CHAPTER XVIII

…

It was good that nothing inappropriate transpired during my overnight stay at Miura Yumiko's house, because the next morning I woke up to discover that her father, Miura Saito had come home unexpectedly. Saito-san wasn't too happy to see me sleeping on the living room floor, while his daughter lay on the sofa beside me. I wanted to disappear and never come back here again… this is one of the worst first impressions one could possibly make on a friend's family - a girl's father no less. Even Miura was embarrassed to see her father, sitting behind the kitchen counter, arms crossed, staring at her.

Miura, visibly flustered, asked in a shaky voice, "d-dad! What are you doing here?"

"What do you mean 'what am I doing here'?" Saito-san huffed, giving her an incredulous look.

"Y-You said you'd be coming home on Saturday…"

"So?"

"I'm having my f-friends over!" Miura yelled, covering her face.

"It's my house. I'll go home whenever I want to go home. The fact that you're having friends over is inconsequential to that - aka, I don't give a shit." Saito-san nonchalantly says.

Miura Yumiko ran up the stairs in a blur, red as a tomato. Only now did I realize that she was wearing a large T-shirt and a pair of mini-shorts - she almost looked half-naked… and you definitely don't want to be around your father half-naked. It didn't help my awkward situation.

Then Saito-san turned to me and questioned what business I have being here. I swallowed a lump down my throat. I explained that she invited me over to help her in her homework, and ended up staying too long. Of course, nobody is going to buy the "homework" excuse… I mean, I was with a girl for an entire night, and you'd expect her father to believe that? Surprisingly, Saito-san didn't say anything else, but he looked at me carefully, subtly telling me that I should watch out. He recognized me as one of Miura Yumiko's classmates back in High school.

"Hikigaya Hachiman, right?" Saito-san put down the book he was reading before saying, "the food is almost ready, so you might as well join us for breakfast."

Breakfast was quite a tense affair. Miura Yumiko is very quiet, shifting in her seat opposite to me. Her father, on the high end of the rectangular mahogany table, was clearly observing the two of us. When adults ask questions, they are often more interested in numbers than in trivial details. A child, when asked a question, may answer how he likes to play in the fields and catch dragonflies. But an adult really doesn't care about that. Instead, an adult would ask, "how old is she now?", "how much does she weigh?" Or "what grade is she in now?" If you noticed, a lot of the questions asked by adults can be answered by numbers. To adult people, numbers make more sense than details. Corollary to this, one can catch their attention by mentioning numbers. If a child described a house as colorful and with a beautiful garden, an adult would pay little attention. But if the same child said that the house was priced at 40 million yen, the adult would immediately describe, "that house must be very beautiful."

Anyway, Saito-san asked about my studies, what course I was taking, if I have a part-time job… I told him I was working as a bartender in a nightclub, which raised eyebrows. Still, Saito-san didn't immediately criticize my line of work. After all, that wasn't my actual goal. Of course, I couldn't tell him how I was involved in much shadier business than what meets the eye. I couldn't tell anyone outside of the private social circle I was in. When people are asked about their families, they are often put in a tight spot where they have to show that their family is respectable and proper. People pay for good education and schooling, but you can't buy class. So I was not so comfortable having to reveal that my father, mother and sister were in the U.S. while I stayed back here in Japan. But I think Miura Saito regarded the fact that I was now living on my own, and even sending my earnings to my family to help pull through hard times.

I gradually learned more about the Miura family. Piecing together what little details and information I learned from my time with Miura Yumiko, I knew that her late mother was of British descent. And looking at the large, gilded portraits lining the red walls of the grandiose living room, I figured the Miura family was one of high esteem and prestige. Miura Yumiko's mother, an Englishwoman belonging to a noble family of bankers, supposedly even having ties with British royalty, was a modest but intelligent woman of class. I have never seen Mrs. Miura in real life, but if the only portrait oil painting in the room with her in it was accurate, she has the same golden blonde hair gracing her daughter, and a pair of azure blue irises that reminded me of a certain ice queen, only it wasn't cold - it was an elegant look on a very pleasant face, yet still carried an air of an individual who was not to be trifled with. She was intriguing, and on her lips was a slight smile, cryptic like Da Vinci's Mona Lisa.

And beside the elegant Englishwoman who was sitting confidently in a velvet-lined settee, in the portrait was a man who gave almost sharp contrast to his wife. His hair was combed and well kempt, and his eyes were the same emerald green as his daughter. It seemed to have the same fire and aplomb as Miura Yumiko. His lips were formed in a cordial, assertive smile and his face was handsome and charming. He looked like someone who would make a brilliant lawyer or an impeccable businessman. This was Miura Saito.

But Saito-san in the flesh hardly resembled the man in the portrait. If I had to guess, this portrait was developed around twenty years ago. Mrs. Miura was a mature woman, but certainly no more than thirty years of age. The painting must have been commissioned during the first few years of their marriage. A long time has passed since then, and, with all due respect to the late Mrs. Miura, her passing must've taken a toll on her husband. The Miura Saito in front of me now is much more reserved and sullen. His black hair was rough and matted, and his eyes, though still sharp and perceptive, showed tiredness. Life had eroded him into a pessimistic, gloomy, yet wiser person.

Miura Saito was very quiet for the rest of the morning. He was a man of few words. I didn't forget to give thanks for the meal, and he simply gave me a nod. Miura asked me to wait for her while she got dressed. There was still school today… well, I used to not have classes on Thursdays, but again, I now do because of a change of schedule, courtesy of Miura Yumiko.

So I impatiently waited just outside her gate. She thought I already left, and would've been very annoyed if I had. We parted ways at Higashi-Chiba station. Miura still has to go back to Yotsukaido and attend classes in Aikoku-Gakuen university. It was already past eight o' clock, so she might not make it in time. While I have to get back to my apartment and put on some proper clothes.

"Say, what should we call ourselves?" Hanzo Ieyori posed that essential question one afternoon while we were walking down the street near the Sotobo railway line.

After dismissal, we decided to meet up - Yoshiteru Zaimokuza, Jen Matsudo, Tobe Kakeru, Mutsuhiro Fukushi, Hanzo Ieyori and I headed to Fujimi to hang out. Of course, I have better things to do and there were errands I ought to run in the district, but I might as well go with the gang. Now that Hanzo mentioned it, we really didn't have a title to call ourselves yet. Folks in our district called us guys from the nightclub the "Ieyori boys," regardless if we were kin or just acquaintances. Like I said before, we really didn't think we were boryokudan, even if we technically were according to the law. And we're definitely not yakuza. Manuel Ieyori's crew is recognized in the city, but the closest thing to a title that people call them are "gangsters."

Maybe we could just label ourselves as the "Chiba-kai." After all, we were based in Chiba city. Or "Ieyori-kai," since the Ieyori family is the one who is in charge and ran our operations. But Manny doesn't like having their name known, especially if it's going down on police records. I read the inscription on a green sign, and on it, in bold golden letters said "Chiba Outfit". I stared at the tailor shop across the street. The five-story building had a brick façade which was painted a green colour and lit by yellow lamps. It's been standing on Rue de La Pierre street since the 80's. There is a display of mannequins dressed in fancy tweed suits behind the front windows. One of Xiao Bo's relatives owned this establishment. I've visited the tailor shop plenty of times, always admiring the quality and prestigious suits brought in from Europe and the States.

What if we dubbed ourselves as "The Chiba Outfit"? It seems like a fine enough title for a group of underdogs like us. I suggested it to the rest of the guys. "Seems okay," they said. Hanzo and Fukushi didn't really care what to call our crew, and Zaimokuza's suggestions were convoluted as usual. I myself don't have any sure ideas. But we have to refer to ourselves by at least something. The Chiba Outfit. I could get used to it. But nobody is going to call us that. We're usually known as "the guys" or "the bookies". Incidentally, there's an Italian-American mafia called the Chicago Outfit. It used to be ruled by the infamous Alphonse Gabriel Capone, better known as Al Capone. I've read about him in books and there were references to him in movies. He controlled much of Chicago during the Prohibition era around the 1920's. It would be ironic if we, The Chiba Outfit, became the Japanese equivalent of the Chicago Outfit. Now wouldn't that be fun?

The Chinese must've done a lot of cleaning in Fujimi district, because I didn't see not one biker anywhere. Nada. And when I made a pickup at an electrical supply outlet, I met Jackie-Chan inside. He told me that they just made a "takeover" last night at the place, and now there weren't any boryokudan taking shobadai (protection money) anymore. In fact, there weren't any boryokudan at all in the district. All the stores were brimming with the third-week-of-the-month shobadai, and nobody was collecting it. I told him that I'll get some of our men to come and make pickups, and we'll divide up the profit. Jackie-Chan said that their crew is going to keep pushing into Shinmachi district. Mr. Bo wants to know how many cops were on guard. I knew that they had their sights on the grand Chiba station. Zaimokuza said he'll have the timetables ready by seven.

We were making headlines, literally. All night, Nippon News Television was reporting gang violence in Chiba. I did not like it one bit. Publicity of this sort is never good news. Still, the police were doing little about it. There weren't any innocent people harmed during our operations, and as long as it stays that way, the police would not interfere. To them, we were doing them a favour by destroying each other. If there were rival gangsters killed during Manuel Ieyori's takeovers, I wouldn't know until word got out that the gangster in question was missing. Manny had people who specialized in waste disposal. One can use their imagination on ways of disposing of a body cleanly. We have folks who did "spring cleaning," or getting rid of evidence. Because a corpse left lying on the streets always caused trouble and annoyed the police, who were usually complacent with gang-related affairs so long as we remained discreet about it.

Only now did I realize that we weren't just fighting the ragtag boryokudan gangs in town anymore. We were at war with the Ichihara-kai, who had assets in Chiba. It was an inevitable conflict. But the Ichihara-kai had already been deteriorating for a long time. Their numbers were too little to make any difference. Now, it was finally revealed that their former influence was long gone. They couldn't do shit to stop us. What's worse, their underboss, Nozato Uchibo and several of his entourage had been arrested yesterday. I couldn't believe it when Manny told me that piece of news. It was all over television. I did not expect that to happen. And of course, the Chief Inspector from Tokyo Saburo Oreki was the one to lead the indictment. Their boss, Soai Ichigo did little to prevent the Ichihara-kai from falling apart like a sand castle.

And for the past week, Manuel Ieyori outsmarted and outflanked Soai Ichigo. The man had inherited power from his father, but he didn't have what it takes to become a real Boss. Soai Ichigo was stubborn and impetuous, but he was all words and no show. I'd even go so far as to say that Nozato Uchibo, with his volatility, would make a better Boss than Soai Ichigo. At least Uchibo had initiative.

We knew that there were at least a hundred members in the Ichihara-kai, and against this, even with the Chinese, the Koreans and the Filipinos on our side, Manuel Ieyori could only throw two small but superbly organized crews led by his lieutenants Suduko Nakano and Toramatsu Masamune. But with the help of Zaimokuza and Matsudo, we already outmatched the Ichihara-kai in intelligence. We knew where to strike. Hardly anyone knew of our numbers and strength, and with Hanzo forming his own crew with Kenji and with me as his second, we are more than a match for the Ichihara-kai.

So the Ieyori crew raided the crap games and gambling houses under Soai Ichigo's protection. It seemed all too simple. Lump them up, whack them out. Bottles were smashed and heads were broken. Manny located the Ichihara-kai's biggest policy banker in the city and had him relieved of an entire month's collection not only in money but in records. We engaged them on all fronts. Even at the construction sites down in Chuo ward Manny sent Toramatsu and his men to fight on the side of the unionists and overthrow the enforcers on the payroll of Soai Ichigo and the owners of the construction firms. I marveled at the operations. Little did we know, those construction unions would soon become one of our most important assets.

Our superior intelligence and organization made us the victors in this gang war. But when we got down to it, I was only the first domino in this chain of events. I didn't do anything direct. In any case, we were succeeding. And then came Sunday morning when we finally struck checkmate. By this time, Soai Ichigo had been sending his attachés to negotiate with Manny and sue for peace. But we've already smelled blood in the water. There was no turning back. Ichihara-kai soldiers were deserting their leader, not wishing to die in a losing cause. Bookmakers and loan sharks were now paying the Ieyori organization their protection money.

I was with Hanzo, Kenji and another one of our crew when we drove down to Ichihara city at six in the morning. Kenji Isshiki was cousins with Iroha Isshiki, but they had little resemblance to each other. He rarely mentions his cousin, but I can tell Kenji is somewhat protective of her. Kenji was around Hanzo's age, and was a hot-blooded egocentric man. He was someone who always got the job done, but not always in a satisfactory way. He was wild. A real fighter. In any case, he was a great help to our crew. Manny allowed us to operate independently.

I couldn't remember why I decided to go with them. We received a tip last night. Three Ichihara-kai lieutenants were anxious for a deal and agreed to hand over their Boss. They told Hanzo that a meeting had been arranged in a restaurant with the Ieyoris and they accompanied Soai Ichigo as his bodyguards. We have learned a lot during the past few weeks, and remembered to always be prepared for any situation. But then Kenji gave me a .38, complemented with a shoulder holster.

"Whoa, hold on man. What's this?" I exclaimed. I told Kenji there was no way I was going to use a gun. It would be ludicrous.

Kenji was insulted. "Now look here Hikio, do you want to be standing there with your dick in hand when one of them wiseguys pulls a gun on you?" He rhetorically shook his head. "No sir. This is a hit. We're going to whack their boss and put an end to their management. In any case, you'd better take it in case shit goes down. And don't you dare lose it."

We were in a hurry, so I said to hell with it and grabbed the weapon before rushing out of the house. I kept it tucked under the breast of my overcoat. We got inside a gray, beat-up Toyota Sprinter with a phony plate number installed. I recognized the driver as one of the folks who worked at the cabstand. The car was virtually untraceable. I couldn't believe I was going to get involved in a hit. I was scared now, but at the same time I wasn't backing out. But looking at it from a logical standpoint, murdering the Ichihara-kai boss was a sound move. It was both strategically and tactically a sound move. It had been my long standing notion that the greatest concern should be the immediate dilemma presented in front of you, and thus should be the prime objective - confident that secondary matters will fall in place afterwards.

It all happened so fast. We pulled over in front of the desolate restaurant, tires screaming, and got out into the still empty streets. When we burst into the building, Hanzo and Kenji already had their guns drawn. We were expecting a trap. I could not imagine Hanzo, much less me, shooting anyone. Three of the men surrounding the man we recognized as Soai Ichigo stood up and dispersed. They didn't pull any moves on us. The boss of the Ichihara-kai broke into a run, trying to flee for his life.

We ran after him outside, and that is when I pulled out the gun from under my coat. My hand was shaking. I couldn't find it in myself to shoot Soai Ichigo, who's running down the streets. If I pulled the trigger, I'd be a murderer. No going back on that. But in this world, there's no denying the irrefutable principle of 'kill or be killed'. Everytime we come out alive and still kicking, the other guy ends up dead. That's almost synonymous with me being the one to put the bullet in the guy. Not killing the boss entertains the possibility of us - me getting killed. Just as my fingers tightened around the trigger and I steadied my aim, a deafening bang went out. My ears rang. The familiar smell of gunpowder smoke rose into my nostrils. A step behind me was Kenji, the barrel of his .38 smoking. The body of Soai Ichigo had been riddled with three bullets.

I couldn't feel anything. I couldn't even think of anything but what I see now. There was a dead man in front of me who had just been murdered by another man behind me. Hanzo gripped my shoulder reassuringly, as I lowered my arm. My fingers were frozen around the object in my hand. After a few moments, we went back inside the restaurant. The three bodyguards of the recently deceased Ichihara-kai Boss stood tensely in the middle of the restaurant, looking at me tensely.

I realized I was still holding the gun tightly in my hand. I rigidly tucked it back into the holster under my coat, as Hanzo glanced at me. He asked in a low voice, "what now?" I didn't have the answer to his question. I just did what I knew how to do - to pretend.

"Very well, gentlemen," I start in a monotone voice, as the three men stared at me, "the way I see it, when it comes to the matter of what to do next you have two choices. One, you can walk out of this place and forget this all ever happened. Or two, you can get onboard with us, the Chiba Outfit." They glanced at each other and I asked them courteously, "do you want a job?"

"Y-Yes sir," one of them finally spoke up.

"Then give me a call this evening."

That was it. That was the end of the Ichihara-kai. I remembered what I said to Manny. How I told him that I wanted to be his partner. But reality had now just shown me what becoming the partner of a crime boss means. I was now a part of the dominant criminal organization in Chiba. This was the start of the Chiba Outfit. I was a member of the Chiba Outfit. The Ichihara-kai had now been essentially absorbed into our organization, and Manuel Ieyori would extend his influence to incorporate those who decided to join the winning side, and allow incumbents to remain in their bookmarking and Sujikuji gambling spots. We were making money. We were gaining power and influence. That was a part of my goal. And as a junior partner to Manuel Ieyori, I could now apply my schemes on the construction unions. And that meant more money. The reason why I wanted to rise to the highest level in the hierarchy is for my own sake. I don't want to be the guy doing the dirty work anymore. So what was my problem?

Suddenly, I didn't feel so good. Back in my apartment, I couldn't sleep. I couldn't eat. I felt like there was something - or rather, someone watching me. I kept thinking about that man we had just killed. Well, Kenji was the one who shot him… but that isn't important. I was a part of the murder. And when we loaded the body into the back of the car, knowing well enough that it was foolish to leave a striking evidence, I got the blood in my hands. And I couldn't wash it off. In the middle of the night, I vomited in a toilet and tried to drown my thoughts in alcohol. I felt like I was going to have a heart attack. That was the first time I went through six cigarettes in a day. Alas, it was no use. I kept dreaming that I was the one who shot the man. When I woke up, I felt numb. I felt like there was something… missing. A certain moral sense that I just couldn't feel anymore. We were sent to "get rid of" Soai Ichigo and finally destroy the Ichihara-kai. And Manuel Ieyori knew there was only one way to ensure that. And I knew it. To be respected out there, you've got to put the dead bodies on the table.

Hanzo and Kenji noticed that I looked sick and blanched. Kenji didn't help. He said to Hanzo, "don't worry about him. That's the unfortunate side effect of killing a man." Then laughed at me. "Kid, stop overreacting. If you really want to be a mobster, then you'd best get used to this."

I glared at Kenji angrily. "No, no. Fuck you Kenji. Don't tell me to 'get used to this'. You just killed the guy. You fucking shot him. Do you know the implications for this? In case you didn't know, guns are outlawed, and if they catch you, we'll all be going down the drain."

"How can they catch me?" his voice grew dangerous. "I don't have to worry about the police. But you?"

"What?" I stood up, glaring at him coldly. He hesitated before screwing his head towards me, but Hanzo got in between us and prevented the brewing conflict.

"Christ in heaven, let's stop messing around and calm the fuck down." Hanzo ushered me into the back room, leaving Kenji at the counter, continuing to swab his handgun. Hanzo produced a phone from his pocket and punched in numbers. "I'll call the undertakers at the parlour. They'll take care of the body. You go on and take a break, Hikio. Uncle will handle the rest of things."

"Ieyori-san will take it from here?" I said.

"Sure he will. And you've got two of the Ichihara-kai lieutenants in your pockets, so we're in the clear. I'll have a banker take over your bookies meanwhile, and you go and talk down the yakuza guys."

I sighed. "I'll do that. Does Mama know?" Hanzo shook his head. I felt even worse, like a kid with a dirty secret that was yet to be found out. Everyone agreed to split for a while and wait for things to cool down. The police might not take gang-to-gang violence as seriously as violence towards civilians, but they still won't tolerate it. What's worse, that was a Yakuza boss. We might've just brought hell down on our heads.