“It’s different in a number of ways. First, this is the first time he—I’m just assuming the killer is male because they often are—has left such a mess at the scene. Usually there’s a lot less blood and gore.”
“Maybe he was interrupted,” Mei said. “Someone surprised him while he was working on the victim and he had to dispatch them too.”
“Very possible,” Suzuki said. “But there’s another discrepancy worth noting. All of the other bodies were left in highly visible locations where they were sure to be found, as if they were placed for maximum impact. The governor’s photo-op, a Shibuya side street—”
“What about Suga? Where was he found?”
“Down the street from NPA headquarters in a back alley in Shibuya. Pure provocation. The point is, we were meant to find those, as they were left in visible areas to make it easy for us. But this one was left at an abandoned plant, where there was no guarantee of being found, at a crime scene that is much messier than the others he’s left us.”
“Maybe he changed up his MO to throw us off the trail.”
“Could be,” Suzuki said, not looking entirely convinced.
“What are you getting at?” Mei asked.
“What I’m trying to say is, this could be the killer we’re after. Or it could be a copycat killer doing his best to mimic the real killer.”
Mei didn’t reply.
“Anyway, good luck with your case, Detective.”
Chapter Ten
Before there was The Rock, there was just Vasili. A shy, skinny kid who would be totally unrecognizable to the man he would become, even if he saw a photo from his childhood. Not that there were any photos. His mother was never in danger of being able to afford a camera, or any other such luxuries.
Though he couldn’t have known it then, this machine he would build traced its lineage back to the backstreets of the industrial hellscape of Norilsk in northern Russia. It had been in the works ever since he was a young boy who bluffed his way into working as a mechanic at an auto shop. Once there, he cut his fingers to the bone teaching himself to actually be a mechanic.
He spent hours each night tearing apart and rebuilding engines after the shop had closed. He couldn’t ask questions of the other mechanics. Sergei would just swear at him, and Anatoli wouldn’t even bother to answer.
Before long, he knew not just engines, but the entire transmission system, inside and out. He could diagnose problems just by listening, just by feeling the vibration. But while he learned about every part of the car, he specialized in engines. There was something about them. Something about the logic of every piece moving together in sync, meshing in precision timing to produce incredible power.
These skills served him well now that he was overseeing a machine as monstrously complicated and intricately intertwined as the one he had built throughout the city. Or rather, rebuilt. Because the original infrastructure had already been laid by his predecessor, Moto.
Once he was gone, Vasili had taken over his territory, including all the businesses and infrastructure that had been set in place. The machinery he’d inherited worked just fine. But it was a little clunky, a little slow, a little underpowered for Vasili’s tastes.
So he did what he used to do to engines back in the shop. He broke it down and built it back up, only bigger, better, faster, and smoother. Every aspect of the operation was optimized. His machinery had tentacles that stretched throughout both sides of the economy.
He controlled some of the best turf in the city, as his domain stretched from the dockside areas of Minato Ward to Shibuya Ward. This included wealthy residential areas such as Ebisu, Daikanyama, and Harajuku, not to mention nightspots like the area around Shibuya Station and Roppongi. Over time, he had even been able to add Omotesando and Nakameguro to his domain. The markets he served in this territory ran the spectrum from white to black, with plenty of gray areas in between.
For example, his import operations and warehouses could be used to move drugs into Tokyo, which would then be distributed by his dealers through his nightclubs, bars, and restaurants. But suppose one of the weekend-warrior cokeheads or pill-poppers found themselves doing it a little too much, to the point where it cost them their job. Or a minnow got taken at one of the private poker games his people organized, and lost a lot of money trying to swim with the sharks.
No problem—one of Vasili’s payday lending or loan-sharking operations could step in with a loan. The terms weren’t great, but desperate people tended to gloss over this. Especially if they were still feeling a little ragged from the comedown, or needed that money fast.
What if this person had trouble paying back the money? Then another one of Vasili’s businesses, one further down the chain in a darker gray area, would step in and offer a bigger loan at a steeper rate. Just to give them some breathing room from their other creditors. Of course, by this point the person was entirely in Vasili’s pocket, and he could do with them as he pleased.
Maybe he would pass them along to a loan consolidator (that he also owned), who would get them set up on a payment plan to slowly repay the money. Maybe he would just have his people round up or liquidate their assets. Or maybe, if he needed a risky job done by someone expendable, he might offer them a quicker way out. Then he might let it be known that the debt would be wiped clean in exchange for something like pulling a trigger, or torching an establishment.
Vasili never forced anyone to do anything. He just presented people with options and let them decide for themselves.
Another lucrative business for him was protection money paid by the other establishments operating in his territory. In exchange for a consideration, Vasili’s men kept the peace in commercial areas, allowing them to conduct business unmolested. This included everything from chasing off rival gangs to greasing the wheels for them to obtain official licenses and permits faster. This last one was immensely valuable in a country where the wheels of bureaucracy ground slowly, and frequently groaned to a halt over the pettiest of official grievances.
Metrics at every step along the way were thoroughly tracked, recorded, and analyzed to squeeze every possible improvement out of his machine. This vast, sprawling economic engine he had built went a long way towards powering the larger organization into which it was plugged, the Kaisha. And while the other bosses might envy his achievements—even hate him for them in some cases—they all benefited from them too.
His legal operations were all on the books and aboveboard, no problems there. They even paid taxes. For his other dealings in the gray to black markets, his organization consisted of four lieutenants with their own crews that handled different matters. Below these crews were a host of independent freelancers working for themselves who were sometimes recruited for jobs on a temporary basis.
Added to this were the Twins, Kameko and Jun, his personal assistants, drivers, bodyguards, enforcers, or whatever else the occasion called for. Every boss in the organization was free to run their operation as they saw fit, so long as the money kept coming in to the lieutenants to funnel up to the bosses to give to the shacho at the top. He was always among the top earners within the syndicate.
Now, as he sat at the bar outside his office at the club, Vasili couldn’t help but feel like he was under siege. While he sipped a vodka rocks and skimmed through several newspapers, he had a feeling that was almost claustrophobic. As if the city was closing in around him. First there was the matter with Arekusuandaa going behind his back and trying to sell to that undercover. And for what? Vasili had always treated him well. But more so than the breach of trust was the way it left him exposed, forcing him to scramble to plug the leak his engine had sprung.
Now there was the act of sabotage with his shipments. He couldn’t imagine anyone from the fishing crew or the divers being behind it. No, he suspected the work of one of the rival gangs to the group on the mainland that supplied his drugs. He would have to look into this later, after his afternoon office hours.
Then, of course, the
most dangerous time bomb out there was Masa. If someone were to pull on that loose end hard enough, it could potentially unravel everything. All Vasili’s attempts to locate him had failed, and he had no idea if Masa had revealed what he knew or not. But even beyond that, the entire situation infuriated him because it was his own fuckup to begin with that had lit the fuse. He never should have trusted a mad dog like Masa with something so important.
But then, he had been in tighter spots than this. He knew how to weather sieges, how to hunker down, bide his time, and strike back when necessary. Vasili would keep the machine running. It was what he did.
“You ready?” Kameko asked, striding into the empty bar area. “Hikaru and Tengu are here for your first sit-down today.”
Vasili nodded. The day was just beginning.
Chapter Eleven
“Alright, gentlemen,” Vasili said, clapping his meaty hands together and rubbing them vigorously. “Hand me the baby, hand me the cleaver, and let’s get down to business, shall we?”
“What?” Hikaru asked.
“Nothing. What seems to be the trouble, then?”
Both Hikaru and Tengu took that as their cue to begin loudly making their cases. As they talked over one another, Vasili began banging one of his hands on the countertop of the bar, gradually increasing the intensity and volume until they shut up.
Before taking the Path, Hikaru had been a gigolo at a host club in a former life. He had traded in his nights of flirting with lonely women for working under Vasili. But for some reason, he had kept the feathered and coiffed hair (dyed blond, naturally), spray-tanned skin, cheap, jangly accessories, and oversized sunglasses that were the trademark host look. Personally, Vasili only excused the snakeskin boots and white shirt unbuttoned halfway down his chest because the man could move a ton of product. Having connections in host, hostess, strip, and dance clubs throughout the city had certainly come in handy for the guy. It was the only reason this clown was now one of his top lieutenants.
“Okay, let us try again. Tengu, you called for sit-down, so why don’t you start?”
“Gladly,” Tengu said. “I demand restitution.”
“Blood or money?” Vasili asked.
“Both.”
“For what crime?”
“Some of Hikaru’s men killed—”
“Hold up! They’re not my men, they—”
Vasili held up both hands to quiet Hikaru. “Tengu, continue.”
“One of my guys and one of the Yamazaki guys were driving through Gunma with a supply of GHB capsules when—”
“Why was one of their guys there?”
“We’ve been running deliveries with one of ours and one of theirs. As a sign of trust, like.”
“Okay, smart. And how many pills are we talking?”
“Two kilograms,” Tengu said.
“So what is that? About a hundred and twenty thousand capsules?”
“About that, yeah. Anyway, from what I’ve been able to figure out, they were stopped by two cops in Gunma who killed them and took their gear. Which, I found out later, made its way into Hikaru’s hands. He sold it and pocketed the money.”
“Is this true?” Vasili asked, turning to Hikaru.
“Fuck no,” Hikaru said. “And I’ll tell you why. First of all, they’re not my guys. One of them is my cousin, but he didn’t do this on intel from me. He and his buddy were … freelancing, you could say. He brought the stuff to me to move because he knows me. But that’s the extent of my involvement.”
Vasili nodded. He didn’t like how any of this sounded so far. He turned back to Tengu.
“So, what sort of restitution are you seeking?”
“I want three hundred million yen for the product. And I want the shooters.”
Hikaru started to protest, but Vasili silenced him with a wave of his hand.
“Blood and money,” Vasili said, rubbing his chin. “That is tall order. Hikaru? Your response?”
“The product was barely worth that retail. I’ll clear about one hundred million after it’s sold off, so I feel like I should get a cut for my effort. But I’m willing to let that slide in exchange for my cousin’s life. You can have the other guy, but I can’t do Takemi like that. He’s family.”
“Well, there are other factors at play that must be considered,” Vasili said. “Like how we profited off death of one of Yamazaki-gumi’s guys. Do they know about this?”
“They know the delivery went wrong,” Tengu said. “They don’t know it was one of ours.”
“It’s not one of ours!” Hikaru growled.
“Enough!” Vasili said.
He steepled his hands in front of his face as he leaned forward from behind the bar.
“Alright. Hikaru, you pay Tengu what he asked for.”
Hikaru started to protest, but Vasili cut him off. “With a haul of one hundred and twenty thousand pills that retail for anywhere from three thousand to thirty-five hundred yen, you should be able to clear three hundred million yen easy, even with bulk discounts for your suppliers. If you don’t clear that, consider the difference your tax for being stupid.”
Hikaru gritted his teeth, but didn’t say anything.
“As for your cousin and his associate, they go to Yamazaki-gumi.”
“What? But they don’t even know yet—”
“But they will. And when word gets back to them that the triggermen were associated with us, however loosely, price in blood will go up. By a lot.”
“So why not just give them to me?” Tengu said. “I owe them for my man. He was a friend of mine.”
Vasili shook his head. “No, they are owed this, and will expect nothing less. If this were internal matter, that would change things. But there’s peace between the organizations to consider. And besides, Hikaru, no offense to your cousin—I’m sure he is great guy—but he sounds like liability.”
Hikaru was starting to look frantic. “But if you give him over, they’re going to—”
“Look, I will talk to Michio myself,” Vasili said, referring to one of the higher-ranking members of the Yamazaki-gumi. “I’ll explain situation, ask forgiveness. Maybe put in good word for your cousin. If nothing else, I will ask for quick death.”
“And if they don’t agree?” Hikaru asked.
Vasili shrugged. “That is their right.”
This launched both Tengu and Hikaru into howls of protest, but Vasili noticed that Kameko had sidled up close to him.
“We need to leave in three minutes if you want to make your next appointment,” she said, tapping her watch.
Vasili nodded and turned back to his lieutenants, before loudly clapping his hands. “Alright, gentlemen, I really must be going. Ride down with me.”
They all rode the elevator down largely in silence. The two lieutenants were both unhappy with the outcome but knew better than to argue. Vasili, for his part, didn’t feel great about it, but that came with the territory. Whenever possible, he tried to render a wise decision by finding the middle ground that would please everyone (or else leave everyone only slightly unhappy). But sometimes all you could do was split the baby and hope for the best.
When they stepped outside, Jun already had the car waiting for them.
“Alright, this is where I leave you,” Vasili said, bowing shallowly to each of them and turning towards his car. A hand grabbed his shoulder, and he turned to see Hikaru looking at him intently.
“I know you’ve made your decision, but I’m asking you one last time: please don’t do this. He’s my cousin. He’s young and stupid, don’t make him pay with his life.”
Vasili regarded him coolly for a moment, then reached up to remove the hand from his shoulder.
“Young and stupid are not excuses, they are weaknesses, liabilities. This is only way to please the Yamazaki-gumi. But if that was not necessary, I’d probably give him to Tengu.”
He got in the car door that Kameko had opened for him. Only as the door was closing did he remember to add, “Sorry for y
our losses,” to the men standing on the curb.
“These stupid fucking guys,” Vasili said once they were in motion. “What a fucking waste, all because they couldn’t make a few phone calls before pulling a job.”
Chapter Twelve
When Satoshi awoke the next evening, he could barely move the arm he had paddled to shore with. In fact, his entire body ached from the swim. Hisoka was gone; she had work tonight. Satoshi lay there in bed for a few minutes, not wanting to get up, but knowing he had to eventually. He had work to do.
First he chewed up some aspirin and washed it down with a slug of cheap Suntory whiskey to try to take the edge off of the throbbing pain in his back and shoulder. He quickly dressed, throwing on his spare respirator and Demron overcoat, then set off into the night through the streets of Shibuya. It was drizzling lightly, which helped to cool the evening down a bit. Though it was still hot and muggy behind his respirator and face mask and under his heavy radiation-shielding Demron coat.
They weighed about ten to fifteen pounds per jacket, which was a good deal of weight to be constantly shouldering. They had become all the rage since the ghost of the Fukushima Daiichi reactor had caught fire and begun burning, pumping out unknowable quantities of radiation. Radiation that would reach Tokyo when the winds were right. Now with the fog you never could tell if the air you were breathing was just full of particulate matter that would rip your throat and lungs to pieces, or dosed with enough radiation to give birth to a cancer in you.
He walked down the hill from the Aoyama area where they lived, passed under the tracks of the Yamanote Line and came out into Shibuya Crossing, right by the Hachiko Entrance. The sight always overwhelmed him.
Not just for the hundreds of people always milling about by the Hachiko statue or moving through the enormous intersection, but also because this part of the city was lit up brighter at night than it was in daytime, a result of the neon arms race waged on the buildings fronting the intersection. The massive advertising billboards aimed at the crossing now had to compete with several small blimps that constantly circled overhead. Ads blared from video billboards mounted on the blimps, just adding to the sensory overload.
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