CHAPTER XX

…

When I sent a generous portion of my hard earned money to my family in the U.S., they were pleased. Even my Dad showed appreciation, but that wasn't always the case. He'd been wary ever since I told him that the Ieyori family took me in, and I was working not just as a bartender for a nightclub. I didn't tell him the rackets I was involved in on the sidelines. But he always pressured me to "be an honest man." But what Dad doesn't understand is that the surest way to remain in poverty is to be honest. When I first told him that I was lending money to people for an interest in return, he immediately guessed that I was a loan-shark. "You're a fucking swindler, that's what you are," he said. "You're thinking it's just good business, but you're cheating people."

"Cheating?" I said. "What are you talking about? They took the money willingly, so they only ought to give it back according to the conditions."

We got into a heated argument over the phone just because I wanted to help them by giving them money. Money that I worked my arse off for. "Listen to me, son," my Dad said in a stern voice, "you had better not be getting yourself into trouble. This isn't what I meant when I told you to do what you have to do."

"Why can't you just be thankful? I'm finally providing for our family, I'm earning my own money, and now you're going to start lecturing me on how I should live?"

"It's not about money."

I was about to say something when he dropped the phone. What's he talking about? "Not about money"? I couldn't believe it. Dad thinks he's mighty smart, eh? That he can just cut me off like that… I found myself clenching my fists so hard, my knuckles were pale. I breathed. We've never been communicative in a direct way, but there's always a deeper meaning when he spoke. That only served to frustrate me even more. If Dad wants to say that my efforts aren't enough, then cut the crap and just say it to my face. No hard feelings. But I understood what he was saying. He told me to avoid the likes of Hanzo. People who got their hands dirty and made dirty money. "They're bums!" He used to scream over the phone. And I know I was beginning to go down a dangerous path. He must think I'm becoming a bad man, but I'm not. I would never turn my back on family.

My Dad was the kind of man who worked all his life as a slave to a faceless company and was never there on payday. He earned enough to send me and my sister to a good private school like Soubu, but it meant he couldn't spend enough time with us because he was always away at work - Mom too. That's why people like my Mom and Dad couldn't understand. And that's what I learned from people like Manuel Ieyori. I was a part of something. Sometimes, if only for a split-second, I felt like I could get on top of the world. I felt like I belonged. I was being treated with respect. I was living a fantasy. I'd walk out of the school gates and Kenji Isshiki would pull up on the curb, and he'd drive me down Chiba-kaido avenue to The RePublic Club, where I supervised gambling rings, tallied policy banks, arranged the fencing of hot goods and started my own scheme to control the construction unions. I wasn't even out of college yet, and I was Manuel Ieyori's partner in business and his nephew's partner in crime.

I was one of the people who built The Chiba Outfit. To me, that was probably the crowning achievement of my life. There's probably nothing else that I could do to go farther than that, and that was enough. To me, being an "Outfitter" was better than being the Emperor of Japan. It meant power among people who had no power. It meant perks in a working-class neighborhood that had no privileges. To be an Outfitter was, ironically, to fit in. It was to own the world. I used to dream of being a simple stay-at-home husband, but now, that old delusion seems laughable. Now I dreamed of being a leader of The Chiba Outfit the way other kids dreamed of becoming lawyers, or doctors, or professional athletes, or movie stars.

Suddenly, I found that I could go anywhere. I no longer had to wait in line at the local café for a hot cup of espresso on weekday evenings. The owner would just come from around the counter and tuck the soonest coffee they've brewed and bring a newspaper to my table. People no longer parked in front of my apartment building, even though I didn't drive around in a car in Kameicho district. One day, Fukushi's friends in the Basketball varsity even helped me in putting up banners in front of the school for an upcoming festival. They knew who I was.

But at the end of the day, I knew deep inside myself that this wasn't really what I wanted. Sure, bossing around people as the second in command of the reigning criminal organization in Chiba city was, objectively, fun and amusing. But there's only so much to it. The ABCs of every hedonist: money, power, and women. One of which I already have, and even the second to an extent. I've already saved over eight million yen, which was almost the amount I was aiming to earn before flying off to the U.S. Any further efforts is just my instinctive human ego to satisfy the desire for power, showing off and raising my popularity. All of which I really didn't need more of. At the end of the day, a funny little idea of living my life on a desert island, surrounded by books, music and an ice-cold cocktail, alone and in peace was better than a colorful life of crime. But most of all, living with my family was the best happy ending for this brief adventure of mine. I'll get a job, probably get married in the future and start a family. Then my sister would also get married, and I'd be there to witness it. And so on.

I was making more money than I could spend. I started to get tired of having to watch out for inspector Saburo's policemen and settling disputes between loan-sharks. I grew bored of school life and my classmates as well. I felt like I was too old for it all, in a way that I felt like I didn't belong at all anymore. I stopped going with Tobe's clique, and I was too shy and estranged to go out with Yui and Ebina. You'd think I was living the life at this point, but not exactly. People still kept stuffing garbage into my school locker, my desk was getting scribbled on, and assholes were occasionally waiting to harass me down the stairways. This was partly due to the fiasco Miura Yumiko caused a month ago, and also because my reputation from my pre-college days catched up. By all means, I didn't mind it all that much. I didn't care. They all looked like children who wouldn't grow up to me. What's important is that my business life and my normal life do not mix.

The Sunday of 1st November is when All Saints Day is celebrated. A few days before that, I decided to buy myself a fine new attire for formal occasions. The Ieyori family was coming to attend an evening mass in Ichihara city and celebrate with their relatives. Manny invited me to go with them. He told me that their folks called this holiday "Día de Muerte" or, the day of the dead. I suppose it's similar to the Japanese Obun festival, which was celebrated in August. On the other hand, we also had business to attend to in the city, and there were certain people we were going to meet. This is a good opportunity to introduce Manuel Ieyori to our allies in Ichihara who until now haven't directly acquainted themselves with the boss of the Chiba Outfit.

Miura Yumiko also called me early in the morning. It was like, five in the morning. She's an awfully early riser. I freaked out when she suddenly told me that she was on her way to Isobe. "Why? What's up with you?" I asked. She said that she wanted to visit a shrine with me. I couldn't believe it. "It's five-thirteen in the morning, for god's sake!"

"Whatever. Get dressed, I'll be waiting for you in Kemigawahama station."

So I did. Who does these kinds of things? I was worried that there was something going on that I didn't know. When I met her at the station, she's wearing this white and purple kimono with uroko patterns woven on the undersides. Her blonde hair was pinned in a messy bun. She really looked breathtaking, but why is she dressed like a princess at this time? I'm wearing a shirt and my usual blue coat. Apparently, Miura doesn't want people to see her dressed like this… she thought kimonos made her look old-fashioned, but I don't see what's the deal with that. So she woke up early and took the first train to my district. I thought it was silly. It was so early, we both fell asleep on the train to Yotsukaido city.

When we got off in Yotsukaido, it still wasn't six o' clock. The sky was a brilliant pink hue, not like the warm orange you'd see on evenings. I could even get confused that this was actually early morning. Miura then said, "it's beautiful, isn't it?"

"Yeah," I say. "I never wake up this early, so I don't get to see such views."

I yawned and stretched my arms. We both agreed that breakfast was a good idea. She let me pick a restaurant, so we went to an open Japanese house. At this hour, you can be sure that the seafood is fresh. We had tea, grilled salmon on rice, miso soup, scrambled eggs and natto. There's still only a few people on the streets. "It's nice when it's all quiet," Miura said.

"You didn't happen to just wake up and think, 'I'm going out this early in the morning' did you?" I asked.

She naively laughed, saying, "I just wanna go to the Inari shrine when there's not many people. But I don't wanna do it alone."

I thought to myself, she's a genius. I mean, if you really wanted some peace and quiet, this was probably the best time for it. Evenings are all lively and colorful, but like Miura said, there are too many people around. Midnight is too dark, and you'd be asking for trouble to go out on that hour. She too actually liked solitude sometimes. I noticed that she wasn't her energetic, noisy self as usual. Miura acted very reserved and ladylike. I've never seen her like this before, and secretly, I found it very attractive.

"Stop staring at me, pervert."

"Ah, sorry." I shook my head. Am I stupid or what? She certainly noticed, and was looking annoyed at me. "So… where'd you get that kimono?" I asked.

"Oh, this?" She brushed her chest, straightening the silk fabric. "My auntie gave this to me as a present. Do I look… good in it?"

"Yeah, you look really good."

It was too late when I realized what I'd just said, and Miura is blushing red. I'm also getting embarrassed. "D-Don't just say such stupid things!" She cried.

"I-I meant the dress!"

"Oh? So you're saying that I don't look good?" She pouts her lips.

"Woman, what do you want me to say?" I sigh.

While we're walking on the silent streets towards the Inari shrine, she's humming a tune to herself. She makes me guess what song she's imitating. I have literally no idea. Miura is just making these cute little humming sounds that seemed to go to a beat. She said it's Bohemian Rhapsody. It didn't sound like it. "That's got to be the worst Queen imitation I've ever heard," I exclaimed. She got really embarrassed and mad. She reminded me that I was shit at singing, and… she's right, I probably couldn't carry a tune to save my life.

The shrine itself was an antique, ornamented wooden building with a bright red roof. It was very quiet when we got there, and all I could hear were the chirping of birds and the staccato of our footsteps on the cold pathway. There were banners hanging from the nearby willow trees to welcome visitors. I lit several incense sticks that we bought, and spent a few minutes in silence. Miura looked like she was sleeping when she meditated. I just stared at the stone sculpture of a great five-tailed fox and a Buddha on the altar, who had on a wide grin. I always thought the Buddha was a lucky guy. Smart too. I bet Jesus is thinking, "maybe I should've just started one of those peaceful, eastern religions. The Buddha is smart. He's laughing, while I'm up here on the cross…" There were also maneki-nekos, with their red paws perpetually waving at you, placed in front of the shrine. They're supposed to beckon good luck to come, hence why they wave their paws. People usually mistake them as a Chinese ornament, but they're actually Japanese.

Anyway, when she's done whispering her prayers, Miura and I went around the place for a while. We talked about our lives. Her relatives on the maternal side were all in the U.K. and they were of British descent. I learned that her aunt Dorothy is asking her to join the Irving family in Birmingham. Miura herself wasn't sure if she wanted to leave the country, but couldn't find a fair reason to stay. I told her she should do what she wants, but I thought that it would be wise to study overseas. It was an opportunity. There's a running gag that girls return from Europe as ladies. Since today was a holiday, I encouraged her to spend time with her own family as well. Far as I knew, she has two uncles and three aunts, so she ought to at least visit one. I knew one of them, and he happens to be the District Attorney of Chiba. Which reminds me that my dear friend Miura is a member of high society. It's almost funny and very ironic that she doesn't know that I, as one of the working-class, am her rival.

There's a nearby souvenir shop that had just opened, and we went in. We both fooled around with the kitsune masks for a while. We imitated the play of Macbeth, and Othello. Miura wasn't a big fan of Shakespeare - in fact, she hated how almost all of his stories ended in tragedy. Especially Romeo and Juliet, which she described as "just when you thought there's a happy ending on the horizon, Juliet freaking kills herself!" I found myself laughing at her tirade. I bought her a kitsune mask with six black whiskers and rose lips. Miura also gave me a mask… how nice of her. It was a kitsune with red ears and a teardrop on its right cheek.

Later in the day, I asked a favor of her. Since I was going to pick a suit to wear for a formal occasion tomorrow, I felt that it'd be a good idea to ask for the guidance of Miura Yumiko. She's a self-proclaimed fashionista, and when it came to clothes, she knew almost everything. Of course I have taste when it comes to picking out suits, but I guess I'm just looking for what people call "approval" from their peers. And she's my friend after all. I liked three-piece suits without a tie, and a pair of black leather loafers. Miura calls me old-fashioned for that. Why do people say it like it's a bad thing? I think it's better to be old fashioned than to be out of fashion. But of course, it's self-respect that carries at the end of the day. We met in Chiba at around three o' clock.

"I know just the place for top-notch suits!" She said enthusiastically. I asked her where we're headed to. We took a cab and drove to Marche-dori avenue, and then I realized we were in Fujimi district. Sure enough, she led me along Roe de La Pierre street, and we stopped in front of the Chiba Outfit tailor shop. "This place is the hottest when it comes to men's wear. What'd you think?" She said, smiling and making the OK sign.

I was mighty nervous and felt cold sweat run down my cheek. "It's fine," was all I said. Objectively speaking, Miura was spot-on when she said that this place was one of the most popular and excellent places to buy clothes. We were on the same page, and I was thinking of buying a suit from the Chiba Outfit. But what she didn't know is that she just brought me to the headquarters of The Chiba Outfit mob. Yes, this tailor shop was just a storefront for a policy bank and office of Xiao Bo, the patron of the Chinese-run establishments and one of our most powerful allies. Sure, Miura went everywhere with her other friends around the city, but I never went with her around places like Sakaecho and Fujimi. She can go there herself, but I don't want to be seen with her. It'll raise rumors and trouble. Folks will think that one of the Ieyori boys just got himself a fiancée. My reputation would be affected. It's not that I'm ashamed of my friend, but it's because I don't want this other life of mine to mix with my personal life.

I felt there were people watching me. Most people don't notice, but we always have eyes on the streets. Whether it's an old man sitting under a canopy reading a newspaper or some guys smoking cigarettes in the alleys, you couldn't tell if they were commoners, thugs, or even Yakuza. And you certainly couldn't tell if they were Outfitters. I hope they don't see me. During the evenings when I worked shifts at the bar, I'm usually seen with well-kempt, slick hair that I swept back. My hair was in it's usual messy form, so I prayed that they wouldn't recognize me. I tried to keep my mind off those things and focus on the present.

Miura was deliberate when it came to picking the suits. I told her I wanted something classy, but not too flashy. Of course she suggested Armani, but there's no way I'm spending several hundred thousand yen on that. Does Miura think I'm a rich guy? Even if I am, it's ridiculous. Finally, we both agreed that Oxxford was fine. Then came the matters of shoes. That was easy. I picked a quality pair of dark brown brogues. "How about a tie?" Miura asked me. I thought about it, but I shrugged. I wasn't a fan of ties. I like to think that it's sort of a symbol of being a slave to the system, like a collar on a dog. I certainly wasn't going to enslave myself to the system, so cut the ties.

Some of the high rollers in our crew and in the neighborhood bought their suits here in Chiba Outfit. People like Manuel Ieyori who started with nothing amassed wealth and started to bask in pleasures on par with the real blue-bloods. But you could tell if a person was really born of prestige or of the nouveau riche. You could see from in the way a person held a wine glass, to the way he carries himself in front of people of magnanimity, and often largesse personalities. I always listened and observed Miura for a reason. I wanted to learn more about her personality. Since High school, Miura Yumiko had all the traits you'd associate with the wealthy and the prestigious. Her heightened sense of pride, a large ego, razor-sharp aplomb and a certain magnetism that attracted people to her, regardless of her imperious tendencies. All this put her at the top of the social hierarchy, on par with Yukino Yukinoshita. But I didn't want to become like her. Of course not. But there's no way my passive and gray attitude would befit someone living life on the fast lane. Besides, one way or another Miura's personality was bound to rub off on me.

I came out wearing a dark blue pinstriped, three-piece suit with lapels so sharp you could get arrested just for flashing them. I thought I looked really good. Acceptable for society at least. The more I looked in the mirror, the more I felt proud of myself and for a moment, forgot about my self-deprecating tendencies. Miura noticed the smirk on my face and chuckled to herself. "You're a pretty good-looking bloke, you. Just like a gangster!" She said. I felt even better.

The man behind the counter was Chinese, and I didn't think he recognized me. The total price for the suit and shoes was over 100 thousand yen. I gasped. You think I have that much money on me right now? And I didn't exactly have a credit card - I was having an account made under another name at the moment, which I would use for business purposes. I left my card at home. "Can I just write an I.O.U.?" I asked. The cashier shook his head.

"Write the bill on Nikkoro Ieyori, and send it to The Grandeur," I whispered.

He looked at me and probably realized who I am - well, who I was supposed to be. Then he looked at the girl behind me, who was busy on her phone. He opened his mouth to speak but I put a finger in front of me. I didn't have enough money, so I'll just send a check, which is what I tried to convey. It's obvious this guy was new around here. These kinds of stores can't just accept a check from anyone, but people like us were an exception. Should be, at least.

"Yes sir," he finally answered.

"Good man. Expect it by six o' clock."

That was it. He handed me a receipt and let me walk out of there wearing yet-unpaid clothes. Normally, you don't just do that. They would've made a hassle out of a little issue. This was the perks of a mobster. Or, just the payoff of my efforts. Miura had been listening closely, and it didn't go unnoticed to her that I didn't trot out a single coin.

"I didn't see you pay for that suit. What's up back there?" She asked curiously.

I glanced at her and smiled. Then I said, half-joking, "the suit is on the house, or the house gets burned down."

The Ieyori family and their relatives, as well as some of our crew had gathered at a church in Ichihara, and I had turned up on that Sunday evening. Folks came from the bayside districts to celebrate All Saints' Day, which was all very new to me as these people from foreign countries celebrated in their own unique ways. They lit candles and brought offerings of fruit and vegetables wrapped in colored cellophane. There were decorative wreaths strung with marigolds and paper ribbons everywhere when we visited the cemetery. I've never seen anything like it. It's almost as if these people celebrated the day of the dead in their country as a festival to welcome life. Luckily, I had learned to understand and speak English well enough, thanks to a friend. There were other Chinese, Koreans, Filipinos and Brazilians who joined our congregation, and they all spoke English as a common tongue. After the mass, they talked about their families back in their home country, their line of work, and the news on sports and the winning bets. Then they talked about the winning numbers in yesterday's lottery. When dinner came, everyone was very generous with the food, and very jovial in the conversations.

Afterwards, while the women talked among themselves, I was whisked away once more to business. Manuel Ieyori introduced me to his associates, going so far as to call me his adoptive son. I met the local preacher Jacob Sieyes, a tall black man with dark eyes and a cordial face. He and his family had flown over from Senegal to work here in Japan. His wife, Mrs. Sieyes was a machine operator in a fishing plant in Yawatakaigandori district, near Tokyo Bay. Jacob's eldest son, Bobby was a year older than me, and stood at six foot tall. The Sieyes family, and many of the black community could speak French well, but English, not so well. Bobby hadn't finished college, but worked in the bayside handling cargo unloaded by ships, also having a job in the construction union. Jacob Sieyes is the kind of man that was well respected in his community, in the way people regarded the elderly as wise and knowledgeable, but he was humble. Still, something said about him that Jacob is very capable of withstanding himself, and was not the type to back down.

I then introduced Donato Ichijou and Narita Rengou to Manuel Ieyori. It was high time that we induct our allies in Ichihara to the Chiba Outfit. Manny couldn't believe it when I said that Soai Ichigo's lieutenants switched sides and started to follow me. He said that this would help us in the long run. And with Jacob Sieyes, as the de-facto representative of the local black-community based union, joining us in the business we were set for the road to the top. I told them I was planning on controlling the unions - cement, cutters, steelworkers, carpenter's and trucker's unions. All of it. "We control the unions, we control the country," I reasoned.

Then came one of the moments I would never forget for the rest of my life. Manuel Ieyori took out from his pocket a leather wallet, and produced a small portrait of a saint. It was saint John. He held it up in front of the two men. "Tonight you become one of us. You become a part of the family," he proclaimed. Manny then brought a lighter under the portrait of the saint he was holding and set it aflame, while looking at Donato and Narita with a chilling glare. "Betray the family, and you will burn in hell like this saint. May God be with you."