My father’s first venture into organized crime had been loansharking at it was still the most profitable vein of business for us. Taking advantage of gambling addicts was easy and if they failed to pay, sending Tatsuya or Kaoru out to enforce usually made money magically appear in a few days.
Hours went by as I counted cash and updated accounts.
The sun was rising when I glanced up from my computer screen and decided that I should probably take a break. I went to take a sip of coffee and found it cold and thick. It was amazing how fast time flew by when I was having fun.
The sound of a body falling in the hallway alerted me. Our office was kept in the basement of a building that my father had purchased as a front. Above us, there was a simple souvenir shop and a laundromat. No one would suspect that there was billions of yen being stored in the basement behind reinforced steel.
I grabbed the knife that I kept in the desk drawer and slowly walked to the door, carefully stepping to not make a sound.
“Tadao,” It was Tatsuya’s voice. “Tadao, let me in, idiot.” His words morphed into the sound of vomiting.
I sighed and sheathed the knife. I could see Tatsuya through the peephole, doubled over and dry heaving. He was drunk. I slid open the numerous locks and opened the door. “What do you want?”
Tatsuya’s face lit up. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “Oh good, you’re here!”
“Where else would I be?”
Tatsuya blinked slowly and unevenly. “True.” He stumbled.
I grabbed him by his arm and pulled him inside. I sat him down on the sofa and poured him a glass of water. “Look at you, and you’re the one calling me an idiot?”
Tatsuya downed the water in a single gulp and grinned. “Yeah, sorry about that.”
I raised my eyebrows.
“I mean it. I thought I would come over and apologize for messing with you earlier.”
“You mean Yuji thought you should come and apologize,” I corrected. I laughed and shrugged. “Whatever, it doesn’t matter. No one takes me seriously anyway,” I added.
Tatsuya bolted to his feet, letting out a dramatic gasp. “No, that’s not true!” He held me by my arms and stood close enough that I could smell the sake and vodka. “You’re the best!”
“And you’re drunk.”
“That’s ok,” The kyodai shrugged. “It helps me be honest with people.”
I rolled my eyes and pushed him back down on the sofa. “Well sleep it off, you can’t be wandering around like that during morning rush hour. You’ll get charged.” I sat back down at the desk. I guess I wouldn’t be leaving either – someone had to make sure he didn’t die in his sleep.
The sound of my fingers on the keyboard echoed in the small room for a while and then Tatsuya spoke again. “I know you have a lot of shit to deal with right now,” He muttered.
“What?” I glanced up from the computer screen.
Tatsuya was lying on the sofa with his eyes closed and a drunken smile on his face. “I know that you’re not over your dad,” He went on. “And that you have a lot to live up to, being the younger son and all. Just so you know, we don’t think you’re weak… You just need to understand that sometimes violence is the answer. You can’t stay like this forever. Eventually, someone is going to tick you off so much,” He trailed off, pointing his index finger at me and mimicked shooting a gun.
I was quiet. The last thing that I expected from drunk Tatsuya was wisdom. And that was the last of it that I got. He promptly passed out and started snoring. Good, if I was lucky he wouldn’t remember this conversation.
My hands shook as I stuffed wads of bills into an envelope. Besides organizing the debts, I was also in charge of payments. I hissed as the paper sliced into the side of my finger. “Fuck.” I threw the money down on the table. I was exhausted. I shouldn’t be counting when I was this tired or I’d make a mistake. I hauled the box back to the safe and locked it up.
As I was walking, my shoulder bumped a banker’s box and the papers came crashing down to the ground. Tatsuya didn’t even flinch. I sighed and started shoveling the old documents back into the box when I came across a name that I hadn’t seen before.
“McMillian?” It was an English name. There weren’t many foreigners who got involved with yakuza loan sharks. I opened the file. It was a few years old and the papers were faded. The date at the top was 2012, two years before I finally convinced my father to digitize our files. Out with the old in with the new. I guess this one was missed somehow.
I flipped through the pages and sat down at the desk. Whoever this Gregory McMillian was, he owed the Himura-gumi a million yen and his payments were four years late.
CHAPTER TWO
Oriana
オリアナ
For the first time in weeks, there were no sympathy cards in my mailbox when I got home. Just bills, bills, bills.
I stumbled through the front door, weighed down with a combination of exhaustion, stress, and heavy bags. I had salvaged everything that was valuable from my parents’ storage locker, everything else was junk. I flicked on the light and dumped the bags down on the floor.
The apartment still smelled like my mother’s laundry detergent. Everything in it reminded me of them. I numbly walked through every room, but couldn’t cry a single tear anymore. I trudged back to the fridge and swung it open – empty. All of the meals and baked goods that neighbours had given me were used up. I sighed and made a cup of ramen instead.
I ate the salty noodles at the counter with a pair of disposable chopsticks.
The silence was suffocating.
My parents had both died in a car crash two weeks ago. It had been so sudden, but then again, I guess no twenty-year-old university student ever anticipates getting that kind of call.
I pulled my sweatshirt over my head. I couldn’t remember the last time I did laundry or went grocery shopping, but I was going to need to get back to it soon. Next semester was creeping up, and I had to get my shit together before classes started in order to keep my scholarship.
The noodles went cold.
I breathed in deeply and dumped the noodles in the garbage. I summoned all of my strength and instead of sitting in the dark silence all night, I would try to get some stuff done. I hauled the bags to my parents’ bedroom, where I kept the door shut tight. Then, I washed the dishes in the sink and piled which food containers had to go to which neighbour.
Lastly, I went to the bathroom and ran a hot bath for myself. I felt achy and dirty. The tension that was coiled within me released as I sank into the steaming water. I had only been soaking for a few minutes when the doorbell rang.
I let out a long exaggerated sigh. It was probably one of the neighbours again. My parents had lived in this apartment for five years and they had known everyone. I just wished they would leave me alone. Those sorts of conversations always made me feel awkward. I closed my eyes and sank down into the water. I’d just pretend that I wasn’t home.
The doorbell rang again. I ignored it.
A few minutes later, it rang persistently.
I growled and pulled myself out of the warm water. I wrapped a robe around myself and pushed my feet into slippers so I wouldn’t track water through the apartment. Mother had always hated water stains on the hardwood floor – I realized as I was walking.
The doorbell rang again.
“I’m coming!” I shouted. The clock in the kitchen had just rolled over to midnight. Who could be coming to pay their respects at this hour?
I peeked into the peephole. There was a man standing there, dressed in a crisp white shirt and black blazer. He had a slim metal briefcase in one hand. His black hair was styled to the side. He was a standing in the middle of the hall, a respectable distance from my door, but staring dead at the peephole.
“Um, sorry, who are you?”
“I’m here about Mr. McMillian,” The man said.
Whoever he was, he certainly wasn’t from the life insurance company – I couldn�
��t get them on the phone even during business hours. How did I handle this? I had no idea who this guy was, and most normal people didn’t come to pay their respects in the middle of the night.
“Listen, is McMillian-san home? I have something that I need to talk to him about.” The man was getting impatient.
He didn’t know my father was dead. Oh, boy this was going to be awkward.
I braced myself and opened the door a crack, keeping the chain on. “I’m sorry, but Gregory McMillian passed away two weeks ago.”
The man frowned. “I see. Do you mind if I come inside for a moment?” He looked me up and down through the crack briefly, noting that I was dressed in a robe. “Just a moment,” He promised. “I had business with him, but I guess things have changed.”
I hesitated. He seemed nice enough if he knew my father I was sure that he was no threat to me. Besides, anyone as handsome as him should probably be out on the town tonight instead of taking care of business obligations. Maybe he was some young overworked salaryman from an investment firm or something. A successful one, judging by his clothes.
“Uh, sure,” I said. I let the chain loose and opened the door. “Please, come in.”
“Thank you,” The man didn’t take off his shoes, standing in the genkan. “I only need a minute of your time.”
I made sure my robe was tied tightly and crossed my arms over my chest. I stayed a few feet away from him, making sure my iPhone was in reach in case he tried to start something. I had taken a few self-defense courses in my lifetime.
“Is Mrs. McMillian home by any chance?”
I choked back a lump in my throat. “Um, no, she died as well.”
The man looked at the ground. “I’m sorry,” He said, bowing his head to me. “Well, then I guess my business is with you then, Miss…” He trailed off.
“Oriana McMillian,” I said. “Gregory was my father.”
“I see. I’m very sorry for your loss,” He said. “And I wish I didn’t have to come to you with this news right now during your time of grief, but it is very urgent.”
“What kind of news?”
“My name is Himura Tadao, and your father owed the Himura-gumi some money. It was due a few years ago, but it seems that the debt was never paid.”
My mouth went dry. Dread prickled through my skin as the shock worked itself to my brain. Himura-gumi? My father owed money to the Yakuza? He would never deal with those criminals. He was a University professor; he didn’t have any trouble with money.
Tadao continued. “A sum of one million yen is the total of his debts.”
“A million yen?! That’s like ten thousand dollars!” I shrieked.
The man shrugged. “Yeah, I understand it’s not very much, but it’s been a while and we do need to collect.”
“Not that much?” My voice failed me. I stuttered and took a step back, dragging my hands through my wet hair. “Maybe a million yen isn’t a lot to you, but for us normal people, that’s not easy to come by.” I edged away further. I was an idiot. I had just let a yakuza member into my house.
“Unfortunately, the debt is now transferred to you.”
I set my jaw, trying to look braver than I was feeling. “And if I refuse?”
Tadao smirked and raised his eyebrows. “Do you really want to find out?”
A chill shot down my spine. I was no fool. I watched the news. I knew what happened to people who crossed these gangs. “A million yen,” I sighed and buried my face in my hands.
Tadao let the minutes tick by in silence before speaking again. “Listen, Oriana. How about we make a deal?”
I looked up, wiping my eyes. “What kind of deal?”
“I am feeling generous today because I also lost my father recently, you see,” Tadao said. “I understand that a million yen is a lot of money to someone in your situation, so I could help you out. If you work for us, you can pay back your father’s debt that way.”
I was a full-time student with no job and it would be weeks before the life insurance got settled. I had only a few thousand’s worth of savings to live off of until that. As much as I hated to admit it, working for the yakuza might be the only way to pay back this money.
“Alright, what kind of work?” I asked, dreading to find out.
“We own many hostess clubs in Shibuya,” The man said. “I’m sure that a beautiful foreigner like yourself could make money fast.”
I blushed, first from the compliment, then from the slur. “I’m not a Gaijin!” I was tired of defending myself to these sorts of people. “I was born here. My parents are English. I’m just as Japanese as you are.” This was where the arguments usually got interesting.
Tadao raised his eyebrows. “Well, your accent is perfect,” He muttered under his breath.
“Damn right it is,” I grabbed my wallet off of the kitchen counter. “Do you want to see my birth certificate? I can prove it.”
Tadao raised his hands. “No, thank you. I’m sorry I offended you.” He smiled, pausing for a moment. “A redhead who can speak perfect Japanese. That debt will be paid off in a week.” He stretched his hand out to me. “So, do we have a deal?”
CHAPTER THREE
Tadao
忠夫
When I went to collect this debt, the last thing that I imagined was being greeted at the door by a pretty University girl dripping wet and dressed in nothing but a pink bathrobe. I was pretty sure these were things that only happened in movies. Plus, that beauty had bite. I was intrigued.
Normally, when someone couldn’t or wouldn’t pay up a debt like this, Tatsuya would be sent out to persuade them. But I couldn’t let him get his hands on this beautiful girl, not when I had her here all to myself.
I had planned to go out and collect this money on my own – no enforcer needed. I had a knife tucked in my pocket and a briefcase containing the files that I needed to prove that the debt wasn’t a fraud. My hand tightened on the handle of the briefcase.
This was my chance to prove that I didn’t need to live in my brother’s shadow. I was just as capable of closing accounts and representing the family as anyone else.
“Listen, Oriana. How about we make a deal?”
She looked up. “What kind of deal?”
“I am feeling generous today because I also lost my father recently, you see,” I said and sincerely meant it. “I understand that a million yen is a lot of money to someone in your situation, so I could help you out. If you work for us, you can pay back your father’s debt that way.”
“Alright, what kind of work?” She asked. I could tell that she was thinking terrible thoughts, but I wasn’t the sort of person to abuse innocent women who were being forced to pay debts that they didn’t accumulate.
“We own many hostess clubs in Shibuya. I’m sure that a beautiful foreigner like yourself could make money fast.”
Oriana’s face went red. “I’m not a Gaijin! I was born here. My parents are English. I’m just as Japanese as you are.”
“Well, your accent is perfect,” I muttered with a shrug. I wasn’t going to get into an argument with her over the difference between citizenship and descent. I tried to get the conversation on track again. “A redhead who can speak perfect Japanese. That debt will be paid off in a week. So, do we have a deal?” I offered my hand to her.
The girl hesitated. She kept one arm across her chest and shook my hand with the other. “Deal.”
I reached into my blazer pocket and pulled out a business card. “Great, you can start tomorrow night.” I tossed it to her and she caught it with surprising grace. “Do you have any outfits for this sort of thing?”
Oriana looked away, blushing deeply. “What kind of girl do you think I am? I’m not some deviant who dresses up like characters for fun.”
I laughed, shaking my head. “No, it’s not a themed bar. It’s a high-class place,” I nodded to the card in her hand and she looked at it closer. “It’s a black-tie only hostess club. Did you think I was going to put you in some m
aid café?” I chuckled.
Oriana tightened her hand around the business card. “No, I guess not,” She said softly. “I might have some stuff that’s appropriate.”
“Well, bring them tomorrow. When you get to the door, ask the bouncer for Tadao, and we can get you set up,” I looked her over. Her hair was still soaked and the nervousness was shining in her green eyes. I pitied her for a moment, but let the feeling pass. If I was to prove that I was just as effective as the other kyodai, I had to see this through.
“Ok, then I’ll see you tomorrow.”
I didn’t miss her tone. She was politely asking me to leave. “Yes,” I said. My eyes lingered over her once more and then I bowed. “I look forward to working with you. Let’s get this taken care of so you can go back to your normal life again.”
#
RE: Our Trip to Washington
I scrolled through the email my brother had sent me. This was their fifth day on vacation. Tomorrow they were doing a small western-style marriage ceremony with Cassandra’s family and then going to go on a road trip to visit the wineries in California. In every picture, they looked so happy. Kenichi looked younger almost, having the stress of his daily life momentarily put on hold.
Not on hold, maybe, just transferred to me.
My mind wandered to Oriana.
Somehow, I highly doubted that a woman in her situation had anything nice enough to wear to be a hostess. Which should have been the least of my worries. What if she didn’t even show up? Then I would have to go after her – or send someone else to do the dirty work. She had just accepted everything too easily. Would she try to run for it? Or would she hold up her end of the deal?
“Himura-san, you’re here early.”
I looked up from my phone. “Sora-chan!” I stood up.
The hostess club didn’t open until nine o’clock but the staff started trickling in around seven-thirty to prepare for the night. It was Sunday, but that didn’t stop business from booming. Men who were willing to pay a hefty premium for beautiful, well-versed women’s company didn’t care what day of the week it was.
Owned by the Yakuza: A Japanese Mafia Bad Boy Romance Page 2
