Tokyo Zangyo

by Michael Pronko

  “Nakata-san and I were classmates, from grade school through college. We get together for a little mahjong and a few drinks.”

  “Why play here in this secret parlor if you’re just friends?”

  “The media can get the wrong impression.”

  Hiroshi smiled. “Interesting you mention the media, because they are waiting downstairs. With one of those satellite vans.”

  Nakata and Suzuki squirmed, their faces rigid. They knew what a scandal this would be and how it would affect their careers. The weekly tabloids thrived on stories like this, true or not. They’d be dressed down and reassigned at work, knocked off their career track. Their wives might not be surprised at their actions, but would be ashamed at everyone knowing.

  “Do these women usually win, or lose?” Hiroshi looked at them. They were stunning—tanned, made-up, buffed from workouts, and draped in designer dresses that showed off their bodies to perfection. “Could I get your names, ladies?”

  They squinted at Hiroshi and looked at the waitstaff for help.

  “OK, OK, we can do that later. We have photos anyway.” Hiroshi hummed. “So Suzuki-san, we really do need to know what the government knows. Make the call now. You know what we want, everything related to Senden. And Nakata, you too.”

  Nakata leaned forward and plucked at his tiles. “You’re going about this the wrong way.”

  “We tried the right way. It didn’t work. Get those files sent to us by courier or take your chances with the media downstairs. They can wait all night and there’s only two ways out of here.”

  Suzuki said, “There’s no one in the office at this hour.”

  Hiroshi took his cellphone and called Sakaguchi. “The media can come up. We’re on the tenth floor. It’s an unregistered mahjong parlor, so—”

  Nakata held up his hand and pulled out his cellphone. “This could take hours.”

  “So does mahjong,” Hiroshi said.

  Suzuki fumbled for his cellphone in the pocket of his jacket hanging on the back of his chair, the same navy blue as in the ministry office.

  Hiroshi spoke to Sakaguchi on the phone. “Hold them off for a minute, can you? It looks like we’re getting somewhere.”

  When Hiroshi hung up, he turned back to Nakata and Suzuki. “The media are all out back. You can go out the front door, hop in a taxi and you’re gone. Just as soon as we get those files in hand. Here’s the address.” Hiroshi showed Nakata and Suzuki the address of the headquarters where Ueno was waiting for the late-night messenger bikes.

  Nakata and Suzuki told their subordinates what to get and where to send it. Hiroshi waved Sugamo over to take a few more photos. A little more insurance couldn’t hurt.

  When he was done, Sugamo said, “This camera works really well. My wife got it on a discount family plan.”

  Sugamo and Hiroshi talked loudly about cellphone cameras, phone apps and the price of phone plans while they waited for the files to be sent to police headquarters.

  The two hostesses squirmed in place. One asked the waiter for a glass of water and the other pulled her cigarette case out of a bejeweled handbag and lit a long black cigarette. A waiter rushed over with an ashtray.

  Nakata and Suzuki sat quietly. There wasn’t anything else to do.

  Nakata got a call back, listened, and looked up at Hiroshi. “It’s on its way.”

  “One of the detectives will call me when it gets there.”

  Suzuki got a call and nodded with a disgusted look on his face. He motioned for a refill on his whiskey mizuwari. A waitress hurried over with a fresh glass.

  The room remained as it was, but some of the players started chatting with each other, checking their walls and moving their tiles. As with most things, Tokyoites didn’t really care what was going on as long as they didn’t have to get involved.

  A waitress came over with a glass of water for Hiroshi and Sugamo. Seeing the glass, a wave of thirst and fatigue swept through Hiroshi. He gulped it down. In Sugamo’s huge hand, the glass looked small, hardly more than a swallow. The waitress, who had been waiting, took their glasses back with a polite bow.

  Nakata turned to Hiroshi with a “Now what?” look on his face.

  Hiroshi looked at Suzuki, who checked his phone again and stared dully at the table.

  “We just need to be sure it arrives,” Hiroshi said.

  The hostesses laughed bitterly and shook their heads. Hiroshi wondered how much humiliation this would cause Nakata and Suzuki, and whether they’d want revenge on the chief.

  One of the hostesses at a rear table got up and whispered to Sugamo. He nodded OK. She hurried off to the toilet on her high heels. As soon as the other hostesses saw her, they raised their hands like schoolgirls, their smooth arms glowing under the lights. Sugamo looked at Hiroshi, who shrugged. They all stood up, straightened their designer dresses, and shuffled away, whispering to each other in irritated tones.

  Hiroshi’s phone rang. He listened and nodded. “There’s one.”

  “What’s the plan here?” Nakata asked.

  “We let you go out the front door. And that’s that,” Hiroshi looked down at Nakata, who reached for his jacket. “Why don’t you wait for your classmate here?”

  When the next call came from Ueno that the package had arrived, Hiroshi listened closely, nodding affirmatively. When he hung up, he turned to Nakata and Suzuki and said, “That didn’t take long. We’ll ride down with you.”

  Suzuki and Nakata stood up, trying to conceal their shame by acting calm and unconcerned. Hiroshi could tell, though, they were very concerned, but that would be the chief’s problem to dispose of.

  A waiter brought their overcoats.

  Hiroshi and Sugamo followed Nakata and Suzuki to the front elevator. A waitress bowed as she held the door open for the four of them and reached in to press the ground floor.

  As they descended, Suzuki said, “How do we know there’s no media waiting for us?”

  Hiroshi didn’t answer and Sugamo scrolled through the photos he’d just taken.

  Outside the club, Osaki and the chief were waiting. Nakata and Suzuki barely looked at them as they shuffled through the door, scanned the street, and dove into a waiting taxi. As it pulled away, the chief turned to see the satellite news van pull around the corner. He waved his arms in a sweeping gesture toward the taxi Nakata and Suzuki took. The van sped after them through the wide main street of Ginza.

  “Oops,” the chief said, watching them go.

  Sakaguchi’s car pulled around the corner, Takamatsu driving.

  Takamatsu rolled down his window. “We’ve got to go. Mistress Emi is waiting.”

  The chief said, “Who do you need with you?”

  Hiroshi said, “Osaki and Sugamo.”

  “Done,” the chief said, adjusting his Borsalino. “Sakaguchi, come with me back to the station.”

  Sakaguchi said, “Chief, I can’t drive with my knee.”

  The chief took off his hat, smiling for the first time Hiroshi could remember. “I’ll drive. Ride in the back. Put your leg up. That was a good day’s work.”

  Sugamo and Osaki played janken to decide who would drive. Sugamo won, paper over rock, so Osaki drove. As the four of them drove to the other side of Tokyo, Osaki asked, “What’s with the chief?”

  “Revenge does strange things to people,” Takamatsu answered.

  Chapter 32

  Where they were going to meet Mistress Emi was on the fifth floor of a building filled with clubs and bars in Akasaka. The narrow sidewalks were lined by railings to keep people safely flowing past the mismatched buildings filled with small offices, stylish restaurants, and elegant drinking spots.

  A car was just coming out of a parking lot with ten spots, so Osaki pulled in with a quick twist of the wheel and backed in place. The locking plate flipped up from below to keep the car from being driven off until the parking fee was paid at the ticket machine.

  “You two wait downstairs,” Takamatsu said. “I don’t think Mistre
ss Emi will be too much trouble. Unless you pay her to be.”

  Hiroshi and Takamatsu walked to the back of the open entry area and got in the elevator.

  Hiroshi said, “Who would call their club ‘The Pink Lash’?”

  “Only someone with a pink lash,” Takamatsu replied. “In the old days, in places like Shinjuku ni-chome, you never knew what kind of bar it was until you were already inside.”

  “Times change.”

  “Tastes don’t.”

  On the door of the club, a braided leather pink and white whip curved from the top to the bottom of the door and halfway back up again.

  The interior was dark and cozy, with the usual rows of liquor and glasses, and jars of otsumami roasted peas, dried squid, and senbei in screw-top jars. Tall standing tables took up the middle of the room and dark booths jutted from the front wall. The ceiling was high with black spray paint covering the exposed struts, pipes, air ducts, and beams.

  Unlike other bars, four large chains dangled from a ceiling rack ending in thick red ropes tied out of the way. Angled down from the back corner was a life-size male dummy hanging from ankle and wrist cuffs. He was adorned with a head harness, nipple clamps, and a spiked chastity belt. Four pink whips snaked through support wires as if permanently lashing him.

  Sneaking up from behind the detectives, Mistress Emi joined them in admiring the decoration. “What do you think? One of my clients is a designer for department store displays. I wanted to add a few more touches, but he advised not overdoing it. We get a lot of first-timers in here.”

  Hiroshi almost didn’t recognize her dressed in a skin-tight purple leather sheath that stretched from her breasts to her thighs, leaving only the peacock’s claws and the dragon’s tail of her tattoos dancing above her knees as she moved. Dark eye shadow and peacock eyelashes framed her deep-set eyes.

  “Mistress Emi,” Takamatsu said with a bit of a flourish.

  “I’m off duty, detectives. Just Emi. Welcome to my club. I have to do something with my earnings, don’t I? Thought I’d create a welcoming space.”

  “Very welcoming indeed.” Takamatsu smiled.

  “And behind the bar is Dana. My best bartender and best third.”

  Dana was busy setting up, but waved politely.

  Hiroshi took a second to get what she meant by “third.”

  “Anyway, sit down. What will you drink?”Emi led them to the booth below the male dummy swaying overhead in masochistic ecstasy.

  Hiroshi said, “We’re on duty.”

  “I just got some wonderful shochu from a client in the liquor business. He keeps me supplied, and I him.”

  “Sounds delicious,” Takamatsu said.

  Hiroshi felt nauseous at the very word shochu. “Just a beer.”

  Dana started the drinks as Hiroshi and Takamatsu settled across from Emi. She was not just sexy, but beautiful, with the kind of strong neck and worked-out shoulders he always found attractive. Her gestures were quick but her voice was slow and resonant.

  “On the phone, you said someone’s following you,” Takamatsu prompted.

  “Yes, that. Well, about six months ago, I got more appointments all of a sudden. Except many of them were no-shows. That had never happened before. It was weird.”

  “And you noticed someone following you to and from those appointments?”

  “An older man a couple of times, and then this younger guy, plump as a beach ball, always dressed in leather.”

  “Did they follow you back to the club?”

  “The younger guy came a couple of times when I wasn’t here, Dana told me. He never talked to anyone, just sat and drank. But lots of customers are like that. They want to be here, but can’t take the next step.”

  As if on cue, a group of young leather-clad customers came in.

  Emi shouted “Irasshaimase!” before turning back to the detectives. “I’m not sure it’s the same guy, but Dana’s description made me think it was. People wear a lot of different outfits in here.”

  “They never followed you home?” Hiroshi asked.

  Emi shook her head, her dyed-blonde hair bouncing over her shoulders. “I had a bad incident when I first started out, so I always take precautions going home. It was more when I got close to the hotels that I noticed. I started to take an extra bottle of pepper spray in my bag, and this.” Emi reached between her breasts and pulled out a small pink plastic case.

  “A stun gun?” Takamatsu said.

  “Mini size, but high volts,” Emi said, and slipped it back inside her bra. “I have these bras made to order. And this.” She held out her necklace, a gold chain with a black stone on a gold backing.

  “Sends a message to…who?” Takamatsu said.

  “The guy you met at the hotel, C3PO. If he doesn’t answer, it goes to another service. But he always answers,” Emi said.

  Dana brought over their drinks. Hiroshi wasn’t sure where on the gender continuum to place Dana, but Dana’s warm smile and gentle eyes were beyond gender.

  Emi had a gin and tonic with berries and orange peel. “It’s the little extras that really make drinks. And sex.” She wrapped her hands around the glass and Hiroshi stared at her shunga fingernail art. Each nail had a different sexual position, done like a ukiyoe painting. Hiroshi wasn’t sure where to look. He took his beer, Takamatsu his shochu and they clinked glasses.

  Emi set her jaw. “I saw the press conference today. Almost everything they said was a lie.”

  “We know that,” Takamatsu said. “But how do you know that?”

  “Onizuka didn’t kill himself. I know he didn’t,” Emi said, taking a long drink with a shiver. “This whole thing is starting to creep me out. I just want to get back to whacking butts.”

  Emi dug into her bra again, on the opposite side, and pulled out a USB flash drive. “He’s on here.”

  “Who?”

  “Onizuka. I videotaped him as part of the humiliation. I told him I’d send this to his company if he continued to be a bad boy, the usual storyline. Most clients love that. I would replay the previous session for him when he was tied up, force him to watch. It added to the shame.”

  Hiroshi took the USB flash drive. He wanted to call Sugamo to come get it, but he could send it to the station after they finished talking.

  Emi said, “I edited myself out. If it got out that I’d violated client secrecy, I’d be out of business. I hope you understand.”

  More people came in, a large group of obvious newbies, salaryman types already drunk. Dana and Emi called out, “Irasshaimase!”

  A woman in turquoise zentai body tights, her face uncovered, rushed in and ran over to Emi and apologized for being late. She was clearly a she, with a young, lithe figure, and nimble steps like a ballerina. Maybe she was a ballerina, since everyone in the bar seemed to have multiple identities, genders, and modes of attire. She pirouetted and glided toe-to-heel to the bar to start work.

  “Young people are so irresponsible. Show up on time, right?” Emi shook her head. “And the name you asked me about, Mayu? It’s all over these recordings.”

  The newbie group were in hysterics at the smorgasbord of BDSM sex toys, tools, and gear hanging on the walls of the club. Dana herded them to the corner, dragging over standing tables and taking their orders. Their prim salaryman suits and ties were disheveled and their faces pink and mottled. It was not their first stop of the night.

  Emi continued, serious. “You can see on the video how Onizuka really loved anal. Once he got worked up, whatever I put in there was great with him. I had to buy new gear for his tastes, so over the years I started to understand Onizuka. He was trying to make up for the sins of the day with sins at night. But, well, here’s what I should have told you the other day.” Emi looked at the salarymen laughing more loudly than before. “What I didn’t tell you…the night he died, Onizuka had an appointment with me.”

  “So, you lied to us when we talked before.” Hiroshi looked at Takamatsu, criticizing him for believing her.
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  Emi looked at Hiroshi directly. “I did, yes, I’m sorry. I was so shocked about Onizuka, I didn’t know what to think. Or what to say.”

  “What about the truth?” Hiroshi suggested.

  Emi nodded, resolved, maybe, to do that.

  “Go on,” Takamatsu said. “Tell us about that night.”

  “It was the strangest session I ever had with him, and many of them were very strange. I was contacted by some women. About two weeks ago. They said they used to work with Onizuka and wanted to teach him a lesson. I thought maybe they were the ones following me, so I agreed to meet. I figured the women could give him what he always secretly desired—ultimate submission.”

  “How did they know you knew Onizuka?” Hiroshi asked.

  “I wondered about that, and still don’t know, but they knew who I was, and roughly what Onizuka and I did. They told me what they had in mind and I thought it sounded like something that Onizuka would love. In fact, I wondered if Onizuka had set it all up with them, since he loved elaborate scenarios and was good at cooking them up. It would be another level of humiliation.”

  Hiroshi drank the rest of his beer.

  Takamatsu took a large sip from his shochu glass and leaned forward.

  “That night, once I got him hog-tied and ball-gagged, I told him he was going to get a few surprises. He twisted like he does when he loves something. I jammed a bottle of vodka into his anus and let it soak in.”

  Takamatsu said, “I know of two cases where people died from alcohol enemas.”

  “ The women asked me to do that. I don’t like to use knockout drugs after a couple bad experiences,” Emi said. “I googled it and followed the instructions, and he was a strong drinker, but, well, he ended up passing out. I woke him up, took the ball gag out, and he threw up. I cleaned him up and figured he’d be ready in time…”

  “In time for what?” Takamatsu asked, pushing his glass aside.

  Emi took the last swallow of her gin and tonic. “For the women. They arrived in masks and hoods, so all I could see were their eyes. They told me they’d pay me triple my usual session charge to hand him over. That wasn’t my understanding. I thought they were going to play with him there at the bondage love hotel, take some photos, whatever. But they wanted to take him away. I mean, he couldn’t even walk. I was getting worried, but I felt maybe it was all Onizuka’s money, and maybe his plan, so what did it matter? He’d done crazier things and when he threw money around, he really let it fly. But I still felt unsure. The women were too straight, you know, and he was too drunk by then to answer, so I asked them if this was Onizuka’s plan.”