“You could say I’m a yakuza myself. Actually, I am a yakuza.” Kanesaki kept his head laid on his pillow as he directed his glinting gaze at Kisaragi. “You heard my real name from Mr. Arima, didn’t you?”
“Yeah.”
“He says you didn’t flinch, wince, anything.”
“What, did you want me to be surprised?”
Kanesaki laughed again. “Sounds like something you’d say.” The man looked up at the ceiling. “I came here on the turn of the seventies. When Akasaka and Roppongi were in their heyday. The streets were filled with equal parts white whores, equal parts CIA agents. Politicians took the money that came from Lockheeds and Grummans and refunded it in Las Vegas.”
Kisaragi nodded. “I’ve heard of Lockeed and Grumman.”
“Have you heard of TSK-CCC?”
Kisaragi shook his head.
“It was a luxury club located in the best part of Roppongi. It competed with the Copa Cabanas and the Latin Quarter in Akasaka. It’s been torn down now - you won’t find a trace of it. But it was a high-end whorehouse. The guy who established it was a top dog yakuza. I used to be an erruand[m1] boy there. I was about fifteen then.”
That was when he’d been picked up by Arima.
“I don’t know why, but he took a liking to me. He sent me to school. I even went to America.”
But before he had been picked up—
“It was pretty bad. There wasn’t much I could do other than become a yakuza. I could barely speak any Japanese when I just came here.” Kanesaki looked at him with dark eyes. “Yakuza are like the dredges of society. But I was worse than that. And the guys who tortured me back in my country were even lower.”
So the man had endured those wounds when he had not yet turned fifteen, Kisaragi thought. The 1970s. Who had been the leader of Japan’s neighboring company back then? The nation was so close, yet Kisaragi knew nothing about it.
“North or South - it doesn’t matter. I abandoned my country. I naturalized,” Kanesaki said shortly. Kisaragi reached out and touched Kanesaki’s hair. He went on to gently stroke the man’s head. He didn’t know what else he could do.
Kanesaki spent the rest of the night talking about his days after arriving in Japan, as if in a delirious fever. He talked about the women he had been in relationships with, and some things that Kisaragi found hard to listen to, but he stayed silent and continued to stroke the man’s hair.
“It’s money. I want money. You understand? As long as I have money, I can get anything I want.”
Kisaragi shook his head. There were things that money couldn’t buy. But he made a point not to object and continued to listen without protest to the man’s story.
“You wouldn’t understand. Not about people like us.”
Kisaragi nodded in agreement.
“But that’s fine. The ones who act like they understand—those people are the worst. You’re honest. That’s what I like.”
By morning, Kanesaki had recovered.
“I’m gonna wet my pants,” he said, hastily dashing into the bathroom after Kisaragi had removed his IV needle. “I didn’t piss at all yesterday, you know,” he yelled loudly over his own urinating as the door lay wide open.
“You must have been severely dehydrated,” Kisaragi replied as he finally picked up a piece of the sushi that the yakuza had brought. Although it had gone stale and dry from being left out, he could not let the kind gesture go to waste. Kisaragi was even beginning to feel an affection toward the men who so blindly and devotedly served Kanesaki. Kisaragi chewed his food with a wry smile at the loud sound coming from the bathroom.
“The least you can do is close the door.”
“No. I want you to hear it.”
“You have a scatology fetish?”
“If that’s what you want to call it.” Kanesaki’s laughter echoed in the bathroom. Once he returned to the bedroom, the man thrust his hips out and showed himself off to Kisaragi.
“Look how lively he is now. How about a round?”
Kisaragi turned away in exasperation. “You shouldn’t strain yourself. Don’t take flus and colds lightly. This time it was the stomach flu, but if it had been a cold that affected the cardiac muscles, you could have died of cardiac arrest,” he said severely.
“Alright,” Kanesaki gave in promptly. “I’ll do as you say, doctor.” He draped a bathrobe over his pyjamas and went to the window to open the curtains.
“It’s already past dawn. I ended up making you stay overnight.” The man turned around, his eyes softening in a smile. “I need to thank you. Next time I go to Russia, I’ll buy you a bucket full of the best caviar.”
“Caviar?” Kisaragi shook his head in refusal.
“You really don’t have any wants, do you?”
“It’s not that. It’s just… caviar is too salty,” Kisaragi said. “If you insist on buying some, just a little is fine. Personally, I think top-notch salmon roe tastes better.”
“I agree,” Kanesaki said. “A little spoonful of caviar with squeezed lemon is good, but salmon roe definitely goes better with a big bowl of rice.” He laughed loudly as he drew closer to Kisaragi and clapped him on the shoulder.
“To think you and I would be on the same wavelength over food. Say, do you like crab?” Kanesaki bent down and brought his face close to Kisaragi’s. Before Kisaragi could turn his face away, the man’s lips were pressed against his. Kanesaki drew away a few seconds later.
“I’m going to Niigata next week. I’ll bring some back as a souvenir.”