confess, I find this obstacle more difficult than most.”

  I find it odd that you refer to your husband’s death as an “obstacle,” Hiro thought.

  “Forgive me,” Mina said. “You did not come to watch a woman mourn. How may I help you?”

  “Ginjiro’s family hired us to find your husband’s killer,” Father Mateo said.

  Kaoru sniffed. “The dōshin already arrested the guilty man.”

  “Perhaps they did,” Mina said. “Perhaps they didn’t. Bandits rule this city after dark, and your father was carrying money to pay your debt. A thief does seem more likely than Ginjiro.”

  “Bandits carry knives,” Kaoru said. “My father wasn’t stabbed.”

  Mina turned to Father Mateo. “Do the facts support Ginjiro’s innocence?”

  “We need time to investigate,” the Jesuit said. “We need your help to delay Ginjiro’s trial.”

  “You are not dōshin,” Mina said.

  Father Mateo nodded. “True, but we are men who care about justice, and also mercy.”

  Hiro struggled to hide his frustration. Overblown statements of moral purpose rarely persuaded anyone, especially people who had to work for a living.

  To his surprise, Mina asked, “How much time do you need?”

  Kaoru threw his hands in the air. “This is pointless. Ginjiro killed my father!”

  “Did the police recover the money Chikao took with him to pay the debt?” Mina asked.

  “Of course not,” Kaoru said. “Ginjiro took it.”

  “Someone took it,” Mina said. “We need to get it back, to pay the debt.”

  Kaoru opened his mouth to object but his mother continued, “We owe Ginjiro money, and this murder does not change that fact.”

  “It does if Ginjiro did it!” Kaoru glared at Mina. “My debt was nothing compared with the value of my father’s life.”

  Mina returned the glare with an even look. “A man who does not pay his debts will never join the brewers’ guild. You know this.”

  “Don’t you already belong to the guild?” Father Mateo asked.

  “Not yet,” Mina said, “our shop remains unlicensed. We petitioned for admission, but the za has not yet ruled on our application. We hoped Ginjiro would plead our cause—he did agree to help us—but that was before our son ran up a bill and did not pay.”

  “That’s not the truth,” Kaoru said. “Ginjiro inflated the bill in order to bribe us for his support.”

  “Forgive my son for his lack of tact.” Mina shook her head at Kaoru. “His anger will not bring his father back, or find the murderer.

  “I wish to know the truth about my husband’s death. I will ask the magistrate to give you four more days to find the killer.”

  Chapter 11

  Father Mateo looked confused. “Four days? Why only four?”

  “After seven days of mourning we commit my husband’s body to the flames,” Mina said. “At that time, his spirit has to face the Heavenly Judges. If we know his killer’s name by then, our prayers can intercede on his behalf. Four days for you leaves three for the magistrate to find the answer if you fail.”

  Kaoru frowned. “I will not carry that petition to the magistrate for you.”

  “I hadn’t planned to ask you,” Mina said. “Ren’s word will carry greater weight than yours.”

  She shifted her gaze to Hiro. “I will ask the neighbor’s son to carry a message to Ren this morning. Ren will take my request to the magistrate.”

  “Speaking of Ren,” Hiro said. “Where can we find him?”

  “He went home,” Mina said, “to change into mourning garments. After that, he intended to speak with the coffin maker.”

  Mina cast a sidelong glance at Kaoru. “Ren offered to make the arrangements since my son was … indisposed. I only hope we can afford a reasonable coffin, since the moneylenders will not give a loan.”

  Again, she looked at Kaoru, and an awkward silence followed.

  “Could you tell us where Ren lives?” the Jesuit asked. “We’d like to find him.”

  Mina nodded. “He rents a place on Shijō Road, three buildings west of the apothecary. His room is fourth from the street, as you count the doors.”

  “Thank you,” Hiro said.

  “Did Ren work last night?” the priest continued. “Did he leave the shop at any point?”

  So much for not revealing our suspicions, Hiro thought.

  “He worked all night, as did Chikao,” Mina said. “My husband left to see Ginjiro in the early evening hours. He returned with a bruise on one eye and fear in both. Ginjiro struck him, and threatened worse, if we didn’t make an immediate payment toward Kaoru’s debt.”

  Hiro looked at Kaoru. “Where were you last night?”

  “Me?” the young man asked. “That’s not your business.”

  “Kaoru,” Mina admonished. “This man is samurai, and our guest.” She turned to Hiro. “Please forgive my son’s behavior. He went out for an hour or two in the evening and then returned. He helped us close the shop and went to sleep.”

  Hiro knew the woman lied, but let it pass. He asked the question to change the topic and take suspicion off of Ren.

  From Hiro’s perspective, Chikao’s family didn’t need to know any details of the investigation or the names of any suspects. Not until the evidence revealed someone’s guilt.

  * * *

  Hiro and Father Mateo left the alley and turned west on Shijō Road. The wind had shifted, filling the air with smoke from the nearby charcoal sellers’ street. The pungent aroma of smoldering pine filled Hiro’s nose, overwhelming every other smell.

  Given the lingering scent of the alley, Hiro didn’t mind.

  West of the apothecary, rows of rental dwellings filled the block. Property taxes were based on frontage, so most of the buildings presented only their narrow ends to the street. Passageways between the structures led to twisting alleys where the renters lived like soybeans pressed together in a fermentation pot. Each room had a private entrance, but thin walls and tiny spaces meant the residents enjoyed no real privacy.

  “I’m glad Mina told us to count the entries,” Father Mateo said, as he looked down the passage at the unmarked doors. “We’d never have found the place.”

  Hiro didn’t argue but knew otherwise.

  Every dwelling house had an elderly person, usually female, who considered it her duty to keep track of the other residents. These unofficial guardians knew everyone and everything and, in most cases, also loved to gossip.

  Hiro and Father Mateo approached the fourth room down. The door slid open before they knocked.

  Ren’s surprise revealed he hadn’t seen the two men coming.

  The brewer wore an unadorned kimono over white hakama, a color normally reserved for family in mourning. He bowed to Hiro and then to Father Mateo. “May I help you?” His forehead furrowed as recognition registered in his eyes. “Pardon me, but didn’t I see you this morning, outside Ginjiro’s?”

  Hiro exercised the samurai right to ignore a commoner’s question. “We need to know some things about Chikao.”

  “Pardon me,” Ren said, “you don’t look like dōshin.”

  “We are looking into the matte
r as a favor.” Hiro kept his answer vague and hoped the priest would do the same.

  “I see,” Ren said. “I wish I could help, but I wasn’t there when the murder happened.”

  “Yes,” Hiro said, “we understand. Where were you?”

  “When it happened? I don’t know.” Ren thought for a moment. “I came directly home from the Lucky Monkey after closing.”

  “Of course,” Hiro said. “Did you know Chikao intended to visit Ginjiro late last night?”

  “No.” Ren looked from Hiro to Father Mateo. “Are you a priest?”

  “I am,” the Jesuit said, “a Christian priest, from Portugal.”

  “What did Chikao tell you about the debt he went to pay?” Hiro asked.

  Ren sighed. “He told me about the argument, the one they had in the early evening hours. I knew he went, because I watched the shop while he was gone. When he returned, he said Ginjiro insisted on payment, immediately, or the debt would impact our petition to join the guild.

  “I told Chikao that Kaoru needed to get a job and pay the debt himself—we’ve taken care of Kaoru long enough.”

  “This wasn’t the first time?” Hiro asked.

  “No, and it wouldn’t have been the last.” Ren exhaled sharply and shook his head. “I told Chikao many times. Kaoru will never learn until he has to deal with consequences. Still, Chikao kept throwing money into a fire and expecting it not to burn.”

  “So you disagreed with paying this debt,” Father Mateo said.

  “Wholeheartedly,” Ren agreed. “We needed that money to pay for admission into the brewers’ guild.” He slid open the door, revealing a tidy space. “Would you like to come in? May I offer you tea?”

  “No, thank you,” Hiro said. “How do you plan to handle your new partnership with Kaoru?”

  “What does that have to do with Chikao’s death?” Ren asked.

  “Investigations always start with heirs,” Father Mateo said. “They gain the most from a murder victim’s death.”

  “I doubt Kaoru considers his inheritance a gain,” Ren said.

  “Nonetheless,” the Jesuit said, “he benefits from the tragedy, as do you.”

  Hiro wished the priest would stop revealing information.

  “I? Benefit?” Ren raised a hand to his chest in surprise. “I assure you, I do not benefit. Before last night, Kaoru was Chikao’s problem—his alone. Now, he’s mine, at least until I divest myself of the lazy, wasteful dog who is now my partner.”

  “You do not intend to continue running the Lucky Monkey?” Hiro asked.

  “I do not want to see Mina destitute,” Ren said, “but I have no intention of continuing to run a shop with Kaoru.”

  “What will become of the brewery?” Father Mateo asked.

  “A complicated question.” Ren’s artificial smile revealed discomfort. “I cannot tell you. I haven’t exactly had time to consider my options.”

  “Who killed Chikao?” Hiro asked.

  “How would I know?” Ren countered. “I wasn’t there.”

  “What about Kaoru?” Father Mateo asked. “Could he have done this?”

  “Kaoru?” Ren repeated. “As I said, I don’t believe he wanted his father dead. If you want to know what happened, ask Ginjiro.”

  “Why Ginjiro?” Father Mateo asked.

  “The police arrested him for the crime,” Ren said. “Though, I admit, I do not think he actually killed Chikao.”

  Chapter 12

  “You don’t believe Ginjiro killed Chikao?” Hiro asked.

  “I think he was involved,” Ren said, “however, I don’t think he did the killing.”

  “How could he be involved but not responsible?” Father Mateo asked.

  “Do you know what debt collectors do to debtors who refuse to pay?” Ren asked. “I wouldn’t want one catching me in an alley late at night.”

  “You think Ginjiro hired someone to harass the money from Chikao?” Hiro asked.

  “Perhaps,” Ren said, “or possibly a guard to protect his brewery. Kaoru has vandalized some buildings in the past.”

  “The yoriki claims that when Chikao returned, he fought with Ginjiro personally,” Hiro said.

  Ren shook his head. “Chikao knew how to fight. He wouldn’t let Ginjiro beat him. No, Ginjiro must have hired someone else to watch the alley. When Chikao returned, that person killed him.”

  “Why wouldn’t Ginjiro mention a guard to the yoriki?” Hiro asked.

  “It makes no difference to his liability,” Ren said. “The law considers Ginjiro responsible either way. But as long as he doesn’t tell the truth, both he and the guard have a chance of escaping justice. Ginjiro blames an unknown bandit. The guard disappears entirely.”

  “Maybe it was a bandit,” Father Mateo said.

  “Not even a desperate gambler would take those odds,” Ren told the priest. “Kaoru owed Ginjiro money. They argued yesterday evening, and the argument ended in threats. A reasonable man in Ginjiro’s position would make arrangements to protect his family.”

  “I’m confused,” Father Mateo said. “Do you believe the yoriki arrested Ginjiro properly or not?”

  “The yoriki made the right decision. I think Ginjiro hired someone who killed Chikao, which makes Ginjiro responsible for my partner’s death.”

  “Even if the death was accidental?” the Jesuit asked.

  “The law does not distinguish between accidents and murder in these situations,” Ren replied. “A man must answer for his hirelings’ actions, as a father must pay the debts of dependent sons. Perhaps in your country the law is different, but this is the law in Japan.”

  “Speaking of debts,” Hiro said, “why did Chikao continue paying Kaoru’s debts without complaint?”

  “Who said he didn’t complain?” Ren asked. “Every father objects to a spendthrift son. But Chikao’s other children died in infancy. Kaoru alone survived. For that reason, Chikao refused him nothing. Not until recently, anyway.

  “Chikao and I wanted more than an unlicensed brewery hidden away in a low-class alley. We wanted to join the brewers’ guild and move to a new location. A few months back, we started saving money toward that goal.”

  “Until Kaoru ran up a debt,” Hiro said.

  Ren shook his head. “He didn’t want to sacrifice. He wanted women, new kimonos, gambling, and sake. I should not criticize the dead, but Chikao’s indulgence ruined his son completely.”

  “If Kaoru killed his father, he will forfeit his inheritance,” Hiro said. “The Lucky Monkey will belong to you, and you alone.”

  “Forgive my lack of tact,” Ren said, “but I could not hope for such good fortune. Kaoru is a worthless dog, but not a killer.”

  Hiro couldn’t verify Ren’s claim of sleeping through the murder, but the idea of a guard in Ginjiro’s alley fit the facts and made some sense. Ginjiro didn’t take risks with his family’s safety.

  “May we speak with you again, if we need more information?” Father Mateo asked.

  “Of course,” Ren said, “though, I admit, I consider investigations a waste of time. The dōshin already arrested the man who should bear the blame for my partner’s death, whether or not he actually killed Chikao.”

  * * *

  Tears filled Tomiko’s eyes when Hiro and Father Mateo explained that Chikao’s family agreed to petition the magistrate.

  “Four days is so much time,” she said. “I know that you will find the real killer.”

  Hiro knew the time would pass more quickly than she thought but saw no reason to destroy her slender hope.

  “If we don’t, the magistrate could still conduct his own investigation,” Father Mateo said.

  Hiro’s stomach sank. So much for hope.

  “Please—no,” Tomiko’s eyes widened with sudden fear. “My father won’t survive interrogation.”

  “Interrogation?” Father Mateo asked. “What do you mean?”

  Hiro avoided looking at Tomiko as he answered. “The law allows the magistrate to obtai
n a confession by any effective means.”

  “You mean he can torture Ginjiro until the brewer says what the yoriki wants to hear.” Father Mateo raised his hand but stopped just short of running it through his hair.

  “My father will not lie, and won’t confess to a crime he did not commit,” Tomiko said. “They’ll torture him until he dies because he will not break.”

  Her hands began to tremble. “Please, Matsui-san, I beg you. You must find the killer. It’s the only way to save my father’s life.”

  * * *

  As they left Ginjiro’s, Father Mateo asked, “Where do we go from here?”

  “To the prison.” Hiro glanced at the priest. “We need to hear Ginjiro’s side of the story.”

  “Could Ren be right about the guard?” the Jesuit asked. “We should have asked Tomiko what she knew.”

  “She would lie to protect her father,” Hiro said, “and I don’t blame her. It’s Ginjiro’s place to tell us what he’s done.”

  “Or hasn’t done,” Father Mateo said.

  Hiro nodded. “Trust me, I don’t want to learn Ginjiro hired a guard who killed Chikao. If he hired the killer, even just to guard the brewery, Ginjiro’s life will answer for the crime.”

  Chapter 13

  A pair of dōshin stood on guard outside the prison gates. Despite their samurai swords and topknots, they had little else in common with the well-dressed nobles strolling through the city. The cuffs of their hakama trailed, threadbare, to the ground, and their tunics showed the signs of cheap repairs. One dōshin looked too old to work, his hair more white than gray. The other’s wrinkled hands and sagging eyes revealed that he, too, approached retirement age.

  Hiro and Father Mateo stopped at the gates but did not bow.

  “We have come to see a prisoner named Ginjiro,” Hiro said. “We were told that he is here awaiting trial.”

  “Ginjiro?” the white-haired dōshin repeated. “Yes. I will ask if he can see a visitor.”

  The dōshin entered the gates and locked them again from the opposite side. His companion, who remained behind, watched the priest with the mute alarm of a Japanese man who had never seen a foreigner.