THE NEW RONIN By Kurt Saxon
Chapter Thirteen: Namoto
Tokyo 1946
"Hey, Joe. You want speak gurra? Pretty. Speak how you rike."
Oshio Namoto took the drunken G. I.'s elbow and steered him from the bar
and down an alley. When they got to the room behind the restaurant where
his brother worked as a dishwasher, he sat the lieutenant down on a cot.
"Okay, kid," said the G. I., "bring on the girl."
"You wait," said the ten-year old. "I get now."
What the child got was sand-filled sock and whacked the
lieutenant on the back of the neck with it. When the G. I. collapsed, little
Oshio ransacked his pockets and took his fat wallet. Then he took the Longine-Whitnour
watch from his wrist and a gold, diamond studded ring from his finger.
Oshio then made his way through a group of G. I.'s loitering
in downtown Tokyo and went into a small pawnshop on the Ginza. Mr. Kaibara
looked up from his abacus at the bold eyed child and then back at his abacus
and the paper he was writing figures on.
"Mr. Kaibara," said the lad, "you buy things. The other
boys told me."
Mr. Kaibara examined the watch and ring and said, "These
are worth little. I'll give you 100 yen for both the watch and the ring."
"Then give them back," said Oshio. "I showed them to a
jeweler who does not buy from boys and he said both were worth over 5,000
yen."
"I'll give you 200 yen," said Kaibara. "Take it and be
quiet or I'll keep them and give you nothing."
Oshio hopped up on the counter, grabbed Kaibara's hair
and put a knife to his throat. "Now you're the one who must keep quiet.
Give me 2,000 yen for them or I'll slit your neck."
"Careful, boy," said Kaibara. "I'll give you 1,000 yen.
But I don't get full value from anything I buy from you boys."
"Come up with 2,000 yen or I'll finish you and take everything,"
said Oshio. "And next time I bring in something, give me your best price.
I'm not one of the stupid street boys you buy from."
Kaibara was afraid. This young demon was indeed not like
the grubby street children he was used to dealing with. While the razor
sharp knife seemed to bite into his jugular vein, he reached for his cash
box and counted out 2,000 yen.
When Oshio took it and bounced off the counter, Kaibara
said, "Don't bring anything again. I don't want to deal with you."
"That's your problem," said Oshio. "You will deal with
me if you deal with anyone. I'll be back."
From the pawn shop, Oshio went home. It was a small, three
room flat off the Ginza. His fourteen-year-old brother was kneeling at
the table in the main room doing his homework while their mother prepared
the evening meal.
Oshio glanced at the homework Gengo was working on and
sneered. "You ought to quit school and go to work full-time, fool."
"Don't quarrel, boys," said their mother from the kitchen.
"Oshio, did you make any money today? The landlord will be here for the
rent soon."
"Yes, Mother," said Oshio. "I made 2,000 yen and 320 dollars
American."
Gengo stared and their mother dropped a pot. "Oshio, you
didn't make that money shining shoes," said his mother.
"Of course not, Mother, I took it from a drunken American
officer."
"You stole it?" asked Gengo, not believing his ears.
"The police will be here!" screamed his mother.
"No, Mother, the police won't be here," said Oshio. "The
American was too drunk to know me if he saw me again."
"But to steal," said Mrs. Namoto. "Your father will curse
you from Heaven."
"Mother," said Oshio impatiently, "if father were anything
but a rotting corpse on Guam, he would bless us instead of cursing me.
Now be quiet and give me something to eat."
Mrs. Namoto sobbed as she prepared the meal. Oshio was
the man of the house now, even at ten, and she obeyed him. His older brother
was bookish and timid and had not raised a hand to Oshio since he was six.
Oshio had tried to kill him then, and Gengo had never seriously opposed
him again.
"Gengo," said Oshio, "I've changed my mind about you quitting
school. Give up your job at the restaurant. What I got today and will get
from now on will leave you free to study full time. You want to be a lawyer;
you can be. Maybe I'll need you."
"Maybe you were lucky, Oshio," said Gengo. "Are all Americans
so drunk they can be robbed so easily? Think ahead."
"I have thought ahead," said Oshio. "I've been shining
shoes since I was six. So for four years I have watched and thought ahead.
Now I'm bigger and I can put to use what I have noticed. Today was the
first time I used what I know. It was easy."
"I'll tell Mr. Fukuzawa to get another boy," said Gengo.
"I'll have to give time. Maybe a week."
The next day Oshio took part of the money and approached
the Hara sisters, Aho and Yoko. They were ignorant but pretty girls, not
above prostituting themselves. He had noticed both of them taking G. I.s
into their home when their mother was shopping or on some other errand
which would keep her away for a few hours.
Oshio made them the offer to pay rent on two rooms at
an inn. He would bring them G. I.s and take half of what they made. If
the G. I.s were drunk, maybe watches and other jewelry could be taken and
sold by Oshio, and the proceeds shared with the girls.
Aho and Yoko agreed readily. Had they been sensible they
could have rented such rooms themselves or joined legitimate brothels.
But they were not sensible. Nor were the G. I.s, who could have found the
same legitimate brothels. Oshio had noticed that most people were not sensible
and began a career of taking advantage of the lack of sensibility of everyone
who crossed his path.
He was a hard worker at picking up tipsy G. I.s and taking
them to the Hara sisters. He would lead them to the inn by a roundabout
route; never a straight course which might easily be remembered. Further,
he would change the room numbers each time a G. I. went in. If he tried
to find his way back after realizing he had been robbed, the room number
he saw, if he found the inn, would be different.
If the customer was drunk, either when he got there or
after the girl had gotten him drunk, she would steal whatever jewelry she
thought she could get away with. Several of the soldiers wore sidearms,
so Oshio collected an arsenal of .45 automatics, which he hid.
Mr. Kaibara paid top yen for the jewelry and other valuables
brought to him by the intimidating little professional criminal. Even with
less profit, his volume brought him better than he got from any of the
other thieves he fenced for.
His profits were noted by the Yakuza family he owed a
percentage to and questions began to be asked. Kaibara was actually more
afraid of Oshio than the Yakuza and for some time put them off by blaming
his success on a run of luck.
The Yakuza did not believe in luck for long and finally
sent a member to investigate. Upon being put to the question, Kaibara told
of the young monster he met a year before and the next time Oshio left,
he was followed.
The novice Yakuza caught up to Oshio a block away from
the pawn shop and said, "Boy, I know of your transaction. I want to talk
to you."
"Are you from the police?" asked Oshio, edging into an
ally.
"No, I'm not," said the Yakuza. "It's just that you've
been pointed out to me as a likely lad and I may be able to do something
for you."
"Like what?" asked Oshio, walking down the alley as if
ahead lay his destination.
"It has been called to our attention that you've been
very active in this district over the past year. It may be that you will
overdo things and call unwelcome notice to the large amount of American
possessions being resold. We wouldn't want a Japanese-American team investigating
an unusual amount of crimes against American servicemen."
"And who is 'we'?" asked Oshio.
"We are the Shimoda family of the Yakuza." said the young
man.
Glancing around offhandedly, Oshio said, "Half the boys
and young men picking up a yen here and there boast of being Yakuza. Some
are just wind and others want a share. Prove you are Yakuza and we'll talk
further; otherwise I'll be on my way."
The young man took off his jacket and tie and laid them
on a packing crate. Then, after unbuttoning his shirt, he pulled it off
one shoulder to expose the trademark of the Yakuza, a large, elaborate,
personalized tattoo covering the shoulder. As he grinned in anticipation
of the child's awe, his expression turned to astonishment as the knife
slid between his ribs and into his heart. Oshio then dragged the body behind
the packing crates.
The next morning a secretary of the Shimoda office picked
up a manila envelope which had been shoved under the door during the night.
She was horrified when she opened it, to see it contained the tattoo stripped
from the shoulder of the young investigator.
Upon being questioned by the Shimodas, Kaibara described
the eleven-year-old he had done so much business with. He was ordinary
looking, husky and from ten to thirteen years old. He didn't know his name
or where he lived. Oshio never returned.
By the age of twelve, he had over twenty girls working
for him. They were enlisted by other girls and he only contacted them by
phone. He sent customers to their rooms and each week collected his share
plus jewelry and such left in their mail boxes or other hiding places he
would choose. Each girl moved after a week or two, calling his mother and
simply giving her name and phone number. Mrs. Namoto never let on that
she suspected anything.
Oshio had also absorbed a knowledge of jewelry values
through dealing with Kaibara. But he knew pawn shops were out since his
run in with the Yakuza. He hit on the idea of going to the docks of Tokyo
Bay and hawking his jewelry to G. I.s and sailors going back home. His
English had improved and he could sell an item at half its worth to just
about any departing American he approached.
By the age of thirteen he was wealthy. His brother, Gengo,
due partly to Oshio's bullying, had made it into Tokyo University where
he studied criminal law. The little family still rented the small flat
but Mrs. Namoto no longer worked outside the home. She now had plenty of
time to practice her Buddhist faith. She also spent many hours each week
at Tokyo's Yasukuni Shrine praying to her husband for guidance.
By the age of fourteen, Namoto had gone into loan-sharking.
He knew all the improvident businessmen in the district. He would phone
them and offer a loan at high interest, the money to be sent by mail. If
the payment was not mailed to one or another of his girls, he would burn
the debtor's home down over his head during the night.
Namoto eventually got a reputation as an invisible demon.
He had an uncanny way of evading both the police and the Yakuza. The Shimodas
finally held a conference on him. Their "Godfather," Uji, had all the reports
spread before him.
"So," he said. "Our district has been invaded by a faceless,
nameless 'demon' which has kept from us much money rightfully ours. Your
only lead has been a child, four years ago. Every address you check has
been vacated. The girls you have managed to talk to know nothing except
the last place where they left their unknown procurer's share.
"And when it seems you are getting close?", the old main
screamed the last as he opened a valise and threw several parchment-like
tattoos at his underlings. "Eight tattoos! Eight men killed; three stabbed
and five shot. Our plants on the police force say the bullets were all
.45 caliber and from different guns. Yet , there is no evidence of American
involvement."
"But, sir," said Tsumoda, the family enforcer, "we are
up against a person, or persons, whose operations we don't understand.
If it were simply a matter of a competitor moving in on our territory,
we could handle it. But it could only be someone unconnected with any organization,
who simply grew in the business and in our district.
"I've offered rewards for information but have not had
any luck. Who even knows how close to the subject one has to get before
being killed? Does our enemy strike when he, or they, only suspect we are
closing in or when actual evidence is uncovered?
"Our men have become afraid to pursue the subject to any
degree. Nitobe, my brightest, said, 'How do I know that if I unsuspectingly
ask the guilty person the time of day I won't get a knife or a bullet and
have my skin torn off?'"
"Then drop it!," shouted Shimoda. "Go on about your business
and wait until Fortune plays our enemy into our hands."
Part of Namoto's success was due to his totally fair methods
of dealing with those who worked for him. Those who had never met him knew
their pay was dependable. Those closest to him, who knew of his youth,
felt towards him as older brothers and sisters. They trusted him completely,
relied on him for their livelihoods and yet feared to cross him. Any one
of them would have died rather than inform on him.
At sixteen, Namoto's only vice was sumo wrestling. Whenever
he had time, he attended the Tokyo matches. One evening he met Hirada,
a murderous, ex-sumo wrestler. He knew of Hirada's reputation and one evening
he sat beside him at a championship bout. He made a plan as he listened
to the young hothead, only seven years his senior, shout insults at the
lumbering blobs of fat stumbling about in the sumo ring.
He knew of Hirada's disgrace and followed him out after
the matches were over. As Hirada elbowed his way through the departing
crowd, Namoto hailed him. Hirada turned and glared at the smiling youth.
"What do you want, boy?," he snarled.
"I recognized you and sat by you on purpose," said Namoto.
"Call me Oshio. I heard your observations on those amateurish brutes and
wanted to talk to someone who knows what sumo is all about. Let me treat
you to a beer."
Hirada was down on his luck, as usual. He was a spendthrift
and worked only as a bill collector for the Shimodas with an occasional
assassination thrown in. He was always ready to accept a free beer, especially
from someone who sought him out for his expertise on sumo.
They went into the nearest bar and found seats among the
usual sumo enthusiasts going over every move in every match. Hirada downed
several beers while telling of his own victories before being thrown out
for fouling.
"Yes," said Hirada, "I was good. I had too much of a temper,
I have to admit. But so many of my opponents had nothing going for them
ut weight. I couldn't resist breaking the rules. If I was in the game now
I'd hold my temper. Anyway, skill does count for something, even if these
fools around us do believe bulk is all that matters."
"I agree with you," said Namoto. "In two of tonight's
matches they ought to have decided the bouts at the weigh-in to save time."
"Yes," said Hirada. "And two of the bouts were fixed."
"Oh?," said Namoto. "But how could you tell? I've been
a sumo fan since I was ten years old. I've suspected, but I've never known
how to be sure."
"Of course," replied Hirada. "You wouldn't be expected
to know. It takes one trained in the sport to see when one is holding back.
But Fukuzawa was holding back. He could have taken Murakami quite easily.
Besides, he's owned by the Shimoda family. I work for them occasionally.
"You see, the way it works is they tell him to hold back.
He's the favorite and the Shimodas privately bet heavily on his opponent.
Fukuzawa could have won easily and those who bet on him knew it. But the
Shimodas also publicly bet lesser amounts on Fukuzawa. Like any sport,
a lot of sumo is just a racket."
"That interests me," said Namoto., "How would one go about
owning a wrestler or two or more?"
"Oh," said Hirada, "that's a rich man's game. One has
to deal with the Wrestling Commission, fees, permits; very involved. They
also cost a lot to feed, house and train. Then there's the Yakuza, depending
on the family and the district. Everyone has to be paid off. If I had a
million yen I could buy into the Shimoda's sumo enterprise. Then I'd show
them all."
"Hirada," said Namoto, "just suppose someone had a few
million yen to invest in sumo wrestlers and say a partnership in the Yakuza.
I'm serious, so forget my age."
"Well," said Hirada, "let's just suppose you did have
a few million yen, regardless of your age. I'd say a few hundred thousand
would get you a working arrangement in a sumo corporation. A partnership
in the Yakuza would cost more. The Yakuza isn't exactly a bank, you know.
"You'd have to have something they wanted. And the money
would have to be a kind of pay-off. You'd have to have a use for their
facilities, if you know what I mean."
"I think I do," said Namoto. "First, let's agree that
if I back you in a sumo managership, you'll back me up in buying into the
Shimoda family. I do have something they want. For instance, I have nearly
a hundred girls working for me. I have a loan company and a jewelry business.
It's all in their district and has been giving them headaches for years."
Hirada's face took on a momentary look of recognition.
"I've heard of someone you describe, operating in their district. It couldn't
have been you. You're only a boy. I like your style, though. Let's have
another beer."
Namoto tossed a bill on the bar and ordered another round.
He then opened his jacket, revealing the butt of a forty-five, seen only
by Hirada. From an inside pocket he took a sheaf of 1,000 yen bills and
a folded piece of thin leather. When the bills had registered on Hirada
he put the piece of leather on his knee and unfolded it. Hirada was visibly
shaken as he recognized it as a shoulder tattoo.
"You!," he said under his breath.
"Will this do as a calling card for a meeting with old
Shimoda?," asked Namoto.
"If I should turn you in to the Shimodas I could get a
sumo managership as a reward," said Hirada.
"You're a gambling man," said Namoto. "What are your odds
of getting to the Shimodas if you don't swear to become my friend?"
Hirada looked long and hard at Namoto. His head cleared
from the effects of the many beers he had downed. He saw a look of calmness
on Namoto's face which told him the lad had no trace of fear or lack of
confidence.
Hirada was no one's idea of a man of honor. But he did
have common sense and he wasn't an informer as a general rule. Also, he
could not see himself trusting Shimoda to give him anything more than a
cash reward. Furthermore, he did like this young man. He knew he could
trust him. And if the youth could back up his boldness in a way which would
impress Shimoda, the odds might be on their side.
Namoto was right. Hirada was a gambling man. Hirada said,
"I'll go with the odds that say you can show Shimoda you would be more
valuable as an ally than as an enemy, or a corpse. You have my word as
a man, since that's all I have, that I'll back you to the death. In exchange,
I want your word that you'll stake me to a managership of a few wrestlers."
"I accept your word and give you mine," said Namoto. "You
wait here and I'll be back in from twenty to thirty minutes."
Hirada sat nursing his beer and in a little over twenty
minutes Namoto returned. He led Hirada to his car parked around the corner
from the bar. When they were both in the car, Namoto switched on a flashlight
and opened a briefcase. Inside were hundreds of packs of thousand yen notes.
Hirada's eyes shone as he looked with admiration at Namoto. With this young
man he could not only become a sumo manager but an important figure in
the Yakuza.
Namoto started the car and, following Hirada's directions,
went to the home of Uji Shimoda. "Shouldn't we have called?," asked Namoto.
"No," said Hirada. "Old Shimoda won't have a phone in
his home. He is a traditionalist and lives in the past. He also believes
all phones are tapped. I think, however, he just likes being paid court
to. He doesn't want to give anyone the impression he is waiting for them.
"But he'll be home. I called his secretary and was told
he had no business appointments tonight after midnight. He stays up until
three in the morning and arises at eight. He does his best business after
midnight as most people he deals with are half asleep by then. He's a wise
old owl and unless you are completely sure of yourself, he'll have you
beaten up and thrown out."
When they got to the mansion owned by the head of the
Shimoda family, they parked and Hirada pulled the bell cord at the gate.
it was opened by two husky young Yakuza soldiers. Sitting on a bench nearby
were two other young men. Hirada and Namoto stood still as they were patted
down and one casually removed Namoto's forty-five from its holster.
"Is the old one expecting you?," asked the huskier of
the two.
"No," said Hirada. "Has he got anyone with him now?"
"Yes," replied the slighter one. "But it is purely social,
the employer of these two. Do you have anything which would lure him away
from his talk with an old friend?"
"I have a young applicant," said Hirada. "This briefcase
contains five million yen which this young man would like to offer as a
sign of good will."
The Yakuza gave a look of being properly impressed and
then took the briefcase to announce the young visitor. After a few minute's
examination of its contents by Shimoda and his friend, Namoto and Hirada
were summoned inside.
Shimoda and his friend sat across from each other at a
low table in the huge main room. Two obviously armed bodyguards sat off
to one side. Hirada and Namoto were ushered to the side of the table and
each bowed respectfully. Shimoda and his guest bowed in return and Shimoda
invited them to sit, one at each end of the table.
After a serving of tea, Shimoda asked Namoto to tell them
something about himself. Namoto recounted his business ventures from the
age of ten to the present.
Shimoda listened politely and then asked, "And now you
want to join the Shimoda family?"
"With all respect, Sir," said Namoto, " 'join' is not
the term I would choose. Under the right circumstances, anyone could join
your family. As a clerk, by marriage, even in the capacity of my good friend
Hirada, here.
"No, sir. My operation have grown to the point where,
if I'm to expand, I'll either have to come into open conflict with your
family or merge with it. I'm thinking of a partnership consisting of one
quarter of the Shimoda organization."
Shimoda's friend, Mr. Nobunaga snorted, "Say the word,
Uji, and I'll throw the young fool's head into the bay on my way home."
"I think that would be a mistake, Ruki," said Shimoda,
complacently. Then to Namoto, "Young man, five million yen is nothing compared
to even a tenth part of my organization."
"I realize that," said Namoto. "But with it comes the
use of my own personnel, my own organization and my friendship."
"Young Namoto," said Shimoda, patiently, "the lack of
your personnel, your organization and your friendship has cost me little
so far. Why should I feel a need for it now?"
"You may be mistaken as to the cost," said Namoto as he
reached into his inside jacket pocket, removed the tattoo and unfolded
it before Shimoda.
Shimoda recoiled in recognition. "That was my nephew,
whom I loved!," he shouted in hate and anguish.
The two guards drew their pistols and Hirada rose slightly,
ready to crush Shimoda's old body before he died from the bullets he expected.
But Namoto sat calmly and said, "But he didn't love me. Of course, it wasn't
personal and I didn't know him. He simply got too close."
Shimoda reddened with rage and said, "I assure you, I
can force you to give me the names of all those who killed nine of my family
and employees."
"No force needed," said Namoto. "It was me in every case.
My first was at the age of eleven and my ninth, six months ago. I didn't
know the last was your nephew, although that wouldn't have helped."
"Then you are the 'demon'," said Shimoda. "I can't help
admiring your style, while hating your use of it against my family. How
can I, with honor, keep from killing you?"
"Traditional ideas of honor," said Namoto, "have often
had to be set aside for purposes of alliance. But say you did kill me.
The men working for me affectionately refer to me as their shogun and they
my samurai. You've no doubt heard of the forty-seven ronin. How, when Lord
Asano was ordered to kill himself because of his assault on Lord Kiri,
forty-seven of Asano's samurai pledged to avenge him and die.
"If my 'samurai' are made ronin, the Shimoda family will
be no more. You see, sir, they know the Shimoda family. The Shimoda family
knows only me. My ronin would not only be cast adrift without me, but to
continue to make their living without my direction, they would have no
choice but to eliminate your family."
"I've got to kill him!," shouted Mr. Nobunaga, rising
and drawing a pistol. "If you can't bring yourself to kill him, I can."
"Disarm him!," screamed Shimoda to his guards. They rushed
old Nobunaga as Hirada wrenched the gun from his hand.
"Oh, just wouldn't you love to kill him!," shouted Shimoda.
"Friend of my youth! Traitor! With me any many of mine out of the way you
would take over my operations in my territory you say encroaches on yours."
"I say?," yelled Nobunaga. "I say? You've been edging
into my territory for years, you bastard!"
As the two old friends began to quarrel, Namoto interrupted,
"Gentlemen, it's way past my bedtime and I don't thing clearly when I'm
sleepy. Mr. Shimoda, you can talk over the arrangement with Hirada. I know
where to find him." To Hirada, he said, "I'll pick you up tomorrow evening."
With that, he left. As he went out the gate, accompanied
by one of Shimoda's bodyguards, he retrieved his forty-five from the one
keeping it. The next evening he drove by the sumo arena and saw Hirada
standing outside. He double-parked and honked. Hirada got into the car
and Namoto drove off.
"So, what was Shimoda's decision?," asked Namoto.
"I don't have the briefcase with me, do I?," said Hirada,
grinning broadly. "Oh, those old dogs raged and quarreled for about a half
hour until their men separated them. After that they calmed down and became
friends again and then Nobunaga went home.
"Then Shimoda and I talked for several hours. He finally
agreed to the whole package. I did little talking. I didn't know enough.
But he asked me questions and answered them himself and about an hour past
his bedtime he said to hell with it and said he'd rather have a brat like
you as a ranking partner than have Nobunaga move in on his territory when
your people put him away.
"Shimoda and Nobunaga were street boys together sixty
years ago. When they grew up they established their own families. Since
then they've been the best of friends and the bitterest of enemies. But
they made another truce after you left and I assured old Shimoda that you'd
be good for both factions."
"That's good, Hirada," said Namoto. "For your part in
this, you will not only be my right hand man but the manager of the greatest
sumo school in Japan."
Hirada beamed at his young shogun.
"And do you know what we're going to do next?," asked
Namoto.
"No," said Hirada simply.
"We're going to reorganize the Shimoda family so that
it naturally absorbs all the other families. And then we'll begin the takeover
in earnest."
"But why take over more than you have?," asked Hirada.
"You already have more going for you than anyone I know."
"But Hirada, you don't seem to get the point of all this.
The families don't know how to use power. Shimoda is like a child who takes
a lot of money from a fool. Like a child, he buys a playground and says
to his little friends, 'Give me respect and I'll let you play in my playground.'
"Why not go further and take it all? If one knows how
to take money from fools, why not organize the fools like livestock so
the taking will be easier? Most people are fools and the rest can be eliminated,
in time.
"If we can finally take over the government, we can even
sterilize all who aren't fools, except for a few of our own. Then, with
the middle class wiped out, there will only be master and slave. And since
the fools breed like rats, each of us would have an increasing number of
servants. Wouldn't you like that?"
"Yes, I would," said Hirada. "But it won't be easy."
Hirada was right. The merger was completed and over the
years Namoto's power grew. He assumed full control of the Shimoda family
and absorbed much of the territory of the Nobunaga family. But rather than
working for territory, he concentrated his efforts in spreading his tentacles
into the government. But as his boyhood dream was about to bear fruit,
Kuwahara and the seven came together.
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