The Toyotomi Blades (Ken Tanaka Mysteries Book 2)

by Dale Furutani

  “I’m doing this because I don’t have much going in my life, except for you. I’m over forty and unemployed and my life is half over. I don’t want to play the second half as safe as I played the first half. This mystery has become important to me, and failing to solve it would be a kind of road block on the new path my life seems to be going down.”

  I said more than I intended, but I felt good about saying it. Mariko leaned over and kissed me on the cheek. It was a soft, gentle, loving kiss.

  “Now,” Mariko said, “even though we’ve had this tender moment that doesn’t mean that I don’t intend to take you for every penny you have. Dig into your pockets and produce the rest of your loose change. Japanese or American money cheerfully accepted. Shuffle the cards.”

  26

  I could use a snack right now,” Mariko said, placing down a hanafuda card.

  “Since you’ve cleaned me out, I’ll run into town and get something. There’s no room service at the inn, or maybe I should say ryokan.” I got off the zabuton cushion and stretched. “I’ll be back in fifteen or twenty minutes.”

  “Don’t get any of those dried fish or dried squid snacks,” Mariko said. “Get us some real American potato chips or something like that.”

  “We’re staying in a three-hundred-year-old Japanese inn and you want potato chips?”

  Mariko looked at me and started going, “Yumm.”

  “I’ll go, but you have to give me some money. You really have cleaned me out.” She started laughing, but she did fork over several hundred-yen coins.

  I took off the yukata I was wearing and got my jeans and a sweatshirt on. I pulled on my jacket and made my way through the corridors of the inn to the front lobby. The lobby was deserted, but I found my shoes sitting in the little numbered box right where I left them. I put them on and made my way down the little road towards the lights of the business district of town. The night air was brisk, and I sucked it in, relishing the relatively novel sensation of air not tainted with the smog of Los Angeles or Tokyo.

  There was a certain amount of nightlife because the town was a resort center for people visiting Lake Biwa and the surrounding countryside. Although the main business district of town was only about four blocks long, there must have been a half-dozen bars stretched out along those blocks, with bright neon signs casting a splash of garish light onto the street.

  I figured sooner or later I’d come to some kind of open convenience store or liquor store where they would have snacks to purchase. I wasn’t quite sure about American-style potato chips, but I thought I could find something that would be good to munch on. There were a surprising number of people still milling around on the street at that time of night. Everybody seemed to be in a good mood, and even though the air was chilly, it was not so chilly that it was unpleasant.

  I had walked about a half block into the business district when I stopped. At the end of the block, standing in front of a bar, was Junko. She had told us she wanted to take a shower and go to bed, so I was a bit surprised to see her out on the town. She was talking to a tall, thin man dressed in a topcoat with a hat pulled down low over his face. She seemed to be in earnest conversation when suddenly she looked up in alarm, grabbed the man by the arm, and quickly dragged him into the bar.

  I looked across the street to see what had caused her to scurry into hiding with her companion. There, weaving through the crowd, was Sugimoto and another man who I didn’t recognize. Both looked like they were drunk, staggering down the street together. Sugimoto had on his black leather jacket and his companion was dressed in jeans and a ski parka.

  I turned quickly and hurried back up the hill to the ryokan. I was so excited that I almost forgot to take my shoes off when I got into the lobby. I remembered at the last minute before I tromped on the tatami mats, and stopped quickly to rip off my shoes and stuff them into one of the numbered boxes.

  I made my way through the maze of corridors and burst into the room where Mariko was resting. She looked up in surprise.

  “That was fast. What kind of snack did you buy?”

  “I didn’t buy any snacks. I saw something strange in town. Two things strange.”

  “What?”

  “Sugimoto’s in town. I saw him on the street in the village. He was there with another man. They looked like they were drunk.”

  “What’s Sugimoto doing here?”

  “Heaven knows. He’s supposed to be in Osaka. Now I see him here with some stranger and I’m beginning to wonder about his role in this entire thing. I’ve been suspicious of him for some time now. He was able to arrange an interview with the head of the Sekiguchi-gummi pretty easily, and his family is supposed to be involved in the music business. The Yakuza are supposed to be involved in show business.”

  I unzipped my jacket and continued. “I also saw something else that’s puzzling.”

  “What was that?”

  “I saw Junko in town. She was talking to somebody I didn’t recognize, someone tall with a hat on. The hat was pulled low so I couldn’t see his face, as if he wanted to hide his identity.”

  “Did she see Sugimoto, too?”

  “She sure did, and as soon as she saw him, she grabbed whoever she was with and ducked into a bar. She looked as startled to see Sugimoto as I did. I think she was trying to hide from him.”

  “That’s strange. Maybe she just changed her mind about going to bed, got restless, and went into town and met someone.”

  “I bet she met someone,” I said. “Maybe one of the guys who have been after me. One was a tall guy with a gold tooth. I didn’t see his face, but the guy she was talking to was tall.”

  “Now you’re getting paranoid.”

  “Am I? Geez, I never thought of this, but everybody’s been telling me how many of the Yakuza members are Korean. One of the guys I identified was Korean. Junko’s Korean.”

  “Ken, how many Italians do you know?”

  I looked at Mariko, puzzled. “I suppose dozens, maybe even hundreds.”

  “And how many are members of the Mafia?”

  “None that I know of.”

  “So why should Junko be a member of the Yakuza just because she’s Korean? You sound like some of the Japanese, classifying Junko as a criminal just because she’s Korean.”

  “But there are Italians in the Mafia,” I protested, “And there are Koreans in the Yakuza. She was up to something, and it was something that made her hide when she spotted Sugimoto. You’re the one who’s been having an uneasy time with her.”

  “That’s just a little rivalry. But in this situation you’re not sure what’s going on.”

  “No, I’m not, but I don’t like it. Sugimoto is supposed to be in Osaka. Junko lies to us about going to bed early. She hides when she sees Sugimoto. Something’s fishy.”

  “Sugimoto is the one I’d worry about. He obviously followed us here. You said he’s been against you investigating the swords from the beginning.”

  “That’s right. Plus I don’t know who Sugimoto’s companion is. He might be another Yakuza, one I haven’t seen yet.”

  “More Yakuza!”

  “I have the bruises to remind me that someone is interested in me,” I reminded her.

  “I know. I’m sorry, Ken. It’s just that first you think Junko is a Yakuza and now you think Sugimoto is one, too. That Sekiguchi-gummi head said he wasn’t interested in you, and you thought it might be that political group.”

  “Maybe I was wrong. I just don’t see the political connection. Sugimoto knew about my encounter with the two Yakuza in Tokyo, even though neither Junko nor I told him. He claims to be a rebel, but he longs for a return to values he considers ‘true’ Japanese, just like a lot of Yakuza. He’s discouraged my investigation of the swords from the start. And now he shows up here unexpectedly and without telling us. All these things leave a lot of unanswered questions.”

  “Okay, so maybe Buzz Sugimoto is suspicious,” Mariko conceded, “but saying Junko’s a Yakuza is silly.”


  “Then who was she talking to, and why did she hide when she saw Sugimoto?”

  “I don’t know. Okay, okay, something fishy is going on. What do you think we should do about it? Confront Junko?” Mariko asked.

  “No. In the morning, let’s ask her how she slept and see what she says. If she says she got restless and went into town, then we should be upfront with her about me seeing her and ask her why Sugimoto’s here. If she lies again, then I think we should be cautious.”

  “How?”

  “Let’s split up the search tomorrow. The center of the map is north of here, but let’s tell Junko we should also search to the west of the town and that we’ll split up to do it. We’ll search the north and I’ll find someplace in the west for her to search.”

  “Is that really necessary?”

  I sighed. “You’re the one who’s been telling me I’ve gotten paranoid over the Yakuza thing. We can call the search off completely, but that will mean turning everything over to the News Pop show and Buzz or Junko can come up and look for the treasure after I leave Japan. Is that what you want?”

  “No.”

  “Well, that doesn’t leave us many choices, then. I could try going to the local police, but I don’t have any proof of anything. I don’t want to leave Japan without at least giving a shot at finding the treasure. And if Junko lies to us tomorrow, I don’t want to have to worry about her at our back while Sugimoto may be in front of us. Do you have a better plan?”

  After a few moments, Mariko said, “I hope Junko tells us in the morning that she couldn’t sleep and went into the village where she picked up a guy. Then we can go treasure hunting together. Otherwise, I’ll play along as you explain that you had a brainstorm about a new location for the treasure to the west.”

  27

  The forest was a wild and feral place. Giant cryptomerias grew in profusion. The rough, red bark of the trees clung to the large trunks, making a curtain that shrouded the forest beyond. Between the trees hagi, or bush clover, grew. A low morning mist clung to the roots of the trees, adding an eerie highlight to the forest.

  “You sure you want to split up?” Junko asked.

  “Yes. I was looking over the maps last night and I realized that the treasure was just as likely to be in the western part of the valley as here. It will be more efficient if you scout that location while Mariko and I look here. Meet us here at three o’clock and we’ll compare notes. If we find anything interesting here, we’ll still have time to take you to it so you can see what you want to film for the show.”

  That morning Junko had joined us claiming she had slept like a baby the night before. Mariko and I exchanged what Henry James used to call “significant looks.” If I remember right, James meant those looks to signify love, but in our case the looks signified the cementing of a conspiracy to keep Junko away from the prime location for the treasure. I didn’t know what was going on, but I did know we were being lied to.

  “Okay, I’ll see you at three this afternoon, then,” Junko said as she put the Patrol in gear and pulled away.

  “Are you ready?” I asked Mariko. She was bundled up and carrying a knapsack over one shoulder.

  “Sure.”

  “Do you think we’re doing the right thing?” I asked, a wave of second thoughts rolling over me.

  She snorted her disdain for my backsliding and started purposefully down the path into the forest. Feeling a little foolish, I followed.

  The hiking trail was well marked, so even though we plunged into a sort of gloomy twilight as we entered the forest, I didn’t think we would get lost. I looked at Mariko and said, “So I gather you’re ready to go treasure hunting?”

  She stopped and let me catch up. She reached up and gave me a quick kiss on the lips. Her mouth was very cold and wet from the morning air. “I’m more than ready,” she said. “Let’s go see if we can find where there’s a pile of gold.”

  “I don’t see how we’re going to find a group of trees or rocks that looks like an M,” I said after we had been hiking for ten minutes or so. “I thought there’d be only a few groves of trees in this area, but now I see the whole area is a forest.”

  “Well, it’s pretty anyway,” Mariko said. “If we can’t find billions in gold and silver, we can at least have a nice hike.”

  “That’s very philosophical of you. I hoped to make enough off this treasure hunt to buy most of Japan. Now, according to you, I should just come back with a few memories of pretty countryside.”

  “You don’t really expect to find the treasure, do you?”

  “Well, I guess not,” I admitted. “And if I did find it, I’m sure the government of Japan will have something to say about who keeps it. I haven’t even checked into what the laws are about treasure hunting in Japan, but I’m sure it’s not just finders-keepers.”

  We came across a stream that I had seen on the map and started following it. Despite my disappointment in seeing that the terrain was all woods, I was pretty happy. Having Mariko with me on this treasure hunt in Japan was an unexpected bonus, and it’s always better when you share an exciting experience with someone you love. In the back of my mind, I just kept hoping that it wouldn’t get too exciting, thanks to Sugimoto, Junko, the Yakuza, the Nippon Tokkotai, and whoever else might be interested.

  After hiking for about an hour, Mariko said, “I’m hungry.”

  “What? Already? It’s not even ten o’clock.”

  “So what. Come on, let’s stop and eat.”

  “I don’t understand how someone as small as you can pack in so much food.”

  “Jealous?”

  “Damn right. If I ate as much food as you, you’d have to roll me along the side of this stream because I’d be shaped like a barrel.”

  Mariko laughed and said, “Look, there’s a little clearing ahead. Let’s eat there. Mrs. Sakurai packed us some kind of lunch.” She patted her knapsack. “And I’m anxious to see what kind of goodies we have. We’ll have a picnic.”

  The clearing was like a miniature meadow by the side of the stream. Perhaps it was the aftermath of a long forgotten small fire, or perhaps the boulders that dotted the meadow gave a clue to the possibility that the ground was too rocky for the large trees to grow. Regardless, it let some sunlight into the gloom of the forest.

  Mariko and I found a large rock to sit on. She unslung the pack, and before she got the lunches out, I leaned over and gave her a kiss. She gave me a happy hug in return. From the knapsack she brought out two black lacquered lunchboxes. She gave me one and took the top off the other and peered inside.

  Inside was a pair of disposable chopsticks sitting on top of the beautifully prepared and neatly packed food. Rolls of rice covered with black sesame seeds and garnished with green, purple, and yellow pickles, made up one side of the box. Grilled fish, vegetables, and what looked like a rolled egg omelet made up the other half of the box. “Hey, that looks pretty good,” I said, as I took the lid off my own bento, or box lunch. The Japanese would call this a honeymoon bento, because it was the kind of special lunch that a newly married salaryman could expect, prepared with care and with a delicious variety of foods. According to Japanese lore, eventually the salaryman would make the transition to a one-thousand Yen Samurai, whose wife would give him a daily allowance of one thousand yen with which he was supposed to buy lunch and other daily incidentals. In samurai times, the women kept the household purse strings, and many Japanese couples retain this custom, so a daily allowance for the man isn’t unusual.

  By the time I had my chopsticks broken apart, Mariko already had one of the rice rolls stuffed into her mouth. She closed her eyes in ecstasy and said, “Um. Delicious.”

  I tasted one of the rice rolls. “It’s good.”

  “It’s especially good. Maybe it’s the way it’s cooked, or maybe because they use spring water to cook it in.”

  “You don’t think the fact that we’re eating outdoors has anything to do with the way it tastes to you? Eating outdoors usu
ally makes food taste better.”

  “Skeptic,” she said. “Just eat your bento and don’t bother me with your doubts. When I tell you it’s delicious, it’s because it’s delicious. We could be eating inside a trailer parked in Kansas, and this rice would still be delicious.”

  I smiled and ate another rice roll.

  Around us the brush and trees were still a bit lifeless, as if they were anticipating the impending winter, but I could tell that in the spring and early fall this area must be spectacular. I picked up a bit of the grilled fish and tasted it. It was very good. It had a charcoal flavor from being cooked over a hibachi. I picked up a piece of vegetable and looked up the mountainside that was on the other side of the stream as I brought it to my mouth.

  I froze. Then I dropped the vegetable into my lap. Seeing the expression on my face, Mariko said, “What’s the matter?”

  Using the chopsticks, I pointed up the mountainside. “Look.”

  Mariko looked across the stream. On the other side she saw the rising slope of a wooded hill that rapidly turned itself into a mountain. At the top of the hill, sitting like some brooding castle, was an outcropping of rock. Two peaks of dark gray granite, forming the shape of the letter M.

  “It’s the pattern on the third blade,” she said.

  “That’s right. It’s an outcropping of rock.”

  I put the lunchbox down and stood up. Then I started dancing around the clearing. “We found it! We found it!” I grabbed the stunned Mariko by the hand and dragged her to her feet. “I’m sure that’s it. We’re gonna be rich. We’re gonna be rich,” I sang an improvised tune, dancing around Mariko. Okay, the lyrics weren’t exactly Cole Porter, and I admit the tune wasn’t Gershwin, but it sounded pretty damn good to me at the time.

  A sharp crack rang out in the meadow and something hit the rock next to Mariko, scattering chips of stone and dirt. I pulled Mariko to the ground. “What was that?” she asked, startled.