Shindo screwed up her face and spat blood on his shiny shoes.
“Hey, Nishi, bring that dog back here.”
Another white shirt, Nishi, led the Doberman back over, this time with a leash clipped to its collar. Yanagi stooped to grab the tanto.
“I’ll say it again. As of today, you’re working for us. If you’re not happy about that, I can end things now.”
He poked her cheek with the tip of the blade.
“Go ahead. If it means I gotta take orders from you, I’d rather die.”
“That so?”
Yanagi snatched the collar of the Doberman, which had been seated on the ground wagging its tail, and pressed the tip of the blade to its throat. Shindo opened her eyes wide.
“—Stop.”
The dog let out a keening groan. This ferocious creature, capable of killing someone with a single chomp if adequately provoked, was unable to fight back, fearing for its life.
“Can’t hear you.”
The Doberman tucked its tail and let out a godawful screech.
“STOP!”
The dog’s big ears went flat against its head, its brown eyes opened all the way.
“We’ll kill her first, then. All because of you. Poor thing.”
The blade pushed into the dog’s neck. Its glazed eyes stared at Shindo.
“I’ll do whatever you say.”
“What’s that?”
“I’ll do whatever you say!”
Yanagi released the collar. The dog cried out and lowered itself to the ground, looking at Yanagi with upturned eyes. No trace of grudge or resentment.
“So you’ll kick a man in the balls, but you’ll take pity on a dog. You’re a real softie, Yoriko, know that? All right, so listen up. If you disobey, even once, or try to run away, I’ll slit open this pooch’s belly and skin her alive. While you watch.”
Yanagi slipped the tanto back into the scabbard. There was no blood on the blade.
SHINDO SAT IN a roofed passage that was open to the elements, between two buildings. The wood floor had been buffed to such a sheen that she could almost see her own reflection. Red hair tied back with a rubber band, dressed in an ill-fitting white shirt and black pants. Face wrapped with bandages and gauze, concealing all but her eyes, nose, and mouth, like a poorly executed mummy. Not first aid so much as an attempt to cover up her cuts and bruises.
While she was changing into the clothes borrowed from the men in the white shirts, Shindo had received a mini lecture from Yanagi on her situation. This was the residence of Genzo Naiki, boss of the Naiki family, a part of the Okitsu-gumi, the largest gang in eastern Japan. Yanagi was his right-hand man, in charge of the white shirts—or what he called the “junior staff.”
All household matters, from cleaning the floors to preparing meals, were undertaken by these young guys handpicked from the urban offices, though a small number of tasks necessitated, in Yanagi’s words, “a woman’s touch.” From what Shindo had gathered, this was why they had snatched her up.
Yanagi had told her to sit tight. In half an hour, he said, he would come back and show her just what sort of tasks they had in mind. So she sat there. On her heels, in seiza. In the dim light of the roofed hall. Nobody else around. It was only twenty meters to the stone wall. If she made a run for it, she could have gotten out of there, but instead Shindo did what she was told.
The shrill voice of the Doberman, so lonesome in the face of death, rang in her ears.
Dogs can’t be blamed. No matter how monstrous their owners are. It’s never the dog’s fault. Those eyes . . . so lonely, yet no sign of fighting back against the men that held its life in their hands. And that miserable whimper. Just like any other dog. Ready to pledge allegiance to the worst people imaginable.
Shindo sighed. Her ribs were sore. Didn’t seem broken, maybe bruised.
It had been a busy day.
One of Shindo’s two jobs was food delivery, which meant biking all around Shinjuku. Finishing up on this particular afternoon, she swung by her apartment in Shin-Okubo, washed off her sweaty body, changed into new clothes, and headed back toward Shinjuku on foot. She could have eaten dinner in her neighborhood, but she was in the mood to catch a movie at the cineplex. On her way, she passed through Kabukicho, where she ran into some bad dudes, who were obviously shitfaced and pretended to bump into her. One of them slapped her ass. Shindo spun around, grabbed his lapels, and kicked his feet from under him. The man fell face first on the asphalt. It was strange how his companion kept on walking, like he hadn’t noticed, although once he caught wind of what happened, he took a swing at her. Shindo would have walked away, except a crowd was watching them. It would save her trouble later if the guys punched her first, so she took a hit, right in the face. The guy was either drunk or had no clue how to fight. It barely grazed her. She caught his wrist and twisted his arm toward his chest. Bones shifted in her palm with a disturbing pop. On her first try, she had dislocated the guy’s wrist. Ouch! Panicking, the man tried desperately to punch her in the stomach with his free hand. Shindo let him go and kicked him onto his back. The audience was growing by the second. The first man down wriggled in agony, getting dirt all over his magnificently bloody nose. She had a few more punches ready for them, but why bother? If someone called the cops, there would be trouble, so she split. Or tried to. Three more bad guys stepped out of the crowd and blocked her path. More? One kicked her in the face. He fought much better than the others, though he was on the shorter side. Kicked her a second time, a third, calling her a bitch, a fucking pig, etc. Shindo dodged him. On the fourth kick, she grabbed his leg and stepped onto his pivot foot, so that he couldn’t move, then swung his kicking leg over her shoulder, whereupon she dropped into a squat, forcing his hip joint into a full 180-degree split. That left him wailing like a newborn baby. When she was on her feet again, something nailed her in the back. Felt like another jump kick. Turning around, she gave the guy who’d kicked her a swift kick in the throat. Bam. But then she felt a dull blow to her side. Her ribs killed. When she turned, she saw a man was chopping at her with an empty bottle of wine. That probably explained the feeling in her ribs. It was risky bringing weapons into a crowded public space. Someone could get hurt. She searched for a way out. Just as the man with the bottle wound up again, taking aim, she punched him square in the jaw. More goons appeared between the faces in the crowd. Coming to get her, fists clenched, winding up. Shindo couldn’t help but smile. If only she’d had more room to move, no risk of hurting anyone, she could have taken all those guys on at once. She cursed the cramped and crowded city. Which was when she felt a clean thud on her head. This time it was a beer bottle, one of the big ones, if she could trust Yanagi’s version of the story. Thicker glass. Another thud, and she blacked out.
A night wind, cool for May, passed through the yard and traveled down the roofed passage. The floor was cold and hard. Vigilant, she took another breath and stroked her throbbing head and ribs.
Just then, a wooden door slid open at the far end of the hall. One of the white shirts, looking a little sore, waved for her to come. Shindo stood. She did as she was told.
In the next room, the heady smell of temple incense pricked her nose. The room was huge, its floor spanning at least twenty tatami mats. At a low desk made from precious wood, the man who had appeared on the deck earlier—Genzo Naiki—sat crosslegged on the floor. Behind him were taxidermied specimens of a hawk and a male pheasant, along with a display case packed with painted clay Hakata dolls, a miniature golden pagoda, and other tacky decorations, giving the room the pretentious air of new money.
Yanagi sat off to the side. Four white shirts with especially good builds stood at attention in each corner of the room.
“Come in, sit down.”
Faced with this oddly friendly welcome, Shindo complied and sat in seiza on the floor. All eyes on her. Naiki sucked down a mouthful of the canned coffee sitting on the desk and smiled at her.
“So. Yoriko, huh. For a woman, you’re one hell of a fighter. Did a number on some of my best young men.”
His hoarse voice had a sadistic twang that his inviting gestures failed to hide. Not offering a response, Shindo flexed her butt muscles, ready to jump up at any time.
“If word got out that my best men had seven shades of shit beaten out of them by a woman, we’d be the laughingstock of Tokyo. Be grateful you’re not paying off the damages with that physique of yours . . . or with your life.”
