Brian Thomsen & Martin H. Greenberg (ed), page 24
“Oh, it’s just the symbols for three numbers, za, ku, and ya. Three, nine, and eight. A losing hand in a card game whose name escapes me. My grandfather used to play it.”
“Oh,” Whit replied, thinking to himself that tonight Tanaka would find out that it was himself who held the losing hand. Too bad.
“Here,” she volunteered, leaning in close to him in a manner that would have been completely unacceptable had their sexes been reversed, a hint of jasmine seducing its way to his nose, “let me put it on your lapel.”
“Thank you,” Whit replied awkwardly, averting his eyes from her ample cleavage and noticing that one of her fingertips was bandaged. “What happened?”
Sondra quickly drew back, having finished affixing pin to lapel, and tried to hide her fingers in her fist. “Oh, nothing,” she replied, “just a nasty paper cut.”
“Too bad. I bet it hurts like the dickens.”
“There are worse things one can do to one’s self,” she offered enigmatically.
For a fraction of a second Whit contemplated going home to change into something a bit more professional before the dinner meeting but then quickly dismissed the idea. A GENIE T-shirt with General Neutron on it under a sports jacket and khaki pants was who he was after all, and he had no desire to buck the traffic back to Tacoma from their overpriced Bellevue offices when dinner was in Seattle on the sound. Besides, the time he saved would allow him to stop by New Video to review the latest releases.
New Video was filled with the usual college types and middle-aged nerds who were overpaid by either Microsoft or Wizards of the Coast or some other “cool” company. Needless to say, Whit felt comfortable, in his element.
“Yo, Captain Neutron,” hailed Silent Tod, the slacker son of the often absent proprietor, “real cool pin on your jacket, man. Yakuza rules, man.”
“Yakuza?” Whit queried, vaguely recognizing the word.
“Yeah, Yakuza,” Silent Tod repeated, pointing to each of the tiny Japanese characters, “ya, ku, za. Yakuza, the Japanese gangsters. I know all about them. I’ve seen every film John Woo has done. He deals mostly with the Chinese Triads, but sometimes he has the Yaks in there as well.”
The Yaks. Whit couldn’t help but visualize a bunch of hairy goats playing hitman, was mildly amused and decided to correct the young video hound. “You’re wrong. They’re numbers. 398.”
“You mean 893, man,” Silent Tod corrected. “A losing hand of the bakuto. Loser is just one of the translations for the yaks, man. Personally, I prefer ‘the men who walk in the shadows.’ Cool, huh?”
“The men who walk in the shadows?”
“Yeah, man. You and I are katagi, that’s short for katagi no shu, ‘people who walk in the sun,’ like you and me. They walk in the shadows. Gangsters, cool. Hey, you want to play some pachinko? I know this guy I met at the Woo film festival and …”
Whit had seen Silent Tod this animated before. When he latched onto something new, there was no stopping him. Whit remembered when he went off on a Bab-5 jag and espoused the virtues of being a member of the psy corps to him for two whole hours; he quickly glanced at his watch and hightailed it towards the door, not wanting to be late for dinner as Tanaka would probably be pissed enough by meal’s end as it was.
“Gotta go,” he signed off, passing through the sensors and out the exit empty handed.
“Wait, man,” Silent Tod called after him. “I thought you were going to get me a job in your MIS department. I’ll lend you my copy of Hardboiled. It’s Woo at his prime. Maybe we can like do a latte or something, huh?”
Toshiro’s was located along the base of Queen Anne hill, and its second floor ‘reserved’ room afforded a decent view of Puget Sound. Whit recalled that they prepared a wicked California roll as well as several other palatable concoctions of raw fish, rice, and seaweed. Personally, he would have preferred Burger King, but there were certain hostly obligations that he felt appropriate to the situation, and Whoppers were not really a suitable serving for the occasion. Who knows? They might be vegetarians, and just because he had to inform them of the change in their business expectations was no reason to offend them.
Whit was surprised to find a “closed” sign outside the restaurant and a big and burly Asian gentleman in a dark suit standing by the door.
“Excuse me,” Whit said to the imposing figure, who reminded him of Oddjob in that classic James Bond film, “but I had reservations for tonight …”
“Yes,” the human wall said curtly. “You must be Mr. Costa. Mr. Tanaka is upstairs waiting. He prefers his privacy and has taken the liberty of reserving the entire restaurant for the evening … at his own expense, of course, as it is his preference.”
“Of course,” Whit replied.
“You mustn’t keep Mr. Tanaka waiting,” the human wall urged. “It is not good for him to become impatient.”
Whit seemed to sense a touch of fear in the human wall’s voice. I guess no one likes to see their boss pissed off. Oh well, it can’t be helped tonight, he thought to himself, and decided to hesitate for just another minute with a question. “Has Mr. Torres arrived yet?”
The human wall thought for a moment and said, “He is not inside. I believe he is already late.”
“Figures,” Whit replied, entering the dim sushi bar (closely followed by the human wall). He went upstairs to the room that had been reserved thinking, Damn that Torres, always ready to share in good news and duck out on the bad. I wish we could trade places. Tanaka and his boys (five plus the human wall) had rearranged the table placements in the private room so that all of the food was on two long side tables with two smaller tables set for four each. One of Tanaka’s associates, a slightly smaller version of the human wall, had taken a place behind the bar, his jacket off and sleeves rolled up to reveal what looked like the beginnings of an intricate tatoo on each forearm.
Tanaka barked something in Japanese which was instantly translated by one of his aides, a smallish fellow of slight build who was probably a lawyer or accountant or some other personal administrative type.
“Mr. Tanaka welcomes you and thanks you for picking such a pleasant place, and he apologizes for any lack of respect that he may have shown you by taking control of the evening’s privacy and invites you to have a drink and unwind before we dine and take care of the matters at hand.”
“Sure, no problem, thanks,” Whit replied with a doffing gesture as if he was wearing a hat, as his eyes gradually grew accustomed to the dimly lit room. “I’ll just get something to wet my whistle, so we can sit down and get to it.”
Whit ordered a rum and coke from Tanaka’s barman, commenting, “Nice tats.”
The burly barman placed the drink in Whit’s hand, nodded, and rolled his left sleeve up further to show off more of the intricate skin art that seemed to reach up the entire length of his arm and perhaps beyond. Whit was impressed and thought he might offer to introduce him to the biker drag queen his ex-wife took off with who had a weakness for body art; but then he thought better of it, just repeated “nice,” and headed back to the table where Tanaka was seated, first making a quick stopover at one of the food tables for a few pieces of sushi.
Whit offered Tanaka a piece of California roll off his plate as he sat across from the shadowy Japanese business man, saying, “Sushi? They make a wicked California roll here.”
Tanaka barked another response in Japanese which his slightly built lackey quickly translated as, “No thank you; he prefers sashimi.”
“Whatever,” Whit replied, wishing that Sal would arrive and take some of the burden off of him. “Guess we just have to wait for Sal to arrive and …”
Tanaka barked again.
“Mr. Tanaka says that that will not be necessary. Mr. Torres is late, and besides he has already spoken to him, and further conversation with him is not required. Mr. Tanaka wishes to talk to you about the use of your machines in his casinos and his purchase of the majority share in your company.”
Whit took a swig from his drink, and asked the lackey, “What exactly did Sal tell him?”
“It is of no consequence,” Tanaka barked in perfectly accented English, then added something else in Japanese, whereupon the lackey removed himself from the table to stand next to the other aides in a phalanx of readiness that quite coincidentally blocked any access to the staircase downstairs. “It is time for you and me to talk without an intermediary.”
Whit took a breath. He had never heard Tanaka speak in English before and had always assumed that he didn’t understand it. Score one for the Japanese businessman. He waded in to the matters at hand.
“Undoubtedly, Sal told you that we have a problem …” he began, pausing a moment for a response and, not sensing any, continued, “… a few problems actually. To begin with, it is our feeling that the use of Captain Neutron for gambling purposes might get in the way of the franchise …”
“The franchise?” the shadowy Asian gentleman queried evenly.
“The potential for movies, theme parks, books …”
“Ah, yes,” Tanaka replied in the understanding tone of a Confucian scholar, “those things which you felt would save your company from financial ruin in the past. Those things which you have failed to make work in the past. The great nonexistent franchise opportunities. They did not save your company. My and my associates’ money did, and in exchange we were promised the opportunity to utilize your little blasting man in our gambling establishments and a share in your company so that we may share in your great franchise potential opportunities.”
Whit felt a quiet rage build within him as he listened to the Asian’s remarks, sure that they were dripping with sarcasm at his expense.
“Now see here,” Whit blustered with self-importance, “if you have talked with Sal, you no doubt know that the deal is off. GENIE will survive on its own with federal financial banking protection, and you will get back some of your losses as soon as restructuring is complete.”
“We don’t understand restructuring,” Tanaka said in a measured tone, still having yet to raise his voice in English, the barking of orders in Japanese a thing of the past.
“It’s a money thing,” Whit said haughtily, “and unfortunately for you …”
“Fortune is capricious. I do not let it bother me.”
“How nice for you,” Whit replied dripping with sarcasm. Obviously this guy didn’t understand the way things worked in the good old US of A.
“And it is not what we agreed to.”
GENIE’s lawyers, of which there were many, would eat him alive; relying on a verbal handshake was definitely a thing of the past.
“I also never allow myself to be taken advantage of.” Tanaka snapped his fingers, and the lackey placed a set of papers in front of Whit. “Kindly sign these papers,” the Asian instructed, “and please do so of your own will. We had a deal. You must honor it.”
“Or your goons will work me over.”
“No,” Tanaka replied. “I am not some mob boss gangster. I took you to be a man of virtue.”
Whit laughed, leaving the pen that had been lain with the papers unlifted, his guffaw and inaction an insult to the foreigner. The arrogant little CEO just didn’t care.
Tanaka shook his head in what might have been disgust and stood up, revealing a true size that even dwarfed that of the human wall.
Whit became worried and tried to stand, but he found himself unable to as soon as Tanaka held up his hand as if summoning a force of some sort to hold him in place.
“Enough! You are no better than that gaijin Torres,” the Japanese giant said in a tone of resignation. “I had heard many unflattering things about you but could not assume that they were true before this moment. I have heard that you are two-faced, weak, cowardly, and stupid. You are pale and scared like the underbelly of a blowfish whose inflated actions mirror your own expressions of self-importance.”
Whit tried to respond but found himself incapable of forcing any words out.
“You have engaged in disreputable business practices, have victimized partners and clients, and have hidden behind a hypocrisy of social tolerance akin to that practiced by the Spanish Inquisition. True, the affiliations are different, but the results and crimes are more or less the same … but I was willing to forgive such silliness as errors of youth.
“Perhaps you are surprised at my knowledge of western history, let alone my knowledge of you and your company. Did you think that I would pursue my business blindly? One picks up much over the centuries. Much knowledge, many allies, and many vassals.”
Centuries? Whit thought in horror.
“Despite the management failure of GENIE, the inattention you pay to getting the job done and the people who do it, the concerns of yours that were more akin to some adolescent social club than to a business with, as you say, franchise potential, your appetite for humiliating your competitors as you take advantage of them, your disdain for your retail partners in the marketplace, I was willing to overlook such things and extend you a hand up, a chance to better yourself, an opportunity for respect. You were to be one of my vassals, though another had already informed me of the deceitful shell game you were playing and made me an offer to take your place in our negotiations … but I am a man of honor. I owed you the chance to make obeisance to me, to show me the proper respect, but you have obviously declined. Another hasn’t.”
Tanaka slowly removed a very small object from his pocket. It was something bloody wrapped in a handkerchief. Slowly, the Asian gentleman unwrapped, and held it out for Whit to see …
It was the bloody tip of a human finger.
… before the Japanese giant popped it in his mouth and swallowed it.
“I add another to my fold.”
It was at that moment that all the mishmash of facts came together in Whit’s head. Gangsters, fingertips, tatoos, Yakuza—this guy is a killer, a madman, or worse!
As if reading the CEO’s mind, Tanaka volunteered, “Yes, I am Yakuza, but not the way you may be thinking. If I were one of those killers from so many bad films, you would be dead already, like your friend Mr. Torres.”
Whit gasped.
“I am sorry,” Tanaka replied icily. “I was sure that you were told that before you came in. Perhaps you misunderstood when my associate made reference to his being late. He was gaijin, without giri. He did not understand honor or respect. He was merely a necessary facilitator, a panderer of other people’s money. Like the spineless sea leech, he will not be missed.”
Whit struggled, but he could not regain control of his body. He was consumed by fear.
Then, quite surprisingly, Tanaka removed his jacket and began to take off his shirt to reveal his illustrated chest.
Tanaka approached his prey slowly, Whit imagining that the tattoos on his chest seemed to be moving in ways that did not correspond with Tanaka’s body.
“I am one of the true Yakuza. I am a creature of the shadows …”
Whit began to make out the moving illustration of hands armed with daggers, mouths brimming with razor-sharp teeth, and jungle cats with slashing claws bared. The Asian’s chest was miasma of fear-inspiring illustrations, one more exotic than another, all savage and awe-inspiring, like so many denizens of a hellish inferno.
Tanaka was standing above him now, and the tattoos seemed to be stretching closer as if they were ready to spring from their pectoral home.
“… and you, my puffy and pale little blowfish, are unsuitable for anything else but my dinner …”
Silently the illustrated horrors pounced on their helpless prey like so many sharks and devilfish, rending his flesh as they sliced him into bite-size chunks of human tuna. Whit’s momentary agony seemed to last an eternity before his corporeal pains were replaced by greater ones as his soul was ripped apart to satisfy the hungers of the creature of the shadows.
The last thing the former CEO would ever recall hearing before surrendering to the unending eternal torment of the damned was:
“… and as I said before, I have always preferred sashimi to sushi.”
The next day Sondra Boyle, formerly known as the Dragonlady, issued a revised list of corporate layoffs that included all of Whit’s family and friends and reinstated various necessary personnel.
Sondra was immediately hailed via e-mail as being a much more benevolent, perhaps even competent, despot than Whit, who had mysteriously disappeared on the night before with Sal Torres and was rumored to have been under investigation by various groups about matters such as embezzlement, fraud, and such.
One of the people who was not reinstated was Sondra’s supervisor, who had reported directly to Whit, thus allowing her clear access to the executive suite with the backing of Mr. Tanaka, the shadowy shareholder from Japan who just happened to be on hand to announce his acquisition of General Neutron Electra, Inc.. There were a few details still to be worked out with various other financial concerns to which GENIE owed certain sums, but Mr. Tanaka assured the corporate body that they would be taken care of quickly by his very capable legal and accounting associates.
In an era when the Germans controlled American publishing and the government looked the other way at the foreign acquisition of the automotive industry, no one would care about the transfer of ownership of a simple coin-op game company.
Sondra’s still-throbbing fingertip once again made itself known to her despite heavy doses of painkillers when she noticed the sharklike smile of her new corporate master.
A fingertip was not too much to lose up front for the control of a company.
She had made her offering for his respect and he had accepted. The company was now his, and she would run it for him until she too joined Whit and many others as food for the creature of shadows. She was his for all eternity and beyond.
She was a very competent shark, but she too would one day be Sashimi.
* * *
LIVE BAIT
by Roland Green
It was the screaming from below that really got me scared. I wasn’t surprised, because Patron was like that. I knew what he’d planned for the girl the minute he saw her. But I hadn’t been scared before. I’d been worried, because I’d begun to suspect that for the money I’d gotten into something pretty dumb, with nasty bits. But being worried is a long way from being scared the way I was all of a sudden, because the screaming reminded me of what my old lady said when I told her I was in for this job.
