“What kind of job?”
“Didn’t ask.”
“You didn’t ask what your own guy was up to?”
Kozu shrugged. “Sometimes it’s better not to ask too many questions. Because you might just get an answer.”
“Plausible deniability, in other words,” Mei said.
“Yeah, whatever that means,” Kozu said.
“It means staying ignorant so you can’t be held accountable.”
“I see. We just call it ‘minding your own fucking business.’”
Kato pounded on the door so hard that it shook in its frame. When there was no response, he pounded again. He was in an unenclosed hall on the third floor of a dingy apartment building. The open design would have been nice if there was anything besides dust and fog to see outside. Kato pounded on the door even harder.
Finally he could hear motion inside, and a strung-out mess of a man answered the door. Even the dim light of the cloudy afternoon was too much for his eyes, which he shielded with one hand. His other hand scratched at his sagging underwear.
“I’m Detective Kato with the Shibuya Police Department. Are you Hajime Ozu?”
The man nodded.
“Could I ask you a few questions?”
“About what?”
“We’re looking for a man named Masahiro Shiku.”
Ozu glanced back inside his darkened hovel, then back at Kato. “I don’t know, haven’t seen him for a while.”
“Someone back there?”
“Just my dog.”
“So you haven’t seen him?”
“Not lately.”
“But you know why we’re after him, don’t you?”
“That murder, I imagine.”
“Which one would that be, exactly?”
Masa hadn’t officially been named as a suspect. Ozu’s eyes went wide as he realized his mistake.
“I don’t know, there’s always someone getting killed. Wouldn’t surprise me if Masa was the one that did it. Look, I gotta go, I don’t know anything about this.”
Ozu tried to close the door, but Kato wedged an arm inside.
“Look, Princess, I’m going to ask my questions one way or another. Makes no difference to me whether it’s here now with your scrawny ass hanging out, or in an interrogation room where you’re picking your teeth up off the floor. Your choice.”
“Come on, man,” Ozu said with a wince. Kato didn’t blink. “Alright, give me a minute.”
He went back inside and emerged a minute later wearing greasy jeans, beach thongs, and a plastic jacket. Once out on the open-air landing, he lit a cigarette and offered one to Kato. Kato just crumpled up the pack and tossed it at his feet.
“Masahiro. Where do I find him?”
“I dunno, man. I haven’t seen him.”
“You aren’t in touch with him?”
“No, not for some time. I don’t walk the Path anymore. I’m clean now.”
Kato doubted that very much. Ozu’s dilated pupils and bloodshot eyes told Kato that the man was most likely a speed freak or tweaker of some sort.
“If you don’t know where he is, who does?”
“I don’t know. Like I said, I’m off the Path. That’s all behind me.”
“That so? Because it’s not exactly cold out, but you’re sweating and fidgeting a lot. Which tells me you’re either lying or tweaking.”
“No, I’m not!” Ozu insisted, putting his hands down by his sides. He started shaking. “It’s been weeks, months since I last saw him!”
“Are you lying to me? Because we can handle this at the station.”
“Look, man, I don’t want any trouble. I’m trying to go straight.”
“You want to go straight? Maybe leave the powder alone.”
“Yeah, no shit, man. I’m trying.”
Kato gave him one last, long stare. Then he took out a business card and placed it in the man’s pocket. He gave him a pat on the cheek.
“If you hear anything …”
“I’ll let you know.”
“Good. We’ll be in touch.”
“Well, he seems like a real charmer,” Mei said.
They were out on the sidewalk watching Kozu stalk away down the crowded sidewalk. The gloomy early-evening sky was causing neon signs and other lights to pop on throughout the city.
“That guy? I thought he was an asshole.” Ina didn’t seem big on subtext.
“Right,” Mei said, checking her phone. “Hang on.”
She’d missed a call from Watanabe, so she called back.
“Anything?” Ina asked when she hung up.
“He talked to Kazuhiko’s sister, who put him in touch with one of his drinking buddies. Asked if we’d meet them.”
“Let’s do it.”
“Okay. Place in Kabukicho called the Top Hat.”
“Sounds fancy.”
“In Kabukicho? Don’t get your hopes up.”
A half-hour drive over to the Shinjuku area brought them to one of the seedier shitholes Mei had ever been to. It was nestled in the heart of Kabukicho along a main thoroughfare, with an alleyway next to it. The entire area was named for a kabuki theater that had never actually been built. Meaning that Kabukicho wasn’t just figuratively, but also literally, built on broken promises.
It featured rows of dive bars, pink clubs, adult shops, and dance clubs, and more all crammed down narrow alleys bathed in megawatts of neon that lit up the night. It couldn’t have been more than a quarter square mile, but it ate up one-third of the Tokyo PD Vice Department’s budget. Mei tried to give it a wide berth when she could. Visiting the area made her feel grimy down to the bone.
The interior of the bar was dark, probably to hide the dirt. The only illumination aside from a few bulbs behind the bar came from a solitary string of Christmas lights strung along the wall and an ancient television in the corner.
Watanabe was sitting in a corner booth with a scrawny middle-aged man who looked like he had been prematurely aged by drink and cigarettes.
“You want a drink, Ina? I’m buying.”
“Just a coke. Not much of a drinker.”
She got his coke and a beer for herself, then settled in next to Watanabe. He seemed to be red-faced and in better spirits than usual. She figured it must have something to do with the nearly empty bottle of shochu next to him. From the looks of it, Watanabe was trading war stories with the guy.
“Ichiro the Strangler?”
The guy shook his head.
“What? I can’t believe you’ve never heard of him. You know the story, right?” he said to Mei.
She nodded. The Strangler was famous in cop lore.
“Ichiro the Strangler,” Watanabe continued, “was a vicious killer who like to strangle people. Not just enemies, either. Guy would kill just about anyone that looked at him wrong. Almost killed an undercover cop, but she was able to shoot him and get him into custody. He offed three people his first month in jail before a cellmate murdered him in self-defense.”
Mei cleared her throat.
“Oh, hey, this is Detective Kimura and Detective Ina,” Watanabe said, remembering himself. “This is Hisamatsu. He’s a friend of the recently departed.”
At that, Hisamatsu held his head in sadness and lifted up his empty shochu cup, which Watanabe filled. He clinked the bottle against Hisamatsu’s glass and finished the rest of the liquor straight from it before waving it in the bartender’s direction.
“It’s early, Detective Watanabe. You’re still on the clock, aren’t you?” Mei asked.
“Of course! Just putting our witness at ease.”
Mei turned to face the man, who grinned drunkenly. “A pleasure. I’m told you were a friend of Kazuhiko. We’d like to ask you a few questions.”
Hisamatsu nodded, looking solemn again.
“Were you with your friend the night of his murder?”
“No.”
“When was the last time you saw him alive?”
“A few nights ago. We
tied one on pretty good.”
“Where? Here?”
“Yeah. Don’t remember how the night ended, now that I think about it. Probably with us getting kicked out.”
“That happen a lot to you two?”
Hisamatsu gave another sly, drunken grin. Mei saw Ina look away in disgust.
“And did Kazuhiko have any enemies?”
“His liver.”
Mei sighed. They weren’t going to get anywhere with this guy.
“What was he doing at Club Hyperion?” Watanabe asked. “Doesn’t seem like his kind of place.”
“Yeah, he’s more a progressive house kind of guy.”
“Look, asshole, your friend is dead. We’re the only ones trying to catch the killer. So maybe you could help us out.”
At that Hisamatsu’s face caved, and he began sniffling, then weeping openly.
“I know! Oh God, I know! I’m sorry! I know it’s not right, but I can’t help it when I drink.”
“Then help us find who did this. What was your friend doing at that club?”
“I don’t know. He’s never been clubbing before. He never even mentioned it.”
“Does he have any relation to Vasili Loginovski?”
“Who?”
“The owner of the club. The night your friend was murdered, he had an altercation with Vasili that was caught by the club’s cameras. He seemed to pick him out of the crowd and go right to him. Any connection?”
The drunk sniffled, then shook his head. “Never heard him mention the guy. He didn’t much care for foreigners, though. Said they’re ruining Japan, taking all the good jobs.”
“Alright, thank you, sir,” Mei said. “You’ve been more than helpful.”
Ina stood up to let him out. Hisamatsu smiled a lopsided grin, but didn’t move.
“We’d like to talk amongst ourselves now.”
“How about one more drink? I’ve got some great stories—”
“Maybe another time, sir.”
“How about—”
With a snort of derision, Ina leaned over and lifted the man out of his seat, setting him down next to him. The drunken imp squirmed and fidgeted but was no match for Ina physically.
“Fine! Assholes! I’m taking this with me!” he said, snatching the fresh bottle of shochu and heading towards the bar.
“I was still working on that,” Watanabe moaned.
“So where does that leave us?” Mei asked aloud to Ina and Watanabe. “This guy goes clubbing for the first time, gets drunk, and picks a fight with the first foreigner he sees. And that person just so happens to be The Rock? I don’t buy it. He must have some connection to Vasili.”
“Maybe someone put him up to it?” Watanabe said. “Like, maybe they’re trying to frame Vasili by pointing the bodies in his direction.”
That comment gave Mei pause. Was it a coincidence that he had leapt to the same conclusion Vasili had tried feeding her before? She was starting to wonder if Vasili had other plants on her team. It would make solving the case that much more difficult if he was monitoring her directly.
Ina shook his head. “No. We’ve got the blood of one of Vasili’s accomplices at the scene of a murder, in which one of his associates was killed. Another murder that happened in or near one of his establishments. The first victim was implicated in organized crime and could possibly have had some connection to Vasili. Can’t all be coincidence. Seems like a pattern.”
“One that leads back to Vasili,” Mei said.
Ina nodded. Watanabe shrugged.
“I want an APB put out for Masahiro Shiku. He seems to be our best bet right now.”
“I’ll get on it,” Ina said.
When they left a few minutes later, Hisamatsu was sitting alone at the bar. The bottle of shochu was nearly empty, fat tears tracing lines down his red, puffy face.
Chapter Nine
When Vasili looked into Ai Kikugawa’s blackened eyes, he saw nothing but anger and defiance. The actress had a bruised face and a swollen lip frozen in a sneer.
They were seated in the offices of VL Starpower, the talent agency he owned that represented her. After exchanging clipped greetings, Ai removed the jacket she was wearing to reveal a deep purple bruise on one shoulder and yellow grip marks up both arms.
“I want to start by saying how sorry I am for this unfortunate incident,” Vasili began.
“I’m sorry too. Sorry I ever met that asshole Chobei.”
“I hope it didn’t affect your show.” Vasili was referring to the period drama she was currently filming.
“They wrote it into the story. My noble samurai husband suspected me of cheating, so he beat me until I told the truth. But the writers put a happy ending on it. My husband finally accepted my apology for giving him reason to doubt me.”
“I see, I’m very sorry for—”
“So not only did I get slapped around by my actual boyfriend, but I also had to reenact the entire thing for the show in front of the whole crew.”
“That must have been difficult.”
“Well, at least it was easy to cry. I usually have problems calling up tears on the spot, but this time it was a breeze. I just thought about what the gossip sheets were writing about me.”
“I hate to keep dwelling on this matter. But I wanted to ask how you plan to respond.”
“I already have responded. I filed a police report and plan to press charges for battery.”
“Alright. Perhaps you would consider dropping the charges, maybe as a personal favor to me?”
Ai leaned back in her chair and regarded Vasili coolly.
“Yup, here it is. I figured that the great Vasili Loginovski wasn’t here to take an interest in my career. Or my well-being.”
“Chobei is … a business associate of mine. I take no pleasure in asking you this, but still I must ask.”
“And this?” she said, motioning towards her bruised face. “Is this how you do business?”
Vasili chewed his lip. “It’s not how I do business.”
“And yet here you are, telling me not to press charges.”
“There are other factors to consider.”
“Like what? Protecting that piece of shit from consequences?”
Vasili smiled ruefully, then nodded. “Yes. Exactly. Unfortunately.”
She didn’t say anything. Vasili pressed on.
“These samurai period pieces, lots of killing, right? Characters dying off all the time, right? Who knows? Maybe it’ll be revealed that your character was cheating, and your noble husband takes your head off. Certainly ups the drama.”
“I’m a fan favorite,” Ai said in measured tones. “I’m one of the show headliners.”
“Yes, but sometimes bad things happen to good people. Even if they don’t deserve it. After all, the show must go on.”
Ai looked like she was trying not to cry. She swallowed hard and then nodded.
“Do we understand one another?” Vasili asked.
She nodded. “The show must go on. Are we done here now?”
“Yes. Thank you for your cooperation. And again, my apologies.”
Ai grabbed her jacket and stood up to go. At the door, she stopped and turned around.
“You know, it would have been nice if you came bearing a carrot instead of just more sticks. Considering I’ve already been beaten.”
After his meeting with Ai in the morning, Vasili returned to the club for the rest of the day’s business. He was sitting at the bar outside his office, trying to wash the bad taste out of his mouth with a vodka on the rocks, when Chieko walked in. She was accompanied by a man Vasili had never seen before.
With her big belly, bald head, and flat nose, Chieko looked like a statue of the Buddha—if the Buddha had had a pierced nose, eyebrows, and tongue. Heavy-looking chunks of gold hung from these piercings, as well as both ears. Her personality was just as level and even-keeled as any Buddhist’s, and she was constantly on the lookout for opportunities to make more money.
“Chieko!” Vasili said, giving her a bear hug. “How are you?”
“I’m good, boss. Doing good. I’d like to introduce you to my new driver–slash-security guard. Vasili, Drake, Drake, Vasili.”
“A pleasure,” Vasili said, shaking the man’s hand.
“Likewise,” Drake said in a booming voice.
Vasili was no slouch at just over six feet tall, but Drake stood a good head taller than him. His neck was thicker than most men’s thighs, with cords of vein running down the bulging muscles of his arms.
“Where are you from, Drake?”
“Well, my mother was Okinawan, and my father was US military.”
“Was he a tank?”
Vasili could have sworn Drake’s laugh shook the bottles behind the bar. “No, but I can see why you might think that. To answer your question, I was born in Okinawa but grew up on different bases around the world. Life of an army brat.”
“I see. Well, glad you’re on our side.”
Vasili walked behind the bar to pour them both drinks. A shochu with water and ice for Chieko, and a whiskey neat for Drake. Vasili poured the whiskey into a tall glass, but Drake didn’t even flinch. Once the drinks had been drained, Chieko pulled out her envelope and handed it to Vasili.
“How is business?” Vasili asked.
“Can’t complain. High-stakes poker is still far and away my biggest breadwinner. But those Friday-night swinger parties are starting to pull in a good take.”
“Good to hear. Say, you haven’t seen Atsushi lately, have you?”
Chieko smiled. “No. I wonder what happened to that guy?”
“Well, if I had to guess, I’d say he is probably living it up on tropical island somewhere.” Vasili paused to take another sip. “Or he’s wrapped up in plastic tarp at the bottom of Tokyo Bay.”
“Either way, must be nice to have a chance to just relax.”
Tokyo Noir: The Complete First Season Page 22
