The Undertow (The Kuroda Yakuza Series Book 2) Page 3

  Welcome home, motherfucker.

  Kaito

  We arrive at the Ishida residence just as the sun begins to lighten the sky. The rain has stopped, leaving the roads and sidewalks slick with moisture. The Ishida house is a low-set, traditional Japanese home, surrounded by whitewashed walls. The walls are capped with grey tiles, some sealed with the insignia of the Kuroda-kai, represented by three, swirling, interlocked flames; a symbol called a mitsutomoe.

  We could be walking into the Imperial Palace itself.

  The Ishida compound is large and imposing in a city where space is a luxury, and the price of land might fool you into thinking you were buying heaven on earth. I exit the car before the driver has a chance to open my door. Iida bows and leads the way, nodding to the two men stationed on guard duty at the entrance.

  They watch me with tired, flat eyes.

  I almost sympathize with them. Guard duty in the rain is a shithouse job, always assigned to the more junior kobun. I remember doing it in the dead of winter when I was a kid. It was fucking torture.

  We pass impeccably manicured gardens and a serene koi pond, entering a wing of the house surrounded by wide verandahs lined with sleek, polished wooden floorboards. Our shoes are left at the steps, and Iida leads the way into an expansive room. There’s a low-set table in the centre. Seated at the table is Hajime Ishida’s younger sister, Erika Goto.

  She motions for me to sit. I offer her a deep bow, and take my place across from her, as Iida disappears in response to a slight nod of her head.

  I study her. Erika is wearing all black; a sleek pantsuit with a tailored black shirt underneath. Her hair is swept up into a neat bun, and her makeup is impeccable. But underneath it all, she looks tired. There are shadows around her eyes, and her usual cold expression has been replaced with weariness.

  Outside, the twitter of birds signals the coming morning.

  “Thank you for coming so quickly, Kaito-kun.” She addresses me in English, leading me to think there might be eavesdroppers.

  I respond in kind, nodding expectantly. “Of course, Onee-san. My condolences, once again, for your loss.”

  A faint smile plays across Erika’s pale lips. “Thank you. But there are better ways to console me for the loss of my brother.”

  “I know.” The only thing that will satisfy her now is the blood of Ishida’s killers. “What happened?”

  “He was shot in the head. In his own home.” Erika’s voice turns hard, and I can sense the barely controlled, icy rage that lurks underneath her polished exterior. Ishida’s execution is a fucking outrage, and I feel a similar anger rising within me. But I keep it under wraps. “Then someone on the inside was probably involved. Any idea who would stand to benefit from his death?”

  “I can think of three possibilities.”

  “Oh?” I shift from the kneeling seiza position to sit cross-legged, as a dark-suited junior arrives with tea.

  “Of course, we can’t ignore our rivals. The Shibata family have been increasing their numbers, especially since you left. They’ve taken over most of the amphetamine distribution in Roppongi and Kabukicho. That was part of our plan, though. Ishida-san never approved of drug trafficking. It’s more profitable to invest in legitimate business pursuits.”

  I shake my head in disbelief. “Osamu Genda doesn’t have the balls to go after the head of the Kuroda-kai.” I remembered the head of the rival Shibata Group as a crude street thug; he lacked Hajime Ishida’s sophistication and cunning. Oh, I know that man all too well.

  It’s never failed to surprise me, how far he’s come in this life.

  “You’ll be surprised at what ambition does to a man.” Erika stares at me for a moment, a look of intense calculation in her eyes. “People change.”

  I meet her gaze, keeping my expression blank. It’s the best armor. And mine is seamless. “So. Who else?”

  “My brother’s death leaves a void in the Kuroda-kai. Someone is going to succeed him. There are only two serious contenders. And one of them is a clear favorite.”

  “So you think one of them may have orchestrated Ishida-san’s killing?”

  “Anything’s possible.”

  I stare at my tea, as it releases fine tendrils of steam into the air. It stays untouched. “And the third possibility?”

  Again, she hits me with the scrutinizing look. “The family of that man you killed three years ago are still searching for justice. I’m sure blood revenge is on their agenda, although they will never publicly say so. And although the suspect has obviously never been found, the Nakachi family have been blaming the Kuroda-kai in the press.”

  “Hm. Would an elite family like the Nakachis pursue a blood vendetta?” The former Minister of Justice, Hiro Nakachi, was a man I regretted killing. He’d been pursuing a hard-line strategy against organized crime, one that would see a brutal police crackdown on Kuroda operations. When I shot him in his home, he’d faced me with the righteous outrage of a warrior. An honest man, to the end. I’d put two bullets in his head, leaving the Justice Ministry’s agenda in tatters.

  Erika raises an eyebrow. “I wouldn’t put it past them. And my brother was the obvious target.”

  Hajime Ishida had plenty of enemies. One doesn’t rise to the top of the organization without stepping on a few toes. And the higher one rises, the larger the specter of death looms.

  Hajime must have known it would come for him, sooner or later.

  “You want me to find the killer,” I state, a bitter taste in my mouth. An eye for an eye for an eye. And where does it end? Do I eventually become a casualty in this cycle of death and killing?

  Adele would never forgive me.

  “Keep your eyes open, talk to your old sources. I also have people looking into it. When the time comes to deal with those responsible, I’ll let you know.”

  “Hai.” I reply, in deferent assent, as is expected of me. But Erika must sense something in my tone, because she looks at me for a while with slightly narrowed eyes. When she finally speaks, her voice is soft, but laced with quiet menace. “How is your girlfriend, Kaito-kun? I haven’t yet had the pleasure of meeting her.”

  A chill rips through me. “She’s just a lover, nothing more.” I keep the emotion out of my voice. I can’t let Erika know the depth of my feelings for Adele. I can’t give her any reason to take an interest in her.

  “But you seem to have become attached to this one. I heard you never used to sleep with the same woman more than once.”

  I shrug. “America’s different. This girl is convenient for me.” I try to sound as callous as possible. How the fuck did Erika find out about my private life?

  “And I hear she has a family in Los Angeles. Both her parents are still alive, lucky girl. And a little sister. Has she brought you home to meet the parents, yet?”

  I go very still. One doesn’t need to be a genius to read the implied threat in Erika’s mild statement. She thinks to use Adele to keep me in line. White hot anger floods through me.

  I struggle to keep myself restrained. No, I haven’t met the parents yet. But if anything were to happen to Adele or her family, there’s a fair chance I might end up killing someone.

  “That’s quite a scary expression,” Erika remarks. “For your sake, and for mine, I hope you still remember the rules that apply here.”

  “Hai.” I nod, slowly. “I hear what you’re saying.”

  Even if I don’t necessarily agree.

  A trace of a smile appears on Erika’s face, and for the first time, I see sadness there. “Good. Now if you’ll excuse me, Kaito-kun, there are funeral preparations that need to be seen to.”

  I bow again and disappear. I’ve been dismissed.

  Adele

  Sitting on the train with my suitcase beside me, I stare out the window in fascination. Everything feels so different. It’s close to midday, and the sky is overcast. We pass countless buildings as the train heads closer to central Tokyo. The place is an endless metropolis of concrete and steel
and glass. Giant blocks of tiny apartments are neatly pressed together, and I catch glimpses of life here and there; potted plants on balconies, blankets and clothes hung out to dry.

  This place is mesmerizing.

  Even though I’m one of only a few foreigners on the train, the other passengers ignore me, keeping to themselves. Some are busying themselves on their smartphones. Some are asleep. I’m amused by a young man sitting across who has dozed off. His head keeps drifting down onto the shoulder of a grandmotherly looking woman, who sits there with a benevolent expression on her face.

  Every so often, the train stops, and people hop on and off, in a quiet, orderly fashion. It’s like clockwork.

  Kaito’s here, somewhere. I’ll find him, eventually. He’s nothing more than a phone call away.

  But I want to take some time to get a feel of the city on my own. This is his hometown, the place where he grew up. I want to take in the sights and sounds and get a small understanding of the place where my lover was born.

  The truth is, I’m also a little afraid of how he might react when he finds out I’ve followed him here. He explicitly warned me about how dangerous the people he deals with are. He might be angry. And I’ve never been the target of Kaito’s anger before.

  But I’m just another American tourist. No-one’s going to give me a second thought.

  As the train slows to a stop once again, I realize I’ve reached my destination. Asakusa Station.

  I get off the train with my suitcase in tow, navigating the underground station to emerge on a busy street. My accommodation is supposed to be a few blocks from here.

  I check the navigation on my smartphone, heading down narrow back streets. I double back, a bit confused. There aren’t any street signs, and it takes a while for me to get my bearings. Eventually, I reach an ordinary looking doorway. There’s a sign out front, written in English.

  Mizuchi Guest House.

  This is the place. I make my way past a row of vending machines into a tiled lobby complete with potted bamboo and a small, trickling water fountain. I ring the bell and a young man wearing a tracksuit and slippers appears. His long hair is tied up in a bun, giving him the appearance of a disheveled, modern-day samurai.

  “Hello.” He greets me in heavily accented English. “Can I help you?”

  “I have a reservation, under the name Sullivan.”

  “Ah, Adele Sullivan-san? Yes, yes.” He nods. “Thank you so much for choosing Mizuchi Guest House. My name is Toshi. You came all the way from America?”

  “Via Bangkok.” I smile. We finish the check-in process, and Toshi leads me to my room, carrying my suitcase. I leave my shoes at the entrance, beside a whole bunch of other shoes that are neatly stacked in perfect pairs.

  The Mizuchi Guest House is basically a small apartment block that looks like it was built in the eighties. Toshi takes me up two flights of stairs to a small room on the third floor. I’m lucky enough to have booked one of the single rooms. Most of the rooms here are dormitory style.

  It’s not the Ritz-Carlton, but it’ll do. I’m not exactly traveling in luxury like we did in Thailand. Kaito footed the bill for that trip. Money never seems to be an issue for him.

  I get by on the small earnings I receive from sales of my art. My first exhibition netted me a tidy sum, but not so much that I can go around living large.

  That doesn’t bother me. As long as the place is clean, and I’ve got a roof over my head, I’ll get by. The Mizuchi more than covers those requirements. My room even has a window with a view of the river. A slow moving passenger boat cruises past as I peer outside, taking in the wide expanse of murky, brown water. Beyond the river, the Tokyo Skytree rises imposingly above the surrounding buildings, an impossible, soaring spire.

  Toshi wheels my suitcase into the tiny room and bows. I start to fish some money out of my purse, but he shakes his head. “In Japan, no need for tipping.”

  He seems pretty adamant. It must be a cultural thing. "Uh, okay." I slide the wad of yen notes back into my purse.

  “There’s a communal area downstairs.” Toshi awkwardly changes the subject. “We have information on tours and sightseeing."

  “Thank you, Toshi. Arigato.” I try out my Japanese for the first time. It sounds clumsy rolling off my tongue.

  Maybe I should have asked Kaito to teach me some Japanese. I wonder what he’s doing right now. The thought of him being here, in the same city as me, makes my pulse quicken. It’s inevitable that we’ll cross paths, sooner or later. He warned me to stay away, and I get it.

  His world is dangerous.

  But he’s also going to learn that I’m not some kept woman he can lock up in a plush hotel room while he goes off halfway around the world. That’s not how I’m wired.

  He’s going to be mad.

  But he’ll get over it. I know how to make sure of that.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Adele

  I pass by the common room on my way out, surprised to find two other guests chatting with Toshi. He’s giving them tips on things to do nearby. In the background, a television shows a Japanese newsreel, but the volume is turned right down.

  “Asakusa is an old neighborhood. Full of temples, theaters, restaurants. You might even see geisha. A good place to stay for tourists.”

  The tourists spot me, and the girl waves me over. “Hi there.” Her accent tells me she’s American. She greets me with a broad smile, her teeth perfectly white against her coffee colored skin. Her dark hair is a halo of tight curls, and she’s got silky smooth skin and the lips and cheeks of a cherub. She's gorgeous. “I’m Maya. This is my friend, Ryan.”

  I blink. Ryan is a tall, sandy-haired, blue-eyed guy who's built like a linebacker. He grins, displaying perfect, white teeth. He's an impossibly good looking contrast to Maya's statuesque beauty.

  Friends, huh?

  I smile. “I’m Adele. You guys from the States?”

  “San Francisco.” Ryan has a beer in one hand. The man is clearly on vacation. “You?”

  “I’m a fellow Californian. From LA. Small world, huh?”

  Toshi’s face lights up. “Los Angeles? I’ve always wanted to go there.”

  “You definitely should-” My voice trails off as the TV grabs my attention. They display footage of a small man wearing a dark suit, surrounded by followers. His face is lined, his expression hard, and he has close-cropped salt and pepper hair. He’s walking in front of at least ten other men, as if he owns the fucking street. And the guys behind him look really unfriendly.

  The footage then switches to a house, surrounded with police cars and police tape. Intrigued, I turn to Toshi. “What’s the news report about?”

  Toshi’s eyes go wide, as if he’s scandalized. “On the weekend, a big yakuza boss was murdered in his home. They’re worried about retaliation. If you see men like those, Adele-san, please stay away. Not good people.”

  Where have I heard that before?

  “Are they really that dangerous?” Ryan and Maya both stare at the TV with sudden interest.

  “They won’t bother you unless you look for trouble with them. They usually leave foreigners alone. But don’t go looking for trouble.”

  “Uh-huh.” I nod in agreement, but the irony gets to me. I’ve already found trouble, in the form of a man called Kaito Araki.

  And I can’t stay away from him.

  “Thanks for the advice.” I can’t help the hint of amusement that creeps into my voice. “I’ll see you guys around.”

  Maya winks at me. “Hey, if you’re not doing anything tomorrow, Ryan and I are going temple hopping. You’re welcome to join us.”

  “I might just take you up on that,” I reply, as I make my way out the door. That’s when my phone rings. My international roaming is turned on, so there’s no caller ID. But I’d recognize that voice anywhere.

  “Hey.” Kaito’s greeting sends a thrill down my spine. His deep voice resonates, even over the phone.

  “Hey, you.” I step
out into the narrow street, standing beside a pair of vending machines. In the distance, a high-pitched police siren wails. “I take it you got there okay.”

  “Yes.” Kaito pauses as the siren fades away. “Everything’s fine. I just wanted to check on you. I needed to hear your voice.” Again, he hesitates. “Where are you right now?”

  “Just out on the street.” It’s not exactly a lie. “How’s Tokyo?”

  “As expected. I’m not planning on staying here long. I’d rather be with you.”

  “Oh yeah?” As much as I hate to admit it, his words make me feel warm inside. “And why is that?”

  “Because I want to fuck you, hard and slow, Adele, and I want to tease that sweet pussy of yours until you come so hard that you scream my name.”

  Oh, my.

  A shiver slides down my spine, but I do my best to sound nonchalant. “How romantic. Is that your way of saying you miss me?” Well, that was unexpected. I can’t stop the grin that crosses my face. And I can’t stop the desire that spreads through me, causing heat to flood between my thighs. Damn the man and his highly effective teasing. “I guess that makes two of us.”

  “Hm.” As Kaito murmurs in appreciation, a group of teenaged boys approaches. They’re talking loudly to each other in Japanese.

  Shit. I can’t let Kaito hear them in the background. I can’t let him suspect anything. Not yet.

  Oh, he’s going to be mad when he finds out I’m here.

  “Hey,” I murmur, turning away from the sound of their voices. “I have to go. I'm just in the middle of something. I’ll call you back a bit later.”

  “I’ll be waiting.”

  I end the call, just as the group reaches me, their voices echoing down the narrow street. There are four of them, and they’re barely more than kids, dressed in school uniforms, but with their ties loosened. They're acting like little badasses, skipping out on school, from the looks of things. They stare at me as they pass, and I’m sure they’re talking about me. I glare back.