by Nick Tanner
There was no logic to his process. Quite why he ran through the house in his bare feet, he didn’t know. Quite why he prepared breakfast first before he dressed, he didn’t know. Breakfast first – it was what he did. He placed the thick shokupan (white sliced bread) under the oven toaster and arranged a selection of jams on the small circular tray along with a couple of plates and knives.
Unlike most men of by-gone generations he wasn't so clingingly traditional in his attitude towards involving himself in the daily chores that he wasn’t above all this. His father, by contrast, wouldn’t have been seen dead preparing breakfast for his wife but Hideki was made of more modern DNA. Anyway it was the little things, the little moments of consideration, that he hoped she would appreciate.
Not that she seemed to notice much now-a-days.
It wasn’t exactly haute cuisine but he was doing his bit. With a pot of ‘English Breakfast’ tea brewing, courtesy of Twinnings and purchased at some expense from the International Food Store within the basement floor of Yokohama Sogo, he sat down beneath the kotatsu, not before plugging it in so that its under-tabletop heater gradually began to emanate a pleasing warmth – a warmth that was captured by the huge thick blanket that was also neatly wedged between the removable table top and the heater.
He was sat, now happily warm again, when Eri joined him at the table. She had already dressed and looked stunning as usual.
He didn’t really notice.
He never really noticed!
They rarely noticed each other.
The daily news was being precisely explained by the austere presenter. Nothing much was going on - or so he thought. There were the typical political manoeuvrings that he wasn’t remotely interested in and the usual, depressing economic update. He left it on but he didn’t pay much attention. It modestly took its place, relegated to providing a background noise to break the oppression that silence could sometimes bring. On the best of days it could be said that he wasn’t a morning person. He wasn’t one for early gusto – and neither was Eri. Most things tended to pass them both by until at least ten o’clock. They munched through their toast in a thoughtless, vacant silence - a vacuum surrounded by indifference.
He eventually began to mull over several concerns he had about a meeting that he was to attend later that day, the content of which had caused him no little stress during the night. There were quite a few things that served to bring him stress during the night – work and money being the most central, particularly money.
Particularly money!
But it was work that had got the better of him this time in the small hours. He was certain to be quizzed about the figures that he was presenting and a nagging feeling persisted that told him that he didn’t have the numbers down to pat. He’d woken around two o’clock with the figures twirling around his mind – all except one. There was one number that he just couldn’t recall, no matter how hard he tried. The abacus in his head just didn't seem to be working. It was sure to be his undoing!
Looking back he would regret this moment and similar moments like it. Looking back he would have wished that he had said so much more. What did meetings matter? What did the numbers matter?
Perhaps everything!
So what if he was a little stressed. Later he would wish that he had more openly shown his love. Instead he sat in silence, albeit a semi-contented silence, munched his toast and watched the news that he wasn’t really interested in.
Eri also sat cocooned within her usual early morning silence but she had been watching the news. Initially this had been from within a mantle of sleepy detachment but she soon jolted to attention when the name Noboru Nakasone had been unexpectedly mentioned.
According to the sultry news report the head office of Yokohama Black Panther, a national logistics company, had been partially destroyed in a gas explosion late the previous night and Noboru Nakasone, Chief Executive, had been caught in the blast. He’d been rushed to hospital but had later died due to his injuries. These rudimentary events were recounted in a matter-of-fact sort of way by the announcer and to the country at large it would be an item of news that would be nothing more than a postscript to their morning. Nobody really cared, save perhaps those commuters who would have their tiresome journey to work made even more tiresome by diversions and repair works.
Not so Eri Yamada.
A couple of months back, she too, may not have cared. She cared now!
She frantically re-ran the conversation that she’d had just two weeks before with a man she hoped she would never have the pleasure, if that was the word, to meet again. The conversation, casual at first, aggressive second and then business-like third had abruptly taken a much more severe turn. She’d suddenly seen within this man’s eye an individual who was quite capable of extreme violence and in that moment she had frantically wanted to rewind the conversation they'd just had and disregard it all together. The problem was the die had already been cast.
When she’d first been instructed by her boss to attend a meeting in Hinodecho she’d raised her eyebrows. The name of the meeting place, ‘The Millennium Amore Hotel’, had also caused her to have a suspicion or two and on arriving at the address her reservations had been resoundingly complete.
In Hinodecho the chances were that almost all the buildings would be, in some way, linked to the business of love, or sex which would be a more truthful description, and the non-descript building she’d patiently waited outside, with her coat wrapped tightly around her to prevent the sub-zero air from reaching right down into her bones, was typical of its kind. It was a sheer, black windowless affair and a carbon copy of its brothers that sat either side. It hadn’t been a meeting she'd been looking forward to and even less so when she’d confirmed exactly where the meeting was due to take place.
‘This is a love hotel!’ she’d exclaimed to the man who'd eventually greeted her.
‘True.’
‘What are we doing here?’
‘We run the place – that’s why. You have a problem?’
She’d merely sniffed and had looked down her cold nose at him - a look that quite clearly indicated what it had meant to – ‘You dirty little man!’
He'd simply shrugged his shoulders.
It had been an inauspicious start. Quite obviously neither love nor sex had been on her mind and even if it had been, it wasn’t the kind of place that even at her most passionate she’d ever had the occasion to consider. Love hotels were simply not something discussed in polite society nor by those lucky people who lived in houses with walls thicker than the usual paper – of which she was one.
These hotels, having been around in one form or another for over a century or more, varied from the pedestrian to the incredible and offered a discrete and distracting service for young couples who, typically living within the confines of the extended family, wished for a little more privacy. Due to their often gaudy, blatantly obvious name, love hotels were part of a ‘hidden’ Japan for many Japanese and whilst not totally inaccessible like the ‘flower and willow world’ of Kyoto’s Geisha district and being relatively comprehensible unlike the tea ceremony, which required years of study, there were none-the-less a set of cultural barriers that made love hotels difficult to enjoy for those not aware of the protocol or who found their brashness too hard to negotiate.
However, due to the often delicate personal circumstances of a typical guest their design reflected a focus on privacy and discretion. It had been, in all honesty, the perfect place for a secret, clandestine meeting. Consequently, she and her 'companion' had ‘checked in’ without a sole seeing them. The man had simply punched in a few numbers at a key pad which had then automatically opened the main door to the building.
Sadly she could easily recall the room in all its intimate, gaudy detail. There had been negligees, hair products, face creams, toothbrushes and bathroom necessities all laid out on the bed in front of her. A stack of condoms had also been all too evident by the bedside. There had been no décor as su
ch - only mirrors on the ceiling and walls and no more than a pane of glass separated the bedroom from the bathroom. She'd needed the toilet but had absolutely no desire to go in such public view.
It had made her feel sick and yet she had remained loyal to her task despite the feelings of disquiet that had rapidly grown within her.
‘I still don’t understand?’
‘It’s just a room, get over it. Nothing is going to happen. I was told ‘be secret’ and this is secret.’
‘You stupid little man!’
She'd sensed him bristle at this rebuke, had noticed the muscles quickly tense in his arms and had wondered, even then, if his first reaction would usually have been a violent one. She wasn’t to know what he’d really been really thinking. ‘I’ll take her later on,’ had been his main plan in mind.
At the time she'd remained ignorant.
‘It was for your benefit, not mine. What do I care for secrecy,’ he'd replied tersely.
Eri had remained unmoved by this assertion. In fact there'd been nothing about the squat, ugly looking man with a mass of curly hair and wispy, black moustache that had made her feel inclined to believe anything he said.
‘Idiot!’ she'd said again.
There had only been the bed to sit on and she'd eased herself awkwardly onto it feeling deeply uncomfortable. It had been a self-conscious position to be in and thinking back she realised that her skirt had had a tendency to ride up when she’d moved giving an impression that was wholly contrary to what she'd been feeling.
She'd secretly known why she’d been chosen for that particular job, perhaps for all the jobs. 'Wear a low cut top' had been the order. It had hardly been a victory for women’s lib and she'd had no wish to tempt seduction, particularly in a building like that. Consequently she'd tried her best to look as business-like as possible but none-the-less she'd felt his watery eyes slither all over her body. It was perhaps only too clear to her, after all, that he had not only a business proposition in mind.
Despite this she’d launched in.
‘Sokaiya!’ she’d said firmly.
‘Sokaiya?’ Fujiwara had looked up in some surprise and leant back against the wall. She'd been able to tell that he was unused to being involved in such activity. She'd also been able to tell that he was unused to being told so severely what to do by one so young and one so female.
‘Sokaiya!’ she'd repeated.
‘You want me sell ‘protection’ services? To which company?’
‘Yokohama Black Panther.’
‘The logistics people? Why? Are you involved with them?’
‘We’re not directly, but well… You don’t need to know the reasons.’
‘And?’
‘And… we want you to do what you can to assist them in making the right sort of decisions.’
‘By threatening disruption at their shareholder meetings?’
‘Exactly. You’re not so stupid as you look, are you?’
Fujiwara had bristled once more. Too late she'd realized that she'd over-cooked it. He'd marched menacingly towards the bed and before she'd been able to prevent him he had pinned her against the headboard with his knee pushed hard against her chest and his huge hands grasping her throat.
She recalled with a shudder his spitting tongue and rank bad breath. She could remember every single word he’d said.
‘Listen! I think you're out of your league,' he'd hissed. 'You're playing with the big boys now, or should I say the rough boys - the vermin! You should stick to making tea with the tarts and the Office Ladies. Now listen up! It wouldn't take much for me to push so hard that your nice little titties would be popping out your back and as for my hands... Well... at the moment they're around your throat but who knows where they might begin to wander. So be careful what you say, little lady or I might just begin to get angry and you wouldn’t really want that, would you? Now let’s continue our little conversation, but with fewer insults and a little more respect. You treat me fair and I’ll do the same for you. Got it?’
He'd released her from his grip and returned to his position by the door. It had been just as threatening. There had been no escape.
‘So Sokaiya?’ He'd picked up the conversation as if nothing had happened. ‘I thought the government had cracked down on Sokaiya activity.’
‘That’s what they thought,’ she'd croaked, allowing her hand to gently massage her neck. She'd experienced not just the shock of aggression but also a great deal of pain. 'The only real change is that more and more top companies have resorted to holding their annual shareholders’ meetings all on the same day in order to make it impossible for people like you to attend. But we know you can get around that.’ She’d quoted verbatim what her boss had told her to say.
‘We’re still skilled intimidators though, aren’t we? If that’s what you mean.’
‘Yes, well... So we need you to create as much panic as you can so the value of Yokohama Black Panther stock will plummet, costing them millions, allowing my boss to move in for a take-over. Either that or they comply and give us what we want.’
‘And when exactly do you want us to act.’
‘The 3rd January - Monday. Their meeting starts at 4:00pm. Here’s the address.’ She'd passed him over a slip of paper.
‘I can see why you convened this hasty little meeting, then. Okay – so we create trouble for Yokohama Black Panther. I can see how that helps you, but what do I gain? I mean why should I be so generous to Niigata Kyubin?’
‘Did you ever wonder who guaranteed the loan when you started your ‘massage’ salon? It was the director of Niigata Kyubin. You’ve also found it expedient to hide your profits by trading through dummy entities that ostensibly ‘supply’ Niigata Kyubin. Did you know that?’
‘No I didn’t.'
She refrained from a further insult. That little strategy had been completely ill-conceived.
There had been however, one more request that she'd been told to make – and she hadn't been entirely certain how to make it, but make it she did, unaware at the time of the real consequence of her actions.
‘It’ll be done – as we agreed,’ he’d said before leaving and it was only some fifteen minutes later that she’d had the horrific thought that what he had in mind was far from what she herself had wanted.
Admittedly she hadn’t been able to sufficiently define what actions were needed – her brief had been suitably vague and given that she wasn’t a particularly scheming, double-dealing individual, come to that matter neither violent nor aggressive, she’d failed to adequately express herself. She was actually a virgin at top-end machination.
But the evidence of what they had ‘agreed’ was now playing out in front of her on the morning news.
She sat up in utter disbelief at what she was seeing and was in a state of complete horror at her conspiratorial involvement in the whole affair. A gas explosion and Nakasone's death! Had that really been part of the plan? A frantic fear at what the consequences might be was also rapidly beginning to crawl all over her. She’d heard too many stories about the brutal behaviour of the police and the ruthlessness of the legal system. She sat at the breakfast table in solemn silence and internally wept.
‘I’ve done something terribly, terribly wrong,’ she thought to herself.
The events on the news forced her to churn over all the events of the past couple of months - and she had many things to consider regarding her behaviour, not just recently but ever since those first fateful merger meetings between her boss Kenji Ozawa and Noboru Nakasone and the sum total of all these thoughts was that rather than experiencing the energy, pride and zest that came with mixing it with the strategy makers she had suddenly found herself in an altogether different place. She now struggled to recognise what had become of herself.
When she’d set off, quite deliberately, to pursue her career rather than to slip into the second, more leisurely, lane of housewife domesticity the plan had been quite clear – to put herself in front of the de
cision makers, to rattle a few cages, to progress up the ladder and break through the glass ceiling, and yes, deep down, somewhere in her subdued erogenous zones she would have quite liked to have had a bit of harmless fun along the way. What she had found, albeit just fairly recently, was unemotional exploitation, manipulation and unexpected collusion with ne’er do wells and thugs. Initially she’d enjoyed her part in the hard-nosed merger negotiations and understood that, at least in terms of straight-forward business, she was quite good at it. She’d enjoyed the pure, incisive application of her knowledge and quietly rejoiced in the recognition that she’d been receiving. The patronage from her boss had been particularly welcoming, the flirting, too. She’d enjoyed that. She’d undoubtedly been experiencing a ‘buzz’. Life was suddenly full of possibility. She’d suddenly become a mover and a shaker.
But not now!
The link-up with Fujiwara had been a shock. As she sat blinking at the news in front of her, the reality of what she had done was slowly beginning to hit home. She struggled to believe that she had been so completely blinded by ambition that her sense of morality had avoided confronting what it really meant to conspire with such a man. But the evidence was staring at her straight in the eye. Had she been so completely naive? Did she really think that her ‘cosy chat’ with him would have no violent consequences what-so-ever?
