THE NEW RONIN By Kurt Saxon
Chapter Eight: PIG-IRON JONES
Isoroku was proud of his machine and was deeply offended that a guest could be so rude. He did not know whether to turn his back on Takeo or flatten him. With as much self-control as he could muster, he asked, "Are you insulting my motorcycle?"
"Of course not," answered Takeo. "It's a fine machine, for one which came off an assembly-line. But although you took the original apart and entirely rebuilt it, it needs remachining. Haven't you gotten a feeling of untapped power when you ride it? It's like a spirited horse with hobbles."
"Well," said Isoroku, "you are right and that's just how I feel. I know machining, but only as a gunsmith. How would I go about remachining this motorcycle?"
"First," said Takeo, "you would have to rebuild the insides of the piston holes in the block, rebore them to a greater tolerance, then regrind the pistons. That's only the start. Every touching surface would have to be smoothed to a fineness no assembly-line would take time for. The more friction you eliminate, the more power you can utilize."
"All right," said Isoroku, "you show me how to remachine this motorcycle and we'll go into business."
"As it turns out," said Takeo, "I'm going to remachine and rebuild the motorcycles of some friends. If you have about three weeks, you can help."
Isoroku was free of any responsibilities for the next month and so agreed to come to the small town and help with the reworking of Takeo's machines and his own. This was fortunate for Takeo, as a competent helper would save time and prevent his having to hire strangers for a project he wanted kept secret.
Kuwahara and Takeo spent the night in a hotel. Next morning they left to sell the kimonos and then buy supplies for renovating the motorcycles. First, they went to a shop selling the most expensive women's fashions. The old priest told the proprietor they had some prewar kimonos, never worn. He was very excited as they took the carton into the back of his shop.
Upon examining the twenty kimonos, the proprietor admired the pure silk and their beautiful patterns and colors. He offered a large price for the lot and Kuwahara accepted.
Then they went to a motorcycle parts store and Takeo bought parts, paint and tools. Next, they went to a large hardware store where Takeo bought two sizes of lathes, spools of plastic-coated copper wire and various meters and other testing devices. Loading up the van, they then returned to the old priest's home.
The next morning, Isoroku came around, driving a brand-new Mercedes. He got out carrying a Japan Air Lines bag and knocked on Kuwahara's door. The old priest welcomed him in and had him sit down to breakfast.
Over the meal, Isoroku told them about his father's gun show business in America. The Pig-Iron Jones Gun Show was the "Greatest Gun Show On Earth." Isoroku was proud of his father's showmanship and also his side deals. Billy "Pig-Iron" Jones, in league with his brother, Max, had imported hundreds of thousands of guns from all the battlefields of Asia.
Kuwahara warmed to this gigantic young Japanese-American barbarian. As he talked casually of international gun-running on a scale incomprehensible to the uninitiated and the law abiding, the old priest saw him as another piece of his own life's puzzle dropping into place.
Max Morrell was at first seen as simply a necessary evil in converting the wealth of Supply Base Three into cash. Was it coincidence that his bizarre nephew should have been present and on the same machine oriented wavelength as Takeo? As Kuwahara pieced together the elements of Isoroku's background and contacts, he knew it was part of an overall plan by what he considered to be a higher agency.
As Max Morrell was building his weapons empire in the Far East, little brother Billy was planing his own in his small home town in Ohio. His adoptive father, Jack Jones, was in the junk business, barely making ends meet. At fifteen, Billy dropped out of high school to help his dad full time. He was no scholar anyway, and the Jones' had never seen the inside of a high school, so they did not care.
After a couple of years of wrestling cast-off refrigerators and boilers and other elements of scrap, Billy was the strongest man in the area. His movie idol was Robert Mitchum and he was struck by his character "Pig-Iron" in "Guadalcanal Diary." So he called himself Pig-Iron and the name fit.
One day he came upon his father while he was cutting up guns consigned to him by the police department. These were rifles, shotguns and pistols used in various acts of criminality in and around Cleveland. Billy had never been able to afford a gun and was shocked at such waste.
Jack Jones was honest to a fault and so flatly refused to give Billy even one of the guns. Besides, this was his first consignment so he did not want to start out on the wrong foot. But Billy was not really interested in having a sidearm. The month before, he had been sent to Pittsburgh to pick up several tons of copper wire from a large demolition firm which regularly sold them their gleanings of metal. While there, he had attended his first gun show.
It was a modest, one hundred table affair sponsored by an antique weapons society. Most of the tables were full of collectibles for trade or conversation between fellow collectors. But some were loaded with guns from private arsenals, many war souvenirs and various other weapons the owners wanted to unload for a profit.
A few tables were rented by local gun shop owners who had buyers sign for the brand new guns. But Billy noted that the guns sold from private collections needed no paperwork.
This market for guns flashed through Billy's mind when he saw them being destroyed. That evening he sat with Jack at the kitchen table and laid out his plan. Instead of destroying the guns, he would sell them at a gun show.
"What are you, nuts?" yelled Jack. "I buy these guns for scrap and sign an agreement to cut them up. And the cops know me and trust me or they would dump them offshore. Besides, idiot, what if one of the buyers sticks up someone and gets caught? The serial numbers would have me in the Federal Pen. No dice, Billy."
"Also," put in Mrs. Jones, "guns could hurt somebody."
"But, Dad," Billy persisted, "if I sell them at a gun show out of state, chances are the numbers would never get crosschecked."
"Even so," said Jack, "if a punk should buy one and shoot someone it would be on my soul."
"That's garbage, Dad," reasoned Billy. "Look, punks don't buy guns; they steal them. Besides, say a guy bought a gun from me and a punk steals it from him. But the guy would have bought another gun if he did not buy one from me, for God's sake."
"Don't take the Lord's name in vain, Billy," said Mrs. Jones.
"Anyway," continued Billy, "the punk would get the gun from that guy whether it was bought from me or someone else."
"That don't make it right," said Jack.
"How many guns did you get, Dad?" asked Billy.
"I ain't interested," said Jack. "Six hundred and twelve this month. It should be about the same next month. But like I said, I ain't interested."
"Look, Dad," said Billy, "I got an idea. Say next time I go get them and sign for them and doctor the papers so they only say half and turn over that half to you. So I take the other half to sell at a gun show. Think how quick we could pay off the house."
"Get thee behind me, Satan," said Mrs. Jones.
"Butt out, Ma," said Billy. "Look Dad, what I saw you junking would bring twenty to fifty bucks each low priced for a quick sale. Say three hundred averaging thirty bucks." He grabbed a pencil and started to scribble on the table cloth.
Mrs. Jones rapped his knuckles with a ladle she had handy. "You don't do the laundry, you can't write on the tablecloth. I told you and told you."
"Nine thousand bucks," said Jack. "You're trying to talk me into something and I ain't buying."
"Okay," Billy continued, "Half of what you junked today would have paid off the house. You could us a new car, too. You and Ma need lots of things and I can get them for you."
"The Lord will provide without stealing," said Mrs. Jones.
"Get off my back, Ma," said Billy. "Look Dad, the worst could happen would b some Fed. comes around to investigate. I can get a visa to Japan and run and stay with Max. I could afford it on my share. In the meantime you would be in the clear, with no debts, and blame it all on me."
"The idea stinks," said Jack. "What would Max do with you? You got no education and you can't speak the language."
"And what would your brother do with a criminal?" put in Mrs. Jones.
"Can it, Ma," said Billy. "I don't see no problems, Dad. A few months and you'd be out of debt with maybe a new truck and I'd head for Japan, regardless. Then if the heat should come down I'm in Japan and only my name is on the transfer papers."
Next month Billy took three hundred, twenty-seven confiscated guns to the Pittsburgh gun show. He had most of them in a box under the table and as those on the table were sold, he replaced them from the box. That night he stayed over at a cheap motel and sold the rest before three o'clock Sunday afternoon. After expenses he came home with over eight thousand dollars and that evening they burned the mortgage.
Two more consignments and Billy flew to Japan. Max was overjoyed to have him and gave him a room in his own apartment. As far as anyone knew, none of the guns consigned to Jack's junkyard were ever used in a crime. Jack continued to take them but cut them all up as expected of him.
Billy was twenty when he went to Japan and by the time he was twenty-two he could read and speak Japanese like a native. Max supplied him with tutors and kept him at the books for eight hours a day, six days a week. This was on top of his job at the import-export firm Max had started up in late 1953.
Max's own career had been rather hectic. He had worked full time for the Okanos after leaving the Marines on a reserve status. When the Korean War broke out, he was called back and came out as a major. But during the war he had bribed, borrowed and stolen, wheeling and dealing to collect hundred of thousands of Chinese and other communist weapons. These were stored in the Okano warehouses.
He had contacted dozens of gun dealers in America, letting them know he had what they wanted when they wanted it. Orders trickled in to supply genuine collectors. It would be some time before they were wanted as weapons, so the stockpiles grew.
As Billy became more familiar with the business, his own interest in guns led him to reach out for even more contacts so the stock began moving faster. All was not work for Billy, however, as he gradually began an involvement with Hatsuyo. She had met him when Max first introduced him to the Okanos.
She was then seventeen and in college studying marketing. She paid little attention to Billy until he began moving the weapons from the Okano warehouses to buyers in the States. She was well aware of how her "Uncle" Max had gotten American markets for the Okano wares. As prejudice against Japanese products waned. Max had strong armed the Occupation officials into taking a hands-off attitude toward the increasing exports.
Now with Billy arranging for boatloads of Max's armaments to be sold to American weapons merchants, Hatsuyo's greedy little mind turned to schemes of love. After Billy's learning period, when he had more time to himself, she maneuvered him into various outings where she talked more about them than about business.
Up to then, Billy had shown little interest in women and especially Japanese women. But Hatsuyo was beautiful, intelligent and persuasive. Soon, Billy was idiotically in love. When Yataka heard of it, along with the elder Okanos, he and they were furious. Although they truly loved Max and though highly of Billy, they did not want a mixed marriage.
The Okanos wanted to send Hatsuyo away for an indefinite vacation but she refused to go, promising to return and elope if they did put her on a train. Yutaka approached Max, pleading with him to persuade Billy to stop seeing Hatsuyo.
"Look, Yutaka," said Max, "I don't want them to marry any more than you do. It wouldn't work for either of them. Hatsuyo is spoiled rotten and Billy is just too independent to have a Japanese wife underfoot. With Hatsuyo demanding his constant attention, he'd go insane. Nor could she stand his own dogged persistence in getting what he wants. But they're too young to reason with. And too stupid."
"Where did I fail?" asked Yutaka. "Oh, I should have know it all along. She didn't see me until she was nearly two years old. And my parents competed in granting her slightest wish. And when I got back I was working up to sixteen hours a day putting the business back in order.
"I think I can see where I failed. But I still don't like it, Max. I resent her marrying an American. I know it's bigotry but we are an old family and I owe it to my ancestors to keep our line free of foreign blood."
"I can understand," said Max. "I don't mind Billy marrying a Japanese if she were the traditional, docile type, but Billy's adoptive parents are a different matter. Not only is Hatsuyo not a Pentecostal, she's not even a Christian and she's not white, nor American. I'm sure they would be good to her but they'd sure give Billy hell when they got him alone."
"But Max," urged Yutaka, "couldn't you talk to Billy and Hatsuyo. I suppose it would do no good but I couldn't feel right if everything wasn't tried."
"Of course, Yutaka," said Max, "I'll talk to them. But I'm sure you'll be a proud grandfather in a few months. And you might even come to accept the fact that the days when Japanese parents can decide their children's future are over. American parents learned that several years ago."
Max was not surprised when Hatsuyo came to his office that afternoon. She got right to the point, saying, "Uncle Max, my father sent me over so you could take me out of marrying Billy. You have five minutes to waste as I have an appointment with my hairdresser."
"Then you go right along to your hairdresser, Hatsuyo," said Max. "You have my blessing. Now, I've got work to do."
Hatsuyo was disappointed as she left. She had rehearsed the most learned arguments in favor of her union with Billy and now Max had frustrated her again. He was always doing that. He was the other person in her life who neither humored her nor tried to argue her out of her silly fantasies. That's why she ran to him when she wanted to reexamine her decisions and so, often changed her mind when he would say, "Go ahead and see what happens."
But in this, she was not to be dissuaded. She knew there would be problems. But she was nineteen and biology drove her to mate. She feared the young Japanese men who would deny her freedom and make her "the thing in the back room" as the literal translation for the Japanese word for wife implied.
Max called Billy into his office and asked him if he was really serious about marrying Hatsuyo.
"You bet," answered Billy. "I love her and she's the sweetest girl I ever met."
"Sweet, hell," said Max. "She's a bitch and she'll just give you a super pain in the tail."
"Go to hell, Max," shouted Billy. "Brother or not, you can't talk that way about Hatsuyo!"
"Crap," answered Max. "I've known her since she was three and she's either screaming for something or screaming because she doesn't want it after she gets it. She'll spend all you get and curse you for not getting more.
"And more, dummy, she's courting you now, like you're courting her. Sure, she's sweet and says all the right things. But that's nature working. You're both in a state of passion driven irrationality, is all. But after you satisfy yourselves and the honeymoon is over and you settle down to the day-to-day routine of raising brats and making a living, you'll both wonder what either of you ever saw in the other."
"You're wrong, Max," argued Billy. "But we'll just have to prove it. Anyway, just drop it."
Max did drop it and Billy and Hatsuyo were given a Shinto wedding by the patient, but seething, Okanos. Hatsuyo soon settled down to being a pregnant wife and, as morning sickness and reality set in she began to mature. Then Billy took her back to the States and they settled in San Diego where Isoroku was born. It was Billy who couldn't take the two a. m. feeding and walking the floor with the screaming monster he'd sired. Nor could he stand Hatsuyo's forced patience with him and her fear of his vulgar, gun-toting friends.
Billy had bought out a gun show promoter and, drawing on Max's stores of armaments, he supplied weapons both to gun show dealers and militant groups of every stripe. Hatsuyo began to express fear for the safety of little Isoroku, or she was merely homesick, or she didn't like America. But at any rate, after his first birthday, she bundled Isoroku onto a plane and went home.
The Okanos naturally welcomed back their daughter and were entranced by the huge, demanding one-year old half-breed. Yutaka comforted himself with the idea that Isoroku was of his blood, with the same samurai courage he, himself, showed during the war. And having the family genes of the fierce American who had captured him, he saw Isoroku as a budding samurai without peer, if not racial purity.
Billy would come to Japan for a few weeks every year. Hatsuyo and he were through as man and wife but got on well as friends. The Okanos always gladly welcomed him and made him an honored guest in their home. During these visits, Billy would catch up on Max's business and go over the stock of weapons, supervising the packing of those he wanted sent to the States.
Isoroku was a quiet child, since his every wish had been fulfilled in mid-yell. All he had to do was ask and Yutaka, Mikiko or his great-grandparents or one of the servants were in his immediate attendance. He also looked forward to the visits of his father, who brought him presents and told him of the great Pig-Iron Gun Shows with all the cowboys and soldiers and weapons.
When Isoroku was six, Billy said he intended to take him back to the States. Hatsuyo was crushed and terrified. Billy was quick to assure her that it would only be for six months out of each year. Forcefully, he explained that Isoroku was an American citizen and his son, too, and he would benefit from the two cultures. Besides, Isoroku could not speak a word of English and Billy wanted him to learn.
Yutaka could understand Billy's attitude and, as much as he hated to be parted from his grandson, he supported the idea. The elder Okano also agreed but Mrs. Okano took to her bed wailing that her darling cherry blossom would become a barbarian. She was right.
Billy enrolled Isoroku in a public school in San Diego and left his care up to Rosie, the female gun show promoter he was living with. Rosie liked the child but did not keep track of him. He usually played hooky and ran wild in the streets until Billy called it quits and hired the wife of Hank, a gunsmith, to tutor him in her home.
"Rocky", as he was known in the States, picked up English rapidly and spent as much time as Billy allowed in Hank's workshop. His interest in guns grew more quickly than did his interest in the three R's. He spent every weekend at some gun show with Billy and Rosie and hours each day watching Hank work on guns.
After his first six months in America, Isoroku returned to Japan with Billy. He was so glad to see his mother and grand and great-grandparents and Uncle Max. No one could see any change in the six-and-a-half year old. He was quiet and polite and seldom talked of his experiences in the States. He did not have enough English yet to tell Max of things so alien to his Japanese world that he could not describe them in Japanese.
Since he would not be in school for a full term, the Okanos hired tutors and he became as sedate a scholar an anyone could have wished. He would not have been comfortable in a Japanese school, anyway, as he stood a head taller than the other boys his age. And his playmates all called him "Godzilla."
As the years rolled on, Isoroku/Rocky changed from a Japanese to an American as comfortably as a chameleon changes colors. In Japan he was quiet and scholarly. In the States he was Pig-Iron Jones' right hand, helping to set up gun shows. For years he had been Hank's apprentice gunsmith and became an expert. At sixteen, due to his size, he began riding with the Devil's Throng, an outlaw motorcycle club.
This last caused Billy to question Rocky's judgment. He had had misgivings when Rocky had bought a new Harley and tore it down to rebuild it as a chopper. But when he actually joined the club, Billy put his foot down. He said, "Rocky, those people don't belong in the real world and I won't have you running with them."
"But Dad," said Rocky, "they're my friends. They need me."
"That's just the point," said Billy. "They're your friends only because they need you. But what do you need from them?"
"Well," said Rocky, "maybe I need people who only need me."
"Okay now," said Billy, "you're getting into an area of philosophy you're not mature enough to deal with. So I'm putting you on the plane for Tokyo tomorrow."
Obediently, Rocky again became Isoroku and melted into the Okano's world as smoothly as if he had never left it. But his taste of the wilder side of life led him back to the Kung Fu school he had attended for about two years. He was too muscular to develop the speed of an adept. But he learned enough to defend against all the classic attacks and once he could grab an opponent, the contest went his way.
After several months in Tokyo, when he had gotten the motorcycle club out of his system, he went back to Billy and Rosie. He resumed his place in his father's world of gun shows and indulged in his own passion for gunsmithing.
As was his habit when he had time, he spent a few weeks with his American grandparents, the Joneses. They were retired and spent their days in busy idleness. Each of them thought the world of Rocky and rejoiced when he came and mourned when he had to leave.
Rocky was happy sitting on the river bank fishing with Grandpa Jack and just as happy at the kitchen table shelling peas while Grandma Jones told him of the blessings of the Lord. Rocky had never been able to understand Christianity. But on his visits to their little church he would roar out in his rich tenor voice, songs of praise to his grandparents' god.
In short, he fit in wherever he was. Japanese or American, Christian or Shinto, the Okano's Tokyo board rooms and his American father's gun shows and Grandma Jones' kitchen; he was never out of place.
Being of high intelligence and emotional stability, he was able to adapt to both of his worlds. To add to the challenge, each world was filled with contrasts to the lives of average Japanese or Americans. Only one who could accept life as it was could have met the social demands made on Isoroku Jones.
And so he became expert at taking life as it came. But he was just as ready and able to accept a demand for violent action when his tranquility was threatened. On the afternoon of the day he moved in with Kuwahara and Takeo, he was in a shop picking up some personal items he would need during his stay.
Four students from the karate school entered the shop to see who owned the Mercedes. When they say Isoroku they looked him over as a prospect for a shake-down. He did not look like a good prospect but the larger of the students was impelled to impress Isoroku with the fat that this was their territory.
Isoroku barely glanced at them as he picked out various items from the shelves. Feeling snubbed because Isoroku could obviously tell they were tough and together, but paid them no heed, their leader said, "What are you doing in our town, Godzilla?"
"Oh, you know my nickname," answered Isoroku. "But I don't think we've met."
"We haven't met," sneered the leader. "But 'Godzilla' is the description of a big fool."
"Well," said Isoroku, unimpressed, "I suppose I am large, compared to such dwarfs as yourselves."
The leader was becoming unsure of himself but still hoped to intimidate Isoroku. "I'm not used to insults. I want you to know I have a black belt."
"Then take it home and get your mother to wash it," said Isoroku, impatiently, reaching for a tube of toothpaste.
The owner of the shop then shouted, "You people are working
up to a fight. Get out of my shop of I'll call the police."
Isoroku shoved his choices into a pile on the counter
and told the owner, "I'll be right back."
The others turned and walked out and as Isoroku joined them, the leader sprang into the air and shouted his challenge. Before he reached the ground, a motorcycle chain wrapped itself around his head and he was jerked forward with a snapped neck.
Isoroku had fashioned a belt from lengths of motorcycle chain affixed to a large buckle. The chain went all around his waist and doubled back on itself, held in place by studs separating the top strand from the lower and covered overall by two strips of belt leather. As he quickly and expertly grabbed and pulled the buckle out to his right, the oiled chain slid around and out and flashed forward like a bullwhip.
As the leader slumped to the ground, Isoroku caught the punch of one of the others in the palm of his left hand. He closed his hand and, using the fellow like a fly-swatter, whisked the other two off the sidewalk and into the roadway.
Although the fight was over almost as soon as it had started, the store owner's call to the police brought them within moments. Isoroku had returned and paid for his goods and was just about to get into his car when they drove up. Recognizing him by his size, Captain Fuchida had him stop while his partner radioed for an ambulance for the karate students sprawled about.
When Isoroku entered the police station he politely requested permission to call his grandfather. This was granted. An hour later, while he sat in the station reading a magazine, Yutaka and Hatsuyo swept in, accompanied by one of their attorneys.
Hatsuyo rushed to Isoroku crying, "Have they hurt my baby?"
Captain Fuchida smiled to himself as Yutaka advanced imperiously to the desk while his attorney minced along behind him.
"Sir," said Yutaka, "can you tell me what my grandson is doing in your police station?"
"Well, Sir," answered the captain, "he was reading a magazine before the lady interrupted him."
"Don't be impertinent, Captain," snapped the attorney. "Mr. Okano is a wealthy and important man. What he means is, what is his grandson charged with?"
"Shut up, Yonekawa," said Yutaka. "Obviously the good captain doesn't take the situation seriously so it is obviously not serious. Am I right, Captain?"
"I hope you're right, Mr. Okano," said Captain Fuchida. "Mr. Nishizawa, owner of a small notions shop, called in a report that four karate students were threatening your grandson and he ordered them all out. He then saw the students attack your grandson and young Isoroku broke the neck of one, several ribs of another, the arm of another and the last one is in a state of shock."
Yutaka beamed fondly at his grandson.
"Then it is simple self-defense," said the attorney.
"I have no doubt that it was self-defense," said Captain Fuchida. "But the young man used a concealed weapon." He handed the motorcycle chain over to the attorney. "Isoroku showed me how it was concealed inside his belt. That makes it a matter for the court to decide. Naturally, no purpose could be served by holding him. So if you will guarantee his appearance when called for, I will release him. Of course, if the karate students make no charge, and I don't believe they will, only the act of carrying a concealed weapon will be held against him. And that would be out of my jurisdiction."
"Why do you believe the students will not lodge a complaint, Captain?" asked Yonekawa.
"For one thing," said the captain, "they are known bullies. I believe them to be indirectly connected to the Yakuza. I don't think they would file a complaint against one who obviously only defended himself against them."
"The Yakuza," said Yutaka. "Then there might be reason to expect revenge."
Isoroku had approached the desk with his mother. Hatsuyo said, "But we don't live here. Surely if Isoroku stays in Tokyo or goes to America after this is cleared up with the court, would he not be safe from them?"
"Forget it, Mother," said Isoroku. "I have a job to do here with a friend. I'll be here for a few weeks and I don't hide or run from anybody."
"You will come with us today, though, won't you?" asked Yutaka.
"Of course, Grandfather," said Isoroku. "But I'll come back tomorrow. I'm sure you understand."
"Yes, I understand," said Yutaka, proudly.
Chapter Nine: THE SEVEN RONIN FROM HELL
|
