Robin Cook: Cure

Three weeks later

March 22, 2010

Monday, 9:37 a.m.

Tokyo, Japan

Naoki Tajiri had been in the mizu shōbai, or “water trade,” for longer than he cared to admit. Starting at the very bottom just after high school, washing sake cups, beer mugs, and shōchū glasses, he’d slowly moved up the ladder of responsibility. To add to his résumé, he’d made it a point to work in all manner of establishments, from the traditional nomiya, or drinking shop, to hard-core prostitution bar-lounges run by the Yakuza, the Japanese version of the Mafia. Naoki himself was not a member of any gang by choice, but he was tolerated and even in demand by the Yakuza for his experience, which was the reason he was the general manager of The Paradise, one of the most popular full-service night spots in the Akasaka district of Tokyo.

Although Naoki had begun his career in his small hometown, he’d moved to progressively larger towns over the years, finally reaching the big time in Kyoto, then Tokyo. Over the years Naoki had thought he’d seen just about everything associated with the water trade, including money, alcohol, gambling, sex, and murder. Until that morning.

It started with a phone call just before six a.m. Irritated at whoever was calling him just after he’d fallen asleep, he answered gruffly but soon changed his tune. The caller was Mitsuhiro Narumi, the saiko komon, or senior adviser, to the oyabun, or head of the Inagawa-kai, the Yakuza organization that owned The Paradise. For someone so senior to be calling him, a mere general manager of a nightclub, sent a shiver of fear down Naoki’s spine.

Naoki feared that something horrendous had happened at The Paradise overnight and, as the general manager, it was his responsibility to be aware of everything. But it was something else entirely: something rather extraordinary. Narumi-san was calling to inform him that Hisayuki Ishii, the oyabun, or head of another Yakuza family, would be coming to The Paradise for an important meeting with Kenichi Fujiwara, senior vice minister of Economy, Trade, and Industry: a very high-level, politically connected bureaucrat. Narumi-san had gone on to say that Naoki would be personally responsible for the meeting to go well. “Give them whatever they need or desire,” was his final order.

Relieved the call was not about a serious problem, Naoki then became curious why an oyabun of another Yakuza organization would be coming to an Inagawa-kai property, especially to talk with a government minister! But it was not his position to ask, and Narumi-san did not offer any explanations before abruptly terminating the conversation.

As the hour neared ten a.m., Naoki began to calm down. All was arranged. The regular furniture had been pushed aside and a special table had been placed in the center of the main cocktail lounge on the second floor. Naoki’s best bartender had been hauled out of his bed in case there was a request for exotic drinks. Four hostesses had been summoned in case their services were required by his visitors. The final touch was an ashtray, along with an assortment of cigarette packages, both foreign and domestic, at each of the two seats.

The oyabun arrived first, along with a cohort of cookie-cutter minions, all outfitted in black sharkskin suits, dark sunglasses, and spiked, heavily pomaded hair. The oyabun was dressed more conservatively in an expertly tailored dark wool Italian suit, worn with highly polished, English wingtip shoes. His hair was short and carefully groomed, and his manicure was perfect. He was the epitome of the highly successful businessman who ran a number of legitimate businesses on top of his responsibilities as the head of the Aizukotetsu-kai crime family, operating in Kyoto. He passed the bowing Naoki as if Naoki was a mere fixture of the environment. Once ensconced upstairs at the table, he brusquely accepted a splash of whiskey while distractedly shuffling through the assorted cigarette packs. As an added distraction, Naoki had motioned for his shift manager to bring out the women.

Naoki went back downstairs to the open-air entrance to the street to await the arrival of his second important guest. Since The Paradise was open twenty-four hours a day, three hundred and sixty-five and a quarter days a year, there was no door, per se. Instead there was an invisible curtain of moving air that kept out the cold of winter or the heat and humidity of summer. The idea was to capitalize on public whim by making entering as easy as possible. It was rare for a passing Japanese man not to step inside, intending to stay just for a moment, and then to remain for an hour or two.

The ground floor of The Paradise was a large pachinko parlor. Even at that time in the morning there were more than a hundred seemingly comatose players sitting in front of noisy vertical pinball games. With one hand they caused ball bearings to shoot up vertically before cascading down beneath the glass of the machines’ fronts. During the descent the stainless-steel balls smashed against various obstructions and byways. Pachinko inspired a near-fanatical devotion in many players, and though Naoki didn’t understand it, he didn’t care. The game was responsible for almost forty-five percent of the take of The Paradise.

Down the street, he could see the black sedans that had brought the oyabun and his retinue. Among the Toyota Crowns was the oyabun ’s own vehicle, an impressive black Lexus LS 600h L, the new flagship of the Lexus brand and of the Japanese auto industry itself. The cars were all parked in an obvious no-parking zone, but Naoki wasn’t concerned. The local police would recognize the vehicles and leave them be. Naoki was well aware of the unorthodox and fluid relationship between government authorities, including the police, and the Yakuza, as was certainly evidenced by the upcoming meeting he was hosting that morning.

Checking the time, Naoki felt his nervousness return. Despite the slight pleased smile Naoki had perceived on the oyabun ’s face when the hostesses had appeared, Naoki understood that the oyabun might consider his being forced to wait as a sign of disrespect on the part of the vice minister. To Naoki’s relief, however, the moment he turned his line of sight to the right, he was rewarded by the sight of the vice minister’s cavalcade.

Bearing down on him half a block away were three black Toyota Crowns so close together as to be seemingly conjoined. The middle one stopped directly in front of Naoki. Although Naoki extended a hand to open the vehicle’s rear door, a team of black-suited men with earpieces jumped from the two other cars and waved Naoki off. Naoki hastily complied.

Naoki bowed deeply when Kenichi Fujiwara stepped out onto the sidewalk. The man, who was dressed almost as sumptuously as the oyabun, hesitated briefly while glancing up to survey the ten-story façade of The Paradise. The five upper floors of the building were part of a love hotel, whose themed rooms could be rented by the hour or by the day. Kenichi’s expression was of mild disdain, suggesting the location had not been his choice. Regardless, he proceeded to enter The Paradise through the curtain of air by bypassing the bowing Naoki with the same disregard that the oyabun had exhibited on his arrival fifteen minutes earlier.

As Naoki straightened up and rushed ahead to gain the lead, he called out to his arriving guests loudly enough to be heard over the racket of the pachinko balls: “The meeting is to be held on the second floor. Please follow me!”

Upstairs, the hostesses were giggling and shyly covering their mouths. A moment later they found themselves swept to the side as the oyabun abruptly stood up from the table as he caught sight of the vice minister. Without complaint, the girls quickly retreated to the bar.