Tokyo Zangyo

by Michael Pronko

  “Why didn’t anything happen to him?” Hiroshi asked. He reached in his pocket and turned off his cellphone to stop the constant buzzing.

  Masayo said, “He was called in again and again, but every time he wiggled out of it. He pointed to what his section accomplished, helping the company expand overseas, but he couldn’t even speak English. Any meeting, phone call or email with foreigners, he needed one of us to interpret. Then he took all the credit. He could barely read an email in English, and he wanted to be posted to head the overseas office? It was infuriating.”

  Hiroshi cleared his throat and looked again around the group of women, all of them survivors of a system he couldn’t begin to grasp. “So who do you think might have wanted to kill him?”

  “Kill him?” Masayo said. “I thought the company announced it was suicide? Wasn’t it?”

  The women stared at him, nearly out of their chairs, their bodies become limp, as if deflating. They breathed heavily and started fondling their cellphones.

  Hiroshi looked at each of them in turn. “We haven’t concluded our investigations, but what do you think, was Onizuka the suicide type?”

  Shio tapped the table. “Mayu would have known, but she’s not here.”

  Suzuna mumbled to herself, her face as twisted as the thick blonde braids that fell like ropes on either side of her round face.

  Masayo and Shio looked at her, waiting for her to say more, and the others looked back and forth at each other, the table and at Hiroshi, their faces as blank and cold as the refrigerated cases along the wall.

  Hiroshi waited, looking from face to face.

  A loud knock startled everyone.

  Sugamo was peering in the window, waving for Hiroshi to come.

  Hiroshi walked over and unlocked the door.

  “Isn’t your cellphone on?” Sugamo asked.

  “I turned it off.”

  “Come on, we have to go.”

  Sugamo looked in the room at the women and then at Hiroshi. “Chief called from Shinbashi and needs us. Right away. Sakaguchi called, too.”

  Hiroshi walked back to the table. “I need to know everyone’s full name, address, and phone number. Suzuna, can you send me that information here?” Hiroshi held his cellphone toward her.

  Suzuna took her cellphone and without meeting his gaze, copied his information, and then, like someone used to taking orders, she started copying and pasting the information to send him, both thumbs working the touchpad.

  Hiroshi watched her awkwardly making mistakes and undoing them, her hands trembling all the way up her shaking arms. Then he hurried off to follow the orders of his own boss.

  Chapter 30

  As soon as Hiroshi got in the car, Sugamo put the siren on.

  “What does the chief want?”

  Sugamo said, “Sakaguchi said he was sullen and angry all day. Hardly said a word to anyone.”

  “The ministry officials brushed him off,” Hiroshi said.

  Takamatsu flipped his lighter open and shut. “That’s what I’ve been trying to do for years, but it doesn’t work. He never goes away.”

  Sugamo said, “He’s had Osaki staking out the company and the ministry people. Ueno’s been coordinating it all from the station.”

  Takamatsu turned around to Hiroshi in the back seat. “Big revelations from those girls?”

  “They’re women… and no, I needed more time. They didn’t like the idea of it being murder, though.”

  “You want to go back? I’ll make some excuse for you.”

  “Maybe the chief’s deal won’t take long.”

  Hiroshi checked his messages, hoping Suzuna had sent the names and numbers of the women, but she hadn’t. Sugamo got onto the expressway and headed east on the same expressway they’d just taken west to Kichijoji. Hiroshi texted Suzuna all the way to Shinbashi, but got no answer.

  He sent another LINE message to Chizu, wondering why she hadn’t answered or decided where and when they’d meet. Maybe Takamatsu had been right, they should have brought her in, not left her working at company headquarters.

  Sugamo pulled off the toll road into the neat, symmetrical blocks of Ginza. He turned down a back lane housing hostess clubs and small snack bars on the top floors, upscale retail shops and fine restaurants on the ground floors. Soft light spilled on the hood from all directions. Pedestrians and delivery bikes streamed around them on both sides.

  Hiroshi checked his cellphone GPS app. “Sakaguchi said, ‘Artemis Orchard.’ Two blocks down and one over.”

  Takamatsu said, “Looks like the chief has tracked them right into the heart of it. More business deals have been made in these clubs than in all the offices in Tokyo.”

  Sugamo turned right and right again, onto a back lane that looked just the same except for the names on the signs. He slowed, turned right and right again onto the previous street. Takamatsu and Hiroshi craned their necks for Artemis Orchard. The sign could be written in any script, English, katakana, hiragana, or maybe just an image.

  “Let me out. I can’t see from in here, the buildings are too close.” Hiroshi got out and walked in a circle reading the overhead signs and checking building directories. Judging from the website photos, the club looked like an expensive and roomy place with refined hostesses and a discrete atmosphere. The GPS said it should be right there, but there were too many signs for all the small clubs tucked inside the ten- and twelve-story buildings.

  Finally, there it was, a small silver sign on an otherwise business-oriented building.

  Hiroshi waved for Sugamo to pull past and park. Even tight against the wall, the car took up nearly half the lane.

  Takamatsu got out and lit a cigarette. “The chief is wasting our time. We should be talking to Mistress Emi. Or following your intuition and talking with those girls again.” He blew his smoke out quickly, without his usual evident pleasure.

  Hiroshi saw Sakaguchi’s huge figure ambling toward them from the corner. He limped badly. Sugamo got out of the car and walked over to offer his shoulder. Sakaguchi dropped his arm over him as he walked.

  “You’ve got to get off that knee.” Hiroshi took Sakaguchi’s arm and leaned him against the car.

  Sakaguchi nodded. “As soon as this is over. The chief and Osaki will be in position in a minute. Maybe it won’t take long.”

  “What’s this all about? We’re supposed to be on the other side of town,” Hiroshi said.

  “The chief has this all set up. Let’s just do it and then we can get back to work,” Sakaguchi said.

  “He has what all set up?” Takamatsu asked.

  “The ministry officials and the Senden HR people are upstairs,” Sakaguchi said.

  “So that’s it,” Hiroshi said. “The chief was furious that the ministry people brushed him off and now he wants revenge?”

  “And he wants to pressure them for help from the inside.”

  Takamatsu took a last drag and flicked his cigarette into a small puddle of water next to a drain. “Well, if it’s that, maybe it’s worth it. Are we going in tough or soft?”

  Sakaguchi said, “You’re not going in at all. You’re watching this door with me. Osaki and the chief are taking the door on the other side of the block.” Sakaguchi stopped to check his cellphone. “Hiroshi and Sugamo are going in. The twelfth floor is the Artemis Orchard. The tenth floor is a private mahjong parlor where the ministry officials and businesspeople can play with the hostesses. The entrance is through the hostess club.”

  “So, the chief tracked them here to catch them playing mahjong.” Takamatsu hummed and smiled.

  Sakaguchi said, “And there’s one more thing you’re going to like.”

  Takamatsu smiled more broadly.

  “The media should be here in about—” Sakaguchi checked his watch. “Fifteen minutes.”

  Takamatsu let out a chuckle. “I’m starting to like this a lot. But I’d like to be going in.”

  Sakaguchi said, “I need you here for the press and the local beat cops, an
d anyone who tries to run. A few more detectives will be here shortly, and I’ll call the local cops when the press arrives. Hiroshi, if they decide to come down this way, call us.”

  “Am I supposed to tell them the press is waiting outside?” Hiroshi said.

  “The chief wants you to do just that. Squeeze them,” Sakaguchi said.

  Hiroshi thought for a moment. “There’s no press at the door on the other side of the block?”

  “Right,” Sakaguchi said. “So, whether you find them in the mahjong place or the hostess place, give them the choice to cooperate and hand over Senden’s files or—”

  “Or face the media. Salacious scandal, private gambling den, corporate bribery, gorgeous hostesses, the weeklies will have a field day.” Takamatsu laughed. “Don’t let them go until they call and have sent a delivery messenger to the station.”

  “Ueno is waiting there to receive the package, so keep them until it gets in his hands,” Sakaguchi said.

  “And take a few photos,” Takamatsu said. “For insurance.”

  Sugamo patted his breast pocket. “I just got a new cellphone with a triple lens. Nice chance to try it out.”

  Hiroshi saw a satellite van pull in at the end of the lane with a broadcast antenna. “They’re early. We better go.”

  Takamatsu laughed again. “This is the kind of scandal they come early to catch.”

  Another van, unmarked, but probably full of reporters and photographers, turned in after the satellite van. Sugamo and Hiroshi straightened their jackets and went into the elevator and pressed the button for the twelfth floor.

  The bouncer who met them at the elevator door on the top floor was a bald, plump guy who didn’t look tough, and wasn’t. Sugamo forearmed him out of the way and held up his badge as he pushed past. Hiroshi followed in his wake.

  They walked past the coat check and alcoves spotlighting small statues of Artemis and other Greek goddesses. A very surprised young waiter in a waistcoat and bowtie looked up from the bar that stretched along the left-hand side. The bartender put down his cocktail shaker and hurried around the counter fumbling with his cellphone. Hiroshi held up his badge, then put his finger over his mouth for the bartender to be quiet.

  Sugamo nodded to the booths at the right. Hiroshi took the low circular sofas on the left. A series of square lights stretched to the dark rear of the club. A huge chandelier hung from the ceiling, throwing glints of light through the low-lit club.

  Businessmen chatted around tables covered with ice buckets, liquor bottles, mixers and cocktail glasses. Hostesses in sleek low-backed dresses sat between the men, smoking and smiling and nodding. At one table, a man in a wide open-necked collar sat with a stunning brunette in a dark orange one-piece. Another hostess clapped her hands at whatever he’d just said and squirmed on the low sofa.

  Hiroshi wasn’t sure if Sugamo knew what Nakata and Suzuki looked like. He hadn’t been to either Senden or the Ministry of Labor. So, he checked both sides. But table after table, none of the surprised, offended glances came from anyone looking remotely like Nakata or Suzuki.

  Two bouncers, the bartender and two male waiters, all in tuxedo waistcoats, headed toward them. One of the bouncers, almost as large as Sugamo, said, “Why are you bothering our customers?”

  Hiroshi could hear karaoke coming from somewhere, a different tune than the background music in the main room. “Where are the VIP rooms?”

  The bouncers and waitstaff conferred in whispers. One of the waiters then peeled himself from the huddle and waved the detectives to follow him into a tight hallway with doors on each side. Hiroshi pulled open the first one, but there was only a circular sofa and a huge, blank karaoke screen.

  In the next one, one hostess and one customer looked up at him with stupid, drunk expressions. The next room had an older man with two hostesses. He looked surprised but unconcerned. The fourth room had a very drunk man singing karaoke with a younger colleague and two hostesses, who applauded wildly at their reverb-echo voices.

  Hiroshi turned to the waiter. “That’s all the VIP rooms?”

  “Everyone’s a VIP here,” he said, mimicking the club’s set line.

  “Where are the changing rooms,” Sugamo asked.

  The waiter made the mistake of shrugging.

  Sugamo grabbed him by the lapels of his cheap half tux and slammed him against the wall. “Where do the girls change and do their makeup?”

  The waiter was no fighter. “One floor down.” He waved for them to follow. At the end of the VIP hallway, he pulled aside heavy curtains. Behind was a small area with a coatrack and a door. The waiter led them down a circular staircase to the floor below.

  At the bottom, he pulled open the door to a narrow room lined on one side with mirrors and a counter filled with hair dryers, tissues, cream jars, spray cans, and cosmetic cases. It looked like the makeup room for a movie set. At the far end of the narrow room stood tall wooden lockers with women’s names on them. The air smelled so strongly of perfume and hairspray that Hiroshi sneezed.

  The waiter stopped at the lockers and held his hands out wide, signaling that was all there was.

  “How do we get to the tenth floor? The mahjong room.”

  The waiter started to shrug but when Sugamo took a step toward him, he quickly pulled out a set of keys and jangled them. He led them to a ceiling-high curtain and pulled it back to reveal a concrete-walled area in front of a small elevator door. “The girls want to escape from customers sometimes,” he explained.

  The waiter slid the key into the slot and a small elevator quickly arrived. He put the key into the inside panel and all four of them rode down one floor. The bartender stood aside to let them out.

  When the door opened, Hiroshi stepped into the most amazing mahjong room he’d ever seen.

  Chapter 31

  A dozen mahjong tables were spread through the cavernous room, but they weren’t the usual functional green felt and laminated wood. Instead these were made of inlaid wood atop an angled base of black lacquered steel with gold accents. Atop each table, copper-topped tiles were stacked in walls and laid open on the black felt. Glass-domed lights on long silver rods hung down from an industrial-chic track that curved along the high ceiling and the exposed concrete walls were hung with Persian and Chinese carpets that dampened the clack of the tiles.

  Hiroshi and Sugamo stepped out of the elevator and surveyed the room. Play stopped and the room dropped to a hush. The waitstaff, young men and women in prim waistcoats with drink trays, halted in place. The men in the high-backed chairs turned to stare, their placid faces in shadow outside the circles of light. The hostesses, sitting opposite the men, brushed back their well-styled hair and plucked their dress straps.

  At one table, the automatic tile-washing mechanism had just started a new game. The under-table gears clicked and mixed the tiles into four new hands. The underneath panels raised level with the table top and four neat walls of tiles were delivered precisely in place. Dice rattled in the small, sealed globe and shook out the next number. When the dice stopped, the room plunged into silence.

  Hiroshi surveyed the tables for the head of Senden’s HR, Nakata. Just as the chief had suspected, he was seated across from the Ministry of Labor official, Suzuki, the one who had rebuffed the chief the day before. The two bare-shouldered, lusciously dressed hostesses would have made it hard for Hiroshi to concentrate on the mahjong. Maybe they were used to such distracting partners.

  Hiroshi and Sugamo moved toward their table.

  The hostesses playing with Nakata and Suzuki made a move to depart, but Hiroshi waved them back into their chairs. Sugamo snapped several photos before Nakata and Suzuki held up their hands and the women hid their faces beneath their long curls. Sugamo snapped a couple more and looked pleased with his new cellphone camera.

  Hiroshi stopped next to their table and looked back and forth from Nakata to Suzuki and then at the women. “Who’s winning?”

  When they didn’t answer, he leaned forw
ard to look at their upraised tiles. “It’s nice that government and business get along so well. It’s too bad we detectives can’t get such cooperation.”

  The women looked down at the table and Nakata and Suzuki remained frozen in place, looking at the black felt top and half-finished hand.

  Hiroshi asked, “What do you play for? A hundred yen for a thousand points? A thousand for each ten thousand?

  “We just play for fun,” one of the women in a black double-strap dress said.

  “I’ll bet you do,” Hiroshi said.

  Sugamo stepped toward a table whose players had started to put on their suit jackets. He motioned for them to stay seated. The two men both sported punch perm hair, with neat, tight curls that clung to their skulls, marking them as old-school yakuza from Kansai. Hiroshi couldn’t hear what Sugamo said, but they settled back in place. This had nothing to do with them, so they would likely wait it out. But Hiroshi wished that Takamatsu and Osaki had come up with them. If things went wrong, they wouldn’t get up the elevator in time.

  Nakata found his voice. “So, why are you here?”

  “We requested files from Senden and help from the ministries. I just wanted to check on when the promised assistance will materialize.” Hiroshi spoke in a low voice so the other tables couldn’t hear.

  Nakata shook his head in disbelief. “Like I told you, it takes time.”

  “We’re out of time, so make the call,” Hiroshi said more loudly than before.

  “What call?” Nakata closed his eyes and opened them.

  “The call to have the files sent.”

  “Now?”

  Hiroshi nodded.

  Nakata glared at him.

  Hiroshi turned to Suzuki. “And Suzuki-san, we need the same from you. Whatever you have about Senden.”

  “Tomorrow,” Suzuki said.

  Hiroshi spread his hands wide. “By tomorrow, you two could be in the news.”