Sumotori: A 21st Century Samurai Thriller

by GP Hutchinson

  His eyes fully adjusted now, Tatsuyama at last picked out the face he had expected to find. Naoko. Alone at a table for two.

  He didn’t move from the bar immediately. A bartender asked him what he wanted to drink. He quietly asked for an Asahi Black. Moments later Tatsuyama sipped the cold foam from the top of a chilled glass of his favorite dark beer. He continued to watch Naoko.

  A couple times over the past four months, he and she had met there to talk and avoid public attention. The yakitori was particularly good at Hole in the Wall, and the bands were often surprisingly talented. This one just concluded a number called, “You’ve Never Heard of This.”

  Tatsuyama anticipated tonight’s date would be especially memorable. He wasn’t sure whether the memories would be sweet or bitter, but he had a premonition this wouldn’t be like any other night on the town with Naoko.

  Remaining as still as possible in his dark niche, Tatsuyama scanned the room again. Had Naoko brought an entourage with her, either knowingly or unwittingly? Her father and his look-alike weren’t there. Yamashita wasn’t either. What about the young guy with the T-shirt and sports coat? Tatsuyama couldn’t be sure.

  The place was rather full for a Monday night. Then again, good places in Roppongi always stayed busy. Two or three tables caused Tatsuyama a little concern. Each hosted a handful of serious-faced young men quietly nursing beers. Could be salarymen. Could be goons.

  From his lookout at the farthest end of the bar, he stared across the room at Naoko a little longer. She still hadn’t noticed him there in the shadows. She may not have been thinking to look for him in street clothes since she had only seen him dressed that way once—in the garden behind the Yamada house—and that had been a very brief encounter.

  So was this another setup, or had Naoko escaped and come here to try to make things right? Tatsuyama bided his time, admiring how pretty Naoko looked as she sat there waiting for him. He kept thinking about how sweetly she had always treated him before, as if she really did adore him.

  Finally, he braced himself. It was time to do something now or walk out. One last assessment of the three tables where the solemn younger guys sat. Hmmm. Down to two tables—one was just clearing out. OK.

  No, better call Kobayashi.

  Tatsuyama set the half-empty glass of beer on the counter and reached into his back pocket for his cell phone.

  As he did, a strong hand grasped his wrist firmly.

  17

  The hand around Tatsuyama’s wrist was not a big hand—just a strong one. Tatsuyama instinctively tugged the hand toward him. He stepped as he pulled, ready to throw the person to the floor.

  Who is this? Not a man—

  Most definitely not, he discovered as he completed his pivot. She was young and beautiful and very Japanese with shoulder-length hair dyed light brown.

  He noted she wore a chambray shirt. That was as far as his quick glance got before the sushi hit the fan.

  “Tatsuyama,” the girl said urgently, with little concern that he had practically dropped her to the floor. “Come with me now! This is a trap!”

  His head snapped toward Naoko.

  He saw that his own sudden movement had attracted Naoko’s full attention. She was on her feet, one hand up, and trying to tell him something.

  But he couldn’t see or hear what Naoko said. Four young toughs from two tables over were already on the move. Two of them jumped up and pushed people aside to make for the door. The other two rushed the bar, toppling chairs along the way.

  Tatsuyama intended to ask the girl how he could be sure she wasn’t working for Yamada too, but the worry on her face was answer enough for the moment.

  “That way!” he said as he lifted her to her feet. He gave her a gentle shove toward the kitchen door beside the bar.

  Two of the four young men were now at the main exit.

  One of the other two came at Tatsuyama fast, wielding what looked like an odd, black pistol.

  Not a pistol. It’s a Taser.

  The Taser swung up. Tatsuyama grabbed one of the confused, cigarette-smoking businessmen near the bar. There was a pop. The businessman instantly stiffened, grimacing and groaning. Tatsuyama let him fall into the arms of his colleagues. He whirled and continued to flee.

  Sorry, sir! Hated doing that to you.

  Tatsuyama crashed through the kitchen door right behind the girl who had warned him. His pursuers waded through the tangle of businessmen.

  Would another Taser be coming?

  Grabbing the handle of a commercial-sized pot of bubbling miso soup, Tatsuyama waited for the kitchen door to burst open again. When it did, he slung the whole pot of simmering liquid at the first of Naoko’s “friends.” The pursuer screamed as the metal pot hit him and the scalding soup soaked him from nose to thighs. He reeled into his accomplice, who was right on his heels. By the time the accomplice could push aside his agonized companion and continue the chase, Tatsuyama had reached the other end of the kitchen.

  He heard the steely scrape of metal on metal.

  Over his shoulder he saw that the second pursuer had scooped up a meat cleaver and a butcher knife from the food preparation tables. He held them menacingly as he raced toward Tatsuyama through a cloud of dishwasher steam.

  Little time to think. At the far end of the tables were pallets loaded with fifty-pound sacks of rice. Tatsuyama grabbed a fifty-pound sack in each hand. Almost as easily as the average Hiroshi can throw a bedroom pillow, he hurled first one sack and then the other at his knife-wielding assailant.

  The attacker thrust up his knife to block the first incoming sack of rice—bad decision. The knife pierced but failed to slash open the sack. With his knife hand trapped in the flying sack of rice, his arm whipped back and his wrist snapped. The second bag of rice knocked him off his feet. His head slammed hard on the edge of the stainless steel food preparation table behind him.

  A hundred pounds of rice had taken the starch right out of that pursuer.

  Tatsuyama spun. Where had the new girl gone? She was at the back door of the kitchen, hand on the crash bar, face questioning.

  “Wait, not that way!” Tatsuyama warned.

  Too late. The door was cracked only an inch, but from outside, someone jerked it wide open—more goons. They had found the kitchen door from the back alley.

  The lead gangster grabbed for the girl’s arm and caught her sleeve. She shrieked, tugged, and kicked. Tatsuyama dashed to her. He wedged himself between the young woman and the wiry gangster. She yanked her sleeve free. The door stood open, but Tatsuyama blocked it.

  “Stay in the kitchen,” he yelled to her.

  Cool night air rushed in, but the mobsters couldn’t.

  In the narrow confines of the doorway, only one thug at a time could get a clean shot at Tatsuyama.

  They exchanged blows.

  He drove the heel of his palm forward with all his might. It struck the nearer assailant like a jackhammer and sent him sprawling.

  The other guy shot through the momentary opening into the kitchen.

  Whoa! Tatsuyama pivoted and followed the last mobster back in, slamming the door closed as he turned.

  Tatsuyama lunged for an arm and missed—frustrated.

  The mobster stumbled. The girl was ready. She had a commercial fire extinguisher and she knew how to use it. Gripping it by the mechanism at the top, she slammed the tank into her assailant’s forehead. He was down.

  Tatsuyama chuckled and winked at her.

  She grinned as though she’d just won a round of Whac-A-Mole at the arcade.

  He noticed a third kitchen door. Judging from its location in the kitchen, he figured it would put them right back into the dining area of Hole in the Wall.

  “Back this way.” He motioned to the girl. “Follow me.”

  Tatsuyama was about to peek around the third door when it swung in toward his face. Only the waiter’s distinctive vest saved him from the punishing pain of Tatsuyama’s palm smashing into the side of his he
ad.

  “Ice,” babbled the trembling employee. “We need ice. A man’s hurt out there!”

  Tatsuyama pushed the employee gently aside. He led the girl into the club’s dining area. The place was in chaos. Half the patrons had simply left their food and drinks and fled. A few were gathered around the Tasered businessman near the bar. The band was assessing damage to a keyboard that had been knocked off its stand.

  And then there was Naoko. She stood at the lobby exit. A dark-suited man held her bicep. Both leaned, peering back and forth outside. They must have been searching for the other two goons.

  Tatsuyama dropped to the floor behind a toppled table. The girl followed suit.

  “We’ve got to get out!” the girl said emphatically.

  “I’m working on it.”

  From behind the fallen table, Tatsuyama started throwing bits of food at the feet of one of the band members. Finally he caught the musician’s attention. Confused at first, the guitarist glanced toward the lobby door and then scooted behind the bar and onto the floor next to Tatsuyama and the girl.

  Tatsuyama hoarsely whispered to the guitarist, “How much do they pay you to play here?”

  “Twenty thousand yen per night,” the guitarist said. “Why?”

  Tatsuyama pulled out a few neatly folded bills. “Here’s fifty thousand,” he said. “Slip into the kitchen, put on one of the chef’s jackets from the hook behind the door, and go tell the man and woman in the doorway that the sumotori they’re looking for is lying face down on the floor by the pantry in the back of the kitchen.”

  “That’s all I’ve got to do?” he asked.

  “Well, if you know what’s good for you, you’ll get out of here as soon as they head into the kitchen. And you won’t be able to come back to this club. Ever.” Tatsuyama shook the money in the guitarist’s direction. “I don’t have all night for you to think this over.”

  The musician glanced up at Naoko and the man beside her in the doorway. He turned back to Tatsuyama. Snatching the bills from his hand, he said, “You’re breaking up the band, Sumotori-san!” Then he slithered into the kitchen.

  A few seconds later, the guitarist emerged from the kitchen wearing the chef’s jacket. He made his way to Naoko. Acting agitated, he coaxed her and her escort toward the food preparation area.

  As soon as Naoko and the dark-suited man started following the guitarist, Tatsuyama and his new companion got ready to move. The guitarist saw Naoko into the kitchen, pointed again toward the pantry in the back, and then blocked the door momentarily with his body.

  Tatsuyama hopped up and offered the new girl a hand. They skirted the booths along the opposite wall and hurried into the lobby. His stomach was still tight. Yamashita, Yamada, or a whole squad of yakuza could be waiting on the streets right outside.

  He quickly hit the UP button at the nearby elevator bank. A set of doors slid open right away, and he ushered the young woman in ahead of him. Tatsuyama punched the button for the eighth floor. The last thing he saw before the doors closed was the guitarist, minus the chef’s coat, hustling for the exit.

  Doors fully sealed, Tatsuyama turned toward the new girl, looked her fully in the face, and felt his eyes form the question he couldn’t find language for. “How did you know?”

  18

  The elevator doors opened on the eighth floor. Tatsuyama hurried through a maze of look-alike metal office desks. His new ally followed him closely. They raced together toward a glassed-in conference room in the back corner. Once inside, he lowered the blinds and collapsed on the floor. She dropped to the carpet near him, trying to catch her own breath.

  “Do you think anyone else is up here?” she whispered.

  “I don’t think so, but we need to keep our ears open. They might search floor by floor for us.”

  They sat quietly for a while, steadying their breathing, saying nothing.

  Tatsuyama sorted through what had just happened downstairs. He looked at his right palm. It was red and already beginning to blister. That soup pot had been searing.

  “Does it hurt a lot?” the young woman asked.

  He gingerly closed his hand. “It’s fine,” he said, trying to ignore the pain. Only now did he take in a really good look at the girl. “You know who I am. But I don’t know you, do I?”

  She was breathing more easily now. “We’ve never met. My name is Saito Shiori.”

  Tatsuyama tilted his head very slightly. “Saito Shiori, you got dressed in a hurry, didn’t you?”

  Eyebrows drawn tight, she looked at him and then down to see that her chambray blouse was buttoned wrong, starting one buttonhole off at the top. She bit her lip, but left things as they were. “You’re right. I did change in a hurry.”

  They stared at each other for a moment.

  “I’m glad I grabbed the right person,” she said. “I almost didn’t recognize you since you’ve let your topknot down and you’re wearing regular clothes.”

  “You put yourself at tremendous risk to help me, Shiori-san. Arigatou gozaimashita.”

  “Dou itashimashite, Tatsuyama-san,” she said with the most winsome smile he’d ever seen. [You’re welcome, Tatsuyama.] “I think there’s a lot I need to tell you.”

  “OK, then. I’m listening,” he said, thoroughly intrigued.

  “Where do I start…I’m the assistant security director at Shibuya 109. You were there last Thursday at the miniconcert.”

  “Hai, I was.” He kept his eyes fixed on hers but couldn’t help noticing her mouth…and her cheeks.

  “You should never have had to handle that drunk. I was supposed to have been posted at the end of the platform. I would never have let that creep get so close to Akiko.”

  “I didn’t see you there,” he said.

  “That’s because I ended up in the store security control room instead. I was watching the whole thing on video as it was happening.” She went on in a voice just above a whisper. “My boss changed plans last minute and told me this new security officer was going to take the post near Akiko-chan.”

  “But the new guy never took his post by the stage, did he?”

  She shook her head.

  “Just a second,” Tatsuyama whispered. He had heard something. Edging to the door, he paused to listen. It was a fax machine, beginning to receive and spit out a document. All else was quiet. He returned to Shiori. “It’s OK. Go on.”

  Her frown faded. “The new security officer—even though I’m the assistant security director, no one had told me we were getting a new officer. And on the very day of the concert? It didn’t make sense. Later I thought he was the band’s own security person, and that they were only requiring him to wear a store security uniform for the miniconcert. I should have seen that something odd was going on.”

  No security at all at the concert, Tatsuyama thought. Maybe Shiori can finally shed some light on that mystery for me.

  “The new guy arrived at the store that afternoon. A man with extremely nice taste in men’s business apparel brought him. And guess who else was with them?”

  “No idea,” he said. “Tell me.”

  “The young woman we just ran away from downstairs.”

  Tatsuyama blinked. “Wait, you’re telling me that Naoko—the woman we just ran away from—had been in Shibuya 109 before the concert?”

  “Hai. She didn’t say a word while she was there. She just stood next to the distinguished gentleman and paid close attention to everything he said.”

  Kobayashi’s words—“She played you like a cheap shamisen”—echoed in Tatsuyama’s mind. He had to know more. Wondering whether the well-dressed man Shiori was talking about was Yamada or his right-hand man, Haruta, he nodded for her to continue.

  “At first I assumed the man in the expensive suit was the band’s manager,” Shiori said. “He’s the one who told my boss that the new security officer was to watch over the band from the far end of the platform. And that’s when my boss told me again to stay at the video control panel instead of
being down on the floor for the concert. Right then I wasn’t so much irritated as disappointed—but he’s my boss, so I didn’t argue.”

  “You were there for that entire conversation?” Tatsuyama asked.

  “Up till that point, hai, but then they left me in the security control room and went downstairs.”

  “OK, but before you go on, did anyone address the distinguished-looking gentleman by name?”

  She looked up and away. “Eeto…maybe Hara? Or Haruta?”

  “Ee,” Tatsuyama said. “Haruta. That’s the man. So Haruta and Naoko went downstairs with your boss?”

  “Hai.”

  “And you watched them on camera?”

  She nodded. “I’m trained in criminology, Tatsuyama. Even though I had no audio, what I saw next on the monitors began to stir up suspicions. They went to the concert platform area. On camera, I could see my manager, the new security officer, the man I had thought was the band’s manager, and…Naoko-san standing near the platform. Then two Tokyo policemen approached them all.”

  “What happened with the police?”

  “They spoke together briefly, and then the policemen turned to walk out of the store. As they did, they passed the big man who later showed up looking drunk.” Shiori looked directly into Tatsuyama’s eyes as she finished. “The two policemen stopped and spoke to the big man. All three laughed together as though they were telling jokes. One of the policemen even patted the big man on the shoulder.”

  Shiori hesitated. “You know where this is headed?”

  “Not entirely. I only have bits and pieces.” His mind flashed back to Naoko beside Yamashita at the samurai house. He felt his cheeks flush. “So the policemen seemed to know Yamashita—the drunk?”

  “It looked like it. Anyway, that’s when the well-dressed man evidently sent the girl, Naoko, away.”