The Yakuza Path: Better Than Suicide

by Amy Tasukada

  “He went that way!” Nao yelled. His heart pounded in his ears. “We can cut him off at the pass if you go left.”

  Kurosawa nodded, and they split up at the corner. Nao stopped running. His gaze darted back and forth, and he waited a few seconds in case Kurosawa realized their separation.

  Each breath in and out slowed his thumping heart while his mind raced with other methods to keep Kurosawa away. If it came to it, he’d punch his bodyguard until he passed out like Fujimoto. Nao wouldn’t care.

  If Nao was lucky, Kurosawa would make such a scene that the station security would intervene, and Nao would be free from him for the rest of the night. Being able to walk the Shima streets alone would be the best thing that could have happened to him all week besides finding out Aki could make tea.

  The key biting into Nao’s palm reminded him of the tasks at hand. Enough time had passed Nao was sure Kurosawa stayed in pursuit of whomever he decided Nao had pointed to.

  Nao relaxed his grip on the key, but the imprint of each tooth remained in his hand. He entered the train luggage room and searched for the locker belonging to Miko’s key. He squatted to the floor, his suit pants bunching around his knees, and opened the locker in a corner.

  Nao’s eyes grew wide.

  The locker was empty.

  “This can’t be right.” He closed the door and opened it again, but it remained empty.

  Acid burned in his heart as he slammed the door shut and punched it. The metal scraped his knuckles, but he snatched the key and buried it in his pocket.

  Everything around him disappeared. He staggered out of the locker room and into the nearest bathroom.

  The Matsukawa had never used Miko’s stash during the fight with the Korean mob. Nao had heard his father and Sakai talk about the lack of funds to pay for the war. His father had said to sell stocks, and when he’d called Miko, she’d made no indication the drugs had been sold.

  Nao turned on the faucet and splashed water on his face. The stupid sling made everything awkward and looked ridiculous next to his suit. He looked more pathetic and weak than ever. No wonder Kurosawa and Detective Yamada had walked all over him.

  Someone had taken the key and stolen the drugs. Ikida and Fujimoto had access to the key, but Sakai knew about the drugs. They’d had weeks to sell the stash for themselves and bank the extra cash. It would explain why Sakai hadn’t mentioned them to him.

  He stared at his reflection, his face red. Nao’s fist pressed against the bathroom counter. He needed to be strong not only when in a fight, but he needed to strike fear into everyone with a single gaze. The Matsukawa needed him to find the traitor and punish him.

  Nao stepped out of the bathroom and waited for Kurosawa to find him. It only took a few minutes before Kurosawa arrived, gasping for breath.

  “Did you get him?” Nao asked.

  “Lost him… in the crowd.”

  Nao rubbed his neck. “Yeah, me, too. Those Koreans were a bad influence on the city.”

  “We’ll get them next time.” Kurosawa smiled. “Should we get the imagawayaki?”

  “Yeah…”

  They shuffled to a cafe and collected enough of the summer snack for everyone. Nao glanced to the news station as Kurosawa bought the snacks, but still no announcement from the detective.

  “It’s getting late. You wanna head back to headquarters?” Kurosawa asked.

  Nao bit his lip and hoped he really had exterminated all the Korean mobsters. He found one last night in Shima and there could be more. With them on the streets, eating could wait.

  “We go back when I decide we go back.” Nao poked Kurosawa’s chest. “I don’t fucking care how late it is. You have no opinions when it comes to anything. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, Father Murata.”

  “I can hand out the imagawayaki tomorrow when Obon officially starts. I need to get better acquainted with the land controlled by the Matsukawa. For four years, the only places I’ve been to were my home and the teahouse.”

  As long as Nao stopped showing weakness, Kurosawa would listen.

  “I want to go to Shima,” Nao said.

  “CHEN CAN GIVE YOU a tour of Shima if you’re looking for something specific,” Kurosawa said.

  “Word spreads fast, and I don’t want to spoil the imagawayaki surprise.” Nao sighed. His thoughts twisted like the leaves of his favorite oolong tea.

  Kurosawa raised an eyebrow but didn’t question the excuse.

  Drizzle dampened Nao’s cheeks, but his steps continued unabated by the rain and Kurosawa’s hovering umbrella. The streets darkened with each droplet, and it reminded Nao of when he had followed the tradition of watering the walkway to his tea shop. It was as if Kyoto opened the sky so Shima would carry it on.

  He wanted to go back to when things were easy, when he could disappear in his house for days on end and no one had cared. What was he supposed to do when Detective Yamada wasn’t taking the scapegoat he’d offered up and there was no way he could honestly say the Matsukawa didn’t deal drugs?

  His father had always told him and anyone who’d ever asked that the Matsukawa never sold drugs. How they were a cancer to the city and were used by weak-willed people choosing escape rather than confronting their problems.

  Nao had believed each lie his father had said about the yakuza being graciously there for the citizens of the city, responding faster than the government in emergencies, and hiring people others wouldn’t take a chance on. There had to be more lies Nao blindly believed.

  Minutes passed, and the bandage on his arm stuck to him like a sweaty sock. The layers of his suit restricted his movement and somehow made him feel less Japanese. He missed his yukata, but what he really missed was Shinya.

  Nao hadn’t even been able to think of his lover without reliving the night he couldn’t protect him. Then Saehyun had come and exposed his memories. Nao no longer obsessively walked down a historical path to drive the past into the darkness. Memories of Shinya were like the wound on his arm—open and raw.

  “I’m getting hungry. Maybe you can eat at the brothel, but it has nothing I want,” Kurosawa said with a chuckle.

  “Eat some of the imagawayaki and go home. I don’t need you following me.”

  How dare Kurosawa think he could suggest anything. More minutes passed, and Nao found no one selling drugs in the alley he walked down. Kurosawa unwrapped one of the snacks, somehow balancing the umbrella as he kept pace with Nao.

  Two hours into his search, Nao stopped. Even though he was weaving in and out of streets, he had been heading toward the brothel Kohta worked at and hadn’t noticed. It wasn’t like Kohta could help him with Matsukawa decisions.

  Still, each step up the stairs to the whorehouse felt right. Ordering a full-service menu even though Nao knew Kohta wasn’t into it seemed like the perfect thing to do. It wasn’t like the search for the Korean dealers had turned up anything. Maybe they came out later in the night. Besides, when he’d been in the yakuza all those years ago, he’d often dropped by a club for a few drinks.

  They were escorted to the same corner booth. Kurosawa sat a few seats down, the bag of imagawayaki sitting between his legs. In minutes, a flute of champagne was in Nao’s hand and Kohta sat by his side. Out of the corner of Nao’s eye he could pretend Kohta was Shinya. For a brief second he no longer had to be a ghost

  “Didn’t think I’d see you back so soon,” Kohta said.

  “What can I say, I like your mouth.” Nao gulped down his drink. “And aren’t you supposed to sound a bit more excited to see a client?”

  “You’re a mob boss. That alone could get you laid without having to pay for it. You know that, right?” Kohta cocked his head.

  Another gulp of champagne and Nao glanced at Kohta through the glass. His features distorted. His nose elongated, and the gentle waves of his hair became straight like the style Shinya would wear.

  Nao sighed. Obon forced him to think about Shinya too much. The more he realized he fell back i
nto his old habits. He was back in the mob again, and after a long day out in the field he would go to the club Shinya worked and spend the rest of the evening with him. Shinya had always known how to smooth over even the roughest days.

  Kohta reached over to refill Nao’s empty glass and then rested his hand on Nao’s thigh. The extra lingering moments allowed Nao to breathe in his musky bergamot cologne mixed with cigarettes. Kohta might be straight, but the little touches were probably hard to unlearn, a mindless habit that meant nothing.

  “Does your friend want a drink, or is he here to watch again?” Kohta’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he spoke.

  “He’s here because he refuses to leave me alone.”

  Kurosawa ignored them, thumbing through his phone, no doubt texting Sakai how Nao was back at a whorehouse. Nao took another gulp from his glass. Everything was such a mess. He didn’t even know how to begin to find out which one was the traitor. It would’ve been better if he had died.

  “There isn’t a head in that bag, is there?” Kohta laughed.

  “Why would you say that?” Nao asked.

  “You never know with you guys. You’re all macho and fight whenever.”

  Nao shook his head and took another sip from the flute. His gaze dropped from Kohta’s ridiculous purple-tinted sunglasses to the clash against the golden sheen of his button-down shirt. All Nao wanted to do was bite that Adam’s apple and hear Shinya moan his name.

  Nao rubbed the bridge of his nose. Kohta. The man beside him was Kohta, not his past lover.

  Kohta pulled out a deck of cards from his leather pants and shuffled them. The cards would make it easier for Nao not to confuse them. Shinya would never have done something so tacky.

  Nao laughed through the champagne flute. “More card tricks?”

  “This time you don’t have to remember anything.” Kohta peeked over his stupid sunglasses and continued, “I know I can’t trust you.”

  Maybe the card tricks would help distract Nao. So far, three glasses of champagne weren’t having an effect.

  “All you’ve got to do is tell me when to stop,” Kohta said.

  “Why would I want you to stop? If anything I’d want you to go all the way.”

  Nao could feel Kohta’s glare even through the sunglasses, but his legs were open and Kohta’s knee pressed against Nao’s. The little touches electrifying him, considering yesterday Kohta’s muscles had tensed when they had touched.

  Kohta fanned out the deck. “Here, pick a card.”

  Nao pointed to one, and Kohta took out the two of hearts. He left it out for Nao to hold.

  “You can’t forget it if I’m making you hold it.” Kohta grinned. “Now tell me when to stop three more times.”

  Kohta pulled down the cards with his long fingers one at a time as Nao called stop.

  “Let’s turn them over.” In one motion, he turned all three over on the table. “Bam! See? All two of hearts.”

  “You’re not half bad.”

  Kohta frowned. “That’s it? You’re supposed to get excited and ask how I did it.”

  “I’m harder to entertain than your lady clients. Let’s order more champagne.”

  Kurosawa grabbed Nao’s hand. “That’s your third glass in less than an hour. Do you really want to mix more with your antibiotics?”

  Nao jerked his hand back. “Don’t tell me what to do.”

  Kohta leaned back against the booth and cut the tension when he asked, “Mind if I smoke? I’m a little heartbroken you didn’t like my trick.”

  Nao laughed. “Somehow I think it would take more to break your heart.”

  Kohta pulled out a cigarette and put it in the corner of his mouth. “You want one?”

  “Sure.”

  Champagne and cigarettes—it could be any evening from years ago. All he needed was Shinya there. Nao’s stomach sloshed with the alcohol. He’d survived his time in the yakuza because he could come home to Shinya. Darkness clouded every thought since he’d stopped the pain medication. Nao couldn’t go on without Shinya.

  “You okay?” Kohta asked. “You look kind of out of it. Are you catching a cold?”

  Nao snapped his fingers. “I said give me a cigarette.”

  Kohta tapped one out and held it up to Nao’s lips. He leaned in close, lighting them both at once. Nao stared at his reflection, colored purple in Kohta’s sunglasses. What was Nao really doing there? Hoping with enough alcohol that Kohta would turn into Shinya permanently and then Nao could pretend the back room was his old bedroom?

  “Let’s order another bottle of champagne.” Kohta took out the drink menu. “Maybe then you’ll enjoy my my card tricks.”

  The first shot of nicotine hit Nao, ironing out all of his nerve endings. The drugs mattered less with each inhale. Then the way Kohta’s Cupid’s bow lips caressed the cigarette became Nao’s world.

  “First, you have to take off those glasses before I order another bottle.” Nao blew the cigarette smoke out of his nose.

  “You don’t like my sunglasses either?”

  “It’s already dark in here. I’m surprised you saw my cigarette enough to light it.”

  “These are Gucci glasses.”

  “Gucci?”

  Kohta sighed. “It’s the same designer as your suit.”

  “I don’t pay attention to labels.” Nao tapped the menu. “Order whatever champagne you want, but you gotta take off the glasses.”

  Kohta emptied the last of the champagne bottle into Nao’s flute then ordered another bottle. All the while, Nao ignored the weary look on Kurosawa’s face.

  Nao tapped the ash off his cigarette. “Take them off.”

  With a sigh, Kohta pulled off his sunglasses. His left eye was swollen in an angry red-and-purple bruise. Even the concealer slathered under his eye didn’t hide it. A pang of guilt hit Nao through his relaxed buzz of alcohol. As a prostitute, Kohta’s face was how he made his income, and Nao demanding Kohta take off his glasses alerted the management to the imperfection he’d tried hiding.

  Before Nao could bring up Kohta’s eye, the champagne arrived. It was a huge bottle, one that would be given away during New Year’s. Kohta had taken the “order whatever you want” to heart. No wonder Kohta was being nice. He wanted Nao to keep coming back so he could order the most expensive bottle on the menu.

  Though, with that eye, he could probably use the extra commission. Kohta cheered and opened the bottle with a pop. The alcohol bubbled over into the air. His excitement was lost on Nao. Even if he drank a whole bottle himself, the Matsukawa’s drug supply held his attention.

  “What happened to your eye?” Nao asked, cigarette smoke lingering around him.

  “I ran into a door.”

  It was a poor excuse if Nao had ever heard one, but Kohta said nothing more about it as he filled their glasses.

  “I thought you guys threw up so you wouldn’t get drunk enough to run into doors,” Nao said.

  Kohta grinned. “You know all our trade secrets.”

  “I used to date a host.”

  “Anyone I know?”

  “You’re a whore, not a host.”

  Even all the champagne in the bottle couldn’t remove the sour taste in Nao’s mouth when Kohta compared Shinya to a whore. A host poured drinks and flirted. Nao had paid for Shinya’s drink-pouring skills for a year before Shinya saw Nao outside the club.

  Kohta filled Nao’s glass. “You know, I’ve debated about getting that exact pair of shoes. They’re Gucci, too, yeah? Sure looks like them.”

  Kohta’s shoes shined like an oil slick of purple and green. The soles were red with moths carved into them. They were so different from the pointed, buckled boots Nao wore that he couldn’t see Kohta wanting them.

  “What size are you?” Kohta asked.

  “Twenty-six.”

  “That’s my size! Do you mind if I try them on so I know what size to order? European sizes are always a little off. I use a shopping service to get them cheaper, but then I’m stuck if
I don’t like them.”

  Nao shrugged. “Sure, go ahead.”

  He’d bought them at a store in Kyoto, so he’d thought he was supporting the city. It never occurred to him they would import shoes. Nao took another drag from his cigarette. There had to be plenty of quality shoes made in Japan.

  Kohta slid off his shoes and bent down to unzip Nao’s boots.

  “That’s a good position for you.” Nao laughed.

  “Drink up. We have all night. Here, you can try on my shoes.” Kohta grinned.

  Kohta traded their shoes then waltzed around. The champagne must’ve hit Nao because he couldn’t take his eyes off Kohta’s ass. Nao wanted to kiss him, to kiss that mouth and never let go, to leave Kohta breathless and begging for him to do more. Nao squashed his cigarette in the ashtray beside Kohta’s.

  “What do you think?” Kohta asked. “My shoes look awesome on you, by the way.”

  Nao leaned forward, grabbed a fistful of Kohta’s hair, and captured his mouth. The taste of alcohol and cigarettes danced together on Nao’s tongue. Kohta took it willingly, sticking his tongue into Nao’s mouth and cupping Nao’s face. Shinya had done the same on the days he’d wanted to make sure Nao knew they were trading their usual positions.

  “Shinya,” Nao breathed out when they parted.

  “It’s Kohta, remember?” He winked. “But you can call me Shinya if you keep buying those bottles.”

  Fuck.

  Nao shook his head. The whore wasn’t Shinya. Shinya had died because Nao, and if the Matsukawa spiraled into a cancer eating away at the soul of Kyoto, it would be his fault, too.

  “I need to get out of here.” Nao stumbled to a stand, knocking over the large bottle of champagne. He glanced back at Kurosawa. “Let’s go.”

  NAO JERKED AWAKE. His gaze darted around his bedroom until his subconscious broke from the frantic nightmare. The last thing he remembered was being at the club with Shinya. A pulsing ache pressed against Nao’s eyes. He rubbed his palm against his head, but the pain spread like his skull was cracked open and used for a sake ceremony with every yakuza in Japan.