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It was February, 2007, and it was the one-year anniversary since Majima left the Tojo Clan and formed Majima Construction. Wrapped in a long black coat over his black suit, the red muffler and his steel-toed shoes were the only spots of color in his unusual dour attire. Just as well, as February was the month that brought its chill to the bones and moreso in graveyards.
He was in Osaka prefecture. A bright, sunny day over a part of Japan that has enough countryside elements to get a dusting of snow, and far away enough from Sotenbori and the greater Osaka area that his coming there wouldn’t warrant attention. Aside from a couple families and old-timers, he was the only one in that aisle of tombstones. He doesn’t like it when people can see him doing something properly without a large crew to give the most grandiose and exciting entrance for him, but he was a proper man who knew the proper thing to do in the circumstances that ask him to do so.
His boots crunched on a mix of snow and ice salt along the path tidied up by the groundskeeper. The water bucket in his left hand sloshed against its sides, with the incense sticks held in his grip with the handle. Plastic crinkled in his gloved hand, and he shifted his grip so that he could hold the flower stems more firmly. It wasn’t a large bouquet, but the petals from lilies and chrysanthemums tickled his chin. They were really lovely flowers, from a local that was around his old office. Fat, yellow chrysanthemums with all its petals clustered together pleasantly, and the white lilies have yet to lose their pristine luster.
Majima scanned the names along the aisle, wondering he got the right plot number amid the tightly clustered rows of tombstones. He stopped in front of one, placed the water bucket on the ground, and sighed.
Ryota Kawamura.
The grave was a little worn but was well-tended, probably recently cleaned up a couple months back by his family or an errant friend from his old life. The site was clear of weeds and looked swept, but Majima gave a bit of a brush around the base. He placed the incense in the incense holder, flicked open his lighter, and watched smoke rise up into the sky, the scent of sandalwood enveloping around him. Filling the dipper with water, he then slowly poured water over the flat top of the gravestone, the sound of water splattering onto the ground and dripping through the grooves of the stone filling the silence. Ryota’s inscribed name looked more refreshed, its carved characters showing more clearly once the dust was washed away.
“See that Ryota? Don’t ever say that the Majima family never took care of their own,” Majima said softly.
He bent down and held his hands in a prayer. Silence, which was usually his enemy, was welcomed this time, as this type of silence had other sounds of life in the distant hills and away from the sound pollution of the city.
His thoughts wandered over to the circumanstances of his deceased underling’s demise. The rapid destruction of two prominent Tojo clan families, both cash cows for the family coffers only to be pointlessly slaughtered. His own misgivings over the 5th Chairman, proven right the last year when it was all a ruse for an elaborate end to the Jingweon Mafia while upholding the deceased leader’s own moral code that tried to include everyone’s debts. The fact that The Grand survived against the Bubble economy bursting even though all of Sotenbori changed hands like a poker dealer.
If it weren’t for you, Kawamura, I wouldn’t have seen Makoto one last time.
Of all the things he never expected to do, it’s to see Makoto happy. Really happy. The light in her eyes and face aglow with possibility, kind of happy. Looked right in his eye and really seeing him. He thought he really saw her, when she saw him, on that rooftop over the Empty Lot all those years ago. Eyes ablaze vengeance, giving her focus to go beyond what she was capable to do. Saw that look again when she slapped two shitheads for harassing her all those years back, too.
He knew she would never have to worry about whether she was capable of anything ever again.
A man should always tie up loose ends, Kawamura. Especially for other people.
He was mad when the kid tried to drag him into the convoluted plotting in the Tojo clan, but he can’t resent him. It was another day for another Yakuza kid, another pawn for another conspiracy. If it weren’t for him, he would have written off Sotenbori as another place of bad memories, but that last visit he ended it on his terms, and he avenged Kawamura in the end.
Majima stood up and sighed. He reached inside his coat pocket to take out a pack of cigarettes and smacked the bottom of the pack to flick one out. He held it between his lips and was about to use his lighter when a flame appeared in front of him.
“Found a parking spot, oyaji,” said Nishida. He was dressed in a puffy black jacket and a black beanie, and his nose and ears were red from the cold.
“Took yer time, din’ ya?” said Majima. He leaned into the flame and took a drag. Nishida lit his own cigarette and blew smoke to the side.
“The lot was a bit aways,” said Nishida. “It’s a walk downhill, so be careful of any ice on the ground.”
“What are ya, my ma?”
“It’d be bad luck to have an accident in a graveyard.”
“Hey! Knock on that wood after you say that, dummy!”
Nishida knelt down and began to pray over the grave.
“…Ryota wasn’t a bad kid,” he said after some time.
Majima looked down at his #2, a softer expression that he would have never shown to anyone but a select few in his life.
He took a drag. “He did everything he was told to without trying to burden anyone,” he said gruffly. “Well, up ’til now.”
“We always had soba together every Friday,” said Nishida. “Just to check in and see how he was doing. Always liked kitsune soba.”
“That’d sound good right about now.”
Nishida pulled out a plastic bag from his jacket pocket and placed two bright orange persimmons in front of the grave. He took the cigarette from his mouth, ground the end against his heel, and placed it in a metal cannister. He offered it to Majima, who likewise snuffed out his cigarette, and placed it inside.
“Shall we go?” asked Nishida.
“Sure.”
“We got a lot of people to see. Got a text from Yuki-san whether we’re actually going over to see her and Youda-san at 4Shine. Might be she thought you’re gonna burn her again and just leave.”
Majima rubbed the back of his head ruefully. They began walking down the hill to the parking lot, passing by rows of graves.
“Guess I’m not getting off the hook for that that easily. My suit’s in the car, right? Can’t just show up looking all gloomy and thoughtful, now.”
“I don’t know, sir. I think Kawamura would have been really touched that you were gloomy over him.”
Majima went to whiff the back of Nishida’s head, whose years of conditioning and reflexes hade him instinctively dodge the strike. Nishida stumbled down the hill, and upon looking at his boss’s face, held up a hand in an attempt to pacify him.
“W-Wait, let’s not get hasty, sir!”
“Nishida.” Suddenly, Majima took on a serious tone. “You said we’re in a hurry, right?”
“Not directly, technically-“
“So start running, Nishida, and ya better hope I don’t catch you before we get to the car!”
Barely had Majima finished that Nishida took his cue to run willy-nilly down the hill. Majima couldn’t arsed to chase him down, but once given a threat, he felt compelled to follow through.
See the things I put up with, Kawamura? Makoto?
He gave a short sigh, geared himself up, and hustled down the hill after him. Carefully so, as he didn’t want to slip and fall.
Saejima transferred prisons about twice in his life, and this time it seemed that the prison center might give a damn about their inmates.
In today’s lunch, each inmate got one sakura mochi for their lunch, the pink stick rice wrapped in cherry blossom leaves sat pretty inside plastic wrapping as the sole treat on the metal tray. It was the conversation topic of the lunch room, with inmates sharing their flower viewing memories or about when it was the last time they had any kind of sweet or how this tasted different from how they had it back in the day.
Saejima stared at the offering with dull eyes, as though momentarily confused that there was suddenly something different in his usual routine. He could count on one hand how many times he had something special for meals during his internment, and he recalled how there were some inmates who had activists advocate for better treatment for the imprisoned outside of the beige walls and beyond.
He wondered if Yasuko would have been one of those activists to advocate for people like him. More often than not, he told himself it was better for Yasuko to leave him behind.
Saejima ate his rice and fish, and thought between bites. He rarely talked or shared memories with his peers, but when he did, it was carefully chosen words to be left alone or to encourage the other in their hopes. Why invite enmity when already he was ostracized within the prison as an incredibly murderous criminal?
There was a moment when one approached him. The man was short and stout, and he reminded Saejima of a tanuki with such wide eyes and round face. His name was Haruto or Haruki, he didn’t remember, but he collapsed one day in the middle of the open yard during the summer, and Saejima helped carry him to shaded area under the bleachers, and alerted the guards who gave Haru-whatever water while waiting for medical help.
Haruto or Haruki, which he wished he remembered better, later told him something while visited by a family member in the infirmary. He told Saejima that the family member saw a young woman sitting in the waiting room every time they came to visit Haruto or Haruki, and each time saw her being turned away by the guard. Each time, this woman gave her name as Saejima, and each time the guard told her that Saejima Taiga was prohibited from visitors.
“Looks like you got a friend out there. I’m glad. It’s good to know that someone’s being looked out for, even for, well... anyway, it’s a good feeling,” said Haruto or Haruki, and Saejima had to look away, for he forgot the words to say in this kind of situation.
Since then, memories of a life gone by came back to Saejima instead of images of men whose faces were frozen in a perpetual death mask.
He finished his main meal and held the plastic-wrapped mochi in his hands. Slowly, he opened the package and felt the treat in his large hand. The leaf was moist and the rice still sticky. The packaging came from Poppo, and he couldn’t believe that you can just buy sakura mochi in a convenience store now.
The last time he ate sakura mochi was during the spring in ‘88. He, Majima, and Yasuko had a picnic in Ueno park and looked at the cherry trees abloom in soft pink and white petals. Yasuko brought with her a wicker basket of homemade hanami odango, rice balls with salted salmon inside, Inari sushi, and sweet rolled omelet. He and Majima brought a large bottle of sake, and both of them shared drinks while Yasuko drank tea.
When Yasuko left for the restroom, Saejima leaned back on his hands and accidentally placed his hand atop Majima’s own. He apologized and laughed as he removed it, which Majima accept as part of the bravado, but Majima also leaned back and placed his hand near Saejima’s. Not quite touching, but just so. It was enough for Saejima to notice and give pause, and barest touch of skin was enough to make him question whether it was the alcohol mixing up the signals in his brain or he was discovering something new about himself and of Majima.
Like always, Majima looked so at peace with the world and his place in it, that having his hand by Saejima’s was as natural as it could be. Saejima, for all his own bravado and youthful energy, was for a brief moment a bundle of nerves and anxiety and hope all mixed in a flurry inside him. When Yasuko returned, Majima immediately straightened up and left Saejima’s hand alone and bereft, and at that moment Saejima knew that its loss meant something to him.
Saejima took a bit out of the sakura mochi.
“...Now that’s sweet,” he muttered, and his seat neighbors mumbled in consent.
“Makes ya feel like a normal guy, huh?” said the man next to him.
Saejima mumbled in agreement, and took another bite.
It was barely 11:30 when Kariyushi Arcade was packed with shoppers and tourists, making the serpentine shopping arcade already more confusing and hectic. Still, this kind of energy was entirely unlike the throngs of people in Kamurocho and neighboring Shinjuku. Shopkeepers are more energized and their smiles more genuine. There was nary any honeyed cajoling or nagging barkers with menus in their hands, and sometimes even arguments end in good-natured ribbing between customer and seller.
Kiryu thought maybe it was the weather, or that it was spring and everyone has higher spirits when Golden Week was coming soon, or maybe he still felt lovestruck with an island so far from what he used to know even after two months.
Either way, he never thought he would have so much fun finding an apron for himself and for children to use in the kitchen.
“Oji-san!”
Kiryu looked up from his phone, reading over a text he had gotten earlier in the day. He was holding a woven basket heavy with groceries, and the other hand on the handle of a shopping cart. Between the crowded shelves of a knick-knack store that would compete with Don Quijote, Haruka popped into view with an apron in each hand. One apron was pink with a brown bear patch, and the other a sunny yellow with a white chicken on the bottom.
“Look what I found,” exclaimed Haruka, her face beaming. She bounced excitedly towards him, her sun hat bobbing and her flip-flops squeaking on the ground.
Kiryu laid eyes on the chicken apron and it was like lightning struck him.
“…Nugget,” he said softly, when Haruka reached.
“Hmm?” she asked, looking down at the yellow apron.
Kiryu caught himself. “I mean, that’s a nugget of a find!”
He reached out to lightly trace the chicken design on the apron. It was embroidered well, and had a cocky expression upon its beak. He thought back a moment, to when he had seen a similar such gaze after beating a contest of pure talent and strength with the promise of a turkey dinner most succulent and delicious.
Who was he to know that he would have gained one of the finest men in his employ during his youth?
Haruka tilted her head quizzically, wondering at the sudden change in Kiryu’s expression.
“Do you like this one?” she asked.
Kiryu took the apron from her and nodded. “This one suits me best, I think.”
Haruka giggled. “I like it, too. See here?” She pointed at the hem of the apron. “There’s little chickies here!”
Kiryu brought the hem up for a look. “So it is. Probably the same number as the kids at Morning Glory.”
Haruka hid her giggle behind her hand. “Are we the chicks, Oji-san? Remember that chicken coop at the end of the street? That hen was hiding her babies under her feathers. You can be the hen!”
Kiryu gave a deep chuckle. “You’re the chicks, all right, what with the amount of food everyone needs. What do you think they’d like to have tonight?”
Haruka peered into the shopping cart and appraised the bottles of cooking oil, vinegar, soy sauce, spices, and other dried goods.
“Curry!” she declared.
He nodded, satisfied. “I can definitely do that.”
Haruka looked up at him, some doubt in her eyes. “I can help out, you know. I practiced it before in school during Home Economics class.”
Despite her assertion, Kiryu shook his head. “You promised Ayako that you two are in charge of planning the itinerary for Golden Week. I wouldn’t know what to plan for a beach outing, so it’s up to you two to figure out what everyone wants to do.”
To his dismay, Haruka did not look reassured. “Okaaaaaay, oji-san,” she said, wandering away from the cart to look around the aisles once more.
Kiryu scowled and said, “Don’t go hunting for snacks, now.”
Haruka huffed, “I was only looking!”
Kiryu smirked and moved the trolley over to the checkout counter. Haruka seemed to have more energy since coming to Okinawa. He figured it might have something to do with the sun and the more relaxed environment compared to the Greater Tokyo Area. Their apartment in Adachi, while more quiet and peaceful in it many parks and temples, felt suffocating and muted to him. He hadn’t even tried to get to know the area and neighborhood, focusing more on pulling together a life with just him and Haruka after losing so many people in their lives. On top of that, filling his time with enough work to support himself and Haruka, which often felt like imitating what a normal life was supposed to be like for people with such abnormal lives compared to others.
When he placed the items on the conveyor belt to be rung up, noting that he had never bought so many ingredients for so much people before, he thought that that might have been it.
He and Haruka, both grown up in orphanages and used to so many children around as their own family, are back to kind of place where they were much happier.
-
Later in the day, after dropping off the dried goods at the orphanage, Haruka, Ayako, and Kiryu made their way back to downtown Ryukyu to the public library. Both girls wanted to look up magazines and how-to books on planning picnics and outdoor beach games to play. For Kiryu, his part was more daunting.
He stood before the line of wooden cubicles, eyeing the foes before him like a row of goons that needed to be straightened up.
Without drawing too much attention to himself, he glared at the middle-aged lady with the floral-print shirt typing furiously at the clacking keyboard as though she was a World War II code breaker trying to transmit messages taken from Allied Forces. He looked the person next to her, a teenage girl probably in middle school who might even be in Haruka’s year, was likewise moving the mouse at the desktop with great authority, and Kiryu felt cowed that someone so young would maneuver it with confidence. Across from the two female computer-users was an old man, his pate already glaring under the fluorescent lights and wearing thick plastic eyeglasses, was able to navigate a PC, albeit more slowly, but typing out messages with greater veracity than Kiryu.
Kiryu balled his hands into fists. How could he surmount a seemingly impossible task? He can’t ask Haruka or Ayako when they’re already busy with their task at hand. How can he call himself an adult to rely on?
“Excuse me?” said a soft voice next to him. He looked down to his side and saw a young woman wearing an apron and a casual outfit by his side, looking up inquisitively.
“Uh, yeah?” he said inelegantly.
“Do you want some help?” she asked brightly.
Where would I even begin? he thought to himself.
“It’s uh, it’s my first time using the computers here, so er…” he began.
She nodded and showed him to an empty cubicle. “Gotcha. I’ll help you get started. Lucky you that the line to the computer is free; it can get pretty dicey trying to get one first here.”
“Not sure I want to find out who my competition is for this, then.” Somehow, he felt that this kind of fight would be way out of his depth.
“Ehehe, don’t I know it. Once we got these things installed, we got all types coming in here trying to bend some rules. Here’s how to log-in…”
After a patient ten minute tutorial on using a library computer for the first time, Kiryu completed his daunting task of opening the browser and even logging in to his Softbank email account. The librarian left, satisfied that he was able to identity the Inbox and Compose buttons, and Kiryu felt empowered.
He rose from his seat, scanning the library and looking out until he spot Ayako and Haruka in the children’s section. Both were intently whispering and going over opened books and notebooks at their table. Satisfied he lowered into his seat and clicked open the unread messages. There were quite a few, even in the hundreds, and a good number of them look like scams and useless marketing letters.
Daunted, Kiryu opened his cell phone to check his messages and read the email address carefully from the sender section. Looking back and forth between his phone and the computer screen, he finally found the mailing address he was looking for. A thought occurred to him.
He went up to the librarian at the front desk. “Excuse me, can I ask you something?”
“Oh sure,” standing up and heading over to his cubicle.
Sitting down, Kiryu then asked, “Is there a way to look for just one email address out of the whole inbox?”
He then received a short tutorial on the search features and what spam is. To his great surprise, he realized that English words can mean more than one thing.
He clicked the first email out of a short list and smiled.
“Dear Kazuma,” it began, and he thought there really must be something about Okinawa if the end of a relationship meant the beginning of a new kind of friendship.
Nishida turned the car from the road and slowly stopped in front of the West Park entrance of Kamurocho near the taxi queue.
“We’re here, boss,” he said, looking behind him at the backseat.
Majima peeled himself from the clinging leather of the backseat and stretched his arms. “Finally!” he exclaimed. “How can traffic be this bad coming back from Tojo headquarters? Is there some kind of party that nobody was inviting me?”
“Must be the tourists, sir,” said Nishida, pushing the hazard lights button on and unbuckling his seat belt. “It’s summer vacation now for the schools here, and there’s a lot of foreigners about, too.”
Majima reached into the space under the car seat and fumbled around for a while.
“Damn, seems like we just keep getting more and more out-of-towners here than usual. Watch, Nishida, there’s going to be another security crackdown in Kamurocho just so some American tourists won’t get scammed out of their authentic cultural experience. Tear down all the buildings that make this city great and set up a Starbucks or something.”
Nishida got out of the car, walked around, and opened the passenger door at Majima’s side. Having found what he was looking for, Majima stepped out of the car and groaned.
“Man, what kind of weather is this?” he grumbled. “It’s like stepping into a sauna.”
Majima pulled out an uchiwa fan from the souvenir bag he was holding and began to furiously fan himself.
“I’ll join you once I parked, oyaji,” said Nishida, and he went back to the driver’s seat and drove away.
Majima watched the car leave and turned back to look in the direction of West Park. It was a disgustingly hot August day. The sun was high in the sky and the air was drumming with the sound of people and cicadas and traffic intermingling in the air. He swore that it wasn’t Tokyo wasn’t that hot some twenty years ago. Even on that fateful day when he last saw Saejima, the heat wasn’t as excruciating as it is now.
Still, it won’t do to admit defeat to the weather. Clad in his snakeskin jacket and leather slacks, he walked with purpose towards the men’s bathroom in West Park, letting what little breeze to be had to hit bare skin.
Despite his resolution, he could not ignore things that catch his eye and especially when it seemed like something was out of place.
Kamurocho is home to many strange going-ons that made everyone, including Majima, love and despair about the city. One who has lived there for a while would know with a trained eye when that strange going-on would come upon them a mile away.
Seated at a bench near the park bulletin board was a man in his autumn days, probably ten or fifteen years older than Majima, with short salt-and-pepper hair and a handsome goatee. He was wearing a dark blue yukata and slowly fanning himself with a folded fan, while on his wrist was a designer watch of an older, classic make. Emblazoned upon the fan was a crest, and it was that detail that Majima knew there was something strange going on here.
Mindful of the passersby that wander around with sun hats and snapping digital cameras, Majima nonchalantly joined the man next to him on the bench and set the bag down between his knees.
“Hot day, isn’t it?” said the man, with great gusto.
“Yeah,” mumbled Majima. “This scrap of land one of the few places you can get a breeze here.”
The old man looked at Majima askance, and held his hand aloft so that the both of them could get a breeze.
“Hard day at work, Oh great President Majima of Majima Construction?”
“I’ll say!” Majima exclaimed, leaning back. “Probably I should take a long vacation down in Okinawa and catch those legendary waves, right Matsugane-han?”
The old man lowered his arm and lazily fanned himself once more, the Matsugane family crest prominent on both sides of the uchiwa fan.
“Now, now,” chided Matsugane. “If you head off to vacation now, I might never get ahold of you.”
Majima leaned on his knees, and stared with half-closed eyes at the patriarch.
“Matsugane-han, I did promise to see you on the 20th. My man Nishida even triple-checked for me, pasting sticky notes all over my dang walls and drawers.”
Matsugane laughed merrily. “You’re lucky to have such a fastidious man on your team.”
“Well? Are we here to make profound observations on the weather, or what? I doubt that a guy like you would stalk the great Majima, knowing what a great health insurance risk I am.”
Matsugane waved a dismissive hand. “Oh no, no. I wasn’t really stalking you. Chance meeting, maybe, since I heard that you come around the office at this time to do business.”
“Who leaked my office hours?!” Majima cried. “They’re a secret even to me!”
“It’s on your business card,” Matsugane said matter-of-factly. “You gave it to everyone around the Spring party back in April when you declared loudly about your grand return as the richest member of the Tojo Clan.”
A business card suddenly appeared in front of Majima’s eyes with the Majima Corporation logo and picture of his crew grinning wildly on the card, which read “We Build Shit!” Matsugane then flipped the card on the other side, revealing the business hours, email, and company phone number.
Matsugane then put the card back into his card holder. “It really was just a chance meeting. I have some business around Park Avenue, and so by being in the neighborhood I thought to finally meet the loudest of my neighbors.”
“Unlike certain other construction companies, I read the city guidelines on noise control,” said Majima with a cheeky smile,”And I know that my construction company is just under the maximum decibels that would be considered a disturbance.”
Matsugane chuckled. “Oh no, I’m not talking about that kind of noise. This city gets rebuilt over and over, changing its face but retaining its shape like a Noh-face actor. So some construction isn’t going to get my men down. It’s the ruckus you keep spilling into the streets what with those color gangs or real estate punks trying to up-end you.”
Majima looked away and thought for a moment. “Oh yeah… Wow, that felt like ages ago.”
“Hard to forget when there’s, what, near constant warfare in this city last year with gangs from here and all the way from Kansai here. Sure, Majima Construction kicked out those shit-colored gangs from our home, but y’know…”
Matsugane then sighed deeply and fanned quickly. “One of my men who works at the Game Center down the street keeps saying he has a bone to pick with you for letting a few stragglers falling through the front doors.”
“Oi, oi. If a few punks is enough to fluster one of your guys, then maybe he needs to shape-up,” chided Majima.
“That’s what I keep telling him, but I think nothing would get through to him but knock to the noggin. Bears an irrational grudge against your company like a Spaniard who’s got a thing for windmills.”
“Yeah? Well, send him my way. Might be the kind of guy who speaks my language.”
Matsugane smiled amicably and sighed. Majima looked at his wristwatch and checked the time. “Damn, who dares to keep me waiting,” he muttered.
“Oh? Got a guest? Don’t worry, I’ll get out of your hair, now.” Matsugane made to leave, but Majima motioned for him to stay.
“Ah, come on. Need some entertainment before the guy gets here. Actually, got something to ask of you, since you sound like you been here a long time.”
Matsugane looked at Majima quizzically. While he has been in the Tojo Clan for a while, he had only a few moments when he had once spoken with the former captain of the Shimano clan before that fateful day at the Millennium Tower in 2005. Even before then, he knew that Majima’s star would only rise as his name as the Mad Dog of Shimano made even the Yakuza-busters fear his name and let him roam.
“What can I be of service?”
Majima leaned back, breathing deep.
“You ever tried to fix something that can’t be fixed?”
Matsugane looked aside, uncertainly. “Wouldn’t be a long-time family man if I hadn’t made costly mistakes in my time.”
“Yeah, well, just wondering whether what’s the best way to make up for someone who’s already paying for your share of the blame somewhere. Doing time for a crime that was supposed to be yours to do. Can you even fix something if you don’t have the opportunity to?”
As soon as Majima uttered it, both he and Matsugane were on the same brainwave and thought the same thought: “This could be about anyone.”
Matsugane sighed and looked thoughtfully out into the distance. He thought of all the missed opportunities he wasn’t able to take that would have elevated his clan’s status within the Tojo clan, and all the choices he did make that eventually went bust due to the declining economy and further government crackdowns. He thought of his relationships, particularly that with his longtime friend Ryuzo Genda, whom he relied on to help raise the young Takayuki to live a more civilian life, and how that relationship had waxed and waned and deepened. He wondered, sometimes, how much of that relationship was known among his peers in the Tojo Clan, and whether he hampered his own ambitions in partitioning and overthinking his relationships due to his fear of losing respect among his peers and underlings.
He was really envious of the younger generation, who are able to live their lives more openly, and the consequences of living openly merely meant having more enemies to defeat with their own hands.
He fanned contemplatively and answered, “I got some stories along that nature. Probably some you might even find useful or mildly entertaining. I’ll share it at our meeting, but for now I’ll give you the short answer of it: I respect men - and women, as I was told by my more forward-thinking ward- who try to fix something even when they know that it might not fix everything. Maybe it might not fix anything at all. But it shows those are the type of people who know what it it means to be responsible to others.”
Majima sighed, “Responsible, huh…?”
Matsugane continued, “I got to say, though. I know a depressing amount of people who try just about anything to fix things and it just ends up ruining themselves and everyone involved with them. Even threw away their own lives.”
Matsugane gave a depressing laugh.
“You won’t fix anything or make up for past mistakes if you’re dead. If death was my only option to right something, then that means that I didn’t do enough to change it. That’s pretty typical for our line of work.”
At this this, Matsugane stood up and patted down his yukata. He tucked his fan into a tote bag and stood in front of Majima, in a move to bid farewell.
“And what about jingi, Matsugane-han?” said Majima, looking up at the older man. “The honor code that we all abide by for our superiors and our sworn brothers.”
“We can continue our talk at our meeting, Majima-san,” replied Matsugane. “I quite enjoy having deep conversations, nowadays. I got a ward who uses all the tricks he had to get me and the boys involved in some critical thinking. But, I won’t take up time from your appointment.”
Matsugane bowed good-bye respectfully, while Majima lowered his head in return. When he was a captain, he would have stood up to at least be mindful of manners between hierarchies. Now, even though Mitsugu Matsugane was patriarch longer than Majima’s own combined stint as captain and patriarch, greater deference was paid to the latter.
As soon as Matsugane left the the park and his sandaled footsteps echoed down the street, another middle-aged man entered the park. This one wore looser yukata, his chest round belly just about entirely exposed. His hair was slicked back by pomade and he wore a thin mustache that reminded Majima of old-timey samurai movies from the 60s. Unlike the more clean-cut style that Matsugane wore, the Florist of Sai looked as shady as the methods he used to control the city through hidden eyes.
“Well, you took yer damn time,” said Majima.
“What can I say, Majima-san?” replied the Florist, approaching him with nonchalance towards the business tycoon. “I’m a man of manners and it would be rude to interrupt conversations of an intimate nature.”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m sure you got a recording of it on some microchip or whatever sells in camera stores these days.”
The Florist tilted his head in the direction of the men’s bathroom.
“Shall we go in?”
Majima fixed a stern look at the Florist. “Not until you give me an answer.”
“Right here? Out in the open?”
“Got a problem with having more ears listening than you like? Maybe you got some cop friends hiding in the bushes somewhere.”
The Florist waved a dismissive hand. “I told you. I left that position after the second near-destruction of the Millennium Tower. Don’t much like the thought of plummeting to my death, even with fake bombs or whatever destructive force the criminal underworld types have.”
“And here I was hoping you grew a conscious and decided to stop snitching to the police. Even Americans start complaining about too much surveillance and police state and whatnot.”
The Florist sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “Not really expecting to hear international political insights from you. Then let’s make it clear and in the open: I’m in, Majima. It’d hurt to see my poor desk getting bashed in by your thick head. I’m not much for doing business out in the open, anyway, and neither do my men. Don’t want to hear anymore grumbling about lost keycards and getting profiled by security from them, anymore…”
Majima rose up from his seat and extended his hand. “Welcome back to Purgatory.”
The Florist gripped the hand back firmly, and laughed. “Heh! As if I ever left in the first place. So what’re you looking for in exchange? Since it’s not slavery under your hair-trigger hands, it’s gotta be something personal.”
Majima let go and he jerked his head towards the bathroom. Both men followed, barging in noisily through bathroom users and startling those inside the stalls. Majima slammed open the stall, jerked the opposing door handle open, and they both stood out in the open, a lone temporary building in the middle of the wide expanse that used to be West Park.
“I’m looking for a girl. A woman, to be exact,” he said, as they both approached the Majima Corporation office.
“Well, isn’t that mysterious,” remarked the Florist. “Are we talking about a runaway bride? Ex-girlfriend? Long lost wife? Or maybe…” The Florist angled his head conspiratorially. “…A daughter?”
“Tsk!” Majima resisted the urge to cuff the man as he opened the door to allow both of them inside. “Not two minutes in, and yer already trying to get evicted?”
When they both sat down face-to-face in the air-conditioned makeshift office, Majima steepled his fingers and his expression grew inward.
“This gal is someone I gotta keep an eye on. Told myself that I ought to do it for someone who’s in the slammer now.”
The Florist pulled out a cigar from a silver case and prepared to light it. He took a deep puff, the pungent smell of Cuban tobacco wafting up in blue smoke.
“So you’re making sure she’s out of trouble until that guy’s back in her life?” The Florist asked.
Majima fixed the man a look with a clarity that the Florist didn’t realize was possible.
“If life were fair, yeah. But since life ain’t fair, then I do what I can to make sure life ain’t any more like hell for her. That’s what I owe for the both of ‘em.”
One of Kaoru Sayama’s favorite things about autumn was the changing of the leaves. The maple leaves that line the prefecture as she drove from the train terminal of Kansai International Airport was ablaze with color, from bright orange to a deep crimson red. The musty smell of golden yellow gingko leaves on the ground after a rainy day was something that cannot be recreated in California, and neither could autumn’s cold bite would wake her up in the early morning.
The changing of the seasons came with other ritual changes: the transition from cool-biz, lightweight clothes to heavier jackets and boots; when her mother would make chestnut rice and the stores are stocked with sweet persimmon fruits and pears; moon-viewing parties along the Sotenbori river where she snacked on mochi with coworkers. All these things she had missed when she accepted her assignment to Los Angeles, where summer would continue still into October and which its temperatures would rise still with local wildfires and the general desert climate.
Still, there were many things she never expected to see while in America, which was an experience that proved that her world was much more narrow than she had previously thought even after her experience in Tokyo nearly a year ago.
The sheer vastness of space in large cities like Los Angeles, and the distance of travel people undertake even within a single state.
The fact that quiet places could still be found in nature, amid the red cliffs of Red Rock Canyon State Park when accompanying a work bonding trip.
The knowledge that there were just so many different kinds of people living in LA alone where she was both a stranger and at home within several communities. When she met Japanese Americans from different generations and found that her perception of Japanese-ness was changed to the point that her own self-perception and identity was changed and adapted, and suddenly there was room to grow.
The unsettling realization that advancing a career through merit alone was a lie, and how laws are unfair when communities are segregated and the privileged remained untouched from culpability.
Kaoru sighed with relief she pulled out of the highway and into the suburbs of Osaka, and down the winding streets of Sotenbori.
There was plenty of space in Osaka compared to Tokyo, where its claustrophobic layout and population created many corners for secrets to hide in. But now the city felt smaller somehow, and when she stepped out of her car in the paid parking lot, somehow she felt like a stranger in her own city. As she walked through the streets towards the bar Aoi, she saw that some familiar shops had already gone out of business or had become different stores altogether. The impact of the burst Bubble Economy since 1992 seemed to still extend further into the 00s, and if the economists’ speculations are true, the entire city may be completely changed on her next visit.
She walked this place many times in her life, and as reminisced, most recently with Kiryu Kazuma. Although her time with him had been short, there was something lacking without him by her side in a way that she hadn’t expected even when she was abroad. Somehow, without her knowing it, he was integral to her life to the point that his absence was felt, like a longtime shop being closed or the way that when she visited her high school after a long time and finding some teachers had been switched out.
It was the lonely feeling of a relationship gone, where its ghost can still be traced, and carried with it the fading possibility of it being rekindled or not.
Walking up the steps, she remembered the times when Kiryu saw her in moments of vulnerability and pain, and had in those times, understood and supported her. She wondered whether she would ever experience a moment like that again, when she would have other people see her pain and insecurities and say “I know what you’re going through.”
When she opened the door to Aoi, though, it was like she never left in the first place.
“Welcome!” said Tamiyo Sayama as she wiped down a bottle. Then she looked up and the biggest smile lit up her face. “Kaoru!”
A smile crept easily onto Sayama’s own face and she said, “I’m back, mom!”
The smile then became teary as her mother raced around the bar to give her a big hug, and many of Sayama’s good memories were always had with her mother.
-
“Phew! There ain’t no way I can eat another bite!” exclaimed Sayama, later in the evening.
“You certainly cleaned yer plate there!” said Tamiyo, who flicked on the neon “OPEN” sign at her bar’s window. “Don’t they feed you in America? I thought that country has food so big that a steak is 60 centimeters long there.”
“No way, mom,” said Sayama. She went around the bar to grab a glass and poured her own pint of Sapporo beer. She eyed the foam and beer ratio, and nodded to herself, satisfied. 70:30 ratio. Just the way she liked it.
She went back to her seat and drank deeply.
“Ahh!” she gasped. “That hit the spot. I was almost dreaming of this while on the plane ride here.”
Tamiyo laughed and raised an eyebrow at her as she went back to wiping down the bottles. “Bet you had yer fill of booze there. Never went bar-hopping with your coworkers after a long day of work?”
Sayama shook her head. “Sure, but they do things different there. Besides, there ain’t many Sapporo beers on tap in the bars they hang out. It’s always in bottles or can, and costs way too much.”
A memory struck her and she stood up from her seat. “Hold up, I just remembered somethin’.”
Sayama went to the back room where she placed her luggage and souvenir bags, and she rolled out her carry-on.
“Ma, I got ya this.”
Sayama unzipped the luggage and pulled out two cylinder packages.
“Oh ho ho, that looks fancy,” said Tamiyo. “Lemme guess, is it wine?”
“Bing-bong!” sang Sayama, giving her mother the game show sound effect. Encased in the cylinder packages were two bottles of red and white wine.
“These are from Napa valley,” said Sayama, placing the bottles onto the bar. She then zipped up her luggage and rolled it back to the store room.
Her mother picked up the red, putting on her reading glasses and squinting at the labels.
“2005?” she read aloud. “’s that good? Never once drank wine before.”
Sayama reached for the bottle and she set it on the counter. “It tasted good when I tried it,” she said. “A little sour, but supposed to be good with red meat.”
Tamiyo took off her glasses and point them at her daughter. “Lucky you, since you ate a whole cow’s worth of yakiniku. Wonder if I got anything like wine glasses here.”
While her mother rummaged through her shelves, Sayama took out a bottle opener and a box of sweets from a gift bag. As she uncorked the bottle, she thought back to when she first had it. Having never once ordered from a fancy Western restaurant, she had let her colleague order for her, including the wine. The tart and robust taste was a good experience, just one of many while in America. Even going out on a fancy date was a good experience, eating a large salmon filet with a handsome man with an eye for detail and actually knew what to do with computers and metadata.
It was a good experience that came with going abroad, but she wondered if it’s only good because it was a novelty, like going to Disneyland or taking pictures of the Walk of Fame.
The bottle popped open, and her mother brought out brandy glasses in lieu of wine glasses.
“These’d work, right? Yer supposed to swirl the wine like brandy, I think.”
Sayama smiled and said, “Yeah. I think that’s good enough.”
She finished pouring the wine for herself and her mother’s when the bell over the door rang.
“Mama-san!” a sunny voice cried out. “I missed yooooou!”
Sayama looked up to see a tall woman with bleached hair and beautifully tanned skin walking in while wearing a long coat and glittering heels. For a moment she thought she was back in California until she realized that this woman and the other one following here were somehow familiar to her.
“Please excuse us!” said a shorter woman next her, peering around her friend’s elbow with a cute expression. With her round eyes, black bangs and bobbed hair, and her paler complexion, she was in stark contrast with her friend by having more classic cute Japanese looks. With wide, wondering eyes, she took in the bar around her until laying sight on Sayama and Tamiyo.
“Aika!” exclaimed Tamiyo, with great enthusiasm. “How can you miss me when you’re here almost every night? But I haven’t seen you in a while, Koyuki-chan!”
“Ara,” said the tall woman, now known to Sayama as Aika. “Are you having a party, Sayama-san?” Both women paused in their exuberance at the sight of the wine bottle and box of chocolates between Sayama and Tamiyo.
“We can come back another time, Mama-san!” said Koyuki.
Sayama waved off their concerns. “Don’t worry about it. I’m just sharing gifts from a trip.”
Tamiyo flicked her daughter’s forehead lightly. “Oya! That sounded so impersonal now! Are you too cool to say that you’re my long-lost daughter finally home after working abroad?”
“Ack, Ma! It’s no big deal.”
Both Aika and Koyuki gave cries of delight.
“Eh?! So you’re Kaoru-san!” said Aika. She then rushed towards Sayama’s side. “You’re that lady cop who helped bust that Korean mafia case in Tokyo last year!”
Flustered, Sayama weakly said, “How’d you-“
Koyuki quickly grabbed the seat next Sayama and said, “Mama-san here talked about you a lot when we’re here. About how you’re the Yakuza Huntress in Osaka and that you were involved in that huge Omi Alliance war in Tokyo! She even showed up baby pictures!”
Sayama looked up at her mother, not knowing where to begin. “What did you say, mom?!”
Tamiyo brushed off Sayama’s dismayed expression. “What are you so surprised about? You were actually on TV because of that big award ceremony at the Osaka Police Department. You’ve been big news for a while even after you left. We even had a party here!”
“Yeah, but Mom...” said Sayama weakly.
Koyuki then leaned forward to say excitedly, “Actually, we’ve heard about you at Four Shine. You know, the hostess club next to Aoi. Some of our clients are from the police, and they talked about how there’s a beautiful Yakuza huntress who’s got a burning desire to throw all the gangs to the cleaners! We just never thought that she lived right next to us!”
“Oh, you have police clients who said this?” said Sayama awkwardly. “That’s very uh...” she thought about the right word while also making a hit list in her mind of who would dare gossip about her. “...intense...way to describe me.”
Aika sat next to Koyuki at the bar, looking up from her long lashes at Sayama. “Gotta say, though, when I thought about a lady police detective, you definitely fit the image I had of you.”
Sayama took a glance at the mirror behind the shelf of whiskey and said wryly, “What, stressed and sleep-deprived?”
“Cool!” Aika said immediately.
“Dashing!” Koyuki added, her eyes shining with intensity.
“I’d go to a lady cop if I needed help any time!” exclaimed Aika. “I just can’t talk to guy cops about things like I would to a lady detective. Just not the right kind of sympathy. These guy cops, they all put up a hero complex front at the last club I worked then. Well,” Aika then leaned in for emphasis. “Next thing I know, those same cops try to go around and say how they deserve special treatment just because they do their jobs protecting the peace. Man, try telling them that I expect fair compensation for their time.”
Sayama chuckled darkly and took a drink of the wine. She could definitely name a couple of people who might do just that and more.
Tamiyo looked at the two women and said, “It’s not often that you two are here together. What’s the occasion?”
Aika wrapped her arm across Koyuki’s shoulders. “Day off,” she said.
“She lost a bet,” said Koyuki brightly. Aika hung her head in mock shame.
Tamiyo was intrigued. “Ara. What’s the bet?”
Koyuki placed both hands on the bar and declared, “I, the illustrious Koyuki, have unseated the three-month reigning #1 hostess of Four Shine, the luminous Aika-sama! Each month I had declared ‘Aika-sama. If I fail to unseat you, I will sing my praises to you in any establishment you want that will accept my wondrous singing voice, and to take care of all your bar tabs while I sing you praises. But if I win, you must do the same for me!’”
Tamiyo placed her hands on her hips in dismay. “Ah, Koyuki-chan! You just kissed your savings good-bye! How could you make such a bet! For three months running, at that!”
Sayama smirked, “Lemme guess. You didn’t want to admit defeat after making such a big deal, but you just can’t get your comeback.”
“Until now!” Koyuki cried triumphantly.
Aika tapped Koyuki’s shoulder, then placed her hands on her knees and bowed seriously. “Koyuki-sama! Congratulations on your most clever turnabout. The way you handled that oil baron with your child-like innocence and fearless way of speaking your truth was the critical hit needed to steal that jackpot from under my seductive nose. Tonight, it is dethroned Aika who will sing your praises and pay your tab.”
Aika turned to Tamiyo and said, “We’ll get out of your hair soon, Mama.”
Sayama raised a dissenting hand, reached over the counter to grab two empty glasses, and poured wine in front of Koyuki and Aika.
“Please, stay. I insist.”
Koyuki looked up with beseeching eyes. “We can’t possibly stay! This is an important family event!”
Sayama waved away her concerns.
“No no no, please stay. I’m here for a few days so I can see mom everyday.”
“Oh yeah? You’re really going to see me everyday?” said Tamiyo, with great doubt.
Sayama smiled. “I promised ya, didn’t I?” She turned to the two hostesses and said, “Also, I haven’t heard any karaoke since who knows how long.”
Aika slapped the table decisively. “That settles it! Koyuki, I’m going to sing my heart out to you tonight, starting here in bar Aoi in honor of our most gracious host Tamiyo Sayama, who bore witness to my glory all this while, and to her daughter, the most beautiful and elegant Yakuza Huntress, who came home from abroad.”
Aika went over to the Karaoke machine to turn on the speakers and mic. While she waited for program to boot up, she turned to address the women at the bar with the mic on, her voice echoing in the speakers.
“Tonight... I will sing with a heart full of love.”
Koyuki clapped her hands in glee. “Yes! Finally! My star is rising once more in Sotenbori!”
Tamiyo leaned over to Sayama and whispered, “That girl Aika definitely wouldn’t mind treating. Koyuki basically drinks only a fifth of what that party girl can chug down.”
“Oh yeah, before I forget.” Aika hopped over to the bar and raised her glass to everyone. “Cheers!”
Everyone else raised their glasses. “Cheers!” And they all took a sip.
Aika, Koyuki, and Tamiyo looked at their glasses quizzically while Sayama looked at them all, gauging their reactions.
“So this is red wine,” said Tamiyo.
“It tastes like rotten grapes,” remarked Koyuki, her face scrunched in confusion.
“I mean, you can say that sake is like rotten rice,” said Aika, taking another sip.
Sayama couldn’t help but laugh into her cup, whooping it up with unrestrained glee.
-
Koyuki kept tugging at Sayama to come with her, even though the latter already agreed to go. Tamiyo and Aika were just putting on their coats as they left the threshold while Koyuki went ahead to the club.
“Pleeeease! Stay for a long while, Kaoru-san!” begged Koyuki as she pulled Sayama up the steps to Four Shine. “Yuki-san would be soooooo happy to you. We heard about the Yakuza Huntress since foreeeeever!”
“Oi, Koyuki!” said Aika. “Don’t hurt our Huntress here, okay? She’s the treasure of Osaka, fighting for justice the world over!”
“Okay! Okay!” said Sayama laughing. “You don’t have to treat me, Koyuki-san! Isn’t this your moment to shine?”
Koyuki placed her hand on the door handle and coquettishly said, “This might sound silly, but I always wanted to be treated like a customer at Four Shine for a change. You don’t know it, but we always make sure to have fun with our customers. Our hostesses come from all walks of life, from mysterious girls from Onomichi to our most fierce Obatarians on roll call.”
Aika and Tamiyo caught up to the other two, looking at the two of them.
“Gotta say, girls,” said Tamiyo, “I definitely wanted to see what the cabaret clubs are like now. Back in my day, it’s just giant cabaret shows like The Grand lining up Sotenbori.”
“Then what’re we standing out here for?” laughed Aika, and pulled the door with Koyuki into Four Shine.
As Sayama entered the club, she saw that the decor was not as tacky as other cabaret clubs she had once gotten warrants for, nor did it rank with the stench of stale cigarettes. The music was pleasant, with smooth jazz piano softly playing from the speakers, and more importantly, she could see several beers on tap at the bar.
She was nodding while assessing the place, feeling the vibe, when she felt a tap on her shoulder.
“Hey, Kaoru,” said her mother. “Isn’t that...?”
Sayama turned around to look at her mother and looked in the direction of where she pointed. She felt her face frozen as though turned to stone.
Both she and her mother walked towards the object of befuddlement, neither unable to comprehend what they were seeing even though it was large, garish, and entirely made of gold.
What did Kazuma do in this place...? though Kaoru.
“Isn’t that Kiryu-san?” asked Tamiyo. “What is he doing with his hands?”
“What is that even doing here?!” exclaimed Kaoru.
Koyuki walked to where the two of them were standing. “Oh, you know Kiryu-san, too, Mama-san?” she asked. “Wow, he really is a man about town. I sometimes even hear about him from other customers, some even from Tokyo!”
Koyuki wasn’t alone. With her was a woman in glasses and cardigan, looking very much out of place from types of place usually associated with cabaret clubs.
“Eh?” said the woman in glasses, her voice sounding very young. “Don’t I know you?”
Realizing she was being addressed to, Sayama pointed at her nose and said, “Me?”
She thought through booze-filled mind, further shocked by the appearance of a golden Kiryu statue, of whether she had ever met a mild-mannered pretty woman in glasses and a cardigan and realized that she really only dealt with sending crummy old men and sleazy guys to the paddy-wagon.
Koyuki tilted her head, curious. “You met her, Yuki-san?”
Yuki’s eyes, which were squinting in concentration, suddenly widened with shock and she pointed at Sayama.
“Ah! I remember! I remember you! You were that lady that hung around Kiryu-san sometimes!”
Koyuki turned to Sayama. “You were with Kiryu-san?”
It was Aika’s turn to be express surprise as well. “Oh my god! I thought I recognize you from somewhere! Like, even when Mama-san talked about you and showed us pics, I thought that you were a familiar face!”
The only thing that Sayama could say and do, in this sudden flurry of five degrees of Kiryu Kazuma, was point at the statue and say weakly, “What is... what is Kiryu doing in this... I mean. What. Why... Why is he a statue?!”
“He was our manager,” Aika said simply. “Made us all the most successful club in Sotenbori, too.”
Yuki then grabbed Aika and Koyuki to her sides and said, “The statue is doing our signature Four Shine gesture!”
“Gesture?” Tamiyo blurted out.
Almost as if on cue, Yuki, Koyuki, and Aika raised their arms.
“One...Two...Three... Four Shine!”
They all did the same pose as the Kiryu statue did, and their stunning looks and bright expressions were so piercing, it was almost as if the very air was cut by their brilliance.
Kaoru Sayama, who would never be considered unprepared by her friends and coworkers, placed her hand in her pocket to pull out a digital camera.
“Everyone,” she said to the group, “I would like your expressed permission to record this and to take pictures of. Preferably, in front of the statue. And, is it okay if I make copies of the photos. You know, to send to certain relevant people.”