by Amano, Mia
I stand by the stairwell and wait, observing. Nobody really notices me in the shadows. I watch as a scene of pink-tinged disorder unfolds, my gun tucked behind my back.
It’s almost surreal.
This floor has cleared out. I slip into the stairwell, heading for the basement. Here, the music changes, a thrumming bass beat echoing amongst the screech of the alarm.
There’s a swimming pool down here. It’s already deserted, the surrounding tiles splashed with water, towels strewn everywhere. A blue glow radiates from the water.
I walk across the room, keeping my back to the wall.
Strange. There’s no-one here. The pool is eerily still.
Through the thick basement walls, muted sirens reach my ears. Tripping the alarm would have resulted in a call-out to the fire department, and the police are probably not too far behind.
A disturbance in Kabukicho always has the cops swarming like flies to a pile of shit, looking to arrest yakuza for any excuse.
I can’t be here for too long.
If the cops are on their way, then any gangsters in the building will be looking to clear out.
Including Genda, if he’s here.
I go back upstairs, taking the steps three at a time. The ground floor is deserted now; even the music has stopped. The only sound I hear is the lonely wail of the alarm.
I rush down the hall, looking for the back exit. The fire escape door has been pushed open, and I step out into a narrow alley lined with rusting airconditioners, trash cans and graffiti.
It’s a stark contrast to the glittering, neon facade of Kabukicho.
The black BMW I saw earlier is still there, idling with the taillights glowing red in the darkness.
Out the front of the alley, police cars roll past, sending a momentary flash of blue and white into the shadows.
Then, three figures step out of the club.
I recognize Osamu Genda instantly, even though I haven’t set eyes on him since I was a kid.
Short of stature, but built like a bull, he cuts an imposing figure as he walks to his car, radiating self-confidence. His hair is cropped close to his skull, and has turned salt-and-pepper grey.
I raise my gun. And as I do so, he turns. And smiles.
“Ya really gonna shoot me with the cops crawling all over the place?”
I say nothing, taking a moment to steady my breathing, centering myself, aiming for his head. I start to squeeze the trigger.
Then, someone steps out behind Genda. A rumpled blue suit. Grizzled face. Short, grey hair.
Fuck. It’s the detective who stopped me at the funeral. Matsuda, I think his name is.
Genda’s working with the police.
In this city, the corruption goes up to the highest levels. It’s not unheard of for the police to work with the yakuza.
“Ya gonna shoot him too?” Genda stares me down. “Go on, shoot a detective with the cops around the corner. Ya got a death wish, boy? Ya know what happens to cop killers, don’t ya? A fuckin’ death sentence.”
Cold fury burns through me. Was this part of some kind of plan Genda had been working on? Or did he just happen to be in the right place at the right time?
I stay my trigger finger, but I don’t lower the gun. If it was Genda alone, I would have finished him, and disappeared into the chaos.
I could shoot them both and run, but my face has been captured on CCTV. If it were Genda alone, the police wouldn’t look for me.
Yakuza bosses die in suspicious circumstances all the time. I’d be doing them a favor.
But a detective? I don’t want to invoke the rage of the entire fucking Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department. And Erika and the Kuroda-kai can’t afford that kind of heat right now.
Not while they’re still reeling from Ishida’s death.
“What do you want, Genda?” I grate, intentionally dispensing with the honorifics, anger rolling through me.
“Relax, boy. Detective Matsuda-san here’s just gonna take ya down to the station. Ask a few questions. Or are ya still gonna shoot us?”
Matsuda flashes his badge. “You might remember me, Hijikata-san. I’m taking you in.” He addresses me by my old name, the one I used before I went to America.
“On what grounds?” I demand. It’s a bit of a stupid question, considering the gun I’m pointing at him. Matsuda gives me a flat stare in response. As if he’s seen it all before. It’s the typical, jaded look of a cop who’s worked the back alleys and entertainment districts of Tokyo for too long.
Genda takes a step forward, nodding towards the car. “Get in. Ya don’t have a choice, boy, so don’t do anythin’ stupid now.”
I hold his stare, slowly lowering the gun.
This is a new situation for me. I’ve never, ever been caught like this before. Never been backed into a corner. Never failed to complete a kill.
Stupid. Fucking stupid. I was too impatient; I didn’t think things through. Coming back here, having Adele around, it was all a mistake.
I’m not the cold, calculating killer I used to be.
But I can’t afford to let Genda and Matsuda know that.
And now, above all, I need to survive.
Keep your fucking cool.
They don’t have anything on me. Otherwise the cops would have been turning up at my house with a warrant.
A subordinate of Genda’s appears from somewhere, and tells me to raise my arms, patting me down. There’s a grunt of surprise, sounding almost like approval, when he finds the other gun, the tanto, the short knife and the garrotte.
I shrug. What did they expect? Fucking candy?
He starts to take my smartphone. “Get your hands off it,” I snap. After exchanging a look with his boss, he takes it anyway.
Genda gestures for me to enter. I shoot him a cold glare and comply, sliding into the back seat. Matsuda slides in beside me, Genda following him. The muscle who patted me down gets in the front, alongside the driver.
If the situation wasn’t so serious, I might find it funny.
The boss of a yakuza organization, apprehending me, taking me to the police station with a fucking detective on his payroll?
The world’s gone mad.
I’m almost longing for the relative sanity of Los Angeles.
And of course, my woman. I need to play this cool. For her sake.
They don’t have anything on me. They’re going to try their best to break me, so I have to keep telling myself that, whether it’s true or not. It’s the only way I have a chance of getting out of this. That and the little ace I have up my sleeve. Wait and see how Genda reacts when I inform him the Kuroda-kai are keeping tabs on his daughter.
Let’s see if this boss is as ruthless and cunning as he pretends to be. Because underneath it all, I know he’s just a hustler and a pimp, same as ever.
He’s not going to get anything out of me.
Adele
After our little chat, Erika enters Madoka’s room. The sound of raised voices reaches me through the walls, and most of it seems to be coming from Madoka.
So scary boss lady is giving the wayward actress the shakedown.
I almost feel sorry for Madoka. What the hell happened to her, that she’s so irritable; so unstable?
I’m making myself a smoothie in the kitchen when Erika stalks out of the room, leaving Madoka staring after her, wide-eyed.
She looks kinda shellshocked.
Erika leaves without another word, her bodyguards following silently behind. Ryuji’s wisely disappeared somewhere.
I saunter into Madoka’s room, an extra glass in hand.
“I made you a strawberry smoothie,” I chirp, trying to sound bright. She shoots me a dark look.
I place the glass on the dresser and flop down on her bed.
Something’s been bothering Madoka ever since I met her. She thinks she can hide it. But it’s obviously tearing her apart, making her act strangely. Must be pretty serious.
“She on your case, too?”
“You seem pretty famous,” I say cautiously. “Tell me, if we were to go for a walk on the street out there, would people recognize you?”
“Would they recognize me?” Madoka laughs. “You know, it’s refreshing to talk to someone like you, who knows nothing about me. Let’s just say that I can’t go out in public these days. It’s too much of a hassle.”
“That famous, huh?”
“Something like that.”
“Must be fun.”
“I have less freedom now than I ever did. When I was unknown, I could go anywhere, do anything.”
I sip on my smoothie, studying her face carefully. There’s a sense of hopelessness that’s come over her. She’s a beautiful creature that’s been caged. “Is that why you’re messed up?”
“What?” She blinks, taken aback. My bluntness seems to unsettle her. I don’t know if she’s used to being spoken to in this way. But I don’t care. In my house, which is also Kaito’s house, I can’t sit by and watch my lover’s sister silently implode.
It’s just not what family does.
“Madoka, it seems to me that you don’t get along with Kaito, and you resent your boss. But still, you prefer to hide out here rather than going back to the studio. So what’s wrong?”
She stares at me for a long time, and I get the feeling she’s weighing up whether she can trust me. After a silence that seems to go on forever, Madoka picks up her smoothie and perches on the bed beside me.
“You’re a strange one,” she says, taking a sip of the thick, pink liquid. “But I can see how you might be the one to get through to my hardass, asshole brother. Are you offering me your shoulder to cry on?”
“No, I’m telling you to cry. Spill it, girl.”
Madoka looks down, and sighs. “You’re right. I’ve been hiding. It’s not the fame. It’s the pig I have to work with. He-” She breaks off, unable to continue.
“What did he do, Madoka?” I ask the question gently, slowly, an uneasy feeling spreading through me. I can already suspect what she might be about to tell me.
She shudders, summoning some kind of inner resolve. “He took advantage of me,” she says softly. “He, you know, forced me. I didn’t want to do it. And I couldn’t go to the police. I couldn’t even tell my manager. If anyone found out; if the press got hold of it, my career would be over. Maybe in America, that type of press would be good. Controversy, you know. Good for selling magazines. But here? I’d never survive. It’s different, over here. And they still want me to work on set with him. They were going to make me do a sex scene with him. I couldn’t. Not after that.”
“Hey,” I put a hand on her shoulder. She flinches a little, but makes no move to pull away. “You’re safe, now. He can’t do that to you anymore.”
Madoka lets out a hollow, bitter laugh. “Erika Goto doesn’t seem to think so. She told me I have to be on set, at nine tomorrow morning. I have no choice.”
“That’s bullshit,” I exclaim, in outrage. “They can’t make you do that. Does she know what he did to you?”
“As if it matters. The company sees me as an asset, nothing more. And I know better than to cross them. Do you know how many stars in Japan are owned by the yakuza?”
“You’re not going back there,” I snap. “I’ll tell Kaito and-”
“You’re not telling anyone,” Madoka protests, turning so her dark brown eyes meet mine. There’s a sense of futility creeping over her that I don’t like. “Especially not him. What the pig did was disgusting, but I don’t think he deserves to die. And we both know what aniki would do.”
“Aniki?”
“It means big brother. It doesn’t even feel right calling him that. You know, it’s also a term used by yakuza to address someone above them.”
“How fitting,” I murmur.
“Anyway, he probably wouldn’t care.”
“That’s not true.” I place my half-finished smoothie on the floor and take Madoka’s hand into mine, squeezing it. “You know, in America, no-one would recognize you. You’d be allowed to be whoever you want to be.”
“That would be nice,” Madoka sighs. “But it’s a fantasy.”
I look at her for a moment, the wheels in my head turning. “So why don’t you sink the whole ship?”
“Huh?”
“Social media, honey. If you’re such a big star, then why don’t you tell the whole world what he’s done to you?”
“I can’t do that. My career would never recover. I’d be finished.” As she says it, her eyes widen. “My career would be over.”
“Exactly.” I smile.
Slow realization dawns on Madoka. She blinks. “And I’d be free, to be whoever I wanted.”
“Sink the ship,” I repeat. “Erika won’t bother with you if you’re useless to her. And don’t worry about the consequences. Kaito and I will protect you.”
“He wouldn’t.”
“Oh yes he would,” I reply, with conviction. “He’s your brother, whether you guys get along or not. And if I said so, he would.” I don’t know why I’m so confident about that, but I am. Maybe it’s because I know that if he asked me to do something important like that, I’d drop everything to do it.
What we have goes both ways. Kaito just doesn’t realize it yet.
I need more time, to teach him how important family really is.
He doesn’t know about this stuff; he’s been a lone wolf his entire life. It’s time for him to learn, to change.
I just hope he comes back from whatever he’s doing in one piece. I try to brush the fear aside, but deep down, there’s a small part of me that’s sick to death with worry.
I have to ignore it.
Kaito’s been in this game a long, long time. He’s done things he’ll never admit to me, things I’m probably better off not knowing.
I need to trust that he’ll survive. That he’ll do it for me. Because he wants to come back to me.
Madoka’s staring at me in a weird way. It’s making me a bit uncomfortable. Finally, she speaks. “You’re crazy, Adele-san,” she mutters. “But I like it. Maybe you’re actually good for him.” She takes a long sip of her strawberry drink, slurping it. “And you make good smoothies. That idea of yours. It’s interesting.”
“You’re an actress, aren’t you?” I wink. “Time to make a tear-jerking viral video.”
“You’re a bad influence, American girl.”
“Must be the company I keep.” I grin back at her, suddenly feeling as if I’ve made some kind of breakthrough.
It’s sweet progress.
All I need now is for my man to come back.
Waiting. It’s the damndest thing.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Kaito
When we arrive at the police station in Shinjuku, Matsuda throws me into a cell with two drunks and a guy who looks like a low level yakuza.
Genda has disappeared.
It’s the first time I’ve even been near a jail cell, but I don’t let them know it. What am I going to do; break some necks and bust out of here? Not likely.
So I shrug, give my cell-mates a threatening look and settle in the corner, closing my eyes to sleep.
They leave me the fuck alone.
I don’t even protest. The justice system here is a little different to the one in the States. There are no Miranda rights here; they can lock me up for two days before I get to see a lawyer, and up to twenty three days without charge. I don’t even get a phone call.
There’s a reason we have such a low crime rate here.
What the hell are Genda and Matsuda playing at? I decide I don’t care. If they think they can break me, they’re misguided.
I make the wait more bearable by thinking of Adele, remembering the soft curves of her body, the smooth planes of skin, the hollow in her neck I like to kiss, the way she moves against me.
Her scent, vanilla and feminine musk.
It passes
the time and I drift off into imaginary bliss.
I wake to the sound of the metal door grinding open. Matsuda stands there with some other hard-ass looking cop. He’s of the same vintage, with the same worn-out, thousand-yard stare.
I don’t even know how much time has passed.
I regard them both with a half-lidded gaze, giving nothing away.
If that pisses off Matsuda, he doesn’t show it.
“Hijikata-san. We need to ask you some questions.”
I say nothing as they lead me away. Matsuda takes the precaution of clicking on a pair of handcuffs, securing my hands in front.
I get it; it’s all part of their psychological shake-up.
We enter a stark interrogation room with a blacked out, one-way window to one side. Under the harsh lights, our reflections look almost ghoulish, unreal. Matsuda gestures for me to sit, pulling up a cold metal chair beside me. His buddy leans against the wall, silent.
“Kaito Hijikata, aged twenty-nine, living abroad for the last three years. What brings you back all of a sudden?”
“Can’t a man visit his hometown once in a while?” I lean back in my chair, holding Matsuda’s gaze. “What’s the relevance, detective?”
“I checked your records. Seems a bit strange to me that you disappeared shortly after Minister Nakachi was assassinated.”
I raise an eyebrow. “I had a lucrative job offer in the States. There’s nothing strange about it.”
Matsuda and his colleague regard me silently for a moment, before the other man steps in, standing over me. I study him, noticing his scarred, thickened fighter’s hands, and the irregular line of his nose. It’s obviously been broken once or twice.
There’s no good cop here. There’s bad cop, and worse cop.
“You’ve been under the radar, Hijikata. Avoided our attention until now. But what are the chances I’m going to find irezumi tattoos all over you, under that fucking fancy suit of yours?”
I stare at him indifferently. “Tattoos aren’t a crime, detective.”
“The execution of a cabinet minister is.”
“What are you suggesting?” A sudden, irrational feeling of panic works its way into my chest. I crush it before it can spread.
