CHAPTER XI
…
Yesterday I came face to face with the underboss of the most notorious Yakuza mob in the neighbouring city of Ichihara. I hardly slept that night. If the negotiations fall apart or they're not satisfied, they'll try to get even with us after all the trouble caused by that damned inspector and the police. Not just because they think we're the ones who caused the shakedowns, but because they held grudges against us. Manuel Ieyori had never been on good terms with the Yakuza, and that was enough reason for the Ichihara-kai to try and destroy our place. They'll probably set fire on the nightclub, or rob the shops owned by Manny (some of which served as a bank for his money which he couldn't deposit due to complications) or trash the cars at the cabstand. And if we're unlucky, they might kill one of us just to set an example.
Inspector Saburo Oreki sent his special police task forces to turn the streets upside down in pursuit of those stolen guns, but left The Grandeur untouched, obviously making us look like stool pigeons and police collaborators. They're also combing the other districts, but they'll never find it because the guns are hidden in a private subdivision at Nitonacho, in the hands of Tobe Kakeru. We weren't the only ones subjected to intense police scrutiny. Like I said, the police have no concrete idea on who were the gun robbers, but they narrowed down their sights on a list of known suspects, as well as investigating particularly troublesome neighborhoods in Ichihara and in Chiba - districts like Sakaecho, Fujimi, Yuko and Dojokita.
I didn't live in Sakaecho district, but I spent most of my time there when I'm not in school. I rented a cheap apartment in Kameicho, so it was only a few minutes walk to Chiba University. Although Hanzo offered me a place in Sakaecho, I declined the offer - I was too polite I guess, and I didn't want to owe him anything. My room probably looked more like a cell than a place for a student to live in, but a mattress and a couch and a heater was enough. I guess you'd say I'm just thrifty with my money, and that's true, but I'm not broke at all. Besides, I was often invited over to the Ieyori house and I ate at the local diners in the district. On top of that, I went back to Isobe during weekends so the apartment was essentially just a place to hit the sack. It was what wiseguys called a "mattress room". On a clear day, you could see Tokyo bay even from here, two kilometres away, behind a stretch of urbanized landscape.
When Hanzo Ieyori was born, his father had died in an accident at a construction site. So you could imagine how terrible things were when his mother also passed away after giving birth to him. Manuel Ieyori and his wife Imoguiri raised Hanzo. The Ieyoris were a Catholic family, and Manny gave Hanzo a Christian name. We all called mrs. Ieyori 'Mama Imoguiri', and I did too, just to be polite. Mama Imoguri is a very religious woman, and like how old folks do she'd strike Hanzo with a cane if he's misbehaving. There are no exceptions, and there were occasions even I would get swatted because of Hanzo's foolishness. I'm not a fan of organized religion, but after spending almost two years with the Ieyoris, I had memorized and could recite several prayers in Spanish. But I don't really understand what I'm reciting most of the time, I'm just relying on my memory of what to say. Mama Imoguiri was delighted seeing me become "refined". But I was always nervous that one of their folks would speak to me in Spanish, and I wouldn't really understand.
Five years ago, Mama Imoguiri's own son died. Hardly anyone spoke about it, it was a very private matter in the family that I shouldn't stick my nose in. As far as I knew, her son was shot dead by the police. I don't want to assume that it was because of a crime, because I don't know anything about the whole story.
Sometimes, I'd come along with them to church on Sundays and we'd drive up to Shiomigaokacho, which was always an ethereal experience for me. I've never really had that intimate of a relationship with my mom or dad, and now that they're in the States, things just got even more lonely for me. I don't resent them or anything, of course not. I understood you have to make sacrifices for the family. They wanted to give Komachi good education overseas, so once she was in the last year of high school, they moved to the U.S. without me. And why? Obviously, I'm in college already. I can live by myself. And if I can't, well, I'll just have to deal with it. Think of it as a bird leaving the nest. We've all got to leave the nest at some point, but that doesn't mean family can't stay together. We all just have to grow up and, well, accept things as they are.
So for a moment at least, I felt like I actually had a family again. I felt like I belonged. Manny taught me the lessons my father didn't teach me, and Mama Imoguiri treated me strictly, but it's because that's how mothers are; they want you to grow up with honor and principles. I wouldn't trade Komachi for Hanzo of course, not in a million years! But I was happy that there were people who made me feel like I was loved - made me feel familial love. That's why I didn't need friends at school, or even want a girlfriend. Family is pretty much all you need. It's the highest form of relationship between people. I may be a cynic and a loner, but even lone wolves were from a pack once. And you can say that I just found a new pack where I fit in.
Under the tutelage of Manuel Ieyori, I learned the ways around the streets. Skills and lessons that are much more practical than the ones they can and will ever teach you at schools. I was learning more on the streets than I did in any classroom. And not every lesson was nice, but that's also because life isn't always nice. The first thing I learned from Manny was never trust no one but family. And that made sense, because unless your own blood was out to kill you, they are the only ones you can rely on in this world. Of course, he also said that between Hanzo and me, he'd kill me first, so lesson number two was: don't get too comfy. But in the first place, don't get yourself in a situation where you're forcing a man to choose between his family and a friend. If you stayed slick and kept out of trouble, you have little to worry about.
Bartending earned me good money and it wasn't so bad, but I wasn't planning on mixing cocktails and wiping tables for the rest of my life. Soon, you'd realize that everyone else was in another racket on the sidelines. You've always got to be scheming ways to get extra cash. Money is everything. If you don't think money is everything, try going somewhere without money, then maybe you'll understand. Everyone was running sujikuji bets, bookmaking, loan sharking, fencing stolen goods, and occasionally accepting errands for folks who wanted something done - be it having the trash taken out, or beating the crap out of someone who deserved it.
I'm not a violent guy, I really am not. But I also understood the necessity of using force to achieve the desired goal. Still, I'd rather run away from thugs than stand and fight. I'm not a coward, but I'm also not an idiot. It's not like I'm a martial arts kickass, I'm not. My most powerful weapon will always be my brains, and occasionally an iron pipe or even a gun (although I'd never want to use one at all!) The rule of thumb is only fight when you know for sure you are at an advantage, and always create opportunities and weaknesses which you can exploit. These principles, Manny said, also applied in business, and perhaps even in school I suppose.
In my first year, the guys and I ran errands for Manny, which involved going around Sakaecho and collecting cuts and Sujikuji bets from the register in stores and restaurants under the ownership or protection of Manny's men. Bakeries, ateliers, boutiques, candy shops, delicatessens, Korean buffet houses, pizzerias - you name any establishment you see along Sakaemachinaka street, more often than not, it's under Manny's influence. At the same time, we watched over said establishments, and protected it from damage by troublemakers. The shop owners were practically paying for their shop's protection. Sometimes we went over to the neighbouring districts, where we have business. Manuel Ieyori is practically the boss in this district. I learned 30 different kinds of cocktails while booking up to a hundred bets a day, and squeezing homework in between at every spare minute. Sometimes, I paid the smart guy in class to do my homework for me even, but I avoided that as much as possible. I knew I wasn't going to learn anything in that way, so I still tried to continue studying in any case. Besides, jokes on me, I was the one paying my tuition fees.
One of the few good things I could remember about my dad was when he took me to a driving course during summer break, right after my third year of high school. I got my driving license, and before my family traveled abroad, dad gave me the keys to the Prius and the house. No more words needed to be spoken. I guess the subtle message he wanted to say to me is, "I'm proud of you, son. Good luck." I couldn't remember if I was happy, sad or proud of myself at that time. It's not often my father shows pride in his son. But now, I had to thank him for everything he did. He always cursed at me, even beat me at some point, and threatened to stop paying for my education, but he didn't. He made sure I got into college. So really, it was tough love alright, but it all comes down to the end when you realize that it was all for something. The sad thing is, we only realize all that once they're gone, and sometimes you don't even get to say thank you for everything.
So I try to call them at least once every week. At best, I get to talk to them over the phone thrice a month. It's not much, but I'm just glad to be able to keep in touch. Komachi tells me that she could speak English proficiently now, and I'm a bit envious of her. I major in linguistics, but I couldn't speak English very well, even if my life depended on it. Ironically, I'm studying to speak and read Spanish. It all started as a joke, and I always wanted to go to "some tropical island in the Carribean", and also by the encouragement of Mama Imoguiri. The idea is that between English and another language, the former is easier, so it's kind of a win-win to focus on the more difficult subject. That's also why I don't focus much on economics and social sciences, and instead take classes in mathematics - because that's where I need to improve. But I'm not even good at that either…
Anyway, I never drove my father's car more than five times. Last time I used it, it was just to take it out for a spin around Chiba, make sure that the engine doesn't get slack in the winter. But I'm a very good driver, if I may be so proud. In my second year of college, I was already parking vehicles for patrons and guests of honor Manny was receiving on special occasions. I'd be behind the wheels of someone else's Prius or even limousines, backing it in the lots with inch-clearing accuracy and in under half a minute. It was easy as pie. Hanzo learned too, and so did Fukushi and Matsudo. I felt like we were years ahead of our peers in school, who have yet to drive a car down the E4 or run businesses in town.
Folks knew to keep their cars out of our parking lots and clear of our driveways, because they knew we'd smash in their car windows or slash their tires. And what're they going to do? Call the cops? Unlikely. They were assholes, they shouldn't have parked their tin-boxes where they weren't supposed to. Besides, the police in Sakaecho knew to leave these matters to us. Manny has contacts in the police, and had several cops on his payroll. And every CCTV camera on the streets is rigged. We have eyes everywhere. It was business; it was all about money. Everyone gets paid, everyone is happy. We're not gangsters - at least I wouldn't call myself that. I think it sounds too crude. I'd rather be thought of as a businessman, because this was all about business after all. I suppose it'd be more accurate to say that we're the ones in charge of this district. We're making money from the parking lots. Storefronts. Izakayas. There was opportunity everywhere if you knew where to look.
We were on the streets, running our rackets right under the noses of the law. We did well to disguise ourselves. The Grandeur was an information hub and wholesaler base for untaxed cigarettes and liquor. The cabstand down on Myoken-dori avenue was where Manny's trucks unloaded bootlegged goods straight from the seaport. That was also where hijackers dropped hot cars, changed the plates and sold it off. And the flower shop across the road, where Mama Imoguiri peacefully twisted wire and flowers together into decorative wreaths, was a storefront for a policy bank. We were always scheming. It was always about making a score, making money. There's always some goods to be fenced, or money to be laundered. Sure, these rackets were illegal, but hey, you think the government isn't in on this? When the government gives out medical aid - bought with taxpayer money - they label it as a public service, but when we sell the same thing, it's called bootlegging? something is wrong here. You think the top brass are giving out of their fat pockets? Life isn't fair. Therefore, it's only fair if we play unfairly as well.
Several years ago, I'd have been content with being a trophy husband and a corporate slave. When my father heard of that, he slapped some sense into me. Now, if Manny heard that from me, he'd beat me… he always told me, "stop making bullshit excuses and make it happen!" There's always a way, as they say, and if there isn't, then you make one.
Most people would say I'm part of a gang, but I prefer to call it a crew. We're not gangsters, we're businessmen. And we're certainly not Yakuza. If you think the Yakuza are all about gunfighting and turf wars, you're an idiot. On the contrary, they don't like to fight. It's bad for business. It brings on too much heat. And our crew was relatively harmless. We'd never touch a civilian. I think anything can be solved through peaceful means. It's just that violence is often the easier option. Manny isn't part of a Yakuza gang, but since we're technically an organized crime group according to the law, we're also labeled as a boryokudan. Maybe I am a criminal. I've not always done legal things, but I hope I've always done the right thing.
I knew folks around Sakaecho, and the men in our crew were from this neighbourhood. I don't talk with them if I don't have to, but it's important to make yourself a familiar face among the gang. You always want to be seen in a good light with these kinds of people, and you'd definitely rather want to be on their side than otherwise. Working class neighbourhoods like Sakaecho were home to yakuza mobsters past their prime and new generations of "wiseguys" who took their place in the business on the streets. I first learned from Hanzo that a wiseguy was sort of a sarcastic slang for a gangster - because gangsters certainly didn't want anyone calling them out in public. Someone within your circle might come up to you and say, "hey wiseguy!" And nobody would suspect a thing.
Manuel Ieyori has powerful associates down the street, particularly in the Chinese establishments. Most notable is Xiao Bo, a short tempered man you shouldn't piss off, especially when he's got a knife with him. He's the manager of the restaurant at the very end of Sakaemachiazuma street, just before Fujimi district, and he used to be a rival of ours at some point. Also under Mr. Bo were David Gong, Jin Chang (who insisted we call him "Jackie-Chan") and Kimlee, a fence and bookmaker.
Some of the Korean-run bars, which also weren't spared from the police crackdown a few days ago, are also under Manny's protection. Johnny Woo ran a bar and our cabstand down on Myoken-dori avenue. The two Young brothers were loan sharks and bookies I often encountered on my way to school. I didn't like those guys, and they didn't like me. It might be an unspoken rule that racketeers must treat each other as rivals, and for good reason. One of these guys could actually mug you and take your money. That's why it's important to stay close with your crew and make connections. As they say, safety in numbers.
Blocks one, two and three are practically owned by Filipinos. Toto Santiano owned the FamilyMart on block one, and the funeral home on block two. Nobody calls them "funeral parlours" anymore. "Home" is just another euphemistic word to replace parlor with. The place was also very near to a cemetery. Two of the three barbershops in the district are run by Filipinos. You've got to be wary around these guys, because they are very clever hustlers. I learned the hard way - you always want to haggle the prices at their boutiques and shoe stores, and knock off a fifth of the price because they always bump it up. Some of the ones I also knew around were J.R., a fair-skinned cabbie and bagman; Ernesto Garcia, the local preacher; the barber Conrad Yap; and Joseph, who was the same age as me.
Then there's the rest of our crew. Aside from me, Hanzo, Fukushi and Matsudo were Manny's henchmen - if we were the mafia, these guys were the equivalent of Caporegimes and soldiers. Nakano Suduko, who served eighteen years for assault on a police officer, Kenji Isshiki, Dan the Killer (nicknamed so not because he was a murder, but because he was always a prime suspect) and Toramatsu Masamune. They're not cold blooded criminals, but it just so happens that they have one hell of a police record. But compare it to the criminals in the big city or politicians, they're trustworthy folks. As long as they're paid, of course. Still, it'd seem better to not get acquainted with these people. If I'd learned anything from my father, it's that when dealing with these people, keep your nose out of their business. I didn't need to know if one of them was a murderer or robber, as long as I wasn't involved.
The youngest in our crew has to be this 12 year old boy we all called "Kid" Sudo. He's our errand boy who ran to make pickups at local construction sites and restaurants and bring back the money to The Grandeur or to the flower shop, where we'd total the profits and tuck them away in safes. Kid Sudo is quite smart and sharp for a twelve year old - when I was around his age, I was bitching about my miserable junior high school life, and now here's this kid, who's making more money than I was in middle school - But he's loud and impetuous, and I'd often tell him to shut up. He wanted to be a gangster the same way kids wanted to become superheroes. Kid Sudo was the kind of boy who cheered for the bad guys in the movies. I think he'll make a good hustler when he grows up.
That night, we were at Mr. Ieyori's place drinking and playing cards. My three friends were having fun, but I wasn't in the mood to drink. I've got too much on my mind. Inside the house, I could hear Manny talking loudly about something. He sounded mad. I couldn't help but move closer to the doorway and listen to their conversation.
Manny was yelling at two other men who I haven't seen before. They were probably associates of his. "Did I tell you to go and try to bribe the pope?" He smacked his hands on the table thrice, making the glass of beer jump. "One lousy cop! That's what you needed to do! What can I do now with all the goods stuck at the harbor? Tell me. Go on, tell me. I want to know!"
One of the men spoke up. "But boss, the guys asked for double- "
"So what? Asshole!" Manny cut off the man harshly, cursing at them. "I should lose all the goods, is that it? You should've assessed the situation! Don't you have a brain? I have to clean up your shit every day! Do I have to pass the ball and dunk it too? Fuck you! What the hell am I paying you for? To be my whores or what?"
He was fuming. He clapped his palms and swung his arms in the air several times meaning to strike one of the men, but instead sighed coarsely. Eventually, Manny calmed down and fell back down on his chair with a thud, picking up a knife and pointing it at the two men. "Get out. Get out unless you want me to shoot you! You've wasted a lot of money, now get the hell out!" For a split-second I thought he was pointing at me, but he was sending the men out of the dining room. They left with their heads down in shame.
I walked inside the room. Manny was in no mood to eat his plate now, and he was sipping the glass of beer. I knew I should leave him alone, but at the same time I knew this was the opportunity to gain his attention. "Ieyori-san," I say, approaching him.
"Hachiman," he looked at me with a frown before shaking his head. "I said I want to be alone."
"I'm sorry, sir, but I couldn't help overhearing what you said to those guys… and I came up with an idea. I know how to get those goods back. I can help you solve that problem," I say.
Manny didn't look up when he spoke. "Those aren't the duties of a bookie, no."
"It's good that you brought that up, sir, because I don't want to be a bookmaker anymore," I say to him. "I want to be your partner."
He started laughing, looking up at me incredulously. "That's funny," Manny chuckled, slouching on his chair. "Partner, huh? You want to be my partner? Or do you just want money?"
"It's the same thing, isn't it?" I say.
"To be my partner, you have to earn my trust," he says, looking at me seriously.
"Then I have a proposition." I took a seat at the table and began talking to Manny about my plans. There were over 30 truckloads of goods at the unloading bay in Chuoko, waiting to be confiscated unless something is done about it. Those trucks contained TVs, air conditioners, refrigerators, washing machines, electric kettles, household appliances and many other miscellaneous goods that would be worth a lot once our crew fences them to a buyer. I told him we can bring those goods in town, and the police aren't going to do a thing about it.
Then I told him about the guns. Manny was shocked, but kept listening intently. I told him that I have it - the package of 72 guns and all, enough to arm a mob, kept away in Nitonacho where the police couldn't touch it. I was planning to use it as leverage against the police, blackmailing them that we'd ship the guns to some dangerous gangs in Fukuoka where they could cause huge problems if they didn't stop their forceful investigations in our district.
The police would leave us alone to do as we please, but only for a limited amount of time. That was our opportunity, I said, to run the rival Boryokudan gangs out of town. We could go and literally whack those pricks off the streets, and we wouldn't have to worry about getting caught and arrested for assault or public disorder. When we remove the Boryokudan from this town, we will practically control every establishment in the city. Every store and restaurant would come under our protection, and their cuts would go into our own coffers. I told him that it was also possible to turn the police against the Ichihara-kai, and wipe out the Yakuza in one devastating move. Manny cut me off.
"Kid, you're one crazy sonuvabitch," he gasped, kneading his forehead. "How come you didn't tell me all about this sooner?"
"It's just like what you said - don't trust no one but family," I say.
"Well, ain't we a family here now? If it weren't for blood, you're my son!" Manny laughed. Then he remembered Hanzo, who was attacked only a few days ago by the police-hired gangsters. He was mad again. I told him we'd get even with the Boryokudan. "Those motherfuckers. Wait till we get it on and hit them on the streets, so! But say, how much is the score?" Manny asks.
"If everything goes according to plan, we're looking at a around forty million score," I say.
"Jesus fuckin' Christ."
"Do not blaspheme!" Someone else entered the dining room and gave Manny a little slap on the cheek. It was Mama Imoguiri. Just behind her was Hanzo, with a nervous look on his face. The other two had already left. Had she been listening in on us? I hope not. I was scared for a moment on how she would react. I immediately took her hand and pressed my forehead on it. That was how Hanzo's folks showed respect to their elders. Mama Imoguiri had been upstairs ironing out clothes, and with her pink-rimmed glasses and her brown hair tied in a bun, she gave off that warm, motherly vibe. She often called me "Niño", which was an affectionate nickname for a boy, and it's embarrassing for me. She had been listening alright. With women, no words go unheard, and they never forget. Manny groaned when his wife began to make him talk. "What do you want?" He sighed.
"An explanation. I've always been able to tell when you're hiding something. People around here talk. Some of them work at Yuko. Union workers. I've been talking to the wives of construction hands. You didn't think I knew about Hanselmo getting walloped by some thugs?" She says.
Mama Imoguiri looked very displeased, as she crossed her arms glaring at her husband. She continued, "detectives have been asking questions in the pits. Nothing happens at the construction site without you knowing about it. Now, speak. God and your wife are listening."
She made us tell her everything she just had and hadn't yet heard. I told her. The thirty-two rifles, forty pistols with shells and all. She had to know. When she heard about it, she gasped and crossed herself. Yes, Mama Imoguiri was also in this business. Like I said, these kinds of things were a family business. Sure, family and business never mix, but this was one such exception. We were all in this racket together. Mama Imoguri is the manager and accountant of the family business, and nothing goes unchecked on her watch. You couldn't cheat her on money, as she is an extremely sharp woman.
After scolding both of us harshly, Mama Imoguiri turned to me and put a hand on my cheek, waving one finger at me. "Niño, you're a bartender, a bookmaker, a hustler," she smiled at me wryly. "You're not a fool. Tell me you dumped them somewhere the police can find them. Maybe if they know they haven't fallen into the wrong hands, this might blow over."
I said I haven't, and she shook her head with a frown. Then she turned to her nephew. "And you!" Mama Imoguiri pulled Hanzo by the ear, making him yelp. "You've gotten yourself into quite enough trouble, son. What were you thinking? You sell those guns to anyone who has a use to them, they'll lock you up and throw away the key. Tell Kenji to dump those guns."
"It wasn't my idea!" Hanzo winced, trying to maintain his balance while his aunt sermoned him. "It's Hikio's scheme. Not my call."
"You're the oldest amongst you. You should be responsible. Hanselmo, you have your mother's common sense, but your father's devilment. I see them fighting. Let your mother win."
She let go of Hanzo's ear, which was now pink. I didn't realize I was smiling a bit, and then I was nervous again. Mama Imoguiri motioned for me to come closer and she talked to me again.
"Hikigaya Hachiman," Mama Imoguiri said. She only called me by my full name when she was very serious, so I listened carefully. She made me look at her when she spoke. "My son, this is my advice: whenever you do something bad, do it properly. Do not get caught like an idiot. Niño, the clever people run this world. The intelligent. Not the fools. Remember that. You need to learn who to fight with. Don't forget. Do not get caught."