CHAPTER V

…

The first time I have ever been arrested while on the job happened under comical circumstances. I was only nineteen back then and was in my first year of college. Aside from bookmaking, I'd taken up an opportunity to make sales of 'hot' goods - stuff that were smuggled in from the ports and nicked from the local factory outlets. The moment you realize that everyone else was pretty much in on this kind of game, you start to think that maybe it isn't so bad. Everything has risks, but if you handle yourself and the job properly you shouldn't worry about trouble.

Hanzo Ieyori was already smuggling cigarettes way before me, but even that didn't seem like a crime. It was more as if he was enterprising. He was hustling to make a few extra cash. Kenji Isshiki, Dan, Fukushi, everyone made it all look so natural. Anyone who wanted to make a few extra cash had to go out and get it. What did you expect? You couldn't be waiting for handouts. That was the general attitude. Anything we get in this world, we've got to take by hook or by crook.

I learned to wake up early so I could sign in on the attendance list in class in the morning, allowing me to cut classes if business calls for it. Then I'd go to the construction sites and make a couple of loans here, and a couple of collections there before going to class. Lunchtime was spent five minutes of eating soba bread and fifty-five minutes of hustling. I'd go to the convenience stores and depots, listing down orders for the stuff which was to be delivered as soon as I make a phone call, and by the time I'm through I'd have made my hundred grand or hundred and fifty thousand yen for the day. I had to make sure I didn't get mugged by any of the campus delinquents who were always looking for easy prey. Other than that, it was all OK.

I got arrested. It was a crazy bust. It shouldn't have happened, but none of them should even happen. It was a miscalculation on my part, I guess you'd say. They are always more because of your own stupidity than any cop's smarts. There were about fifteen of us in The Grandeur's basement shooting pool with our friends from the neighborhood. We were waiting for Kenji Isshiki to arrive from Tokyo with a truckload of cigarettes. It was Thursday, the day when I didn't have any classes at the university and when we usually got our deliveries and loaded up our own cars and vans. Then on Fridays, between eleven-thirty and two o' clock in the afternoon, we all made our sales.

When Kenji finally got in, it turned out he only had the big-brand stuff. He had the Winstons and Camels and Mevius, but he didn't have what we called the fill-ins, the less popular brands like Seven Stars and L&Ms and Marlboros. Kenji asked me to go down to Ichikawa and pick up the fill-ins. He said if I left right away, I could be there early enough to get a load the minute the places opened and be back in plenty of time to sell my stuff before noon. I had a lot of customers who wanted off-brands and I agreed.

Hanzo, who had been working with me closely in these jobs, naturally wanted to come along. I got carried away and stayed too long in the nightclub downing cans of MAX Coffee Black to my heart's content. I had cleared the boys of sixty thousand yen from the poker game. Kenji threw me the keys to one of the cars he used and Hanzo and I took off.

It was past midnight when we got to Ichikawa. The cigarette places didn't open until six in the morning. Hanzo had been there before and he knew there were a few strip joints along Kioroshi-kaido Street. I had never been to Ichikawa city. Against my better judgement, we started hitting the joints. What can I say? The caffeine from all those MAX coffees kept me wide awake and being a typical, impressionable college student I was actually pretty excited to be going inside a red-label club for the first time.

We started listening to a little jazz. Some B-girls in one place started hustling drinks out of us. We're buying them ten hundred yen highballs and they're playing with our legs. I'm not a complete asshole; I know how to hold myself with women. I knew I've got to act like a guy who's constantly getting laid. Act all cool and easygoing. Or as Yumiko Miura once told me, "act like you've been there before. Because nobody wants to lay the guy who doesn't want to lay himself."

By two or three in the morning we're pretty smashed. Hanzo and I must've blown fifteen grand with these same two girls. It was very obvious they liked us. I know so. They said that their boss was watching, so they couldn't leave with us, but if we waited outside around back they'd meet us as soon as they got off. Hanzo's all excited.

I'm all excited. My god, I thought. I might be getting laid again sooner than I'd expected. I remembered that particular night, last February… but that's a story for another time.

We go around back and wait. We waited an hour. Then two hours.

And then Hanzo and I just looked at each other and laughed. "Goddammit!" We couldn't stop laughing. We had gotten fooled like chumps. We were two dumb suckers. I'd gotten taken like an idiot by what was probably another college student. To this day, I still remember that girl - she was very pretty, with strawberry-blonde hair and sky blue eyes and an unbelievable sex appeal. So we drove over to the cigarette joints and waited for them to open.

The next thing I know, somebody's knocking on the window and waking us up at seven o' clock in the morning. I felt like shit, and Hanzo was sleeping like a log. We'd overslept. I yelled at him. "Fucking wake up! We're late!" We were. There was no way we could get back to Chiba before nine, considering the traffic. No way I could get to class in time.

We loaded five hundred cartons in the car, and there wasn't enough room in the trunk. We had to take the rear seats out and leave it at the wholesaler's. We broke up three cartons evenly and placed a blanket on top of them so that it looked like a rear seat.

Hanzo drove this time, and I rode shotgun. He started going. "We're late! I'm late! Get on the highway!" The fact that we were both frantic didn't help. I was more scared, as I didn't want to be marked as absent in class. To make things worse, we supposedly have a test today.

We're doing eighty, ninety miles an hour during some stretches. The stereo was busted and the playlist seemed to be limited to songs from this rapper guy named 2Pac. There's nothing like zooming down the highway, nearly colliding with a truck and having drivers honk at you angrily while "California Love" is screaming through the speakers. Suddenly, it dawned on me that if I was a mediocre driver, then Hanzo was a maniac. And everytime some "cocksucker" would cut in front of us, Hanzo would get even madder. It was unbelievable. We made it all the way to the Makuhari Interchange in Narashino City. I had spotted the speed trap. "Slow down!" I yelled. Too late. Hanzo jammed on the brakes and by god, the cigarettes in the rear seat shot forward and flew all over the place. "Holy shit!" It was awful.

As the cops came closer, Hanzo scrambled into the rear and tried to rearrange the blanket, but he couldn't manage too well. The officer stared through the open window and we sat there, with Marlboros all over the place, staring back. It wasn't like trafficking two thousand pounds of cocaine, but it was still nerve-wracking. The cops wanted his license and registration. Bad luck. I offered mine. Hanzo told him the car belonged to a friend of his. I kept looking for the registration to the car, but the shit-box didn't have any. The cop was getting impatient and wanted to know the friend's name. I didn't know whose name the car was in, so we couldn't even tell him that. It was a brand-new Toyota Fortuner, and he couldn't believe that somebody would lend us the car and we wouldn't even know his name. But we couldn't point to Kenji. No way.

I tried to stall, and finally I mentioned the guy whose name I thought it might be in, and no sooner after I'd given him the name, I finally found the registration and of course it was in somebody else's name.

Now the officer was suspicious. He finally looked in the back of the car, and he saw cigarettes all over the place. Even worse, Hanzo had been drinking beer last night and left a couple bottles in the cup holders. He called for a backup car and took us in. Now I had real problems. I'm going to have the distinction of getting my first pinch together with Manuel Ieyori's nephew. I could already hear the music from here. I told the cops that I didn't even know Hanzo. I said he picked me up on the road, and I was hitchhiking. That I was on my way to school. No good. They brought the two of us in.

But we knew what to do. I knew the protocols. I had already been groomed regarding these circumstances. I kept my mouth shut except to give my name. I signed nothing and answered no more questions. They charged us with overspeeding, alleged illicit activity and drunk driving. I only happened to be drinking apple juice and wasn't even driving myself! Alas, the cops were very hard-nosed. I asked to make a call and phoned Kenji, who called Manny, who then got the lawyer and bondsmen.

In the meantime, all I could do was smile softly at the officers as they took our fingerprints and profiles. Hanzo was amused. "What are you smiling about, you idiot?" He chuckled.

I found the entire affair comedic, as I knew that we were going to slip through this, that this was only the beginning, and that if things were destined to end right here, it would have. But it hadn't, and so destiny dictated that the story will continue. But that was before I'd resigned to my current ill fate. Looking back I wondered, if my life wasn't cut short by such an idiopathic disease, would anything have changed?

I told him, quite sarcastically, "I just hope that I at least look good on television."

And so that picture of a young man, who had mischievous "dead-fish" eyes and a treacherous smile on his lips, was immortalized in the archives of a certain police station in Chiba. At that time, they couldn't have figured that that young man was to reappear no more than a few years later as the public enemy number one, the capo dei capi of Japan. And of course, by hindsight, I would realize that that piece of evidence was going to be my potential downfall.

By two o' clock in the afternoon we came before a local judge and were held in hundred-fifty thousand yen bail each. Our lawyers and bail hadn't arrived, so they took us upstairs. We got our futons and were put in with a lot of other guys. We had some cigarettes on us and we gave them to the guys. While waiting, we smoked a bit and I pulled some dirty jokes in front of my fellow defendants. In an hour or so we heard an officer yell, "Hikigaya-san and Ieyori-san! Bag and baggage!"

We were free, but now I wasn't worried about the cigarettes. I was worried about my reputation, and what would become of me if I continued down this road. I wonder what my family would say about this. Thankfully, we slipped the news that night, and only appeared as a text column on the following day's paper: Alleged cigarette bootleggers, busted on the freeway!

I smiled at that memory.

And thus the notion of "family and business do not mix" stands firm. There are exceptions, but the general consensus is that everything you do reflects on one side and the other. That's why, for example, companies refuse to hire ex-Yakuza people - not because the person is inherently malicious, but because his background is of dubious and tainted reputation. The same with a criminal who not only destroys his own reputation, but his family's also. And that is how people would perceive the said family: "that's the family who gave birth to that horrible criminal."

Monologues aside, my conscience tugged towards another direction. I suddenly felt sick with guilt, remembering my promise to Miyako-sama that I would be a good friend to Yumiko. That would've been what's called a blatant lie, if I didn't change my cynical and destructive thought process. Yumiko might as well befriend the devil himself. But to be honest, we got along pretty well enough, and that pleased me.

Still, I would have to at least "behave" myself while in Yumiko's company - not outright putting on a mask, because that would be deceiving her, but make efforts to be a "nicer" person. I am definitely not being a good friend to her at this rate. What would Miyako-sama say about all this? It's unacceptable. I realized how terrible of an influence I was to Yumiko, but to be fair, she too was a catalyst to my shortening patience and temper. We messed around a lot. We quarreled on a regular basis. She always gets me in trouble. Last time, while we were inside a café, I had to stop her from getting into a fight after a guy cut in front of her at the queue. Sometimes I'd go too far with my words and she'd cry.

She's always nagged me to stop smoking, and I don't listen - instead, I play as the devil's advocate and teasingly attempt to corrupt her. The last time I goaded Yumiko into smoking, she coughed her lungs out. So now, she's more insistent than ever. I'm not going to be the one to ruin her health, so fine. I'll be Mr. Nice Guy while around her.

Yumiko would come up to me petulant and start coughing mockingly (stereotyping that all smokers have breathing problems). "Ahem… ahem!"

I stared at her incredulously. "Yumiko… I smoke all day and I don't cough like that," I mused. "Shit. You're lucky you don't smoke!" I laughed, making fun of her. Where did people get this idea of walking up to a smoker and coughing? Do they also walk up to crippled people and start dancing? You'll be amazed at how sadistic people can be.

As if she could read my mind, she smiled sardonically. "That's real cute, Hachi… keep making those smartass quips of yours while you still have the breath left in you to do it!"

But I can't help it. I've got to smoke because otherwise, I'll quickly lose my mind from all the bullshit I've got to deal with everyday. Geometry lessons which I wouldn't even get to use in my lifetime; Journalism club, where we try to make the fucking banal remotely interesting; or getting called a "kidnapper" or "pedo" everytime I pass by the goddamn playgrounds. Then, Yumiko wanted to go on "practice" dates with me. What the hell for? I'm not an expert, but when it comes to matters of the heart I think you're supposed to wing it.

I was at the cabstand down Sakaemachiazuma street one evening after a long day in school and out on business. Everything was running sweet as a nut. Because we had a complete monopoly over virtually the entire city, we started sharpening some of our smaller schemes into large-scale operations. One of the most lucrative schemes we had involved parking lots. We had guys working inside the box skimming the rates and charging fees on vehicles that used parking spaces. We stuck tickets on double-parked or illegally parked vehicles. And all the traffic cops were on our list, and they rolled with us. On an average day, considering the massive volume of traffic flowing through Chiba, it was only usual to be raking in several hundred thousand yen just from parking fees and tickets. And that was just Chiba city.

It was huge. You couldn't tell, but practically everyone was in on the game and hustling left and right. Those in the lowest echelons of the mob were the ones who did the majority of the dirty work. They were our breadwinners. Plenty of boys younger than me were associates of the Chiba Outfit, and are committed to a rather troublesome way of life. They shoplifted; peddled goods; little banknote frauds; telephone scams; siphoned gas out of cars. The most devilish of them, particularly the delinquent kids, hijacked motor vehicles and robbed vulnerable houses. Of course, there was also a certain Darwinism at work here. Those who got caught were out, and only the most resilient, intelligent and tenacious remained. That was how our 'Mafia', as you might call it, grew more powerful.

But we didn't call ourselves "the Mafia." That was in fact a derogatory term and implied that we were criminals. Technically, we were but… that's not important. I prefer to think of ourselves as inveterate opportunists.

Or rather, you could say it's a self-righteous delusion to justify our actions. The misplaced altruism of a criminal.

But if there's another truth I'd learned, it's that even your conscience is just another misplaced altruism. And believing in gods is another convenient excuse for making errors. Projecting the illusion of forgiveness. Because nobody wants to own up to themselves. Conscience and spirituality: the last refuges of a failed human being. Just another way of distracting yourself from who you really are.

My train of thoughts were abruptly derailed by Hanzo's talking. We'd been playing a mundane game of poker. Some of us left to get more drinks from the office. "We've got swag coming in from the airport in Narita. The guys had set up a hijacking ring and are directing one of the terminals," he said.

"Who's on it?" I asked.

"It was me and Kenji who set up the idea," Hanzo said. "We paid some of the truckers and staff on the inside to let us through."

I did not show my amazement, and instead smiled quietly. "You guys bypassed the security and all?"

"Yeah. Well, it wasn't cheap and easy to bribe the airport people, but we did. Some of our guys even got jobs at the airport. We have the unloading bay. Truckers would come in to transport the cargo from the planes and drop them off at the lot, and we intercepted them on the way. Kenji's a real braggart on his jobs."

Contrary to popular belief, not all hijackings were violent and extreme. In some cases, the vehicle drivers themselves were in on the scheme. They'd give up the vehicle and it's contents without a fight, or leave the keys in the ignition and look the other way, perhaps excuse themselves on a coffee break. Supported by Manuel Ieyori's formidable web of connections that gave him the clout to make all the pieces fall in place, it was very possible and convenient for serious operations to be conjured now. But that didn't mean we were invincible.

"What, he's hijacking the trucks himself?" I looked up at him, furrowing my eyebrows. "And you?"

Hanzo sipped on his beer and shook his head. "Not anymore. But Kenji, he'd go with his men and pull up beside the trucks and if it ain't a give-up job, stick a gun through the window. Guy thinks he's being joked, until Kenji pulls the trigger. All blanks, but you won't think so," Hanzo continued. "The bigger trucks have a passcode under the dashboard which'll set off an alarm if you punch in the wrong numbers."

Winnie, the Irish driver from the cabstand spoke up as well. "Like everyone else, he'd take the guy's driver license. Kenji would force the man to spit out the password. Then he'd stick ten grand in the guy's shirt pocket. They called him, 'Kenji the Gent' for that." He laughed, and set down his hand of cards. "He's all grabby. He'd unload the boxes himself even though he has guys to do the job. He'd run his hands all over the stuff and open 'em and sniff like a kid in Christmas. He's wild."

"He's nuts," I said, irritated. "What's he thinking? If he gets caught…" I paused, mulling. "Tell him to lay off and let the other guys do the work. The hell is he paying his cronies for? Hanzo, we're street bosses now, not sidewalk soldiers anymore."

Hanzo shrugged. "No use, Kenji wants to see the job done himself."

I warned them that we couldn't risk getting caught and sent through the courts. TMPD agents were becoming more and more persistent with finding the stolen consignment of firearms that we'd taken by accident from the unloading bay at the pier all those months ago. Inspector Saburo no doubt has eyes on us. To add, there was an imminent Yakuza threat. Even though we were riding high with all the cash filling our coffers, hazards awaited us on all fronts. Challenges that not even the money we've been preparing could solve. One wrong move and it's checkmate - game over.

Hanzo asked, intending to change the subject, "how's the fight club running?"

"OK," I said quietly, focusing on my hand of cards. "A fine club with a nice bar that Mr. Bo just gave to me. I wouldn't forget to repay him. Problem is, The Grandeur is already the more popular club in town. But it'll come around. I'm going to list down a renovation for the RePublic and get rid of that beat-up brawling ring. It's not the fight club anymore."

"You're getting rid of the brawling ring? What a waste!" Hanzo shrugged. "Don't tell me you're going to turn it into one of those Jazz-age pubs, because ain't nobody going to that."

"Hey, it's my club now," I chuckled. "No more blinding strobe lights. No blaring electro music. I'll put in a Cuban guy to brew Cuban coffee in the day, musicians from Tokyo to play on the weekend evenings, and the Bueno Vista Social Club playing all around. I've got an office behind it, but heck, I don't wanna turn it into another mob hangout."

"So that's your plan, huh?"

After a moment, I said, "I'm going to fly to Los Angeles for the New Year. I'll celebrate with my family."

"I'll take care of your club if you want," he offered. "Did Ieyori-san allow you already?"

I raised a brow and looked at him, slightly puzzled. "Now, why would I need Ieyori-san's approval if I want to visit my family?"

At this point, we were all but bored of the game and were just finishing it to start anew. Without looking at me, Hanzo spoke in a definite tone. "Notice, he's fond of you. I heard things are getting heated around here. Folks say the Yakuza are looking to catch Ieyori-san. They must want to kill my uncle. Nothing goes unnoticed around here, but I'm worried. He's also being summoned to testify in a court in Tokyo on charges of alleged gun possession, tax evasion, extortion - he's in hot water right now. Maybe he'll do time for just extortion or such, and skirt most of the charges. But someone's gotta stand in for the boss," he said.

"What's that got to do with me?"

"Seems to me like you're the kid Ieyori-san is inclined towards."

Hanzo's expression changed into an unamused one. I immediately discerned loathing from behind his look. He wasn't too happy that I was in favor of Manuel Ieyori. That, I could understand.

"That's not right, is it?" I softly said.

"No. It ain't." Hanzo crossed his arms and rested into his chair, forgetting the game of cards. He looked at me and said, "say your father takes a liking to this boy you've never heard of before, more than you, his own son. Doesn't make sense, does it? It makes you look like the inferior piece of shit. You know what I'm tryna say," he paused. I remained silent, listening and looking back at him. "It's distasteful to see my uncle fawning all over you. It doesn't look good. You know that don't you, Hikio?"

My face was impassive but I understood. "I know."

"Look here, it's not a problem for me. I couldn't care less. But when everyone thinks of you as the son Ieyori-san never had, well… I'm hoping that ain't the setup."

"If you're worried that he'll make me the next boss, forget about it because I'm going to leave soon."

He frowned. "What?"

"Hanzo, when I finish this year of college, I'm leaving the country. I can just as easily graduate from another school in America as I could set a deal with my professor to let me graduate earlier by taking advanced classes." I grinned at him, while Hanzo stared wide-eyed at me, as if I'd been talking nonsense. "That's right. I should have enough money by now to help my family pull through. Mr. Bo might be disappointed that handing me his club hadn't become an investment, but… that's not important. You don't have to worry about going head-to-head with me in the family."

"Christ sake, Hachiman, that's not what I'm saying," Hanzo chuckled, pleased again. "Damn, you're like a brother to me and it'll be a real tragedy to see you go. What's wrong? Is the company not good enough for you?"

"The best I've had in my life," I said. "But I have to go. My family always comes first to me. They're everything to me. I love them the most."

"You ain't parting with them. You can go anytime. Doesn't mean you have to leave us for good. You're the best advisor uncle's ever got, and we make a damn good duo in business. Besides, when I become the boss, I could use a guy like you - we're going to become the greatest thing in Japan. All the way to the top," he added zealously.

I merely smiled at him and looked away, finishing my glass. "You're ambitious. You have what it takes too, and I have little doubt that you could go all the way to the top. But I have no interest. Frankly, this is not how I would want to spend the rest of my life. I wish you the best of luck when you inherit your uncle's position."

I realized my blunder, as Hanzo tilted his head, slightly confused by what I meant. "That's how it is?" He finally said. We sat in silence for a while. "So, how's that 'friend' of yours, Miura-chan?"

"You've got no business asking about her from me!" I exclaimed, before we both laughed.

Kenji Isshiki came walking back from the dispatch office to join us at the table, which was set out beside the street under a canopy. Jen Matsudo and Mutsuhiro Fukushi followed him. If we weren't hanging out at the Grandeur or at the RePublic down in Fujimi, we were sitting and drinking here at the cabstand. The driveway was sparse, as most of our cabs were around the block, ranked along Myoken-dori avenue. Manuel Ieyori spent his time in his office managing the taxi services and issuing orders to his own lieutenants.

I glanced up and spoke. "What'd they say?"

Kenji was sullen. "War," he said with a vexed expression. "A dockworker associate of ours floated right up to the pier in the bayside. There's a bullet with your family's name on it, Hanzo."

Hanzo leaned into the table, his eyes dark, taking his glass. He cursed under his breath. After a few moments of silence, as if in contemplation of our next move in this sudden gang war we had found ourselves in, he sighed. "We have the money to pay for the button men now, don't we?"

"Precisely one hundred of them," Matsudo said.

"He knows," I nodded. "And I'll call Donato and Narita. We'll send guys to buy mattresses and set up bases. We'll turn Chiba city into a fortress. If you like, you could leave it to me to deliver the first strike on the enemy," I said, smiling in a gentle fashion. "I know a friend who can get the job done."

They all quickly noticed the change in my demeanor, and from an timid person just moments ago they now saw a calculating and eerily calm individual exhibiting an aura on par with the boss Manuel Ieyori, perhaps even more so. A certain ruthless drive to protect his interests, and by force if necessary. That was why the smile was contradictory and disturbing to them. They all inwardly shivered. This, I didn't know, but the sudden and often unexpected transition from one personality into something more sinister alienated me from the rest of them and drew suspicion. They all took searching glances at me.

All the money-making schemes we toiled hard on for the past few months weren't for nothing. Our strategy was finally coming into fruition. In this world, money precedes power. And the more you have of it, the more powerful you can be. We needed to amass enough capital to bribe the police, the judges, juries and bondsmen. To pay for lawyers, political backing, assassins, hired guns - the so-called "buttonmen". In this war against the Yakuza, we'll have the boards set and our pawns prepared to attack and defend. Or you can say, we'll use criminals to fight criminals.

I shrugged and chuckled softly, putting a fresh cigarette to my lips and lighting a match. I stood up, excused myself and walked up the street towards the nightclub. I remembered that fateful night when I crossed paths with the yakuza Jirou. It was only a few more nights away before Christmas Eve, and the weather had turned the city into a cold but brightly coloured maze. As the chilly breeze skirted my overcoat and hat, it carried with it the faint sounds of caroling from the distance.

I wondered if I could fly off right now and be with my family. Maybe it wasn't too late to back out of this life. Escape the incoming storm. It has always been part of my plan to walk out on all this one day. But our mob is now officially at war with the Yakuza. I can't just leave my people now that I've gotten what I needed. That would be severely ungrateful and discourteous of me. Besides, here I had a purpose; a raison d'être which staves my nihilism.