The fusuma slid open. Sumida stepped in. Carrying a lacquer box.
Even from this far away, she could tell his face was deathly pale and dripping sweat. There was a painful stench of gore, one step shy of rot.
The box was placed on the tatami mat where Shindo sat in seiza.
“Those are for you to enjoy. Boiled or grilled, however you like.”
Holding her breath, Shindo lifted the lid. Four, five, six . . . six penises, great and small, chopped at the root and packed into the box.
“. . . I can’t accept this.”
“If your boss gives you a knob of shit, you say thank you very much.”
You’re not my boss, she almost said, but suddenly, she sensed a presence behind the fusuma.
Shoko.
She felt a shiver down her spine. Could Shoko have requested this? It was unthinkable, though Shoko must have known her father would take drastic measures.
“. . . Thank you very much.”
She closed the box and bowed her head to the floor.
“All right, then, no hard feelings. Oh, Yanagi. As you can see, I have some vacancies to fill. Pick out a fresh crop of young guys and send them over.”
“Understood. I’ll take care of it today.”
Yanagi looked like he might puke any second.
Shindo grabbed the box and left the room. No one was waiting in the hall.
“What’re you gonna do with . . . those?”
Yanagi had caught up with her. Pale in the face, he pointed at the bento box.
“What the fuck am I supposed to do with them?”
“Stop yelling. Let’s get over to the annex.”
Yanagi waved her down the hall.
Back in the kitchen, Shindo thought about it for a second before dropping the whole box into the compost bucket.
“Holy shit, that’s harsh. Damn, woman.”
Yanagi looked like it was his penis that had been chopped off and tossed into the compost. More than once, Shindo had witnessed the remarkable capacity men had for showing empathy when it came to this specific body part, though in her eyes, it was no more than an appendage that the female body did without.
“He’s the one who chopped them off. I didn’t ask for this.”
“Pops doesn’t do the work himself. He said we have a guy who loves that kind of thing, remember? That’s who did it. Bet you anything . . .”
“A friend of yours?”
“We did some time together. Utagawa. He operates a spot in Ikebukuro called Toyoshima Enterprises. I’m actually the one who introduced them, him and Pops. They hit it off so well, at this point, they’re like blood brothers.”
Toyoshima Industries in Ikebukuro rang a bell. They got a lot of orders from them at the flower shop. Pricey arrangements, moth orchids and big wreaths of flowers. They sent flowers to every newly opened hair salon or club or bar, not to mention politicians in the Diet. True to yakuza form, they paid in cash, or sometimes didn’t pay at all. But there was nothing they could do. Her boss said they couldn’t turn them down. They sent over too much business.
“Normally the junior staff takes care of gory jobs like this. Utagawa is a special case, though, for a boss. He loves to do the dirty work himself. A real pervert, that guy. Torture freak. Doesn’t matter if he has no grudge. It makes him happy just to screw around with them.”
“So if I make a mistake, he’s the one who’ll chop me up?”
“Don’t jinx yourself. He messes women up so bad their own parents couldn’t recognize them. Like he’s doing plastic surgery, but without using anesthesia. The guy’s a total nutjob.”
Yanagi pretended to barf.
Shindo looked at the lidded compost bucket. She thought of Naiki’s desperate hunt for Shoko’s mom and Masa, who used to be the boss’s favorite. If the private eyes could track them down, would they get tortured by this sadist too?
“I imagine you’ll meet Utagawa pretty soon. Just play it cool.”
“Why should I have to meet this pervert?”
“Because of Miss Shoko. They’re engaged.”
A drop of water dripped into the sink.
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2 チョン公 chonko- n. [Japanese] [offensive] slur for Koreans, especially Zainichi Koreans in Japan
