The Toyotomi Blades (Ken Tanaka Mysteries Book 2)

by Dale Furutani

  When I was done, I retrieved the samurai sword from my luggage and followed Sugimoto up to the News Pop studio, which was on the seventh floor of the building.

  In Los Angeles I once saw a taping of a TV comedy. It was done in a sound stage big enough to hold three different sets and bleachers for a live audience. By comparison, the News Pop studio was minuscule. The studio was about the size of a large living room. In the high ceiling were a series of metal bars with a large assortment of lights clamped to them. Most of the floor space was taken up by cameras, and even the cameras were tiny. At the U.S. TV taping, the cameras were the size of briefcases, but the cameras used on News Pop were the size of a kid’s lunch box. Three of these cameras were mounted on tubular tripods set on wheels so they could be moved around for different angles in front of the set.

  About a half-dozen people were in the room. They seemed to be blocking out shots with a director, with cameramen taking instructions as they moved their cameras around the studio floor. A couple of technicians seemed to be repairing some cable that went from a desk with several monitors and disappeared into the floor. It was crowded.

  The set for the program was jammed up against one wall. It was basically a counter with a shōji screen for a background. Several chairs were placed behind the counter. On the surface of the counter were glass panels that seemed to cover computer screens set into the desk. I surmised that notes or the script were flashed on these screens. News Pop had to be a “talking heads” show that relied on videotape for anything that required space or movement.

  “I’ve got to tell them you’re here and set up the promo. Then I’ll introduce you to Nagahara-san and Yukiko-chan, our stars. In the meantime I’m going to introduce you to Junko Ohara, a researcher on the program. She helps with English-speaking guests.”

  Sugimoto called out to a woman who was conferring with the director. She was in her early thirties, dressed in a white long-sleeve blouse and gray skirt. Her hair was worn in a bob with bangs that reminded me of a 1920s flapper. She was about five feet tall and could probably stand to lose ten pounds, the same weighty crime I’ve already admitted to being guilty of.

  “Junko-san, this is Mr. Tanaka, the detective from the United States,” Sugimoto said.

  “I’m not a detective,” I interjected. “I’m a computer programmer who acted as an amateur sleuth.”

  “Amateur or professional, you’re twelve minutes of next week’s show and I’m pleased to meet you. My name is Junko Ohara.” Her English was absolutely perfect. She extended her hand and I shook it.

  “Why don’t you two get acquainted while I go get Nagahara-san and Yukiko-chan. We’ll get this promo piece shot and have you in your hotel in just a few minutes.”

  Sugimoto left us. Junko looked at me and said, “You look tired, but I wouldn’t count on his promise that everything will be shot in just a few minutes. It’s only a twenty-second promo, but it will take us an hour or more. Why don’t you come to my desk and I’ll get you some tea?”

  “That sounds good. The offer of tea, I mean. Spending another hour or so here doesn’t sound too good. My body thinks it’s about three A.M.”

  Junko took me out of the studio and down a flight of stairs. There she showed me into a large office space filled with tiny metal desks jammed together. Although it was past seven P.M. local time, there were still a lot of people in the office. Junko seated me at one of the small desks and went to get me a cup of Japanese green tea.

  After thanking her for the tea, I said, “Your English is remarkably good. Did you live in the States at some time?”

  “I wish,” Junko said. “Actually I’ve never been out of Japan. I went to college at Sophia, which is a school in Tokyo where all lectures and classes are conducted in English. I also speak a good Spanish and a passable German. I guess I just have a good ear.”

  “Mr. Sugimoto said your last name was Ohara?”

  “Just call him Buzz. He likes that. And yes, my last name is Ohara.”

  “In the U.S. that would be an Irish name.”

  “It’s actually Korean. We pronounce it slightly differently than the Irish. We Koreans also have Lees, like your famous Civil War general, or maybe Spike Lee. You can’t always tell from last names. Ohara could also be a Japanese name, but I’m still Korean.”

  “Now I’m confused,” I admitted. “I thought you said you’ve never been out of Japan.”

  “That’s right. I was born here, as were my mother and father.”

  “But wouldn’t that make you Japanese?”

  She gave a rueful laugh. “There are some things you have to learn about Japan. Just because you’re born in Japan, that doesn’t make you a Japanese citizen. You have to have a Japanese mother and a Japanese father to get automatic Japanese citizenship at birth. My family has been in Japan since the thirties, but we’re still classified as foreigners and not citizens. I’ve actually never been to Korea and Korean isn’t one of the languages I know, but I’m still a resident alien in Japan.”

  As an Asian in the United States, I knew what it was to be a minority. Junko’s situation put a whole new light on minority status, however. Living two or three generations in a country and still being considered an alien resident was strange to me. The first generation of Japanese-Americans were prevented from becoming naturalized citizens until 1952, but at least their children, the Nisei, were born citizens.

  She looked at me and said, “Look, instead of complaining about things, I should be teaching you your lines.”

  “Lines?”

  “Yeah. During the promo we want you to say ‘Please take a look,’ in Japanese.”

  “But I don’t speak Japanese.”

  “It’s really simple. It’s short and I’ll teach it to you phonetically. Repeat after me, goran, kudasai.”

  “Goran, kudasai.”

  “Pretty good, but let’s try it again. I’ll give you a nice, high-class accent. Listen carefully. Goran, kudasai.”

  “Am I going to have to learn more Japanese for the show?”

  “Oh, no. Everything will be translated for you. It’s just that our research indicates that our shows with translations are usually less popular than shows where everything is conducted in Japanese. You look Japanese, so if you say something in Japanese in the promo, viewers will assume that the interview will be conducted in Japanese.”

  “Isn’t that a little misleading?”

  She sighed. “I see you’re not familiar with television.”

  “No, I’m not.”

  “Do you object to saying something in Japanese during the promo?”

  “No, I guess not,” I said reluctantly.

  “Good. Now listen carefully and try to imitate my intonation.”

  After we practiced the phrase to Junko’s satisfaction, she asked me, “You said you’re a computer programmer?”

  “Yes, I am.”

  “Well, I have to do more research on your segment. Would you like to watch me access the English language databases we use?”

  “Yes, that would be very interesting to me.”

  Junko took me over to a section of the office where there were three computers on little carts. In the U.S., each worker would have his or her own computer, but here computers seemed to be shared. The machines were already turned on, so she sat in front of one and started some kind of communications program.

  Junko signed on to an English-language news database and entered a starting date and a few search words. She chose “murder,” “sword,” and “Japanese.” After a few seconds, the message 14 STORIES FOUND appeared on the computer screen.

  The stories were printed out on an old-fashioned, noisy, dot matrix printer. My illusions about a technologically advanced society in Japan were being shattered. Most personal computers sold for home use in the States seemed more advanced than the equipment being used by this big Japanese TV network.

  Junko handed the stories to me. The longest were the L.A. Times pieces about the murder and my involve
ment in solving it. There was even a very small piece about the murder from The New York Times that I didn’t know of. Three stories that had nothing to do with my murder case were printed out. They were printed because they met the search criteria Junko had entered.

  REPUTED ORGANIZED CRIME FIGURE ASSASSINATED

  NEW YORK (AP)—George “Georgie L.” LaRusse, a reputed organized crime chief, was murdered last night in what police describe as one of the most spectacular gangland killings in years. The assailant entered LaRusse’s forty-fourth floor high-security apartment by removing the glass from a window. Police speculate that the murderer may have been lowered to the apartment from the roof of the building by accomplices.

  LaRusse was both stabbed and thrown out of the open window. Ironically, he landed on the hood of a police car driving by the building. Two officers in the car were unhurt. Police are currently uncertain of the motive for the assassination, but did say LaRusse had recently been involved in territorial disputes over crime activities in Harlem.

  In a bizarre twist to the case, an ancient Japanese samurai sword was stolen from the apartment by the assassin. The sword was not used in the attack on LaRusse. Police found the knife used in the assassination still in the victim’s body. According to Patricia King, manager of Derek Stacy Decorating, the company that decorated LaRusse’s apartment, the sword is considered quite valuable. “It was purchased at auction for $11,000 and should be worth quite a bit more now. Mr. LaRusse insisted on the finest decor for his apartment, although he was not a collector or art connoisseur himself. The sword was a fine example of 17th-century Japanese swordmaking, by the sword-smith Kannemori.” What connection, if any, the sword theft had to the assassination is still being investigated by the police.

  LaRusse’s career was free of convictions, despite his well-known association with organized crime and organized crime figures. LaRusse was connected to the protection racket, prostitution and the numbers racket. He was indicted once in 1979 in an assault case, but escaped conviction when both the victim and the only witness to the assault recanted their grand jury testimony at the trial. Prosecutors later hoped to secure an indictment against LaRusse for intimidating the witnesses, but had to abandon prosecution when the witnesses refused to cooperate.

  THEFT OF RARE SWORD

  ROTTERDAM (REUTERS)—A rare Japanese sword was stolen yesterday from the Dutch Shipping Museum. The sword was part of an exhibit on the Dutch presence in Nagasaki, Japan, at the beginning of the 17th century. Dutch police describe the sword as being made by the swordsmith Kannemori and quite valuable.

  “I don’t know why someone would steal such a distinctive sword,” Wim Brock, the museum’s director, said. “It will be murder to sell.”

  Authorities believe the theft may be an inside job because there was no evidence of forcible entry and the alarm system was operative. Although the investigation continues, police admit that they have no suspects at this time.

  STUDENT IN BIZARRE ‘SEX’ DEATH

  TOKYO (REUTERS)—A student suspected of stealing a rare 17th-century samurai sword from the Japan National Museum was found dead yesterday under bizarre circumstances. Yasuo Ishibashi, 19, was found strangled in a Japanese “love motel,” and Tokyo police are uncertain how to characterize the death.

  “It could be a suicide because of the trouble Mr. Ishibashi was in or it could be an accident involving strangulation for sexual pleasure. It could even be murder,” commented Tokyo police inspector H. Hayase. “Right now, it’s difficult to comment because of the strange circumstances.”

  Hayase said there was no suicide note and that Ishibashi was found hanging in front of a television showing pornographic movies. “There are actually some people who derive sexual pleasure from strangulation,” commented Hayase, “and this may just be a bizarre accident involving this kind of practice.”

  Ishibashi’s family said he was under considerable pressure because he was a suspect in the theft of a rare 17th-century samurai sword that was stolen from the Japan National Museum. The family said he was not suicidal and had no known proclivities for the kind of sexual perversion suggested by the police.

  The sword, made by master swordsmith Kannemori, is considered a national treasure by the Japanese. The sword dates from the early 17th century, an era in Japanese history made popular by the novel and television show, Shogun. Ishibashi was working as a student volunteer at the museum and museum officials claim Ishibashi was the only one with access to this sword when it disappeared.

  Ishibashi attended prestigious Waseda University in Tokyo. He took additional classes in Japanese history and martial arts at All Japan University, also in Tokyo.

  “This is strange,” I commented. “There seems to be an epidemic of deaths and sword thefts, and all are swords made by the same swordsmith. That’s a peculiar connection.”

  Junko took the news stories from me and read them. She looked at me and shrugged. “Weird,” she said.

  6

  Junko was right about the promotional piece taking more than an hour to organize and shoot. There was much shuffling around and a couple of false starts before we finally walked on the set and shot the promo. As befit the stars of the show, Nagahara-san and Yukiko-chan didn’t show up on the set until we were actually ready to shoot.

  The two hosts of the program were certainly an odd couple. Nagahara-san was a man in his late fifties with a somber face covered with age spots and a large mole on his upper lip. It occurred to me that in the U.S. a mole of that size would be removed for cosmetic purposes by most people, not just those in show business. His salt-and-pepper hair was closely cropped and his suit was crumpled. He looked like a local shopkeeper instead of a television personality, but maybe that was his appeal to Japanese audiences. Aside from “Hello,” his English was almost nonexistent, and Junko translated his laconic greetings for me.

  Yukiko-chan was a young woman who was probably in her midtwenties. Chan added to the end of a name is a diminutive usually reserved for children and women. Applied to women, it shows a linguistic mind-set that must drive Japanese feminists to despair. Yukiko-chan corrected me when I tried to call her Yukiko-san, however. She liked the chan honorific.

  Her English was also poor, and when she saw me, she started speaking Japanese. I guess if you have a Japanese face, some people think you must speak Japanese. It’s the reverse of what I experience in the U.S., where if you have an Asian face, some people don’t think you can speak proper English. Like many Asian-Americans, I’ve actually been complimented on how well I speak English. When Yukiko-chan started in with Japanese, I gave her the kind of blank stare I usually reserve for people in the U.S. who think they have to speak pidgin English to me, only this time the stare was genuine. Junko gently inserted herself to translate.

  Yukiko had a face that looked like a teenager’s, and she was dressed in a short pink frilly dress that was styled like something the young Shirley Temple would have worn. Her hair was cut short and shaped to frame her tiny face, and when she talked she revealed crooked teeth. Japanese TV audiences seem to find crooked teeth cute. In different clothes Yukiko would look her age, but apparently she wanted to cultivate a little girl look. Her on-camera personality could only be described as perky, but away from the lens she seemed a bit petulant.

  The promo was shot with Yukiko-chan and Nagahara-san sitting at the desk of the set like news anchors. They had me stand to one side of them, holding the blade of the sword with the tip resting on the desktop. Sugimoto suggested that it would be more dramatic if I removed the sword from the scabbard. When they played back the promo, which only lasted ten seconds, I must say I cut a dashing figure. Okay, maybe dashing is stretching things a bit, but I did think I looked just fine. Junko told me that my little statement in Japanese, which I got to say at the very end of the promo, sounded great and I must say I was pleased by that, too.

  No matter how pleased I was, my body clock was telling me it was about five in the morning L.A. time, and when the
y finally got me bundled into the limo and over to the Imperial Hotel, I was exhausted.

  The Imperial Hotel is across from Hibiya Park and very near the Imperial Palace. It was originally designed by Frank Lloyd Wright and was famous for surviving the great 1926 Tokyo earthquake. Wright’s design may have withstood earthquakes, but it couldn’t survive urban renewal, Japanese style. The original building was torn down in the sixties and a new hotel was built on the same site. Later a tower was added to the main hotel, but Sugimoto said the show got me a room in the older section because the rooms were much bigger. I don’t know if that’s true, but by that time, I was just interested in a room with a bed.

  The room was nice, but not spectacular. It had a small couch and the usual overpriced minibar. If you ignored the package of dried squid snacks I found in the minibar, it was a room that wouldn’t be distinctive in L.A. or New York or Cleveland.

  Before I went to bed, I filled out a card for a breakfast to be delivered to my room at 9 A.M. the following morning. I noted with a little shock that with the current exchange rate, a modest egg breakfast cost around $35.1 also noted with amusement that the little check boxes for breakfast delivery indicated times that were ten minutes apart. I smiled at this phony precision and changed my time selection to 9:10 A.M. When I finally crawled into bed, I immediately dropped off into a deep and dreamless sleep.