Tokyo Zangyo

by Michael Pronko

  “At the moment, unless you want to be held for twenty-three days, you need to start talking.”

  “Don’t I get a lawyer?”

  “You might, or might not, and the lawyer might or might not speak English, or immigration might come and drive you to the airport where they stamp your passport never to return. And that’s the best-case scenario.” Hiroshi tapped the railing between them.

  The bus rocked. Someone was thrown against the outside and loud voices shouted back and forth.

  “Look, it’s just marijuana,” Steve said.

  Hiroshi stared at him and shook his head as if he was not understanding. “Foreigner-imported drugs polluting the purity of this island nation. A police record for fighting at Mayu’s funeral. And do you think the Japanese arrested with you tonight are going to take the blame when they have a gaijin scapegoat?”

  The door opened and an agent handed them two bottles of tea. “Tea ceremony for our foreign guest,” he said, and shut the door again.

  Steve took the tea gratefully, but with his hands cuffed to the railing, he had to lean over to drink it. Just the same, after a big slug of tea, relief washed over his face.

  Hiroshi said, “Someone may have killed Mayu’s boss, and with this arrest, you are moving up on the list of suspects.”

  “I’m a suspect?” Steve fiddled the top back on the tea bottle.

  “I think you know more than you told me yesterday.”

  Steve leaned forward and rapped the bottle on the railing. “Who cares if that guy was killed? He harassed Mayu. He called her at impossible hours, made her move his money, asked her to redo her work, which was always perfect.”

  “You’re making yourself look more suspect by getting angry.”

  “I’m exhausted,” Steve said. “I can’t even think straight.”

  “Wait until they start interrogating you. You’ll think even less straight. It’s better to talk with me. Now.”

  Steve nodded OK and leaned back, exhaling, thinking.

  Hiroshi lowered his voice. “I think Mayu knew what was going on inside Senden, and that’s why she was being harassed. And I think you know what she said about that. What money was she moving for Onizuka?”

  Steve squeezed the tea bottle, which crinkled loudly. “She’d start talking about it and then start weeping so hard she couldn’t keep it straight. The more she told me, the more I begged her to quit or hire a lawyer, but she just wouldn’t.”

  “Why wouldn’t she?”

  “I’d get her calmed down and she’d take a day off. They’d transfer her for a week, and she’d feel better, and then transfer her back. It was torture. Onizuka was harassing her because she was so competent, if that makes any sense.”

  Hiroshi nodded. “It does.”

  “From what Mayu said, lots of people hated Onizuka, even when they weren’t the direct recipient of his harassment. She’d talked to them.”

  “Did Mayu report it?”

  “I forced her to, and she did, finally. But that only made it worse. That company is fucked up.”

  “So, why did she keep trying to work so hard?”

  “She was a perfectionist. She wanted to find all the complaint files. But more than that, she was addicted.” Steve looked at his hands. “I didn’t even get to see her the last two weeks of her life. She was working 24/7. She texted me from the toilet, the only free time and safe place she could manage.” Steve’s body heaved with grief and a whimper escaped from deep inside. He leaned forward, tilted his head to the side and drained the rest of the tea.

  Hiroshi gave him his unopened bottle.

  Steve bowed in thanks, opened it and drank deep. “Do you know where my saxophone is?”

  “I’ll check on that.” Hiroshi nodded, but it was probably lost in the shuffle.

  Steve said, “A lot of people would have been happy to kill Onizuka. I know I thought about it. Mayu woke up from dreams about killing him, sweating and shaking, promising to get it all noted, reported and corrected. She talked about it in a crazy sort of way.”

  Maybe Takamatsu was right. Steve had the best reason for revenge. Mayu’s parents lost their past, but Steve lost his future.

  “Do you think Mayu’s father did this?” Hiroshi asked.

  “No. But he wouldn’t let it go. He hired investigators to dig into Onizuka’s private life. Onizuka was a total sleaze-bag. He’d go gambling while Mayu did his work.”

  “What else did Mayu’s father find? He said he’d talked to you many times.”

  Steve looked away. “Yes, I wasn’t up front about that because I was worried about him, about what he’d do. He also knew that Mayu had discovered Onizuka was funneling money overseas, in and out of various accounts, under his name and the company’s name, and through Mayu’s personal accounts, too.”

  “What else did her father tell you?”

  “How controlling Mayu’s mother was. I never liked her much. She acted nice and understanding, but she was the one who talked Mayu out of quitting each time she broke down. If her mother had really supported her…”

  “What about her friends? Suzuna, her best friend, what did she say?”

  “Suzuna also begged Mayu to quit. She was the angriest of all when Mayu…when she, uh, killed herself. They were like sisters.”

  “How did you know Suzuna was angry?”

  “Angry isn’t the right word, more like determined. I always thought she was kind of a flake, but she formed a support group for women harassed at companies. Working is an addiction like any other, I guess.”

  “Like marijuana.” Hiroshi stared at Steve.

  Steve shook his head. “I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. I was just sitting in with that band.”

  “You saw Suzuna after Mayu’s funeral?”

  “If I needed anything, she helped…registering at the city office, finding an apartment, reading a contract.”

  “So you were close?”

  “It hurt too much to be around each other. I was getting more gigs and some musicians kind of adopted me.”

  “Same ones you were busted with tonight?”

  “I’ve been playing some rock gigs to make ends meet. It’s a different crowd at clubs like this one.”

  The back door of the bus swung open and two agents had two more people to put inside.

  “Looks like you had a good crowd for the music tonight,” Hiroshi said. “The arrests keep coming.”

  Hiroshi and Takamatsu stoop-walked out of the bus.

  “You’re leaving me here?” Steve shouted. “No one even speaks English.”

  Hiroshi looked in at Steve. “We’ll see you at the station. Sleep tight.”

  The agents handcuffed the two new arrests on the railing inside the bus and shoved the door closed.

  The drug agents’ lights were still spinning around, casting red and blue light over the small lane. People leaned out of overhead windows watching the scene. Some took photos. Local cops held gawkers at a distance.

  Takamatsu lit up a cigarette and Hiroshi got pinged with a text. It was from Ueno, who must still be in the station, some papers in English.

  Hiroshi scrolled through the PDFs. “Looks like this kid has prior arrests in the States.”

  Takamatsu smiled at Hiroshi. “Like I said.”

  “Drugs, possession of a weapon, driving while intoxicated.”

  “Those are hardly crimes in America, are they?” Takamatsu said.

  Hiroshi put away his cellphone. “What’s important from what Steve said is that Mayu was moving money for Onizuka.”

  “Back to the money, as always,” Takamatsu said. “You always focus on the big connections, Hiroshi, with your international scams, money laundering, and global transfers, but a small focus might help here. What evidence do you have of Mayu moving money, other than her boyfriend’s word? Did you even search Mayu’s room?”

  Hiroshi hadn’t even thought of that. Her mother had moved after her death, but even if her old room was gone, there must be a
trace of something among her things. Her mother would be the type to save everything.

  Hiroshi said, “I’ll take Akiko with me tomorrow.”

  Chapter 24

  Toeing off his shoes in the genkan, Hiroshi called out, “Tadaima.” He hoped Ayana would still be awake. Her shoes were there and the light was on, but there was no answer. The living room was dark and the kitchen lights set low. Usually, Ayana left them on high, even if she went to bed.

  Hiroshi went to the refrigerator and pulled out the water jug and drank straight from the top.

  “Hiroshi?” Ayana mumbled from the sofa.

  He spluttered water over himself. “Didn’t you hear me come in?”

  “I dreamed you came home.”Ayana wiggled up, brushed her hair back and pulled the blanket onto her lap.

  Hiroshi walked over and sat down next to her.

  Ayana sniffed. “You’re not drunk.”

  “I was working.”

  “That’s what you say when you come home drunk.”

  “Why didn’t you go to bed?”

  “I didn’t shower yet.”

  “Did you eat?”

  “I was too tired.”

  “You have to eat something.” Hiroshi put his arms around her.

  Ayana leaned into him. “We finished another floor of the archive today. I was exhausted, but I went to kendo practice. That was a mistake.”

  “Mistake?”

  “I thought a good workout would reset me, but it just drained the last of my reserves. What time is it?”

  “Is there some of that pasta left?”

  “I was saving it for you.”

  “Take a shower.” Hiroshi stood and pulled her up from the sofa, turned her around and pushed her toward the shower. “I’ll heat the pasta.”

  Ayana slogged down the hall.

  Hiroshi took the pasta out, pesto with mozzarella, and popped it in the microwave. He took two small tomatoes and cut them in quarters, sprinkled them with sweet red vinegar and let them drain. When the pasta warmed, he took the bowl out and slipped the tomatoes around the edges.

  A bottle of red wine rested on the counter, open. Ayana hadn’t been too tired to polish off half the bottle. Now who was drunk? He eyed the bottle. The thought of a drink made him shiver queasily. He took the pasta into the shower.

  “Pasta delivery!” Hiroshi shouted.

  “Why are you bringing that in here?” Ayana shouted.

  “I have my reasons.” Hiroshi waved a forkful in the air.

  Ayana pulled the frosted-glass door open and Hiroshi poked at the pasta with the fork as he eyed her. She leaned forward for a bite, her skin, deliciously wet, flushed shades of red and pink.

  “How is it?” Hiroshi asked.

  “A little watery,” Ayana said, wiping her lips.

  “Lean farther out.”

  “I’ll be out in a minute!”

  “Just one more bite.” Hiroshi held out another forkful.

  She pushed the shower head aside, twisted her hair back, and leaned forward with her eyes on Hiroshi’s.

  Hiroshi tucked one of the tomatoes into her mouth, and then another.

  “OK. Let me finish my shower!”

  “I don’t think so,” Hiroshi said. “Supper before bath. Every kid knows that.”

  “I already ate.” Ayana took another forkful. “You’re getting water all over.” Ayana slid the door shut.

  Hiroshi set down the half-empty bowl on the sink, pulled off his clothes, opened the door and slipped in behind her. “I need a shower, too.” He wrapped his arms around her and started nibbling the back of her neck.

  “Don’t. My legs are barely holding me up,” Ayana said.

  Hiroshi continued.

  “It’s too slippery in here.”

  Ayana wiggled to the side and let the full force of the water whack Hiroshi in the face.

  He grabbed the nylon scrubbing cloth, loaded it with soap, and ran the hard, scratchy cloth over her body.

  “I’m too tired to stand up in here,” Ayana said, pressing her hands against the tile to hold herself up against the rough scrubbing.

  Hiroshi hummed. “All that wine.”

  “All that work. All that kendo.” She twisted aside. “Enough!”

  Hiroshi soaped the cloth and scrubbed himself. They rinsed together and turned off the water. Ayana stepped out and handed him a towel from the rack. “We need new towels.”

  “We need showers together.”

  Hiroshi dried off, tossed the towel on the rack and pulled Ayana toward the bed.

  “My hair is dripping wet.”

  Hiroshi took a towel and wrapped it around her head. He held her tight as they walked like a quadruped toward the bed.

  ***

  Afterwards, they lay together, loose and tangled, and stared at the ceiling.

  “I’ve got to dry my hair.” Ayana wriggled off the bed and went to the bathroom.

  Hiroshi scooted to the edge and followed her to brush his teeth. “I talked to my uncle today,” he shouted over the noise of the hair dryer.

  “I can’t hear you,” Ayana said. She clicked off the hair dryer and gave him a look.

  “I said I talked to my uncle today.”

  Ayana looked at him. “Did I know you have an uncle?”

  “My cousin had a baby.”

  “And you have a cousin?” Ayana shook her head, and then clicked the hair dryer back on.

  Hiroshi started thinking of what Takamatsu said about the ways up to and down from the roof. He went into the bedroom and pulled on a T-shirt. He pulled the wet cover futon off and folded it on the floor. He yanked down blankets from the storage closet and spread them over the bed instead.

  Ayana came in with her hair in a tied-up ponytail and pulled on a T-shirt and underwear. Hiroshi flopped onto the bed. They pulled the dry blankets over themselves and clung together in the dark.

  “Let’s move to Boston,” Hiroshi said.

  “What would I do there?”

  “Teach kendo. Work in a library. Open a flower shop.”

  “What about you?”

  “I’d take the license exam for accounting. I guess I’m trapped for life.”

  “You don’t have a green card. And neither do I,” Ayana said.

  “We’ll figure it out.”

  She pulled back and looked at his face. “What brought all this on?”

  “This case.”

  “The dead bucho at the media company?”

  “The Japanese system crushes people’s souls.”

  “Is this a new insight?” Ayana asked.

  “Who’s going to miss one more terrible boss?”

  “When I worked in my company, it was a self-contained universe. Inside, different rules applied. It took over your life, like a cult. All questions were already answered.”

  Hiroshi stared at the ceiling in the dark.

  “It’s nice to be with you sober for a change.”

  Hiroshi looked at her. “It’s crushing me.”

  “What is?”

  “Running around the city, finding nothing on top of nothing. Nothing’s going to change. We might find the person who killed this asshole boss, but there’ll just be another asshole boss to replace him. Senden is held up as one of Japan’s great successes, upholding traditional values, leading Japan into the world economy, but even a suicide, a harassment trial, and a death at the same exact place doesn’t faze them.”

  Ayana rubbed Hiroshi’s chest and flipped her leg over his. “I think that’s what was so hard. For me and for our classmate Kumiko, but worse for her. She couldn’t find any footing outside the company system, couldn’t find hope for a life outside. She was too resentful of the unfairness to stay in the company and too short of self-confidence to make it outside.”

  “She believed in the myth of the safe, secure, stable company life.”

  “She wanted to believe it, but couldn’t.”

  “I’m glad you escaped.” Hiroshi took her hand.

&nb
sp; Ayana rolled onto her back. “You’re an accountant who knows English in the homicide department. What are you going to do, restructure Japanese society?”

  Hiroshi growled. “What galls me the most is the way they wrap it all in some myth of a hard-driving workplace. What they really do is run their companies like feudal estates. You can’t keep that kind of power structure in place without losing a few peasants along the way.”

  Takamatsu accepted that things couldn’t be changed. Sakaguchi focused on what he could do right. Maybe they understood better. Sunk into the idealism of numbers, he wanted the answers to come out correct at some point, the accounts to square, but maybe they never would. Other scams, and that cryptocurrency case, had really bugged him, but Senden kept spinning in his mind. Ayana said. “I found a book for you.”

  “A book?” Hiroshi massaged Ayana’s hand, felt the strength from kendo and shelving, and the delicacy from…well, from her.

  “From the archives. A history of labor in Japan.”

  “Labor?”

  “We were reshelving the second floor, and there it was. All the archivists were reading through it together at lunch today. It had amazing photos of all kinds of jobs and workplaces in the past. You wouldn’t believe.”

  “What’d it say?”

  “After years of strikes and riots, some reforms were instituted in the Meiji period.”

  “That’s a hundred years ago.”

  Ayana laughed. “Things take time in Japan. Back then, there were no unions, no protections, no health care like now. The book said that after the war, the company structure was what kept workers going. I looked up Senden. They were the first to build a company culture with group bonding and pledges of loyalty. They were the first to have workers hike together to the top of Mount Fuji, the first to use company badges, set up company housing, create a corporate identity,” Ayana said.

  “You mean employees don’t just work there, their entire lives take place there, eating, drinking, marrying, celebrating, all inside the borders of the company.”

  “Like it or not, that’s what saved the Japan after the war. It gave the country direction, a sense of belonging somewhere.”

  “It’s what’s killing the Japanese now.” Hiroshi repositioned his pillow.