The Nagi Golden Gai ramen shop was small and cramped. Patrons had to wait outside until the chef called to them from a tube in the door. They were then directed to a vending machine to purchase tickets for the food they wished to order. Caine’s selection—made from soy sauce, pork and chicken stock, and an astounding quantity of boiled sardines—nearly scalded his tongue as he swallowed a spoonful of broth. He savored the taste of vinegar and fish, then grabbed a clump of thick noodles with his chopsticks.
He turned towards the curtain that covered the entrance. Two men without tickets entered the cramped dining area. He knew they weren’t here for the famous ramen. They were here for him.
One of the men looked like a J-pop idol. His hair, skin, and suit were all sleek and flawless. The other was older, his face like gnarled leather, his eyebrows white and bushy. The skin around his throat hung in folds. As they came closer, Caine recognized the world-weary face: Koichi Ogawa, one of Yoshizawa’s most trusted aides. He looked up from his bowl and smiled.
“Koichi? Is that you? Goddamn, you look like shit, man!”
Koichi gave a thin grin, but the smile didn’t travel to his eyes. The young man said nothing. He glanced at Caine with disinterest, then tapped the shoulder of the diner next to them. When the pudgy man saw who stood behind him, he mumbled “Sumimasen,” and scurried away, back up the stairs to the street. Steam rose from his unfinished bowl of ramen and wafted into the heavy air.
Caine gestured to the empty chair. “Please, have a seat. Best shoyu ramen in Tokyo.”
The young man laughed but did not sit down. He grabbed a pair of chopsticks, plucked some noodles from the abandoned bowl, and swallowed them with a loud slurp.
Koichi grimaced and rested an arm on the back of the empty chair next to Caine. His hands were calloused and dry, and Caine noticed one other odd detail.... Koichi was missing a finger. His pinky had been lopped off at the second knuckle.
“You said you have something for us, Waters-san?”
Caine took a long sip from an ice-cold bottle of Kirin beer. “I said I have something for Mr. Yoshizawa. I will give it to him.”
Koichi nodded and peered at the duffel bag next to Caine. Caine shifted his arm, moving his hand closer to the slit he had cut in the bag. Inside, his gun sat loaded and ready.
“Very well,” said the old man. “Follow me, please.”
Caine sipped one last spoonful of his ramen, then stood up with the bag at his side. He gestured to the exit with his free hand. “Please, after you.” They headed up the stairs, Caine sandwiched between the two yakuza men.
The late afternoon sun had taken on a hazy cast, slowly losing ground to the shadows that crept across the streets and buildings. Everything seemed tired and dreamlike in the receding light. The crowds had thinned out, and the streets were as close to empty as Tokyo got.
Koichi led the way to a maroon Toyota Crown sedan, a luxury vehicle that rivaled BMW and Audi imports. Caine whistled. “Very nice, Koichi! Coming up in the world, I see.”
“It’s not mine. Get in.”
Caine got in the passenger side of the Crown. He watched as the younger man walked over to a black Nissan GTR sports car, parked ahead of them in the street. Known as a Skyline in Japan, its low, athletic stance and aggressive, straight lines resembled a hungry, black animal, a predator waiting to pounce.
As Koichi slid into the driver’s seat, the GTR roared to life and tore off into the street, tires squealing. The smell of burnt rubber lingered behind. Caine moved the bag to his right side and slipped his hand into the slit. He felt the comforting weight of the Beretta in his fingers.
Koichi shifted the car into gear and pulled into traffic. Unlike the raw, menacing aggression of the GTR, the Crown’s engine was smooth and powerful. It navigated the shadowed streets like a cruise missile wrapped in a mink coat.
“Who’s the kid?” Caine asked.
Koichi looked over at Caine. “I’m surprised you don’t remember. I’m sure you still have the scar.”
“That was Kenji-kun?!” He shook his head. “I didn’t even recognize him!”
Koichi kept his eyes on the road as the sedan cruised through the streets. “It’s been years. He grew up. Things change.”
Caine looked out the window as they drove. Evening was settling in. He could just make out the flashing lights of the Shinjuku bars and clubs through atmospheric haze.
“Some things do, but some things feel exactly the same.”
He loosened his grip on the Beretta in the duffel bag. But he kept his hand close.
The drive through the city was uneventful. Once or twice, the hairs on the back of his neck tingled; he could have sworn they were being followed. But when he checked the rearview mirror, he was never able to catch sight of any pursuers.
He did spot a grey sedan, similar to the one he had seen outside the pachinko parlor. He saw it only once, and it was a common style of car, but it felt wrong ... and he knew to listen to his instincts. It followed their path for a few blocks. Then Koichi made a right turn, and the sedan continued straight. Caine flicked his eyes up to the mirror several times, but it did not reappear.
Thirty minutes later, Koichi drove them through the Roppongi intersection, past the Almond Coffee Shop. Caine noted that its famous pink-and-white striped awning was now housed in a modern, renovated building rather than the old one he remembered.
Koichi guided the luxurious sedan off the main road, into a labyrinth of tiny side streets and alleys. The car’s tires rumbled over the uneven stone pavement. Finally, the car lurched to a stop, next to a red curb. Large signs stated “No Parking” in Japanese, but Koichi ignored them.
“Ikimashou,” he said. “He is waiting for you.”
Caine stepped out, looking up and down the alley. Loading docks and metal gates lined both sides of the dark, narrow street. A few small utility trucks and older cars were parked along the curb, but no one else stood outside. He spotted the black GTR parked ahead of them and smiled. The kid can drive.
As Koichi walked around the front of the car, Caine slipped the pistol out of the duffel bag and into his rear waistband. It was a calculated risk. They might search him, but he knew they would definitely look in the bag. Money was magnetic to these people.
Koichi stepped up to a large metal garage door and rapped three times with his knuckles. The door lifted with a grinding squeal. Two heavyset, scowling men stood on the other side. They nodded their heads, and Koichi turned to his guest.
“After you, Waters-san.”
Caine stepped through the open gate into a large, bright room. It looked like a garage, but the concrete floor was covered with circular blue plastic pools, the kind suburban couples put in their yards for kids to splash in. The sound of running water echoed through the space.
Caine walked over to one of the pools and looked in. It was filled with clean water, and a clear hose snaked up from the floor into a large aquarium filter. Swimming through the bubbling water were five of the largest koi Caine had ever seen. Their metallic scales shimmered in hues of gold, red, and cream. They looked up at him, their eyes dark and mysterious, seeking only food.
An elderly man shuffled between the pools, looking down at the fish and murmuring in a soft, gentle voice. He wore a blue windbreaker and a tan baseball cap perched above his wrinkled brow. From time to time, he tossed fish food into the pools from a silver bucket.
Caine turned as Koichi stepped up next to him.
“Nice fish. Is that guy talking to them or himself?”
“He is singing to them. He believes it makes them grow larger.”
“Looks like he’s right.”
Koichi turned his gaze back to the fish. “Waters-san, I must respectfully ask you to turn over your weapon. Then I will take you to see Mr. Yoshizawa.”
Caine sighed and slowly slipped his hand into his waistband. Koichi didn’t even flinch. Caine handed him the pistol.
“Careful with that gun. It’s definitely hot.”
Koichi nodded, then directed Caine to a door at the other side of the room.
The small, dark room beyond was lit by a single overhead lightbulb. The old floor creaked as Caine walked towards a table and chair. The walls were bare, except for a large hanging plaque of carved yew wood. Its intricate, chiseled lines depicted koi swimming up a waterfall and through an elaborate, temple-like gate. It was ornate and beautiful, and seemed out of place in the dark, spartan room.
Sitting in a chair beneath the carving was a short but stocky man, his face hidden in shadow. When he leaned forward, the light revealed black eyes glittering beneath a stern brow. His suit looked like it cost more than most people’s cars.
Isato Yoshizawa.
Kenji Yoshizawa stood in the darkness behind him. He stepped forward and nodded at Caine.
Caine nodded back and walked over to the table. He did not sit down. He set the duffel bag of money down on the table in front of the elder Yoshizawa.
“This is for you, Yoshizawa-san.”
The old gangster did not even look at the bag. His eyes remained focused on Caine’s face.
“Waters-san. I did not expect to ever see you again.”
Caine cocked his head. “Really? Somehow, I always knew I’d come back.” As soon as the words left his mouth, he had no idea why he had said them.
“And so you have returned to Japan to rob me?”
Caine’s jaw hardened. “Rob you? Way I remember it, you’re in my debt. Giri, right?”
Yoshizawa made a hissing noise as he sucked air in through his teeth. He shook his head. “Baka Gaijin!”
Caine smiled and pretended he didn’t know the meaning of the insult. “Look, Yoshizawa-san, I recovered this from two men who were knocking over one of your Shinjuku parlors. I was there hoping to find Koichi, or one of your guys, and I stumbled across them. I figured bringing this money and information to you was the least I could do.”
Yoshizawa sighed and gestured to the table. Caine sat down. Kenji leaned down close to his old man, whispering into his ear. The old man nodded and muttered a response only his son could hear.
“Kenji will have Koichi check your story, but I can already see in your eyes it is true.”
Caine watched the young man leave. “He’s grown. Good-looking boy.”
“Yes. He is strong and smart. Certainly smarter than me. Too smart to waste his time in a dark, moldy old storage room like this. Kenji, I left some papers on my desk for you to address. Let me know if there are any problems.”
Kenji stared at Caine for a moment, then turned and walked off into the darkness.
After Kenji left the room, Caine turned back to the old gangster. “So, why did you really ask him to leave?”
“I do my best to keep him away from all of this. And besides, I don’t like discussing my obligations in front of others. I suspect you too have secrets you’d rather keep for now.”
Caine shrugged. “I’m an open book.”
Yoshizawa laughed. It was a brief, dry cough. “Please, do not insult me. Kenji may be smarter, but I am still no fool. The only reason you are still alive is because of the debt between us.”
Caine moved his hand to his chest, rubbing the old scar beneath his shirt and jacket.
“Yeah, that debt feels pretty strong when it gets cold at night. Aches.”
“Then we have much to discuss. First, tell me about these men you encountered.”
Caine shrugged. “Local muscle. Black suits, automatic pistols. One strange thing, though.”
Yoshizawa stroked his chin with his thumb and forefinger but did not blink. Caine continued. “Their bodies were burned or scarred somehow. Like they were covering something up. Yakuza tattoos, maybe?”
The old man nodded. “Yes, I have encountered these men before. They call themselves ‘Tokyo Black.’ They are a splinter group from the Shimizu family, our most powerful rivals. They hate their own family as much as us, feel that the yakuza has lost its way. They wish to return to the old ways, the ancient days of the secret societies.”
Caine raised his eyebrows. “Secret societies?”
“Hai. For as long as Japan has had contact with the West, there have been those who have wanted to turn back the clock, to restore the old ways of feudal Japan. The Black Dragons fought to keep the Russians out of East Asia in the 1900s. And the Dark Ocean Society is even older than them. Groups like this have always had ties to the military, the government, even the yakuza.”
Isato paused. He looked at Caine uncertainly. "These men, they swear allegiance to someone you are familiar with … Bobu Shimizu.”
Caine leaned forward. “Bobu? Wait, you mean the big guy, from—”
“Yes,” Isato said, interrupting him. He turned his head and stared at the empty space where Kenji had stood earlier. “The man from that night, at the izakaya. The last time you were in Japan.”
The old gangster sighed, and turned back to face Caine.
“I don’t have all the details. From what I can gather, after his release from prison, Bobu killed his brother, Tetsuo, head of the Shimizu clan. There was some kind of power struggle between them. Then Bobu and his followers declared war on both the yakuza and the Japanese government, for failing to enforce hardline policies against China and others they see as enemies of Japan. They recruited as many of Shimizu’s people as they could, then filled their ranks with the dregs of other families.”
“And the scars?” Caine asked.
Yoshizawa made the sucking sound with his teeth again. “As I said, these men hate the yakuza as much as they hate the government. But they are all former yakuza themselves. To rise in the group, they must sacrifice their yakuza ties. They burn off their old tattoos with acid or welding equipment. Those who survive the pain are admitted to the inner circle and work with Bobu ... and whoever is behind him.”
“How do you know someone is behind him?”
“Bobu is a thug, just muscle. He could never organize something like this. There must be someone pulling the strings.”
Caine nodded. “Then it seems I’ve done you a great service today.”
“What is that? Given me two bodies to clean? A bloodbath at one of my business establishments?”
Caine’s eyes blazed in the dim light. “I’ve returned your money and identified your enemies. In addition to my other gifts.”
The old gangster slammed his fist down on the table. The sudden, harsh movement startled even Caine.
“Enough! I know my obligation, and I have no wish to prolong it. Why have you come here? What do you want?”
Caine pulled his phone from his jacket, tapped the display, and slid it across the table. On the screen was a picture of Hitomi. “I’m looking for this girl. I need to find her. Quickly. I need your help.”
Yoshizawa looked away from the phone but returned his gaze after a few seconds. “What would I know of this girl? Who is she?”
Caine hesitated, then shrugged. Yoshizawa would find out sooner or later. “Her name is Hitomi. Hitomi Kusaka.”
“Kusaka? Arinori Kusaka?”
Caine nodded.
“I was not aware Kusaka-san had any children. At any rate, what would I know of a spoiled daughter of a wealthy man like Kusaka-san?”
“Yoshizawa-san, I need to locate her. I can’t say any more. If you can help me find her quickly, I will consider your debt repaid.”
The old man squinted at him and leaned back in his chair. “Why would you do this? What is she to you?”
“She’s just a job. Someone wants her found, and I said I would do it.”
“That’s your only reason? Because you said you would?”
“Isn’t that reason enough?”
Yoshizawa nodded and stood up. “I will make inquiries. Koichi will take you back to your hotel. Wait there.”
Caine stood up as the old man turned away. “Why don’t you let Kenji take me back? I’d love to see what that Skyline of his can do.”
Yoshizawa shuffled into
the darkness, shaking his head. He raised his hand in a dismissive gesture. “No, Waters-san. Koichi will take you.”
There was the creak and bang of an old door opening and slamming shut, and then Caine was alone. He stood there for a moment, then turned and walked back the way he had come, to the light, the singing old man, and his fat, hungry koi.
Chapter Thirteen
Koichi was quiet as he drove Caine back to the hotel. Caine wondered what he was thinking but did not ask. He didn’t want to break the silence.
When they neared the hotel, Caine pointed at the blinking red entrance sign to Kabukicho. “Drop me here. I’ll walk back.”
Koichi eased the car over to the side of the road. Caine tensed as the gangster slipped his four-fingered hand into his breast pocket. Koichi handed a small phone to Caine. “We will call you on this. Keep it with you.”
Caine took the phone and got out of the car. He shut the door and watched as Koichi disappeared into the evening traffic. Then he flipped open his old cell phone and called Rebecca. After giving the proper sign-in credentials, he left her a voicemail. “I may have a lead. Need intel on Japanese nationalist/domestic terror group, goes by the name of Tokyo Black. I’ll be in touch.”
He hung up. As he walked back towards his hotel, he turned the evening’s events over in his mind. He was fairly certain Yoshizawa knew something about the girl. He would not have offered to help otherwise. Caine also suspected that Yoshizawa knew “Mark Waters” had been an assumed identity ... a phantom designed to build credentials and a history in the Asian crime syndicate. Furthermore, the wily old gangster was smart enough not to ask who he really was.
The only question was whether he could trust Yoshizawa to help him and pay off his debt. Or did the old criminal consider his obligations null and void?
As he mulled over the possibilities, Caine felt the familiar tingle on the back of his neck. He ducked into the nearest well-lit store. It was a tiny Japanese sex shop cluttered with glossy images of schoolgirls and geisha, AV movie flyers, and rubber genitalia. An old woman behind a glass counter nodded and smiled.
Thomas Caine series Boxset Page 8
