by Amy Tasukada
“You’re in charge of him now, so make sure he’s not a fuckup. He’ll meet you there at three.”
“I won’t let you down. By the way, the party location was per—”
She hung up.
Hayato twisted the ring on his finger. Three months of service to the Fushimi ward and she still treated him like an outsider.
3
Masuo folded the crisp black tie into a half-Windsor knot, then tugged down his shirt sleeves, loving the flash of white against his dark blazer. Did the suit make the man? Masuo wasn’t sure, but the bespoke design from Ota Clothiers sure made him feel like a full-fledged yakuza.
When Endo had given him his job placement that afternoon, he’d been a little shocked but not as much as when she’d told him who his boss was going to be. A colorful gift bag seemed like the perfect way to return his new boss’s forgotten underwear.
Masuo grabbed the gift bag and headed out. He locked his apartment and caught his next-door neighbor, Kira, leaving too. She was a pretty woman with long hair and a smile that always put Masuo at ease. Her young son and daughter came out dressed in big puffy black coats. They looked like shiny New Year’s black beans. Masuo watched them a few nights each week when Kira worked the late shift.
“Look, Mama! It’s Masuo.” Sakura, Kira’s four-year-old daughter, tugged on her mother’s coat and pointed.
Masuo waved. “You heading to the shrine?”
Six-year-old Daichi grabbed onto Masuo’s hand. “You should come with us.”
Masuo squatted down to the kid’s level. “Sorry, I won’t be able to join you.”
Daichi frowned, and it twisted Masuo’s heart like all the times he’d watched his parents leave for work. Masuo took some money out of his pocket and handed the coins to Daichi.
“Since you’re going to the shrine, can you get me a good-luck charm?” Masuo asked.
“I’ll get you the luckiest one.”
“Daichi, you’re the best!”
“Congratulations on the promotion,” Kira said.
“Thanks.” Masuo stood. “I’m excited to finally be able to prove myself.”
“Do you know when you get your schedule?”
“I’m not sure yet. Once I know, I’ll text you.” Masuo hoped his smile came off as sincere as he felt. He knew it would be difficult for Kira. “The local childcare office hasn’t gotten back to you?”
“Not yet.”
“The government is ridiculous when it comes to simple things like that. So much bureaucracy to even set up things like a day care.” Masuo shook his head and sighed. “You have a nice time. I gotta get going. See you soon.”
Masuo waved goodbye to the trio, then headed off. The train station had never looked brighter, and he’d never felt more like a yakuza. Even the people around him took notice, moving aside as he walked.
The parlor was a fifteen-minute walk from the station. Only a few people dotted the charming brick street. Maybe at night it picked up, since the clubs attracted people.
Masuo stopped in front of his parlor. A dirty mural of Lupin the Third greeted him. The windows were covered in the thick grime of neglect. If the previous manager had made the effort to make even a closed parlor look attractive with a timeless character like Lupin, then the insides had to have the same care. Masuo took out his handkerchief and tried to clean a window.
“What are you doing here?” Hayato asked, voice low and daring like a true yakuza boss who was ready to bash some skulls.
No one should be allowed to look so effortlessly gorgeous. His suit, cut close to his body, showed his lean lines of muscle. Yesterday, Hayato had taken Masuo’s heart, but today, Hayato stole Masuo’s breath. It took everything for him to stop mentally undressing his new boss.
“Well?” Hayato crossed his arms.
“You’re giving me the key.” Masuo clutched the gift bag and stood a little straighter, putting him taller than Hayato.
“You’re Masuo?” Hayato’s eyes went wide, and he rubbed his temples. “I can’t believe I slept with the idiot who broke the Mayumaro figurine.”
The figurine had haunted Masuo since his first day at the Fushimi ward. He’d dropped the prized forty-five-year-old figure of the mascot of Kyoto while cleaning. The creepy silkworm with no mouth had shattered into so many pieces it had taken Masuo all day to glue it back together.
“I’m not an idiot,” Masuo said. “Other recruits who graduated before me were placed as workers at the other parlors. Ward Leader Endo put me in charge of this one all by myself.”
“Oh, honey, you’re like a cute little lamb. This place is a hole-in-the-wall. The profits are a drop in the ocean compared to the other parlors. Endo put you here because no one else was available, since so many of us were killed after the Double Moon attacks.”
Masuo’s stomach churned, but he swallowed back the ball of anger crawling up his throat and opened his mouth to speak.
“What’s that?” Hayato pointed to the bright bag. “Is it a gift to butter me up?”
Hayato needed to be taken down a peg, and what Masuo had inside the bag would do nicely for that purpose. Masuo held it out, and Hayato reached inside. He pulled out a pair of banana-printed micro briefs.
But Hayato’s face didn’t grow red. He showed no sign of embarrassment at all.
Masuo sucked in his lip ring. “If you left these at the hotel, it must mean you don’t wear underwear often. Are you wearing any now?”
Hayato grinned. “Don’t you wish you could find out.”
The cheeky comeback smacked Masuo, but he wasn’t sure if it was a slap in the face or a playful tap on the ass.
“We need to get down to business,” Hayato said. “First, take the lip ring out.”
“You liked it last night.”
Hayato crossed his arms. “Look, I can’t even remember last night, so it must not have been that good. You can take that I-made-you-come smirk off your face and do what you’re told.”
“You don’t remember? I was shit-faced drunk too, but you said it was the best sex you’d had in years.”
“I don’t doubt it. Jiro thought screwing on the sofa was spicing things up.”
It all clicked for Masuo.
“You cheated on him with me to make your ex jealous so he’d get back with you.”
“I’m not a cheater.”
Hayato opened the gate of the parlor and eyed Masuo until he took out his lip ring. He slipped the ring into his pocket, and they entered the parlor.
Dust covered the dozens of machines arranged in two long rows. The seats were ripped, and dark stains peppered the carpeted floor. It hadn’t been updated since the seventies.
“Is this place even structurally sound?” Masuo asked. “It can’t be up to date with all the earthquake codes.”
Hayato shrugged. “Hasn’t fallen down yet.”
With the dance club above, Masuo could only see the cracks in the ceiling getting worse.
Hayato leaned against the prize counter.
“Since you’re technically the manager, you can set your hours, but to make the profit Endo expects from this place, the last guy had it open six days a week from ten to ten. If you don’t make a profit, you can kiss that day off goodbye.”
“I know what I’m doing.”
“You’ve run a parlor before?”
“No.”
“I make my point.” Hayato twirled his hand. “If you somehow develop a magical way to make this place rain money, maybe Endo will throw you the next graduating recruit to help you.”
Masuo wrote all the details in a well-worn pocket notebook. He didn’t want to miss anything.
“I’ll come by every day at about six to collect the money and return the plastic prize coins,” Hayato said.
The prize coins allowed the parlors to circumnavigate the antigambling laws. People bought balls to play on the pachinko machines. They’d win or lose more depending on their skill. The winnings were counted, and patrons were allowed to pick from a collection of prizes
. If they wanted actual money, they’d pick worthless gold plastic coins, then they’d go around the corner to a little window store and exchange the plastic coins for cash. The parlor and the exchange were technically different businesses, thus making it legal.
“Do you understand everything, or do I need to repeat myself?” The tone of Hayato’s voice squeezed Masuo’s heart.
The Hayato before him was so different from the one Masuo had met at the New Year’s party. That Hayato had talked with everyone and made sure they enjoyed the festivities. That Hayato had spent hours beside with Masuo, who had been huddled by the exit. That Hayato had held Masuo’s hand all night no matter how he’d twisted and turned when he’d slept.
Masuo flexed his hand. He’d thought they’d had a deep connection, but it was a lie. Hayato was some one-night-stands-mean-nothing guy who thought Masuo was an idiot like everyone else. Masuo would show him.
“I got it,” Masuo said.
“Good. Come into the office.”
He followed Hayato through the door behind the prize counter to a tiny vomit-green-colored room. An ashtray filled with cigarettes sat on the corner of a desk along with a family photo. Masuo gulped, and a sinking feeling set in. He’d been a new enough recruit that he hadn’t seen any action during the war with the Double Moon, but it didn’t mean others hadn’t been affected.
“This is the combination for the safe.” Hayato pointed to a closet. “The safe is in there. Go practice opening it.”
“I can open up a safe.”
“I don’t want to come here tomorrow and find out you couldn’t lock up any money, so do as you’re ordered.”
Masuo bit his lip but didn’t say anything. Humiliation coursed through his veins, but he opened the closet and then entered the code to the little safe in the corner. Hayato was a bastard.
“There, it’s open,” Masuo said.
Hayato looked inside. “Good. I’ll be back tomorrow when the parlor officially opens.”
Hayato headed out of the office.
“Wait!” Masuo called.
Hayato turned back. “You’re still not getting my number.”
“That’s the last thing on my mind now. Don’t I get any money to help update the place?”
Hayato rolled his eyes but pulled out his wallet. He counted out five crisp ten-thousand-yen notes. “There. That should be enough.”
“To paint or replace the carpet, maybe. But these machines are ancient. No one will want to play one.”
“Don’t you know what you’re doing?” Hayato repeated Masuo’s words back at him.
Hayato walked out, and Masuo couldn’t help but allow his gaze to linger on his perfect ass. Masuo cursed himself. Hayato might look the same, but he wasn’t. As far as Masuo was concerned, he’d just met the real Hayato, and there was no way Masuo wanted to rekindle the feelings they’d shared the previous night.
4
Masuo rubbed the damp washcloth over the pachinko machine. The car-racing theme might’ve been popular in the eighties, but no one would want to play it today. Not when all the other parlors in the ward had machines with LCD screens playing video segments of anime characters shoving their boobs in the players’ faces.
It took three hours to take half the machines from grime-covered dust collectors to ready for action, but no matter how much Masuo scrubbed, the parlor would never turn into his dream to show Endo he was competent.
The floors, the dull-colored walls—Masuo didn’t know where to start. Not that he had the money to do anything worthwhile.
Masuo sighed and banged his head against the clunker of a pachinko machine in front of him.
“Hey!” Arashi called from the front of the parlor.
Arashi had been friends with Masuo since the broken-figurine incident. Arashi stood taller than Masuo, and with his long hair and relaxed attitude, he belonged at the beach or in some pop-idol group as the easygoing one. Arashi had graduated the month before and had been placed at the ward’s biggest parlor—three floors filled with everything from pachinko machines to slots. Even though Arashi was a low-level worker, he had more experience than Masuo.
“Manager of this whole place by yourself. Congrats, man. It’s so awesome.” Arashi cradled a potted orchid in one arm and held up his other hand for a high-five.
“This parlor is a shithole.”
“But it’s your shithole.” Arashi held his hand a little closer and wiggled his fingers. “Come on, don’t leave me hanging.”
Masuo reluctantly completed his half of the high-five. Arashi held their hands up like they’d won a relay race. He cheered too much for his own good, but he succeeded in making Masuo smile.
“For you.” He handed Masuo the plant.
“Thanks.”
“It’s not that bad.” Arashi stepped inside. “You’re going for a late Showa-era look, right?”
“This place was operational last year. I don’t understand how he got enough people to come to make a profit.” Masuo placed the plant on top of one of the barstool seats, ignoring the large rip down the side.
Arashi shrugged. “Maybe people came for the nostalgic feeling.”
“Nostalgia only gets you so far. They’ll come here once, feel nostalgic, and won’t need to come back.”
“You’ll figure it out.”
Masuo sighed. He grabbed the washcloth and rubbed against a particularly grimy spot on a nearby machine.
“Have you been cleaning with the same mad look on your face the whole day?” Arashi asked.
“I’m not incompetent.”
“I didn’t say you were.” Arashi folded his arms. “Did someone bring up the Mayumaro statue again?”
“Endo put me here to fail, I know it, but I’m going to turn it around. I’m going to make it more profitable than it ever was. I’ll show her and Hayato.”
“If anyone can do it, you can. No one thought you could piece the Mayumaro statue back together, but you had the silkworm in one piece that very night.” Arashi’s words struck Masuo’s heart like a double jackpot.
Masuo squeezed the damp washcloth in his hand, and water dripped out along with his last droplet of doubt. His chest puffed out, and he turned up his chin.
“Want to help me pull up the carpet?” Masuo asked.
“Why don’t I help you finish a sake flask?” Arashi said. “Celebrating will help you figure out a plan.”
“I need to finish scrubbing the rest of the machines.”
Arashi grabbed another cloth. “If it gets us drunk sooner, I’ll help.”
Scrubbing took half the time with Arashi’s help. His stories of the worst customers at his parlor were a mix of hilarious and gross, but they helped pass the time. More importantly they made Masuo forget how irritating Hayato was…almost.
With the last machine sparkling, they made their way to Masuo’s favorite bar. A small sake bar that fit fewer people than a train car. The dark lighting immediately relaxed his shoulders, and the soft jazz playing allowed time to slip away.
Arashi and Masuo slid into a well-worn booth and ordered some sake. Once the hot sake came, they filled each other’s cups, and Arashi held his up.
“To Masuo becoming the best parlor manager in the ward,” Arashi said.
Masuo laughed, and they clinked their glasses together and sipped. The hot alcohol was perfect against the chilly January weather.
Masuo pulled out his mini notebook. “I want to hear all the parlor management tips you have.”
“You’re not even going to ask me how the dating app is going?”
“How’s the dating?”
“Horrible.” Arashi pulled out his phone and poked around on it. “I found a girl I like. It says she enjoys horror films. Cool, right? So I message her and say I like them too and ask her what her favorite is, but no response.”
Masuo shrugged. “Maybe she’s busy. When did you message her?”
“Three days ago.”
“Oh.” Masuo took a sip of sake.
“That’s all you’re going to say?” Arashi faked being shocked.
“There’re lots of other ladies out there for you.”
“You got it easy. You can go out with anyone.”
Masuo rolled his eyes. “Just because I’m bi doesn’t mean I’m attracted to everyone.”
“Speaking of which, why are you even asking me for tips? You slept with the boss. Hayato would be the one with all the best suggestions. Ask him.”
“He doesn’t remember,” Masuo mumbled and took another sip of sake.
“Huh?”
“I said Hayato doesn’t remember last night.”
Arashi laughed. “You must not be as good as you thought.”
Masuo didn’t say anything, but the way Hayato had moaned proved he’d had a good time. Arashi kept laughing, then refilled Masuo’s drink and laughed some more.
Masuo rolled his eyes. “Hayato’s an ass anyway.”
“What? Hayato? No. He’s super nice.”
“No. He’s an asshole.”
Arashi shook his head. “You got it wrong. My first week, the night manager got super sick with the flu and left early. Hayato came and helped us all lock up. He even bought everyone snacks after.”
“You’re lying. No one makes it to captain as a yakuza being that nice.”
“Well, somehow he did.”
“He probably fucked someone.”
Arashi laughed. “Who?”
“Father Murata.”
They both laughed.
Arashi sipped his drink. “You know what Hayato is doing? I think he’s being strict with you, since you’re a manager and running the whole thing by yourself.”
“Or maybe he’s an asshole.”
“Time will tell.” Arashi sighed into his sake cup. “So you want parlor tips?”
“Yes. Tell me everything your manager told you.”
Masuo would fill the pages of his notebook with every tip Arashi gave.
5
Hayato nuzzled his pillow, engulfed himself in his comforter cocoon, and ignored his brother coming home from work.
Subaru’s job as a host-club manager meant he didn’t get home until the unholy hour of four in the morning. Hayato couldn’t muster up enough energy to say “welcome home,” let alone explain why he hadn’t returned home to Jiro.
