Rules of the Hunt (41 page)
The rumor was that he made most of his money, not from what he published,
but from businesses paying to keep stories out.
Adachi did not doubt it.
The Eel
operated under the benevolent patronage of one of the major
yakuza
gangs.
He owed Adachi from the time a rival
organization had decided that the Eel might please them better as a publisher
if he lost some weight.
They had in mind
the removal of his two arms and maybe a few other appendages.
Adachi had stumbled on the transaction when
he had dropped into the Eel's restaurant for a snack, and he had dissuaded the
attackers.
He had borrowed one of the
assailants' swords and used it to good effect.
It did not occur to him to draw his revolver.
The Eel stood up as Adachi approached, and tried to bow while greeting
the policeman effusively.
This was
difficult given the Eel's bulk, the space between the bench he was sitting on
and the table, and the fact that the lighting fixture over the table hung
rather low.
He was also eating.
It was nearly total mayhem.
Adachi sat down and got comfortable with a beer with some relief.
He liked the Eel.
The man was intelligent and good company, and
frankly Adachi preferred villains with something to say.
Dumb thugs were all too common and made for a
long working day.
"Adachi-
san
," said
the Eel.
His read name was Origa.
It was not good protocol to call him ‘the
Eel’ to his face, though he was quite proud of the name.
Eels were associated with force and power and
energy, and there were aphrodisiac and indeed financial implications.
When business was brisk in the stock market,
dealers rushed out to fortify themselves with eels.
"Adachi-
san
, is it fair to say that you are not a financial
sophisticate?"
Adachi smiled.
"Probably," he said.
"Origa-
san
, you've tried
to interest me in your financial scams for years.
I have not yet bitten.
That should tell you something.
I have little interest in the market."
The Eel sucked his teeth.
"The Namakas, Superintendent-
san
?"
he said.
"I had better give you
some background."
His tone was
rhetorical.
Adachi nodded encouragingly.
"Adachi-
san
," said
the Eel, "the
On the
face of it there are nearly twenty-three million shareholders, shareholder
democracy personified.
Closer
examination reveals that corporations are over seventy-three percent of the
shares and that a mere six large
keiretsu
— corporate holding groups — own a quarter of the market.
Individuals hold about twenty-two percent."
"I'm not sure I understand the significance of this," said
Adachi.
"The
Eel.
"It is not.
Most shares — over three-quarters — are never
traded.
They are held by corporations
and banks on a mutually supporting basis.
The equity that is traded is widely manipulated.
The trade is dominated by only a handful of
dealers.
Prices are fixed.
The insider gets the nod,
then
come the corporates.
Finally
comes
the individual, the shareholder who will pay the
eventual price.
Privileged insiders
cannot lose.
They are guaranteed against
loss by the dealer.
Certain politicians,
in exchange for favors, are privileged insiders.
Hodama-
san
was certainly such a man."
"The Namakas?" said Adachi.
The Eel, his face shiny, shoveled a portion of
umaki
— grilled eel wrapped in cooked egg — into his mouth and
masticated.
He positively glowed as the
food descended into his stomach.
"Well, there is the thing," he said.
"The market is going up.
Virtually all shares are being hyped up, and
there is Namaka Industries languishing."
"Falling?" said Adachi.
The Eel shook his head.
"Going up more slowly," he said.
"Way out of step with
the market."
"Maybe they've shown bad results," said Adachi.
"On paper — which means nothing — they look fine," said the
Eel.
"Anyway, profits are not that
important.
Dividends are lousy.
The action is in the share price.
That is how the Japanese shareholder makes
his money.
Shares here sell for sixty to
eighty times earning, sometimes more.
In
it is more like ten to twenty."
"So what is going on with the Namakas?" said Adachi.
"They are being eased ever so gently outside the club," said
the Eel.
"Who's behind it?" said Adachi.
The Eel smiled.
"This was not
easy to find out."
Adachi picked up one chopstick and held it in both hands in a simulation
of a sword, then brought it down in a fast, cutting motion.
The Eel gulped.
"Uzaemon," he said.
"A holding company.
Now are we even?"
Adachi grinned.
"Is the life
that I saved worth so little?"
The Eel gave a weak smile.
"Tell me about Uzaemon," Adachi said.
"And who is behind them."
The Eel went a little pale.
He
leaned across the table.
"
Yakuza
," he whispered.
"Korean
yakuza
."
"Who exactly?" insisted Adachi.
"Katsuda-
san
,"
whispered the Eel.
"The man no one
ever sees.
He of the
hideous face."
Suddenly, Adachi realized the significance of the Korean connection among
the witnesses, and that the primary motive for Hodama's death could well lie,
not in current events, but in something that had happened decades ago in the
chaos and confusion of postwar
He had heard something secondhand about the gang wars of the American
occupation from one of the old-timers who had been his mentor.
The details were hazy, but at least he knew
whom to ask.
But one important question was left.
If Hodama's killing was, as he now suspected, a crime of vengeance for
something that had happened during the occupation, why had the attackers waited
until now?
Why had Hodama, with all his
power and influence, lost his protection?
Indeed, who had been the true source of that protection?
and the postwar period.
There was
only one serious contender, but many factions within it.
It was beginning to make sense.
*
*
*
*
*
Fitzduane had given much thought to the best tactic to employ with the
Namaka brothers and had discussed the matter at length with Yoshokawa, the
Spider, and Chifune.
He also had his
own, more lethal, agenda, which he did not discuss, except with Kilmara.
The objective, as agreed upon with his Japanese colleagues, was to force
a reaction from the Namakas that would break the impasse of the investigation,
link them to Yaibo, and lead to their arrest.
The best method was not so obvious.
The tactic was the tried-and-true police technique of ‘rattling the
suspect's cage,’ but it was in how to do it that the problems lay.
In the end it was decided that the first move
should be a meeting with the Namakas, and the Yoshokawa would make the
introductions.
The overt reason would be social.
Fitzduane was in
Research had shown that companies in which Fitzduane had investments had
done some business with the Namaka group — scarcely surprising given the
pervasiveness of Japanese goods — so it could be considered that they had
common business interests.
Arguably of
greater significance, he and Kei Namaka had a shared hobby:
the Medieval Warrior's Society.
To further arouse Kei Namaka's interest, he
had brought him a gift, a handmade reproduction of a traditional Irish weapon.
Along with the approach to the Namakas, it was agreed that Fitzduane
would work with Detective Superintendent Adachi's unit, with Chifune acting as
his interpreter.
To give him official
status with the police, Fitzduane, who had held a reserve commission with the
Rangers — unpaid — for some years, would use his rank, and carry a special
identity card in English and Japanese to go with it.
In
be Colonel Hugo Fitzduane.
*
*
*
*
*
Fitzduane had arrived in
weekend.
Mrs. Yoshokawa had been dying to meet this Irishman who had saved her son
from a terrorist kidnapping, and Yoshokawa himself was anxious to pay Fitzduane
for his hospitality in
Also, the two men had come to like each
other.
Long discussions in
dented Yoshokawa's formal façade.
In the
privacy of his home, he relaxed completely and revealed a warm nature.
Fitzduane, who had approached the visit with
some concern that he might drown in protocol, was enjoying himself
immensely.
The only drawback was that
the delightful Chifune had disappeared.
Two plainclothes detectives outside the house provided security.
Given Yoshokawa's wealth, Fitzduane had expected a large house.
Instead it was a relatively new modern
dwelling of about two and a half thousand square feet; comfortable but not
ostentatious.
Two of the rooms were
tatami
rooms, decorated in Japanese
style.
The rest were Western.
The family dinner, held in Fitzduane's honor,
was served at a full-height table and featured smoked salmon, coq au vin, and
an excellent sorbet, all accompanied with French wine.
Japanese elements were the serving of rice as
an option with the main course and plentiful supplies of sake.
Fitzduane stuck to the wine.
Sake had a habit, he had discovered, of
creeping up on him.
Mrs. Yoshokawa was an attractive woman in her early fifties, with
beautiful eyes and a face full of character.
During dinner, she wore a white silk blouse and a long black velvet
skirt.
After the meal, both she and
Yoshokawa excused themselves for a few minutes and then reappeared in
traditional kimonos to demonstrate the tea ceremony.
Fitzduane had not been overly enthusiastic about watching someone spend
half an hour to make tea, but he had never seen the full formal tea
ceremony.
When it was over, he was both
impressed and deeply touched.
He slept well that night on a futon in the same
tatami
room where the tea ceremony had taken place.
The ceremony was an exercise in doing one
thing just about as well as it could be done.
It had scant practical purpose, but every movement was carried out with
an elegance and precision that made it compelling to watch.
It was a tribute to the pursuit of
excellence.
And it was a welcome by the
Yoshokawa family of Fitzduane to
He felt very much at peace.
Yoshokawa's home was in
by train south of
In
where Fitzduane might be staying.
At
about the time that Fitzduane was being ushered into the
tatami
room to watch the ceremony, Kitano received his answer.
The Irishman was due to check in to the Fairmont
Hotel on Sunday afternoon.
