The Yakuza Path: Better Than Suicide

by Amy Tasukada

It was pointless trying to have a normal conversation with Taejin. Nao doubted Ikida could handle dealing with the lunatic any better than he could. Well, he had threaten Taejin with chopsticks, so Ikida was already one up. Nao ran his fingers through his hair and sat down. He’d give Ikida a chance.

  “There was a minor incident,” Ikida started.

  “Oh?” Taejin dipped his dumpling into some soy sauce, but his gaze didn’t leave Nao. “How did it feel to kill your lover anyway?”

  “It felt fucking great,” Nao said between clenched teeth.

  Ikida cleared his throat. “Let’s try to stick to the topic of what happened last night in Kyoto.”

  “Japanese people are in such a rush.” Taejin put his chopsticks down.

  “Your men set foot into Matsukawa territory.”

  “They were new recruits. It’s hard to control everyone.”

  Nao’s eyes narrowed. Everyone else was eating and pretending like a major infraction hadn’t happened before their eyes. Nao flexed his fingers underneath the table.

  “There was some damage to a business,” Ikida said.

  Taejin shrugged. “Windows gets smashed all the time. My men didn’t do anything a disgruntled customer wouldn’t do.”

  “It’s good we agree there was damage done…” Ikida continued talking, but Nao ignored him.

  Ikida treated the meeting too much like some office gathering. He had no idea how to handle someone as dangerous as Taejin.

  “We already had a war against you, and we won it fairly,” Nao said, interrupting whatever nonsense Ikida was saying.

  Taejin shrugged. “If I had known the Matsukawa had a psychopath on their side, I might’ve given Saehyun and his crew more help.”

  Nao slammed his fist on the table. “Kyoto will always belong to the Japanese.”

  “I’m sure those new recruits meant no harm. Some geography trouble, that’s all.”

  “Are you purposely antagonizing me?”

  Taejin leaned back in his chair, lacing his hands behind his head. “Why would I do that?”

  “I don’t want any more of these geography mistakes.”

  “Well, you know the American saying…” Taejin said something in English Nao couldn’t understand.

  Then Ikida answered in English.

  Nao’s eyes widened as the two conversed back and forth like Nao wasn’t even there.

  Ikida could be going over his head and making arrangements while everyone else ate like it was common for everyone in Japan to stop midsentence to speak English. Even Zebra and Floral pigged out. The conversation went on for several minutes without any signs of letting up.

  Had Ikida talked with Taejin before, and he’d switched to English so they could continue their deal? Maybe he was the one exchanging the drugs with their connection in Kyoto. Maybe the Koreans who’d thrown the stone into the bar to detract attention away from a drug drop-off.

  “I’m willing to go to war over this, Taejin.” Nao interrupted the English conversation.

  “Ikida and I already talked about that.” Taejin grinned. “Or did you not understand?”

  “You fuck—”

  “I told Ikida I’d take care of those young recruits’ indiscretion. Among them, they have a broken nose and two cracked ribs, but don’t think you’ll be getting a finger in the mail. We don’t do those things here.”

  “The next time it happens I will be less willing to take your word for it.”

  “You’ll believe whatever you want.” Taejin grinned. It made all the hairs on the back of Nao’s neck stand on end.

  “What about your drug mule?” Nao asked, sick of beating around the bush.

  “The Matsukawa deciding to deal in drugs now?” Taejin said. “You are taking them in a different direction.”

  “Never.” Nao swallowed the memory of the drugs being forcefully pushed into Shinya’s veins. “We’ll never stoop as low as that.”

  “Then why are you getting so emotional? You’re sweating all over, and your eyes keep darting like you’re looking for the next hit.”

  Nao bit his tongue. He couldn’t let Taejin get to him.

  “Your man was found dead in a suitcase at Kyoto station earlier in the week. Do you have an explanation for it?” Nao asked.

  Taejin’s expression didn’t change at all. He didn’t even care that one of his men had died. Nao would have cared a little. Even Kurosawa could be helpful sometimes.

  “He’s been missing for a while now, but look, the great Kyoto godfather found him. Maybe we could hire you as a bloodhound to find all the stray sheep who wander off.”

  “There better not be any more of your men in Kyoto dealing drugs.” Nao narrowed his eyes. “My father ran the last war we had with you, but I ended it in a single night. You don’t want to know what a war led by me would mean.”

  Taejin licked his lips. “Sounds exciting.”

  “I will personally rip your eyes out of your skull and bury them beside the Toyokuni shrine so you can be with your defeated ancestors.”

  “Once we decide to start a war with the Matsukawa again, believe me, we won’t be quietly dealing drugs or throwing rocks into bar windows.” Taejin pushed the fox mask back over his face. “My men have been ordered not to step foot in Matsukawa territory until that day comes.”

  He tapped Floral’s and Zebra’s shoulders, and they disappeared into the back kitchen. Taejin had made it clear that there hadn’t been anyone from the Korean mob in Kyoto. So the residual drugs left in the suitcase and the duffle bag missing from Miko’s locker had to be the responsibility of someone in the Matsukawa.

  “We’re done here.”

  Nao stood, and the others followed. With each step his arm fired in restless pain.

  Nao stared at Ikida’s black suit as they walked to the car. Ikida had never fired a gun, yet he thought he was above Nao. He could tell by the glint in Ikida’s eyes while he’d spoken English. He was a businessman like Sakai.

  “I think that went well,” Ikida said.

  Nao grabbed Ikida’s collar with one hand while the other punched Ikida’s face. “How dare you carry on a conversation I couldn’t understand!”

  Ikida covered his bleeding face. “I saw an opportunity—”

  “I don’t care what the result is. You undermine me again, and you’re no longer welcome in the Matsukawa. Do you get it?”

  “Yes, Father Murata. Please, forgive me.”

  “You’re supposed to be my right hand as the underboss, but you have to respect me. It doesn’t come automatically.”

  Ikida took out his handkerchief and dabbed his face. “I understand. Next time I’ll be the underboss you need.”

  Nao glanced back down the Osaka streets. It was time to return to Kyoto. Unlike Kyoto, Osaka had paved over everything old and replaced it with concrete.

  Kurosawa opened the door to the car, and Nao slid in beside Ikida. It was the second day of Obon, and Nao had barely done any of the traditions. Sure he’d stuck the skewers in the vegetables, but he hadn’t witnessed a single Obon dance at the shrines. He doubted he had time to even see one with Detective Yamada breathing down his neck.

  “Take me to my father’s grave,” Nao said.

  Maybe if Nao performed the tradition of cleaning the family grave, his father wouldn’t haunt his dreams tonight.

  “FLOWERS. ONLY TEN thousand yen for a bundle,” a withered woman said.

  Her cart exploded with flowers, and Nao stood trapped within the long petals of the white chrysanthemums. Their slender petal hands reached out to take his spirit. Nao rubbed his hands against his pants. The summer heat trapped him in a haze.

  “What one would you like, sir?” the woman asked.

  Nao bought a bouquet and handed it to Kurosawa. Black gravestones ascended the mountainside like rows of teeth ready to swallow Nao whole. The distant chirping of birds rang in his ears as he walked through the gate and into the tiered cemetery. He swallowed down the tightness in his throat and grabbed one of th
e stacked bamboo buckets offered for guests. A nearby spigot allowed him to fill up the bucket, and he stared as the sponge inside bulged beside a wooden ladle.

  “You have any family here?” Nao asked the group.

  They all shook their heads. Ikida’s slackened expression matched his dull eyes. With his mother close to death, it might’ve been better to drop him off at the hospital before going to the cemetery. Then they could’ve picked up the sling for Nao’s arm along the way. But it would’ve wasted more time Nao didn’t have.

  Kurosawa lifted his hand as if wanting to pat Nao’s shoulder but then pulled away. “We’re here for you, Father Murata.”

  Nao gave a faint smile.

  Water sloshed out of the bucket as they climbed to the top tier where Nao’s family grave rested. Each step conjured up more faces of his deceased relatives Nao only knew from the photographs on his altar. When he was a child, Nao had cleaned the family grave with his father, but when his father grew too busy, Nao had done it himself every Obon. He would always imagine all his relatives watching him as he scrubbed off the dirt.

  “I remember once your father held this big barbecue at headquarters,” Fujimoto said, breaking the silence. “There had to be over a hundred of us there. Then he had us all gather around to lecture us. And I’m thinking how we fucked up somewhere and how he was going to fire all of us.”

  Kurosawa started laughing. “I remember that day.”

  “Don’t spoil it! So he lays it in on each of us. We heard noises in the back, but none of us dared to look. Then he goes on to say we deserve everything we’re getting and tells us to turn around. There’s a table filled with the best wagyu beef. I ate so much I had tears in my eyes.”

  Nao bit his tongue. Throwing a big party with expensive beef would make everyone like him more, but the parties at the geisha teahouses cost about the same. Cold water splashed against Nao’s pant leg. No one else enjoyed the geisha teahouses. Everyone else wanted something to please their animalistic urges of alcohol and sex.

  They stopped at the last tier of the cemetery, and Nao clutched onto the bucket’s handle, his knuckles turning white. He should’ve told the truth from the beginning. He could’ve seen all the half-truths Saehyun said. Nao gulped in a breath, suffocating on knowledge that everything was his fault.

  “Your father was a good man,” Fujimoto said.

  “He’d be proud,” Kurosawa said. “You’re doing a good job as godfather. You’ve been at this less than a month. It takes time to learn everything.”

  Nao wanted to laugh. In public, Kurosawa would shout a list of all of Nao’s good qualities, but in private, he could call Nao a fuckup. Nao rocked back on his heels, not saying a word.

  Tomorrow was Saturday, so Sakai should have the new bodyguard list ready for review when Nao visited the Matsukawa businesses. The next day he could interview them, and by Monday, Kurosawa would be gone. Then Nao would have a few days after to avoid a Kyoto jail cell.

  Half of the water in the bucket spilled out as Nao jerked down the aisle and stopped in front of his family grave.

  “Shit,” Fujimoto said.

  “Father Murata, we can get someone down here to deal with this,” Kurosawa added.

  In large red characters, “yakuza scum” was painted across the black stone of Nao’s family grave.

  His grip slackened, and the bucket slammed against the ground. The air flew out of him like a punch to the gut. Nao dropped to his knees and snatched the sponge from the water. A few flakes came off as he scrubbed at the paint.

  “What are you doing standing there!” Nao yelled.

  “I’ll go get more buckets.” Ikida ran back down the mountain.

  Nao scraped his nail against the paint, scratching a line against the “ya.”

  It wasn’t enough. The rest of the paint stayed fixed to the stone. He couldn’t go to the police and complain about graffiti. The yakuza caught more people writing on walls than the police ever had.

  Kurosawa squatted beside him and brushed his arm. “Murata, we need more than water to get the paint off.”

  “Is this what they really think of us?” Nao mumbled to himself. “This city hates us because they can’t tell the difference between us and the Korean bastards.”

  “Give the people time, and they’ll forget about the Koreans and remember who we really are.”

  Nao dropped the sponge into the bucket. Water dripped down the stone and slid onto the broken glass around the grave. Nao picked up one of the larger pieces of brown glass. It reeked of beer. They’d not only written on the grave, but they’d thrown bottles at it.

  “This is disgusting,” Nao said.

  Fujimoto gave a reassuring smile. “We’ll get the stone sparkling again.”

  Nao couldn’t really know the men surrounding him. For all he knew, Ikida could’ve ordered another supply of drugs from Taejin with his little conversation in English. Fujimoto could have had the drugs delivered to his ward, which explained why the Koreans had been there. Sakai still hadn’t mentioned the missing key to Miko’s locker.

  Nao could see his father shaking his head in disgrace. He had to be the worst godfather in Matsukawa history.

  Ikida came back with three more bamboo buckets. “I got enough for everyone.”

  “We’ll get this cleaned up.” Fujimoto dipped a sponge into the bucket and scrubbed at the paint.

  They all joined, and after a few minutes of washing, nothing changed. A few more missing flakes but the message was still clear. The citizens had turned their back on the Matsukawa. Nao would have to earn the people’s trust again.

  Nao threw the sponge back into the bucket and walked away. Kurosawa noticed first, and then the others followed. Nao ignored them as they talked about different ways to get the paint off the grave.

  The flower woman outside the grave smiled at Nao; her face looked like dried tea leaves.

  “How much were these again?” Nao asked.

  “Ten thousand yen for a bundle.”

  Nao could win back the city’s people. He could become the godfather the Matsukawa needed.

  “I want them all.” Nao pulled out his wallet.

  “All of them?”

  “You got… how many? Fifty bundles? So half a million for them all.”

  He counted off the notes, but the other three shoved their money out first. Nao glanced at the woman; tears swelled in her eyes. Her tears were the first gesture of kindness any of the citizens had shown him. Nao finished counting his own money and handed it to the woman. He smiled and grasped her hand.

  “Instead of selling them today, I want you to give them out to anyone who passes by,” Nao said.

  “Give them away?”

  With all the commotion, a few people were gathered nearby. Nao plucked one of the bundles and approached a woman with her daughter.

  Nao squatted down to the girl’s level. “Are you visiting someone at the graves?”

  She nodded. “My daddy.”

  “I visited my father today, too. Here, these are for you.” Nao handed the flowers to the girl. “They’re a gift from the Matsukawa. Thank you for being part of Kyoto.”

  Warmth spread through Nao’s chest at the girl’s smile.

  He strolled back to the cart. Ikida grabbed a bouquet and gave it to a passing man, saying the same words Nao did.

  “Can you hand out the flowers like we did when we’re gone?” Nao asked.

  “Yes, of course.”

  “You promise? Just hand them out; not a single flower gets sold for the rest of the day.”

  “I promise.”

  Nao turned to Kurosawa. “Call the ward leaders up. I want each one to run a trash pickup tonight. Make sure everyone wears their crest pins so the people know we’re there for them.”

  “I’ll get on it now.”

  “You call while Fujimoto drives. I have some paperwork to look over.”

  THE DEEP-THROATED GROANS and half gasp intoxicated Nao. All he needed to do was pull Aki in
to a room with a dirty quip loud enough for Kurosawa to hear, and Aki would let out a moan that would go straight to Nao’s cock.

  He leaned closer even though he knew it was wrong. He shouldn’t give Aki the wrong idea about their relationship, but the whole act of pretending they were screwing into the night gave the wrong idea.

  Kohta had sent a text saying that he’d found a drug dealer, which left Nao with no other choice than to pull Aki into the nearest first-floor room. Between pleas for more, Aki’s breath tickled Nao’s ear. He could swim in Aki’s eyes all night and not tire of them.

  “Scream like you want it,” Nao said.

  “Murata, please. Hmm…”

  Aki tilted his head back against the wall, exposing his neck. Nao held his breath at the sight of the white flesh. Couldn’t Aki fake-moan without turning him on?

  “More,” Nao whispered in his ear.

  Aki Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. Nao looked away, knowing better than to stare, but his hands acted on their own. The rough cotton of Aki’s jumpsuit scratched against Nao’s fingers as he trailed his arm over Aki’s. Nao caressed Aki’s speckled hand, and his fingers slid up the sleeve. Nao pressed against him, centering the heat of Aki’s erection against his leg. Aki’s moans weren’t fake, and Nao had barely touched him. His stomach spun like the turntable at lunch.

  Everything he was doing with Aki was wrong.

  Nao’s fingers slipped out from inside Aki’s sleeve. A lingering desire to return to Aki’s skin crept into the silence between moans, but Nao needed to quell all the wanting desire in Aki.

  Nao reached down and cupped Aki through the fabric of the jumpsuit. For only being half-hard, it was still a good size, and it began to swell more underneath Nao’s hand.

  “This—” Nao’s gaze fell down to Aki’s crotch, then popped back up to meet Aki’s almond-colored eyes. “—is highly inappropriate.”

  A flush crept across Aki’s cheeks, and he swallowed. “I humbly apologize. I—”

  Nao pulled his hand away, but the heat radiating off Aki’s body still warmed him.

  “This act is so I can leave, nothing more,” Nao whispered.

  “I understand.”