The Yakuza Path: Better Than Suicide

by Amy Tasukada

  Nao’s lip curled. Pizza boxes and half-empty beer bottles were strewn about the house in a sea of disorderliness that made his skin crawl. Even though the offered slippers looked clean, Nao crossed the vestibule without trading his shoes.

  “I want to talk to Chen,” Nao said.

  Snaggletooth grabbed one of the pizza boxes. “Let me go wake him up. I can make some tea while you wait for him.”

  Kurosawa nodded. “That would be—”

  “He’s upstairs, I assume.” Nao passed them both. “You can clean up this filth while I speak to him.”

  Kurosawa followed Nao up the stairs while Snaggletooth cleared away the leftovers. Was everyone else in the safe house really asleep? Usually about fifteen to twenty men resided at each one, but the only person awake was Snaggletooth.

  The first door Nao opened upstairs led to a bathroom, and the next one to an office. Then finally to a larger bedroom Nao assumed to be Chen’s. A bed took up most of the room, and the same décor of empty food containers dotted the space. A large mass formed under the shiny red sheets; there had to be someone in there.

  “Chen?” Nao called.

  Not one but two women peeked their heads out from under the covers. One called out Chen’s name, shaking the man beside her. He stretched with a moan before mumbling it was too early and plopped his head back on his pillow.

  “Chen!” Nao yelled.

  Chen rubbed his eyes and pushed his hair back, exposing a wide forehead. “Father Murata?”

  “We need to talk.”

  “Give me a few minutes to get dressed.”

  Nao flipped over an empty pizza box. “Now.”

  “Certainly.”

  Chen maneuvered around the women, grabbed his blue boxers from the floor, and pulled them on. He said something in Mandarin to the women, but they already looked asleep. He stepped closer to Nao, standing a foot taller than him, and looked about double his age.

  He’d spent his night sleeping with women when his ward was corroding with drugs. Chen probably didn’t even know what was out there. Nao sighed. He’d spent last night drinking so much he’d brought the Obon ghost early.

  “Do you want to go to the office?” Chen asked, looking around the discarded clothes probably for his shirt.

  “Hurry up.” Nao left.

  Kurosawa’s heavy steps creaked the hallway floorboards, and he raced ahead to open the office door. Chen followed behind, still shirtless.

  “Thank you for coming, Father Murata. I’m sorry I wasn’t ready for you when you came by,” Chen said, clearing off an old teacup from his desk.

  “Don’t keep me waiting next time, and this place is a mess on top of it,” Nao said.

  “Forgive us. Most everyone in the ward keeps Shima hours, and the lower-ranking recruits are off for Obon.”

  Nao crossed his arms. “That’s no excuse. The next time I’m here, I want to see my reflection in the wood.”

  Chen bowed again, apologizing further. Nao’s gaze darted around the grime. There was no way the amount there was accumulated in the few days off for the holiday. If Chen kept the safe house a mess, no wonder Shima was in such bad shape.

  At least the Japanese flag hanging behind Chen’s desk wasn’t stained, and the picture of Nao’s father didn’t look too dusty. Nao couldn’t look at the picture anymore. His father had lied to him.

  “You need to replace that photo.”

  “Sorry, Father Murata. We haven’t received your photo yet.”

  Nao’s eyes narrowed. He hadn’t even sat down for a formal portrait. Sakai should’ve arranged it the first week Nao had become the interim godfather. Perhaps Sakai had “forgotten” on purpose, knowing Detective Yamada would find the drugs and it would lead to Nao’s downfall. Maybe he knew better than to spend money getting a portrait done when Nao would be arrested.

  “Arrange a time for me to go to a studio sometime next week,” Nao said to Kurosawa. Nao would be too busy over the next few days interrogating the traitors to sit down with a photographer.

  Kurosawa nodded. “I’ll get right on it.”

  A grin swept across Chen’s face as he hid a laugh.

  “What’s so funny?” Kurosawa said.

  “I never thought you’d be Father Murata’s secretary.”

  “I’m his bodyguard, not his secretary.”

  Though Sakai had found a person for all of the open positions, he’d allowed Nao to choose his own secretary, deciding it was too personal a position for him to pick. Nao didn’t know anyone well enough to provide the role of setting up his appointments. It might be nice to have someone carry his phone for him, but Nao pushed the thought aside.

  “Let’s make this quick,” Nao said. “Shima’s in the same mess your safe house is in.”

  “Oh?”

  Had Yamada done such a good job hiding the deaths that even Chen didn’t know about them? Or was he playing dumb because he was connected to the drugs, too? If drugs were being sold in his ward, he had to have known. So he was hiding it. He might’ve not known directly about Miko’s key, but he could be taking a cut from whoever took the drugs and allowing them to be sold.

  “I want to see a map of where you station your men,” Nao said.

  Underneath a stack of old takeout boxes, Chen pulled out a folded map of the ward. Nao grabbed a pen and outlined the Shima district within the ward. He then handed the pen to Chen even though Nao had walked the streets so many times he knew where all the Matsukawa men were stationed, but he wanted Chen to mark the map.

  He put three dots on the map spreading through Shima. “My men work as a team so there’s two at each dot.”

  “So they patrol about three city blocks each.” Nao leaned back in his chair. “That isn’t sufficient for a place like Shima.”

  “There used to be double the amount, but a lot of my men died in the war securing the area. I’d like to get it back there, but I don’t have enough men.”

  Nao stared at the map. The drug dealer he’d caught was within the far corner of Shima, but with Chen’s men needing to cover so much ground, it was possible they hadn’t noticed.

  “Have you noticed any lingering Korean mobsters in the area?”

  Chen raised a brow. “No.”

  “I found one a few days ago.”

  Chen scratched the stubble on his chin. “With all due respect, Father Murata, do you know if he was a tourist acting out or if he was in the Korean mob?”

  Shit. Nao had been too caught up in killing the guy and reporting it to Yamada to even check if the dealer had a mob tattoo on him or not. Yamada would’ve said something if Nao had offered him a dead Korean mobster, wouldn’t he?

  Chen continued. “I saw the video of you fighting with Fujimoto. The look in your eyes scared me shitless. I’m can’t imagine anyone from the Korean mob staying in Kyoto with you as the godfather.”

  Nao pushed an empty beer bottle to the floor. Chen winced as it shattered.

  “I don’t care,” Nao said. “I don’t want filth brought into any part of the city.”

  “Yes, Father Murata. Again, I’m sorry for my infraction.”

  “Show me you’re sorry by cleaning up your mess and getting more men on the streets we protect.”

  Nao walked out of the safe house with Kurosawa following behind. It would be pointless to wander around Shima looking for a drug dealer when it was still early in the morning.

  “Do you want to go back and hand out the imagawayaki?” Kurosawa asked, opening the door for Nao.

  “I want to celebrate the first night of Obon with everyone. I want to be a good godfather, so I want to get to know everyone better. We’ll start from the top, with Sakai and Ikida. How is Fujimoto doing? I want to see him, too.”

  “He’s been released from the hospital and is back on the job. I texted him while you were with the detective.”

  “Good. He can come, too. Arrange it at a geisha teahouse. See if you can get that same flute geiko. I liked her.”

  Kurosawa
started the car. “Not that I disagree with your idea, Father Murata, but Ikida’s mother is still on her deathbed. Perhaps something less formal. If you want to see geiko, why not go to the beer garden festival?”

  Nao pressed his lips together. “It seems a bit too informal”

  “With the light atmosphere, you could get to know everyone better. Fujimoto would love any excuse to drink off his concussion.”

  Perhaps the beer would make everyone less guarded. Nao could casually ask them questions, and they might not realize he was interrogating them.

  “Okay,” Nao said.

  “I think Sakai has a connection so we can get tickets this late.” Kurosawa turned the corner.

  A few more minutes into the ride, Nao raised a brow. Kurosawa was driving back to Nao’s old apartment.

  “This isn’t the way back to headquarters.”

  “I figured you’d want some of your photos for Obon.” Kurosawa cleared his throat. “We… ah… only have ones of your father.”

  Nao’s empty stomach twisted a little. Kurosawa wanted to make sure Nao had a picture of Shinya to put on the family altar for the holiday.

  “It will be good to relax a little bit,” Kurosawa said. “There’s no point in working yourself up during Obon and with your arm. The beer festival isn’t for a few hours anyway.”

  Nao bit his lip. He hadn’t stepped foot inside the apartment in a month and didn’t want the memories within to come alive.

  EACH STEP NAO CLIMBED to his old apartment, his memories emerged to escape from the darkness he’d driven them into. Even though less than a month had passed since he called the studio home, it felt like a lifetime.

  Paint curled at the edges of his old door, a sloppy repair job after a break-in that had left his first cat missing and the hundred-year-old tea bowl Shinya had given him smashed.

  “Do you still have the key, or do we need to get the landlord?” Kurosawa asked.

  Nao blinked. How long had he been standing there staring? “I have it.”

  He pulled his wallet out of his pocket and found the key nestled between thousand-yen notes. A voice inside told him to stop. He didn’t need to relive the memories locked behind the door. He could wait outside and send Kurosawa to retrieve the photos for Obon.

  Nao swallowed, but the lump in his throat stayed. His fingers trembled as he slid the key into the lock and let the door swing open.

  The stale air of the apartment hit him deeper than the bullet that had traveled through his arm. The vestibule with his spare pair of clogs, the low table, and even the tiny kitchenette made his ribs squeeze his insides.

  Everything had been so simple before. He’d only had to hide himself in the apartment and no one would bother him.

  “Do you want me to get the photos for you?” Kurosawa asked, already standing by the family altar along the wall.

  Nao cursed himself for being read so easily and stepped inside. Taking off his shoes, his feet were heavy against the wooden floors. A light layer of dust had settled, marking his steps like a ghost.

  “This place is a lot bigger than the storage room you use for a bedroom now,” Kurosawa said.

  “That storage room was my bedroom before I moved here.”

  “But you were a teenager.” Kurosawa held out his arms. “This place would make a nice getaway from headquarters.”

  Nao shook his head but knew he’d eventually have to decide if he wanted to live two steps away from the office until Miko came out of jail.

  Kurosawa cocked his head. “Do you know what you want to do with this place yet?”

  “It’s convenient to stay at headquarters. I have the underlings making my food, and one of them can even make tea correctly.”

  Kurosawa asked too many questions. Each one pushed Nao to think about everything besides dealing with the drugs. They were the only thing he needed to think about. He didn’t need to focus on the past and definitely didn’t need the flood of memories of both Shinya and Saehyun when he glanced toward the bed.

  Nao picked up the framed photo of Shinya and him together. Nao had known what he was doing back then. The smile on his face in the photograph was filled with confidence. Yet Shinya had died the year after that photo was taken. Back then Nao couldn’t fathom a world without him.

  “You still have your father’s estate,” Kurosawa said.

  Nao jumped when Kurosawa spoke.

  “I haven’t set foot in Father’s house since I got out of the detention center.”

  During Nao’s year at the center, his mother had left the family. When Nao was released, Father had put him up in the Matsukawa safe house, and from there Nao had walked the yakuza path.

  “You could sell it back to the government. They’re always buying old people’s houses to turn into parks,” Kurosawa said.

  “The application would be rejected immediately since Father’s death made national news.”

  “Why would they mess with a godfather about something as small as that?” Kurosawa crossed his arms. “But I guess with the way Detective Yamada keeps pulling your chain, he’d get you for something small like that. What’s going on anyway?”

  “It’s nothing important. He just keeps reminding me what a big dick he has.”

  Kurosawa’s mouth dropped. “Seriously? I didn’t peg him as one of your types.”

  Nao rubbed his temple. “Not like that. He’s trying to show he can boss me around, but it’s not happening.”

  “Are you sure that’s the best—”

  “I know what I’m doing. I didn’t ask for—”

  “My help,” Kurosawa finished. “I get it. You want the other pictures, too?”

  Nao’s grip on Shinya’s picture loosened, and he cleaned off a layer of dust. There was a picture of his mother, since she was dead to him. Yet imagining her photo nestled between the past godfathers of the Matsukawa didn’t feel right. She had disowned him anyway. Everyone else on the altar were relatives dead before Nao had even been born.

  “I only want this one,” Nao said.

  “You want to clean it up yourself or…”

  Nao only had to look at his old self to see the memories flash before his eyes, and Kurosawa could read him like a lie told by a new recruit. He passed the framed photo to Kurosawa.

  “You can do it. I want to look at something.”

  Nao walked the few steps to the bedroom and stood before the bed.

  Shinya…

  Saehyun…

  Their spirits grew thicker, and their cold hands squeezed around his throat. Nao coughed, but their hands grasped tighter until they squeezed his windpipe shut. He tried to draw in a breath but only a dry hiss escape. The more he tried to inhale the more they squeezed.

  He panicked and fled to the bathroom, but more memories surfaced. Saehyun’s fingers tracing the phoenix inked onto Nao’s back, then echoed in his ears the delicious moans from Shinya as Nao took him against the sink. They had to be furious with him coming into the home they both knew, and each happy memory only drove him deeper into agony.

  Nao fell to his knees and covered his face. He was being punished. Punished for even thinking he could be freed from their memories. Everyone he had ever loved was dead because of him. It would’ve been better if Nao had disappeared.

  Every Obon Shinya had returned, but this was the first Obon his spirit wasn’t alone. Saehyun… his father… they all haunted him.

  Tears stung his eyes. He was supposed to have died when he raided the Korean stronghold, yet his supplication for death had been answered with only a flesh wound to his arm.

  His vision blurred as he pulled himself up by the sink. His beating heart belonged to the city, and the death of each of his lovers was Kyoto’s way of telling him that he could never have anyone else.

  He was the godfather of the Matsukawa. All of Japan looked up to them to keep the old traditions alive. He was the only one who could stop the drugs from pouring into the city and turning it into a bitter cesspool of junkies and crime.
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  He turned on the faucet and splashed water on his face. He took a deep breath through his nose and exhaled through his mouth. He opened the bathroom door and stopped as Kurosawa blocked the door.

  “You feeling okay? You look like you’re coming down with a fever.” Kurosawa reached toward Nao’s forehead, but before he touched him Nao slapped his hand away.

  “I told you not to touch me.”

  Nao squeezed past Kurosawa and stopped at the foot of the bed.

  “I never want to see this place again,” Nao said.

  “I’ll tell some of the recruits to bring your stuff back to headquarters.”

  “Only the books and the tea. Throw away everything else.”

  “I’ll get everything arranged.”

  Kurosawa headed to the kitchenette, and Nao sighed, sitting on the bed one last time. A silver glint on the nightstand caught his eye, and he grabbed the silver bracelet. His body crumpled like a rolled tea leaf as he turned the bracelet over and ran his finger across the engraved Korean.

  Saehyun had given him the bracelet on a Korean couples’ holiday. Inside was Saehyun’s name beside his, written in the lines and circles of the Korean language. He rubbed his injured arm, the pain a reminder of what he had done.

  Any of the recruits who could read Korean would question why their godfather owned a bracelet with one of the dead Korean leader’s name and his on it. He pulled the bracelet over his wrist and hid it up his sleeve.

  “Got everything packed. If you’re ready, we can head back and get some sleep before the beer garden.”

  Nao sighed. “I told you I was feeling fine.”

  “I would like to get some sleep, if I could.” Kurosawa grabbed the box of tea. “I’ll talk to Sakai about getting tickets for everyone, and you can hand out the imagawayaki.”

  Another excuse for Kurosawa to talk with Sakai. Nao could imagine Kurosawa telling the business leader how Nao couldn’t walk two steps into his apartment without running to the bathroom.

  Still, the relaxed atmosphere and the beer might loosen everyone’s tongues.

  “Let’s get going before the imagawayaki goes stale,” Nao said.

  They probably tasted horrible after sitting out all night and day, but Nao could hand them out. It could be the first memory some of the recruits would have of their new godfather other than of him scolding them for making bad tea.