2. Kenzo
CHAPTER 2
KENZO
In the hallway, one of our enforcers leans against the wall.
“ Dareda? ” I ask. Who?
“The prisoner’s niece,” the enforcer says. “The kumicho said you would want to see her.”
The boss thinks I want to see a prisoner’s niece?
“ Kumicho? Dokoda? ” I ask. Boss? Where?
I slip out of my jacket as the enforcer tilts his head. “Sports lounge.”
The sports lounge is surrounded by television screens, each hosting a completely different game. Horse racing. Football. Soccer. Even skiing. You don’t know how much you can actually bet on until you live in Las Vegas. And just like the enforcer said, the boss is in his favorite spot. He’s harsh and angular with dark brown eyes and gray hair framing his face. Like usual, he’s resting on a barstool, treating it like his throne, but in reality, it hides his limp.
Cherry, his only daughter, sits next to him. She’s hāfu —half Japanese, half American—though she leans into her mother’s looks. Shoulder-length candy-red hair sits on her shoulders, and tattoos wrap around her arms. A septum piercing hangs from her nose. She’s dressed completely in red with red ankle boots to match. Her favorite color is obvious. She’s ripped too. No one messes with Cherry when it comes to mixed martial arts.
“Where’s your jacket?” Tomo asks. I hold it up, showing off the bloody artwork; it’s a running joke between us. Cherry pretends to scoff, and Tomo laughs. “What about humiliating him? Weren’t you going to make him do Shabu-8 while he had to finger himself on camera?”
I lift my shoulders. “Got distracted. The woman.”
“Ahh,” Tomo nods, pleased with the development. “Did you let him off easy, then?”
I shake my head. “He didn’t have any classic rock on his playlist.”
“Unappreciative bastard,” Tomo mutters. He’s the only one who gets that side of me, because he’s the one responsible for it. Instead of beating me when I stole from one of his protection rackets, he gave me a family and an addiction to classic rock. Though I don’t call him “Dad,” he’s like a father to me. But he’s also our oyabun. Our kumicho. Our yakuza boss. Even as a kid, I respected him too much to call him “Dad.”
“And the woman is in the cell?” Tomo asks.
I grin. “I left her listening to Three Dog Night.”
Tomo chuckles. “The perfect orchestra to introduce her to you!”
“You weren’t supposed to torture her ears too,” Cherry says dryly.
“How could I resist?” I joke. “If the boss thinks I’d like her, I may as well get her used to my music.”
“Try focusing on work instead of playing music, bakaga. ”
She’s calling me an idiot for that?
“When the boss brings you a gift to play with, you go and thank him,” I say with a wink.
“You and your playtime.” She pretends to gag. “Do you ever work?”
“You could always torture the corporate types for me,” I say.
She cracks a smile. “You wish.”
We each have our roles in the Endo-kai. As our oyabun, Tomo has a lot on his plate. He makes the big-picture decisions and makes sure our exchange in Tokyo runs smoothly. We give this Tokyo-based yakuza group our smuggled guns, and they give us their meth mix, Shabu-8. Cherry, a black belt queen of carnage, works as Tomo’s personal bodyguard.
Some people question her position as the boss’s bodyguard, since women usually don’t have physical positions in typical yakuzas. Usually, the boss’s wife might do some financial work, but other than that, the women have little part in the group. But once Tomo moved to Vegas, got his American wife pregnant, and had Cherry, those rules about gender were tossed out the window. Loyalty matters most to Tomo. He had seen firsthand what it was like to not believe in your boss, and he swore to lead in a way that instilled loyalty and respect. Part of that was making his youngest kid his personal bodyguard, especially since that was what she wanted.
The old man can still handle himself in a fight, but he’s got his age and his long-term injury working against him, which is why he’s got us and why Cherry never leaves his side, though I always tease her that she can handle more.
I’ve got three jobs. I manage our drug dealer relationships, but I’m also the face of Samurai Corporation, our legal resort group and front-facing company, and I work as a sōkaiya —in short, a corporate blackmailer. We find failing companies with dark pasts, force them to sell their assets, and give us the payout. I need three jobs; I get restless easily, and in situations like today, the blood focuses me, but the music keeps me moving, keeps me light.
Tomo waves a hand in front of his face. “You know the Survivors’ Alliance Gala is tonight?” I nod. He adds, “Do you have a date?”
“How about Piper?” I tease with a wink.
He mutters under his breath, on the verge of scolding me in Japanese, and I hold back my laughter. My last date, Piper—a stripper I hired from the Gilded Stage—worked perfectly, until she ended up screwing one of the other guests in the bathroom. Can’t say I blame her; she’s a hustler, and she saw an opportunity for bonus income. But Tomo was pissed. No one at the gala knew she was a stripper, but if someone had caught her with the customer, it would have been a PR disaster for our company’s image, even if we are located in Vegas.
“The niece will be better this time,” Tomo says. He gestures toward the heart of the building. There’s a set of offices and holding cells in the center shaft, always guarded by our soldiers, which is where I took care of the CEO.
“And the actual prisoner?” I ask. “She mentioned an uncle.”
“He touched the kanbu’s wife,” Tomo explains. Shit—the fucker was brave enough to mess with one of our senior members’ wives? Tomo shakes his head, then continues: “Anyway, the man said something about selling his niece.” A hint of laughter dances in Tomo’s voice, a sort of playfulness lingering in his words. “He thinks we’ll take care of her. Give her a good life, I suppose. With the gala tonight, you should hear him out. He seems eager to get her into our hands.”
I put a hand on Tomo’s back. “Taking care of her” implies the uncle doesn’t want to sell his niece into slavery. Otherwise, Tomo would have jumped on the chance to execute him. The Endo-kai may do a lot of fucked-up shit, including murder, and who the fuck knows how much damage our guns have caused in Japan. But there’s one thing the boss doesn’t tolerate, and it’s human slavery.
The niece is in an interesting predicament then.
“Why don’t you start the negotiations with the uncle?” Tomo asks.
“Consider my interest piqued,” I say. I lick my lips, then turn toward the holding cells again. “Thanks for looking out.”