Kenji nodded. His face looked pale in the harsh light. “You don’t think I belong here, I know. Ever since that night, you’ve done everything in your power to keep me away. But this ... this warehouse, the men outside, your two-bit scams and pachinko halls and massage parlors ... this is everything in this world that you love. And you keep me away from it. Separate. Because you don’t think I’m good enough.”
Isato shook his head. “No, Kenji, it’s because I want you to be better than this.”
“I’m your son,” Kenji said. “This is your life, and I’m not a part of it.”
Isato shook his head. “I don’t have time for this right now. I promised Waters-san ... Caine, as you say ... that I would send him assistance. Koichi’s wounds are not as bad as I feared, but he’s still not up to a fight, which means I need to find someone else I can trust.”
“You still haven’t answered my question. Where the hell are they going? Maybe I can help.”
“You’ve done quite enough. They’re going to the capsule hotel in Asakusa. This girl he’s been searching for, whoever she is, left something valuable there. Why this is my concern, I have no idea.”
Kenji leaned back and smiled. “You’re right. It’s not your concern. You’ve done enough.”
Isato shook his head. “Kenji, you may understand numbers and finances better than I ever will. But in my business, those things are nothing next to honor. I cannot buy my men’s respect with money—not any kind of loyalty that matters, at any rate. I have to earn it by my actions. Part of that is keeping my word. Paying back my obligations.”
Kenji nodded. “Okay, let’s say you’re right. You have an obligation to Caine, but you also have an obligation to this family. A greater obligation, wouldn’t you say?”
Isato stared at Kenji again, his dark eyes squinting. He said nothing.
“Listen to me,” Kenji said. “Trust me now. Do not call in your men. Do not help Caine. You’ve done enough. Trust me, and this family will prosper beyond your wildest dreams.”
“What are you talking about?” Isato asked. “What have you done?”
“I did what you do. I have insured this family’s success. In my own way.”
Isato reached out and began dialing the phone on his desk. “Kenji, I don’t know what you’re talking about. I suspect we will have a long conversation about it shortly. But, for now, I gave my word. I intend to keep it.”
Kenji gave his father a cold smile. He pulled a sleek, black pistol from his jacket and aimed it at Isato’s head. The old man looked up and found himself staring into the dark, circular barrel of the gun. If he was afraid, he didn’t show it. His expression remained blank and smooth as slate. Inscrutable.
“Father,” Kenji said. “Put down that phone. Now.”
Isato did not put down the phone. “What do you think you are doing?”
“I’m making this family rich. You put me in charge of your finances, remember? And like you said, I know numbers. I just put in a short order for all your China-based investments. In less than twenty-four hours, if everything goes according to plan, this family will have made hundreds of millions of dollars.”
“According to whose plan? Yours?”
“Does it matter? I’m telling you, I will make our family richer and more powerful than you could in a lifetime of this yakuza bullshit! Now, for once, would you please just listen to me!”
“It was you, wasn’t it?” Isato said in a low voice. “You have been working with Tokyo Black, with Bobu Shimizu. Do you realize who this man is? What he almost did to you and this family?”
“I work for Arinori Kusaka. Bobu is just another crazy gangster with something to prove. Once we no longer need him and his followers, we’ll eliminate him. Tokyo Black will scatter, and the Yoshizawa family will be rich enough and powerful enough to stomp out the remains of the Shimizu clan. Dad, just listen to me, this will work. I will give you everything you’ve ever dreamed of.”
Isato shook his head. “No. Not like this. I’m sorry, Son.”
Kenji laughed. “Sorry.” He lowered the gun and stood up, pacing back and forth in front of his father’s desk. “What are you sorry about, Dad? For letting me be raised by nannies and girlfriends and aunts? For shipping me off to America the second I turned sixteen? For making me an accountant and giving my legacy away to Koichi or one of these other apes you’ve got working for you?”
“Yes, Kenji, I am sorry for all that. And I am sorry I failed you as a father. If you think I would work with the man who almost murdered my own son ... or these terrorists who have turned their backs on their family and traditions ... if you think I would do that for any amount of money, then I have taught you nothing about what it means to be a man. You know nothing about honor. And you know nothing about me.” Isato put the phone to his ear and finished dialing the number.
Kenji stared at him for a second, his eyes wide with surprise. For a split second, he realized that he had been wrong. Nothing had changed. His father still hadn’t listened to him, would never listen to him. Everything he had worked for, all his hopes of proving his worth and earning his family’s respect, were about to vanish with a single phone call.
He blinked, and the corner of his mouth twitched. He snapped the gun back up and aimed it at his father.
Then he pulled the trigger.
Kenji’s ears were still ringing from the gunshot. He felt disoriented, dizzy. The smell of smoke, blood, and gunpowder turned his stomach.
He still held the gun, clenched in a tight grip. His hand was shaking.
His father slumped onto the floor. Kenji ran over to him.
“Oh, fuck. Fuck! What did I do?! What the hell did I do?” he muttered as he helped his father sit up on the floor. Blood gushed from a hole in the old man’s neck. A deep red stain spread across the collar of his crisp white dress shirt.
Kenji heard banging from outside. The rolling metal gate was locked from the inside, but he knew it wouldn’t keep Isato’s guards out for long.
“Boss, daijoubu desu ka?” the men cried, their voices muted by the heavy metal barrier. “Are you okay?”
Isato coughed blood. Kenji turned to him, his eyes wide and pleading. “Dad, I’m sorry. I didn’t ... I just, I needed you to listen! You never listen.”
Isato regarded Kenji with half-closed eyes. “I’m ... I’m sorry, Son. I’m an old man. Perhaps I was too set in my ways. But it’s not too late for you. Listen to me, one last time....”
The banging on the metal door grew louder, but Kenji held tight to his father. “This business with Kusaka and the Shimizu family ... it is shameful. It dishonors you and this family. Promise me you will stop it. Immediately. Promise me that, and I will rest easy.”
“Dad, you don’t understand! I did all of this for you. For the family. This is my legacy!”
“Promise me!” Isato hissed as his eyes began to flutter closed. “My soul is black enough with my own sins. Don’t make me face eternity with this on my conscience as well. The failure ... the failure to raise my son with honor.”
Kenji held Isato in a gentle embrace. His lips quivered as he spoke, but his words were as hard as steel. “No, Father. It’s too late. And I am not a failure. You will see.”
Isato sighed and slumped back to the ground. One last breath wheezed from his body, and then he was silent. Gone.
Kenji stood up. He looked at his hand, and it stopped shaking. He found new resolve in his father’s words. He would show him. Even in death, his father would see.
He would not fail. This was his time. His time to lead.
He heard the metal scrape of a crowbar being inserted under the rolling door. Time was running out. He had to use this tragedy to his advantage. He turned the gun towards his left arm and placed the muzzle against the fabric of his expensive black suit. Gritting his teeth, he pulled the trigger.
Once again, his ears rang as the explosive gunshot echoed throughout the room. He screamed as a white-hot pain engulfed his arm. The sc
reaming and clattering noise outside intensified, but he could barely hear it over the ringing in his ears.
He stumbled over to the office’s rear entrance, to the side of Isato’s desk. He locked the door, took a step back, and kicked at the doorknob. The wood splintered and gave way as the door flew open. He fired another shot into the hallway, then slid the gun back into his waistband. “Help!” he screamed in Japanese. “He’s getting away!”
He slid down to the cold concrete floor and lay next to his father. He clamped one hand over the wound in his arm, staunching the dark blood that seeped from the bullet hole. He glanced at his father’s corpse. Even in death, the eyes stared at him with an accusing glare. Half-open, cold, judging.
He looked away.
There was a metallic crunch, and the door rolled open. His father’s bodyguards poured into the room. Two of them ran to Isato’s side and checked his pulse. Another helped Kenji to his feet.
“Is he okay? That’s my father! Talk to me, damn it!” Kenji shouted.
The man checking Isato looked up and shook his head. “I’m sorry.” Another guard put an arm on Kenji’s shoulder. “Thank God, you’re all right. What happened? Who did this? Was it the stinking Shimizu clan?”
Kenji shook his head. “No. It was the gaijin. And I know where he is going. Get the men ready. We move now.”
The guard hesitated. “Hai, if you please, I will contact Ogawa-san. He will—”
“No,” Kenji said with a firm voice as he dusted off his clothes and straightened his blood-soaked blazer. “Koichi is not the oyabun’s son. I am. My father is lying there dead, and you want to talk?”
“No, of course not, but it’s just—”
Kenji grabbed the man by his lapel and yanked him close. With his other hand, he thrust his pistol under the man’s chin. The gun shook, as a tremble of pain from the bullet wound shot through his arm.
“We move now. The gaijin’s going to Asakusa. We will follow him, and I will kill him. Is that clear?”
The guard looked up at him, fearful, desperate. “Hai, I understand, but Koichi is the second-in-command. He—”
Kenji pulled the trigger. The back of the man’s head spattered across the lightbulb hanging from the ceiling.
The other guards stared at Kenji. Strange red shadows swayed back and forth across the room.
“Koichi is second-in-command. I am the new oyabun. It is my birthright. Does anyone else here disagree?”
The men looked down at the dead guard and back at Kenji.
No one spoke.
Kenji smiled.
“Good. Now, first things first. I understand I need a new car.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
Caine peered out the windshield of a tiny Toyota Aqua. They had stolen the teal green hatchback from an alley around the corner from the love hotel. On the way to the Hotel Riverside, he made a quick stop at a small, rundown convenience store. He chose one with just a few cars in the lot.
Using the blade of the Spyderco knife in his jacket, he unscrewed the license plate of another Toyota parked in the dark, lonely lot. Then he swapped it with the plate from the Aqua. It wouldn’t fool an inquisitive cop if he ran the numbers, but it would deter anyone searching for the Aqua’s plates. Better safe than sorry, in case the owner reported it stolen before he could ditch it.
They were now parked across the street from a short, nondescript grey building. The capsule hotel had no neon lights or giant billboards proclaiming its existence. The tiny capsules actually occupied the upper floors of another hotel, whose entrance faced the busy street. From the alley, there was nothing to distinguish it from any other building in the area.
Down the building’s side ran a red banner advertising the going rate for one of the tiny capsule rooms stacked in rows inside the hotel. For a small sum of yen, travelers and businessmen could stay the night in one of the tiny capsules. Then they could shower in the morning, eat a quick breakfast in the cafe, and be on their way home. Or more likely, head back to work after a night of heavy drinking.
Mariko sat next to Caine, in the passenger seat. She scanned the alley for signs of danger. Hitomi curled up in the back seat, listening to music on her cell phone through a pair of wireless headphones.
The headphones were topped with tiny triangles that looked like ears. Perched on Hitomi’s head, they made her look like a strange, ghostly cat. Her eyes peered out at something unseen in the dark night.
Caine shifted in his seat. “Isato said he would send backup,” he said. “They should have been here by now.”
Mariko gave him a sideways glance. “Imagine that. Unreliable yakuza criminals. Maybe you need a higher class of friend.”
“From what I’ve seen, they’ve been more reliable than the local police.”
Mariko made a sound somewhere between a sigh and a grunt, and continued to look out the windshield.
Caine turned around. “Hitomi, are you sure this is the place?”
She looked up at the grungy building and nodded. “Yes, this is where I was staying after Sonny put me in touch with Mr. Naka. I paid cash and rented the capsule for a couple weeks. I figured no one would find me here.”
“It’s not the worst hiding place,” Mariko observed. “Anonymous, quiet, low-key....”
“From what I remember, the capsules don’t lock, and you have to check out every day. Where did you leave this drive?”
“There are lockers on the women-only floor. They are outside the showers. I left it there. I still have the key. I paid the manager extra, told him I would be gone for a while. I think he was sweet on me.”
Hitomi handed Caine a small locker key, which hung from a circle of curled pink plastic. “There is a combination lock on the door to the women’s floor. The code was ... let me see ... press the one and nine buttons, then the five and three buttons.”
“Got it,” Caine said. He took the key and started to get out of the car.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Mariko asked.
“I’m going in. I have a feeling backup’s not coming.”
“Didn’t you hear her? It’s a women-only floor.”
Caine looked down at her. “Trust me. I’ve managed to infiltrate tougher spots than a women’s bathroom.”
“You’re going to cause a fuss. There could be women showering up there! I should go.”
Caine checked his watch. “At this hour? I doubt it. Besides, I need you to keep an eye on her.”
“And what happens when a half-naked woman goes screaming to the manager that she was peeped by a dirty gaijin pervert?”
Caine smiled. “Every job has its perks.”
He shut the door and jogged across the street to the building’s shadowy side entrance.
“Buta,” Mariko hissed to herself. Hitomi giggled. Mariko turned back to face her. “What’s so funny?”
“You like him,” Hitomi said in a small but confident voice. “Don’t you know anything about men?”
“What do you mean?”
Hitomi stared at Caine as he crossed the street and entered the door in the alley next to the hotel.
“That one ... he is not right for you. Too much pain in both of you. There is no healing there. You and he are like two sides of the same coin. You may touch, but you can never stand side by side.”
“And just how do you know so much about him?” Mariko asked.
She shrugged. “I know how to read men. It’s in their eyes. When this is finished, he will leave here.”
Mariko nodded. “Maybe that’s not so bad,” she said.
“Maybe you will get the chance to find out,” Hitomi replied with a sly smile. Then she turned to look out the window, staring into space. Mariko could hear the faint music playing from her headphones.
She looked back towards the empty street and waited.
Above the side door in the alley hung a small green sign with white kanji writing. In English, the words “Capsule Hotel” flanked the larger Japanese characters.
The once-white counter of the reception desk was stained a dull grey by age and cigarette smoke. Behind the desk were rows of tiny lockers for personal belongings. A glass cabinet was stocked with toiletries, sake, and other sundries for sale. A wrinkled piece of paper outlining hotel policies was taped to the counter.
The lobby was empty and silent except for the sound of television playing in a back room. Moments later, the wrinkled old desk clerk shuffled out front to greet him. The man mumbled to him in Japanese, and Caine could not quite catch what he said.
Caine pulled out his wallet and lay some yen down on the counter. The old man nodded and took the money. Reaching under the counter, he pulled out a small bundle and set it down before Caine. It was a locker key and a toiletry kit, balanced on top of hotel pajamas. The man gestured with his head towards a curtained changing booth to the left of the desk. Caine grabbed the bundle, thanked the man, and headed into the changing area.
The changing room, like the rest of the hotel, was small. There was just enough room for the two wooden benches that sat in the center of the room. They were surrounded by about forty metal lockers.
Caine located the locker number on his key. He opened it, took off his shoes, and put on a pair of foam slippers. They were comfortable but completely impractical if he had to run. But the last thing he wanted to do was attract attention, and this was the standard custom for these sorts of hotels.
He left the pajamas in the locker and headed back out. The old man saw that he was still dressed in his street clothes. He shrugged but said nothing.
On the fourth level, Caine found the first of the capsule floors. The dim hallways were narrow, barely wide enough for two men to walk side by side. Brown industrial carpet covered the floor, and it stank of cigarettes and sweat.
On either side of the corridor, the capsules themselves were stacked in rows of two. Each unit was a small plastic cell, just large enough for a grown man to lay down or sit up. A thin mattress covered the floor, and a small TV monitor hung from the ceiling. Some people jokingly referred to them as “coffins” due to their narrow, rectangular shape.
Thomas Caine series Boxset Page 20
