The first time I met him, he was sat at the back of a dingy pool hall, smoking weed from a pipe and getting head from a one-eyed prostitute.Hey, you asked me to tell you about the weirdest thing I’ve ever seen. It gets plenty weirder, so listen up or go get me a beer and fuck off.
Right.
So, it was a dingy place, like I said. This huge basement, full of pool tables and the type of guys you didn’t want to piss off in a hurry. I’d lost my rent, my leather jacket and my watch. Don’t get me wrong, I’m no slouch when it came to pool but I was up against some stiff competition and on a bad run of luck. The jukebox was full of rock n’ roll and Americana - I remember the sting of defeat as Heart Attack and Vine played. I can still taste it whenever I hear the song to this day.
One of the waitresses who was sweet on me – Machiko, I think her name was - she told me to go and see Inari. I looked at her blankly and she pointed towards the corner booth at the end of the hall, where the lights were on the blink. Machiko had a cute little bob and wore black combats and a little vest. I guessed she must have had about three sets, as I never saw her wear anything else the whole time I lived there.
I strolled past the games in play, past plumes of blue grey smoke. Japanese bikers in gang colours lent against walls and chatted to girls who wore too much make-up and too little clothes. The low rumble of voices and clack of pool balls was all around me. I made my way carefully onwards to the dim corner.
He had a vast swathe of hair sticking back from his head in that reddish, auburn hue that occurs when Japanese guys bleach their hair, but not enough to make it blond. He was wearing a rising sun bandana like an alice band to keep that mane out of his face, which was beautiful. Don’t get me wrong. I don’t do dudes, but there was something about him. His eyes were golden, I mean actually golden, like perfectly-captured candle flames. He looked like he was only part Japanese; I guess maybe his grandmother had fooled around with a GI after the war. There was the faintest trace of stubble around his mouth and on his chin: almost looked like whiskers, but I guess it was just the light. He wore those samurai trousers, like you see Judo guys wearing - the black belts, that is. I think they’re called hakima.
“Inari?”
“That’s not my name, but it will do for our purposes.”
I sat down and he brushed the girl away. She looked at me sullenly. Her one good eye had that awful kind of blank hunger that said she was on something, and pretty far gone on it at that. She wore a black eye patch over the other and I remember thinking it was a tough break for a girl who depended on her looks, what with her line of work and all. I slid my last note across the table to her and said ‘Anata, karei raisu’.
Yeah, OK, I’m lazy at languages.
She took off, wobbling along on cheap high heels. She stopped, put on some fresh lipstick and slunk off past the bikers who paid her no attention.
Inari proffered me a cigarette, took one himself and lit it. He looked up at me and smiled with a barely perceptible nod.
“So, you lost your money, your jacket and the watch your girlfriend gave to you. You’re in a lot of trouble, as you already owe a month’s rent and you lost your job three nights ago. Right?”
I fought off a fierce tremor; I looked at my cigarette just to be spared those piercing yellow eyes. He spoke almost unaccented English and in two sentences had scared the living shit out of me.
“Uh, yeah.” I didn’t dare ask how he knew all that. I had a feeling I wouldn’t like the answer, or he wouldn’t give one.
“And Machiko thinks you can help me in some way?”
“Well, I was hoping you’d help me, but one good turn deserves another, right?”
“Hai.”
He lifted an arm, scratched at his armpit and yawned cavernously. I noticed his teeth looked very sharp and his canines looked well, very canine.
He took another drag off his cigarette and blew smoke rings for a while - and then turned to me.
“There is a man, a Japanese man, who took something from me. He keeps it in his safe in his wife’s bedroom. He is out of town at the moment. Perhaps you can get it back for me.”
“I used to be a bouncer. I’m not really breaking and entering material.”
“No breaking, just entering,” he stifled a smirk and his eyes shone with mischief, “his wife, she likes Gaijin, she likes Gaijin men. Understand?”
“Not the faithful type then, eh?”
He let out a long rasping chuckle that ended in a wheezy cough. Those Japanese sure do love to smoke.
“Not faithful. So, you get yourself noticed, get yourself into her room, open the safe and bring back what is mine.”
“How will I open the safe?”
He slid something metallic across the table under the flat of his palm.
“Skeleton key? Is this how you call it?”
“Yeah, right, skeleton,” I looked at it in the cup of my hand: it looked ancient. I quickly stashed it in my wallet.
“How will I know what is yours? I mean, there could be a whole bunch of stuff in that safe.”
“You’ll know,” was all he said, and smiled again before breaking into another yawn. He slid a small clutch of notes across the table and shooed me away. I got up and left the room, forgetting to thank Machiko.
It wasn’t until I got back to my apartment that I realised I didn’t even know which dame I was trying to scam. I felt stupid. Maybe he’d send a message, a dossier of the target?
Who was I kidding? This was a scam, not a hit. I was a Romeo for hire, not a cleaner. I freshened up and changed, I didn’t want to stay in too long.
The nearest bar to my apartment was in this hotel, The Hotel Clubby or something, something dumb that didn’t really make sense. I headed there and the barkeep nodded to me wordlessly. He was probably pissed off because in a month of drinking there I’d not touched the Japanese whisky once. He’d tried offering me some blended shit on one occasion and not liked the expression on my face.
I was nursing my single malt, feeling like a complete clown, when she slid onto the stool next to me. Two guys stood near the entrance to the bar and made bad impressions of CIA extras in a cheap conspiracy flick.
I didn’t look at her straight away; I looked down. She had on some seriously expensive-looking heels, dark tights and polite, knee length black skirt with a not-so-polite split at the side showing her stocking tops. My groin woke up and I shifted uncomfortably on my bar stool in a vague attempt to shrug off my arousal.
After a couple of nervous sideways glances we made eye contact and swapped the formal, ‘Hajimimashite’ and kept drinking. As she raised her glass I spotted the wedding ring and made a mental note to mind my own business.
“You are Russian. Yes?” Every time, Japanese always seem to think I’m Russian, I don’t know why. Every Russian I’ve ever met is built like a brick shithouse. I was leaner, more athletic back then.
“Igirisu-jin.”
“Ah, my husband, he is in Rondon.”
I nodded, “Yeah, London, I’ve been there.” I’d had this conversation about a hundred times since getting off the plane.
“How you say? My husband is out of town for a few days. That is what they say in the movies, yes?”
Every hair stood up on the back of my neck. I knew with a sickening certainty that this was the woman. I gripped the bar with my hands to stop them shaking and took a deep breath, whilst plastering on a smile to cover my growing anxiety.
“Daijobu desu ka?”
“Oh yeah, I’m fine. Samui desu ne?” I faked a shiver and sunk my hands into my armpits and gave her another smile, trying to turn on the charm.
The goons didn’t leave all night but it didn’t stop me, or more to the point, it didn’t stop her. We were back at her place inside of two hours; she had only one thing in mind. She slowly wriggled out of her clothes and turned her back on me, when her blouse came off I knew I was in deep shit.
She had a dragon from the nape of her neck to the top of her (pert) arse. Whilst I’m no stranger to the tattoo gun myself, I knew then that this was no ordinary ‘salaryman’s’ spouse, this was a Yakuza’s wife. I thought about Inari, probably laughing himself sick at my expense back at the pool hall.
I went to work, faking more enthusiasm than I really felt. I thumbed through memories of exes who’d been good in the sack just to blot out the thoughts of some gangster coming in and filling me with holes.
She was vigorous and didn’t let up for quite awhile. She wanted to work through a fair few positions and I admit, whilst taking her from behind I was scoping the room, trying to figure out where the safe was.
Finally, we collapsed onto the bed, utterly spent. After fifteen minutes she slipped away into the en suite and I heard the familiar rattle of water on glass. I wouldn’t have long but this was just the opening I was looking for.
After some frenzied looking around, I found the door to the safe under the dresser, built into the wall. I fished my wallet out of my crumpled jeans and dug the blackened key out if it. I was suddenly aware of how ridiculous I’d look if anyone came in. I was butt naked, kneeling on the floor, with my wallet in one hand and a key in the other.
I pushed the old key into the lock and jumped slightly as it flared into light and quickly fizzled out. The whole thing just burnt out like a tiny sparkler on Guys Fawkes night. My heart sank. What was I going to do?
I tried the handle in the hope maybe it had been left unlocked and to my infinite surprise the door swung open easily. Inside was the usual collection of paperwork, a pistol, a jewellery case and, shedding light over the rest of the items, a small pearly ball of white light. It looked like it was hovering a few centimetres above the bottom of the safe.
I quickly stuffed the ball into the back pocket of my jeans and closed the safe door quietly. I scurried back to the bed just in time for the lady to walk back in. Twenty minutes and one blowjob later, I was pretty much kicked out into the street.
I laced up my boots under the impassive faces of the bodyguards and made off, slouching down the street like I didn’t have a care in the world.
Honestly? I was shitting myself.
By now I was practically shaking with the accumulation of adrenaline, exhaustion and the build up of whiskey I had been punishing myself with. I made it back to the pool hall and Machiko stopped me in my tracks. She looked at me funny and raised one eyebrow. I guess I must have surely reeked of sex and booze. I shrugged and mumbled ‘Inari’ and nearly jumped out of my skin as he tapped me on the shoulder.
He took a step back and beckoned me with a crooked finger and took off up the staircase to street level. He had a swagger that drew the attention of the women on the street and I trailed him at a discreet distance. Before too long, we were two blocks away and in another equally dim booth in a noodle bar.
Wordlessly, I produced the white, onion shaped ball and quickly covered it with a paper napkin. I passed it over the table and breathed out for what felt like a really long time.
“Hmm. I thought you were going to fuck it up,” he said in something close to a growl, “I should have explained how the key worked.”
I didn’t reply, I was too busy shovelling ramen into my mouth and taking sips of green tea, when I remembered.
He watched me eat and said nothing until I’d finished. He reached under the table and pulled out my jacket and the watch.
“So, did you fuck her?” He said, sitting back and crossing his arms.
“I think she fucked me, actually.”
He snorted a laugh and lit a cigarette; he caught himself and offered me one.
“Good.” He pushed a stack of notes across the table, much more than I’d imagined. He stood up and beckoned me again, we exited through the kitchen and into the alley behind, where stray cats sorted through bins of rotting food and large puddles cast oily reflections.
“Thank you. Look after your jacket and watch in future,” he said with a smile and turned to leave. I looked down at my feet and closed my eyes for a second, feeling the caress of tiredness sweep across me.
I looked up and he was gone. The only other person in the alley way was a white fox who looked like he had too many tails.
But I was tired, so who knows what it really was.
Myself and the Lady have settled into a rather nice habit of spending ‘quality time’ with our couch, each other and Season 1 of Heroes. Sometimes we even have cake!
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