CHAPTER VIII

…

Two days have passed since Christmas, and finally the first snowfall has arrived in Chiba. Most people enjoy the winter season with all the color, music and spirit associated with it. But I on the other hand detest the weather. No, I'm not a Grinch who hates on everything fun, but my idea of a holiday involves quiet solitude and simply watching the scenes from the sidelines. The streets are dusted with white, icy powder and the mellow lights from lampposts and flat windows are mesmerizing, not to mention the strings of colored light bulbs hanging from the canopies of storefronts like vines. This is a fine time for the wonderful pastime of window-shopping. Just gawk through the display windows and realize that you don't have money to buy what you want.

I had booked a flight to Los Angeles and purchased a corresponding ticket a day earlier, scheduled to leave for tomorrow. The original plan was a one way flight to leave the country and continue my studies abroad, living with my family. With the use of my newfound connections, an arrangement can be made to put me in a decent university as an exchange student. It was simple. However, I've changed my mind. Realizing I couldn't just leave my family no.2 with a brewing conflict and increasingly hostile circumstances, namely the Yakuza rivalry, the construction schemes and the constant threat of the police finally finding out where the stolen consignment of guns were hidden. We had to move the crates again to another warehouse, cycling between multiple hiding spots to avoid discovery. No doubt the police were keeping tabs on us, and the problem would be aggravated by the charges pressed against our boss, Manuel Ieyori. So I've decided that after spending a week or so with my family, I'd come back to continue helping out in managing the business.

I watched cars drive along the wet streets from behind a wide glass window. To stop the road from icing over, public workers would sprinkle rock salt all over to melt the snow. It made the streets constantly appear to be in the state of being soaked by rain. Wet and cold. Inside the salon, it was quite warm and the air smelled of fragrant perfumes. Yumiko was working on my hair again, while I sat in the leather chair with a green shroud draped over me and reading a magazine. It must've been unusual to see me in such a place. But Yumiko was a highly skilled hairstylist herself, and even better I didn't have to pay. She gave me haircuts for free if I dropped by. Consider it as compensation for me giving her free drinks at my bar. A mutual exchange. She was snipping away and combing my hair back expertly.

She's always talking about something to me, but I'm only listening very quietly. It was mostly stupid and banal gossip, like one of her peers supposedly cheating on her boyfriend or someone getting bashed on social media. Yumiko uses hyperbole a lot. She likes to say "amazing", "brilliant" or "genius" to describe something. She'd say, "this pizza is fucking brilliant, mate!" And all I could think about is, how is a regular, unremarkable slice of pizza from a regular, unremarkable pizza joint "fucking brilliant"?

Brilliant used to be a word to describe someone or something revolutionary, exceptionally profound. Like when Alexander Fleming discovered penicillin, saving millions of lives. How can a slice of pizza be on the same level as that kind of scientific breakthrough? What is Yumiko going to do now, now that she'd set her standards for what is "brilliant" down to something as trivial a slice of pizza? What's she going to do with the rest of her life? What if something really happens to her, like getting hit on the head and becoming an accidental savant who formulates a new quantum theory? What's the word she's going to use for that occasion?

Of course, I never voice out any of these ideas to her. While this storm of psychosis is going on inside my head, I look calm on the outside. And especially when Yumiko happens to be the only person in the room possessing a razor and sharp objects, just slicing away mere inches from my head, I know well enough to keep my mouth shut and try not to say stuff that'll piss her off.

In a way, I had encouraged her to become closer to her family. She did show up on Christmas to their family reunion, which was a pleasant surprise for her uncles and aunts. Before, Yumiko preferred not to attend such gatherings, possibly because of some sort of internal conflict which is rooted in the Miura family. Miyako-sama was not present at the reunion, which was a hint that I inferred was due to a familial conflict or unsettled dispute.

And while I myself wasn't present with my own family, who were a long way away from here, I did join the Ieyoris on the eve.

I asked Yumiko if her experience was the same. "So how did it go?"

Yumiko hummed pensively. "It was alright I guess," she decided. "It's been quite some time since I showed up in front of the family, and I don't know how to react. My aunts keep teasing me. Do I look like I'd grown bigger or something to you, Hachi?"

I looked up from my magazine and glanced at her. Particularly, I glanced at a part of her. "Well… relatively speaking, I suppose so."

"Ugh, you're such a pervert!" She smirked.

"No, I'm just stating my observations."

"Observations, huh? You mean you've been looking at me?" She mused, pulling a haughty pout. "It can't be helped then. I'm really sexy after all."

I scoffed in annoyance. "Note to self: avoid feeding her ego."

She finished her work and pulled the shroud off me. I brushed myself off as I stood up, wiped my face clean with a handkerchief and adjusted my waistcoat. I looked at the mirror, pleased with the result. My hair looked neat when swept back, perfect for when I go to work at night. Yumiko was beside me, smiling. She said quietly, "Hachiman, my family wants me to come to the New Year's eve gala with them. I'm gonna have to ask you a favor, please?"

I nodded. "That sounds great. What do you need?"

"I need to- well, not exactly need to, but- "

"Just spit it out."

"I want you to accompany me to the gala, okay?"

I chuckled. "Oh, like an escort?"

"Yes! Exactly."

"Yeah, no." I shook my head, casting a dubious look at her. "Don't take me for a fool, Yumiko."

Going with her to such events entailed a string of possible alterations and misunderstandings. And I certainly don't want to make a fool out of myself in front of people any more than I already had. I could put on a cool and collected façade but it's always excruciating and often wears on my nerves. Yumiko kept on pleading. "Please." She tugged at my shoulder. "You've got to have a partner in those events, don't you know that? I don't want to look like- like a single woman!"

I raised an eyebrow questioningly. "But why should it be me?"

Yumiko was hesitant. "Because… I trust you," she said. "You're my friend, do me this one little thing."

"Alright. I'll slip it in my schedule." I relented. If I could settle immediate matters tonight, then I wouldn't have to worry. Then again, I thought. If what Yumiko said was true, then we'd be meeting familiar faces once again. "I bet our highschool acquaintances are also going to be there at the gala, if you know what I mean."

"Yeah. I'm not too excited about seeing Miss Icecube in there."

"What about Hayama-san?"

"That's why I need you with me. I wouldn't know how to handle myself if they were to turn right up to my face. Hayato's going to be with Miss Icecube Sr. while Yukinoshita-san has her fiancé. Can you believe that? Did you know about it?" She said, putting her hands on her hips as she started pacing across the room.

I shrugged. "Yes, I found out a while back."

"To be honest, I'm kinda jealous of them," she admitted with a bothered look on her face. "But it's also surprising. I did not expect them to turn out as they are now. Meanwhile, I'm shit out of luck…"

I smiled softly and walked up to her. "Don't worry about them," I said. " This just ain't your lucky day. You know, I just can't wrap my head around why your ex-boyfriends all fuck you over. I mean sure, you're sometimes bat-shit crazy, but you're alright. You're not a bad girl, Yumiko."

Yumiko looked up at me wide-eyed and bewildered. Her cheeks bloomed a bright red color. "D-Don't just say stuff like that!" She snapped, hitting my arm. "What are you trying to pull, eh? Are you trying to hit on me? You're really dirty, Hachiman."

I raised my hands and shook my head in reason. "No, I just thought you'd have higher standards, considering you."

Her look darkened, immediately dejected by my reply. "Oh," she scoffed and turned away, sulking.

I still had a few minutes before my shift so I plopped down on the leather couch in the parlor and listened idly to the television across the room. Because it was relatively quiet and there were no new customers at the moment, I started to close my eyes and folded my arms to catch a nap. Yumiko sat beside me as well and started to put her legs over my lap playfully, pulling up a magazine. This habit always irritated me, but I decided to ignore it for now.

How long has it been since this high-stakes saga of mine had started? It had been all those months ago since the fiasco at the port that began our rapid rise in the mob life. Coupled with the fact that the present is essentially the only moment that's promised to me, given my condition, time seemed to be filled in brevity. Or perhaps I was ensconced in the little details, which made every day seem more immersive. Or this is the death throes of a man - We appreciate all the little things when we realize we're living on borrowed time.

But everything was about to take a turn for the worse when the expected tragedy finally happened. Manuel Ieyori had successfully fended off the allegations hurled at him and walked out of the Chiba District Court an innocent defendant last week. His long-standing smuggling business was too well insulated from him and could not be proven. The recent slew of criminal activities and racketeering were hardly pinned to him. Where was the money he was accused of laundering? Tax evasion? Not even a case of wire fraud was held against him. After all, he hardly used the phone at all. If the authorities bugged his house and landline, perhaps they could've caught wind of some of his inner schemes, but they did no such thing. The inspector, Saburo Oreki, was the biggest threat to us all, but eerily, he has not made moves against us yet. That could only mean a foreshadowing of a deadly prosecution against us in the future.

No, the deadliest blow yet came not from the government and law enforcement, but from our Yakuza rivals. An attack that we anticipated but even I was not prepared to be caught in this moment. I snapped out of my shallow stupor and looked up when Yumiko nudged me. The NHK channel was on and it showed the news. She was shocked and wide-eyed. "Oh my God," she said, covering her mouth. She pointed at the television screen across the parlor. "Hachiman, isn't that your boss at the nightclub you work in?"

I felt my stomach drop and my hands grow cold when I realized the event that had just transpired. The headlines on the television reads: MANUEL ROSALES SHOT. FILIPINO IMMIGRANT AND ALLEGED RACKETEERING CHIEF WOUNDED IN A MOTORIZED DRIVE-BY SHOOTING IN WAKAMATSUCHO, YOTSUKAIDO. GUNMEN APPREHENDED ON THE SCENE. YAKUZA INVOLVEMENT SUSPECTED.

A mugshot of the Chiba Outfit boss was accompanied by a comprehensive and rather bold summary of him. The scene was also shown: a block on the street fenced off with yellow picketing tape. There was a blue motorcycle lying sideways by the curb, and faint but noticeable tire tracks, indicating a sudden acceleration or braking - in this case, it was the former. They've done it. There was no telling how badly Manny was hurt, but that was only the lighter side of the catastrophe. The two perpetrators, who rode in tandem, were already apprehended and would be dealt with later. The most severe dilemma we were now facing was that Manuel Ieyori, or rather, Manuel Rosales' identity had been shattered. The cat was now out of the bag.

This was one of the worst possible outcomes - almost as bad as Manuel actually getting killed. It meant there was now little hope for him to save face. Folks knew enough that Manuel Ieyori was only half-Japanese, but even I could not discern the truth of his origins. If he was an immigrant, the worst thing that could happen to him - unlikely, but still possible - was getting deported back to his home country. Manny had cleared the allegations against him a week ago, but with a disturbing event like this presenting itself, he is never going to be able to throw the police off his tail anytime soon. And the obvious was yet to be addressed: this aggression meant war - a violent conflict was about to explode between the Chiba Outfit and the Inagawa-kai.

I realized that I had been spacing out again and had on a dark expression. Not quite smiling, but neither frowning. Rather, I was more vexed and disappointed. I glanced downwards. My hands were trembling again, reminding me that I had not yet taken my medication.

Yumiko was worried. She shook my shoulder gently. "Are you okay?"

I was sullen and remained silent. I began to stand up and dress, putting on my overcoat and hat. "Yumiko, I've got to leave."

"Where are you going?"

"I need to go see Ieyori-san and the family."

"Then I'll come with you."

I turned to her, narrowing my eyes. I shook my head and spoke decisively. "No, Yumiko. This matter is personal, and I ask you not to meddle in it."

Yumiko seemed to receive my answer quickly and decided not to pry any further, glancing away. She shortly asked, "when will you come back?"

"Don't wait for me," I said. "Do you want me to call you a cab home?"

"No, it's fine."

"Be careful on your way back," I said. I leaned over and touched her head gently, pulling her close before kissing her on the forehead. This surprised her again, and her cheeks reddened a bit. She looked at me, slightly anxious. "I'll call you later." I exited the building and walked out into the streets. Once I had hailed a cab and got in, I gave directions.