"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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