Tokyo Kill

by Barry Lancet

  “Yes, I did, but kendo is useless against men with knives and meat cleavers when you have no weapon at hand. Look where it got Yoji.”

  “I studied kendo and judo.”

  Twice as hard.

  “You didn’t mention judo.”

  “There is no law that says I must tell you everything about myself. But I am a police officer.”

  “How could I know about the judo?” I said, purposely ignoring the “police officer” bit. It hadn’t helped Hamada.

  “How do you think this is going to look?”

  “Like you rescued Jenny?” I said lamely.

  Her eyes flared. “They’ll say a civilian couldn’t rely on me in a confrontation. I’ll be a laughingstock. There’s going to be horrible nicknames. ‘Take-a-dive Hoshino.’ ‘Wet-behind-the-ears Hoshino.’ It’ll be endless.”

  “I put myself on the firing line.”

  “Because you had no confidence in me.”

  I looked skyward in frustration. Problem was, Rie was right about the fallout. But I’d opted for what I believed was the safest solution in the few seconds I’d had. We were both right and, in our insistence, both wrong.

  “It’s not that,” I said. “I’m a parent. My daughter comes first. Before me and before you. I’m sorry, but that’s the way it is. It was an on-the-spot decision. I thought it the best way to salvage the situation with the least amount of danger to both of you.”

  “So, again, in your eyes I was of no use. Did it even occur to you that I could help you hold them off? That two would be better than one against their number?”

  This only got worse.

  “Yes. That’s what I’m trying to tell you. But it gave me less flexibility. There were three of them. In a face-off that would have left one man free to grab Jenny and then use her as leverage against us. I would never expose my daughter to that kind of danger. Even if it meant bruising your ego.”

  Rie deflated. “It’s not my ego you punctured. It’s my livelihood. But no matter. My career’s over.”

  She looked at Jenny, then me. Then she shrugged. She saw the inevitability of a parent’s reaction even if she wasn’t one herself.

  “Why?” Jenny asked. “You saved me from the river.”

  Rie brought herself under control. “No, Jenny-chan, you did that all by yourself. The problem is hard to explain. It’s like kids teasing you in school. As soon as the first cop on the scene realizes I’m a police officer, I’m dead. By tomorrow, the word will have spread.”

  Then she told me how she’d called in the incident herself once she found me again. It was only a matter of moments before the police arrived, and with them her ruin.

  An idea occurred to me. “Walk away,” I said.

  “What?”

  “Walk away.”

  “I can’t do that. I have responsi—”

  “Yes, you do. To yourself first, then your family, then the MPD. In that order. So leave us.”

  “I can’t—”

  “You can and you should. Go now. While there’s still time.”

  I looked around. I saw two squad cars about half a mile away, coming fast along the access road, lights flashing, sirens silent. Farther back, on the river, a patrol boat motored toward us. Too bad the speedboat was long gone.

  “But people know I know you.”

  “Across town in Shibuya and Shinjuku. Not here.”

  “But if they make the connection—”

  “—then we can worry about it.”

  Rie hesitated, torn between duty and self-preservation. “I have to explain things.”

  “No you don’t. I’m capable of handling the police.”

  “But when they ask for me, you’ll—”

  “—I know nothing about you. You happened to be out sightseeing or shopping on your day off, so you called it in. Clean yourself up and come back if you want, but they’ll only want you as a witness later since you were off-duty. Am I wrong?”

  “I’m not sure, but—”

  “—I’ll say there was a woman with us but she left. I’ll say she was Japanese-American, with an American passport, and didn’t want to get involved. They’ll never know. Even if they bother to look into the fake name I’ll give them, it won’t lead to you. I’ll just refuse to give them the woman’s real identity because she doesn’t wish to get involved. End of story.”

  Jenny started to speak. I gave her a swift look that said this was not the kind of lying we always discussed, and I’d explain later.

  “But—” Rie said.

  “Go. Hurry. There’s no other way.”

  Rie opened her mouth to speak, paused, closed it, and nodded glumly. “You should have trusted me, Brodie” was all she said before she turned her back on us and walked off. At the end of the bridge, she melted into the crowd, returning twenty-five minutes later dried and groomed and wearing a different blouse and pants, no doubt procured from one of the many shops a few blocks over.

  In the interim, the police had arrived. Six squad cars and fifteen policemen had gathered, many of the cops arriving on bicycle, a common practice in Tokyo. The tally was courtesy of my very attentive daughter.

  Rie identified herself. After the officer-in-charge took down her name and badge number, he passed her off to an underling, who listened to her report with growing disinterest. At the conclusion, both men mumbled perfunctory thanks and dismissed her with the usual platitudes about getting in touch should they have any further questions.

  Would my plan work? Maybe.

  In her brief reappearance on the bridge, Rie smiled once at Jenny. She made no eye contact with me.

  When she walked away for the second time, she didn’t look back.

  You should have trusted me, Brodie.

  DAY 6

  BLACK WIND

  CHAPTER 32

  JENNY and I couldn’t go home.

  For us there was only one safe place in all of Tokyo. We slept on a pair of futon in Brodie Security’s back room, with five men on more bedding in the office space between our bunks and the front door.

  Jenny’s radar was up. I could see her wondering if I—her one remaining parent—was in danger. She was nervous and confused. She hadn’t seen the Triads when they boarded the boat. She’d spotted me on top of the ferry, but with buildings and trees interrupting her view from the taxi, she wasn’t entirely clear on the chain of events. Since my falling-out with Rie had unfolded before her eyes, Jenny’s focus hovered around the quarrel on the bridge, an unexpected silver lining. The police interviewed me out of earshot of my daughter, so I was able to smooth Jenny’s ruffled feathers with a white lie about our sleepover at the office and a short exchange about Rie, which ended on a good note.

  “Is she really mad at us, Daddy?” Jenny had asked, her eyes beginning to droop.

  “Only at me.”

  “Can we play with her another day?”

  “That’s a very good question. Truthfully, I don’t know, but I hope so.”

  “I still love you, Daddy.”

  “And I you. Are you sure you’re okay with all that happened today?”

  “Oh, yes. I’ll tell you why later, okay? I’m sleepy now.”

  Jenny had always been like that. She either announced she was going to bed or simply trundled off into her room without a word.

  I said another time was okay, speculating on what “later” would bring, and my daughter was asleep the next instant. If only Rie would come around so easily.

  * * *

  At 7:04 a.m., Jenny and I headed for the airport.

  Under the pretext of getting her back in time for school while I was stranded in Tokyo for business, I put my daughter on the first plane out of Haneda Airport. I wanted her away from Japan fast. The flight flew to Singapore, where, after a two-hour layover, she would board a plane to San Francisco. Two capable Brodie Security operatives would deliver my daughter to Lieutenant Frank Renna of the SFPD, a good friend. Jenny would stay with him and his family until things calmed down on th
ese shores.

  Renna and I had been through this two months ago with Japantown. It was hard to believe that a similar scenario was playing out again.

  Right up until the time she passed through security, Jenny had babbled on alternately about her great swimming test in the Sumida River and her upcoming soccer adventures. Despite her cheerful demeanor—due, in part, to my signing her soccer papers—I wasn’t entirely convinced she’d come through the incident unscathed, so I’d asked Renna and his wife to keep an eye out for any signs of anxiety.

  I left the airport hoping Miura’s case was a domestic affair confined to the Japanese archipelago.

  * * *

  With Jenny safely tucked away, I returned to matters at hand.

  At 9:08, I walked back through the doors of Brodie Security.

  At 9:12, everyone involved in the Miura case gathered in the conference room.

  By 9:21, we had planned our next moves and rallied everyone for in-house damage control, which included procedures for my safety going forward.

  Minutes after we wrapped up, Rie rang with news.

  “I am making this call under protest,” she began. “What you did yesterday was inexcusable.”

  All the warmth of our meeting in the coffeehouse and the first moments on the boat was smothered by a rigid formality. When I tried to jump the chasm, she cut me off:

  “I don’t wish to discuss the ferry incident further. However, after yesterday’s attack, new information is essential for the case, so I am moving forward with your request, which I cleared first with Inspector Kato. Your involvement is acceptable but your role is unofficial. These are conditions you must agree to without question or modification.”

  Jesus. The doghouse to end all doghouses.

  “Are you there, Brodie?”

  I said yes.

  “Do you agree?”

  I said yes again.

  “Good. My home-stay friend came through. We need to go to Yokohama Chinatown.”

  I was impressed. At Brodie Security, we’d dug up nothing but dead ends. We’d found no helpful notes in Hamada’s desk, and the homicide detectives found nothing on his body, which had turned up six hours later at a construction site. When I’d checked in with TNT, the yaki leg breaker had nothing to add. Even Noda had shuffled into the office in defeat.

  So the Chinatown lead was welcome. Especially since C-town was notoriously impenetrable.

  “And?” I said.

  “My friend has found something through the family associations. Do you know what they are?”

  “Yes.”

  Informal family groups function as anchors for resident and incoming Chinese. The loose-knit alliance finds lodging and employment for the newly arrived, supplies low-interest loans for anyone wishing to start their own business, and even arranges funerals. The associations revolve around common family surnames and crossed all social barriers. You have bankers and dishwashers with the same surname, so they all belong. You also have loan sharks and gangs. If you aren’t careful, a harmless inquiry could bring the Triads or Tongs to your front door. In this case that could be ruinous.

  “Did you get guarantees?”

  “Of course.”

  “Do they know of the possible Triad involvement?”

  “What do you take me for?”

  Right. I retreated to the procedural. “So what’s the next step?”

  “My friend’s name is Danny Chang. He said there’s an old Chinese activist from the mainland we should talk to.”

  Few people today are aware that Yokohama Chinatown had harbored Chinese rebels in the past, and some famous ones at that. Chiang Kai-shek, aka Jiang Jieshi, a leader of the Nationalists in China and later their ruler-in-exile in Taiwan, had used Yokohama as his base at one time. As did his mentor, Sun Yat-sen, or Sun Yixian. You could pick up a lot when you rooted around in Asian history, but Rie’s lead was still a long shot.

  I said, “Why did he think an old rebel could help?”

  “Because he’s one of the most respected members of the Chang family association.”

  “And you trust your friend with this?”

  “Yes. But go carefully. With Chinese, there are always others. I know nothing about them.”

  * * *

  When I punched in the telephone number Rie had supplied, I was greeted with a series of tonal shifts. The signal sounded like it was being rerouted over ancient landlines rather than flying between cell towers, meaning the path would be that much harder to trace. I counted five pitch changes.

  “Yeah, what want?” a voice finally said in choppy Japanese.

  “Danny Chang sent me.”

  “You man named Brodie?”

  “Yes.”

  “You want ask about home invasions?”

  “And the others. Yes.”

  “Why you want know?”

  “Because the victims were friends of my client. I think the killings have a connection to a murder in Kabukicho, but I don’t know what it is. Or why they are doing what they are doing. Or who.”

  “What kind friends?”

  “I can’t say.”

  “Good-bye, Mr. Brodie-san.”

  “Wait. What do you need?”

  “What friends?”

  Right. Again, I had my client’s confidentiality to consider. This time weighed against our lack of progress. Would this lead anywhere? Hard to know. It continued to feel like a long shot, but on the other hand, it was a Chinese connection.

  “Old army friends,” I said. “From World War Two.”

  “Hold.”

  A hand covered the mouthpiece on his end, and I waited out a muffled conversation of staccato questions and answers in a rhythm that was not Japanese.

  The voice came back on. “Why you find these killings?”

  Single-minded fellow. No thank-you for waiting, no apology, just rapid-fire questions.

  “Hello? Why you find these killings?”

  “I went to Kabukicho and noticed the similarities. Yesterday, one of my friends was killed. His head arrived at my office by messenger with my picture nailed to his forehead. Minutes later some men with meat axes attacked me on a ferry.”

  There was another huddle behind the shielded receiver. “Okay. Maybe we help you. I introduce you my uncle.”

  “Good.”

  “Rie come, you come. That’s all. No more others. Nobody follow, nobody watch. If others come, we kill them, we kill you.”

  “Maybe Rie should stay behind.”

  “We kill just you. Rie friend to us.”

  “She’s a friend to me.”

  “Maybe she not always choose friends wisely.”

  Now there’s something Rie would agree to. Doing so in front of these guys could get me slaughtered.

  I said, “She chose Danny Chang.”

  “No funny funny. No follow. We kill.”

  “Okay. Tell me where.”

  “You know Chinatown?”

  “Not well.”

  “Okay. You go Sakuragicho Station and jump taxi. You tell driver Silver Dragon Restaurant and pass through Good Neighbor Gate. That Zenrin Mon in Japanese. Maybe driver no want do because always crowded, but you pay extra him. We watching.”

  “Fine. Then what?”

  “You go restaurant three o’clock. You tell name Hozumi Higuchi. You order Full Lucky Dragon Course. They bring tea. You sip three times. Both you sip three times. You spill tea and say, ‘Oh my pant ruined.’ That final signal. Then you wait. Do not change way of doing instruction. Do not do clever anything. Okay?”

  “On my pants? I’ll dress down. No designer.”

  “What?”

  “Never mind.”

  “I say no funny funny. We kill. Kill easy as make funny funny, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  The line went dead.

  I did not like the guys we were hunting and I’d developed an immediate dislike for the Chinatown guys, too, even if Rie could vouch for them.

  I called the resourceful l
ady herself and told her we had a date with a man who threatened four times to kill me. She was thrilled.

  CHAPTER 33

  NODA didn’t like the arrangements any more than I did.

  “What do you know about Chinatown?” I asked.

  “Old school, new school.”

  “Which are what?”

  “Old is gambling, prostitution, extortion, illegals, drugs, fake Guccis, turf wars with machetes.”

  Some of that I knew. In Chinatown, feuds flared and faded with each wave of immigrants wanting to stake out territory. New blood fought old, region fought region. Gangs from Shanghai, Fujian, Beijing, Hong Kong, Taiwan, and places deeper in the Chinese mainland few of us had heard of gave the public periodic bodies and lurid headlines.

  “And new?”

  “Hacking, credit cards, identity theft, software piracy.”

  “Guns?”

  “Not for public consumption. Police don’t like to be shot at.”

  Japan, like Britain, had a strict no-gun law and enforced it rigorously. What Noda meant was that if too many bullet-riddled bodies surfaced, the police would tear Chinatown apart brick by brick, disrupting all operations, legal and otherwise. Everyone would suffer.

  “So, besides all the legit people in the family association, we’ll have some boys flying under the radar. The guys I talked to are cautious. If they’ve seen even half of what we have, that’s exactly how they should be. So, maybe this is not a goose chase.”

  “Still don’t like it. Chinese can be tricky.”

  “We don’t have much choice.”

  Noda scowled. “A ninety-eight-year-old virgin has more options.”

  * * *

  Noda drove us as far as Sakuragicho Station, grumbling most of the way.

  With Inspector Kato’s blessing, we swung by and picked up Rie at Shibuya HQ, then dropped down to Ebisu and caught the Shuto Expressway No. 3 heading south. When we hit the onetime swampy wetlands of Shinagawa, we cut over to the Shuto No. 2 exchange and scooted along the shore toward Yokohama.

  Rie sat beside me in the backseat. Over her shoulder the waters of Tokyo Bay sparkled. Up ahead, the chemical plants of Kawasaki spewed yellow-gray fumes.