"What do you want to know about." Dojo's voice sounds much less..... ups and downs in intonation.
"Everything." The man next to me slowly exhales a long breath.
"The club is a member-only place not open to the public. It was founded, protected, and owned by us. Originally built for oyabuns and their business associates to have some private conversations years ago. But the number of associates kept growing and after a while, even the 'fathers' couldn't stop them from spreading rumors about the place to their friends. And believe me, Mr.Lee, those guys have a lot of friends."
Dojo moves my cup to his mouth before he realizes it's empty.
"The place used to be for business only and nothing else, but after the associates starts bringing their pals along for..... mostly for showing off but also to introduce them to the Oyabons." Dojo rubs the stubbles on his left cheek as he studies my face to see what the fuck am I thinking.
"Word got around the city about an exclusive club in the city center for the top players in town. Club 57 became a threshold for the top one percent of the top one percent in the city to filter the other 99.99 percent."
"And how does a certain someone become a member?" Dojo's mouth purse into a thin line like he doesn't know if my question is amusing or idiotic.
"To become a full-fledged member of that joint you'll need to be filthy rich, the kind of rich that'll reshape your understanding of this world. And extremely powerful in both our world and theirs. But most importantly, you need to represent something. Something they fancy...... Being known in the city is not enough." Dojo shoots me a warning glare at the end.
"What about invitations? What if a member decided to bring friends along?" I crack my shoulder joints while asking. Sitting in this position is damn uncomfortable.
"It will make them a guest. They can't get in without being with a full member, nor enjoy all the services." Dojo stood up from the stool, walk passed the counter to the narrow kitchen and grab the clay pot next to the grill to refill his cup but he ran out of tea halfway.
"This place......is it still directly run by you guys?" After he confirmed shaking the pot couple of times didn't help either. Dojo bent down under the counter.
"Mr.Lee. Everything here is run by the Gumi. Just a matter of who." The idea of a fat man crouching in a tiny kitchen to find tea leaves made my mouth curls upwards without noticing it.
"And the who is....?" Dojo made a squeaky sound which I interpreted as a laugh and speak with a taunting voice.
"Hayashi-San."
Saiko Komon, the senior advisor of the company, is the so-called 'foster father' in the family. Never heard much about him except he's been with the oyabun for a very long time.
"Tell me about the members. Do they allow other gang's affiliated fellows in too? Or is it just the rich fuckers in downtown and Saint Elisha?"
"Of course. Like I told you, as long as you represent something they like or deemed worthy, that includes the other big shots in the city that we're more familiar with. Vors, Don, the pries and the family, I'm pretty sure the Qins too." Dojo finally rises up from the storage cabinet under the counter with a box of tea leaves.
"And what if they tried to kill each other in the club?" Pouring out the leftovers in the pot, dojo turns on the water tap to wash the used leaves off the bottom of the pot.
"They won't. Weapons are prohibited in the club, not even a pocket knife is allowed. Besides, the place was built for the high society to network and socialize in peace. Act of violence or disturbance is a disrespect towards the whole gumi, an open invitation for serious retaliation even war."
"So what? You can see La Vina and the mobs taking a Sona bath together?" Dojo shrugs as he taps the tea box four times, loose leaves of green tea drop into the kyusu.
"More like sipping drinks while furiously giving each other glares from their booth. But rules are rules, even the bosses understood that they need a private and safe place in the city to discuss business too. The higher you climb in our world, the more you act like those rich geezers."
"In the end, we're all climbing the same pyramid. Maybe we start on different footing but we'll eventually reach the same peak."
Dojo is completely fixated on pouring hot water into the pot. Making him look like he's talking to himself.
"Any other rules except arms banned?"
"Some.....likes to wear masks in public areas outside their booth."
"What kind of masks?"
Might as well.
"All kinds. Carnival of Venice is always a trend, I heard there's a ballroom in there."
God damn Phantom of Opera.
"Sounds like a cult gathering......wait how big is the place?" Dojo lets out another annoying laugh as he closes the lid on the teapot and place it next to the grill.
"Every floor above 57 is a part of the club, my friend. The place got all the things you can think about. Heard they got an indoor swim pool." Dojo says while leaning on the counter from the kitchen, his four fingers tapping a rhythm I don't recognize.
A fucking theme park.
"And what about the security? Tight?"
Dojo flips his hands, palms up, slightly lowering his head as he keeps eye contact. Saying 'duh?' without saying it.
You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.
"Tighter than a nun's private. I'm not talking about the ones by the coast or up north. I'm talking about the old British ones... Let me put it this way, the number of securities are usually the same as the members."
Dojo brings the teapot around and fills his cup with freshly made sencha, the steam clouds the air between us.
"Are they allowed to carry weapons?" Dojo shrugs again and takes out another cup under the cabinet.
"Knifes. Mostly. Some might be packing heat but nothing too serious, this is downtown after all. People are sensitive about those things." After pouring the rest into another cup. He passes it to me across the counter.
"Hontoni arigato....." I say as I blow off the steam. "And are they members of the gumi too?" Dojo lowers his head for a second before nodding.
"Yeah. All of them."
Alright...the mask is essential.
"Entrance?"
"Same route to the casino." Fuck.
"Don't go downstairs, pass the exit sign and keep going until you see a couple of fellows in white suits.....and I would suggest waiting till the guy with broken ear goes for a smoke break."
Dojo blows off the steam and takes a swig from his cup. I do the same and found an astringent taste dangling around my tongue that wasn't there.
In conclusion, Club 57 was built for business use by japs, then it became a symbol of power and status in the city. The members consist of some of the most influential people, the rulers of this city on and off the table. Except for all kinds of facilities, the club is still business-centered as dojo implies. This means the folks in there values solitude a lot..... to the point they don't mind looking like a band of 12th-century heretics.
All things considered, the place sounds secure enough for the meeting......maybe not for me though. The 40k on my head still makes me feel like I'm about to walk into a hornet's nest, the fucking arms banned is a bitch too, if shit goes south all I got is a Cristal dagger. But the rule and general dynamic of the club also makes it hard for Qin Yan to set us up which is the most important thing right now.
The rest is my own doing.
"Sore wa mondaide wa arimasen? Lee-san?" A distant voice retakes my attention. Dojo's still leaning on the counter but his head is so low I can't see his eyes. "You just got off the hook. Within a few months, no doubt my organization will forget about you .... Why so eager to be hung again?"
The corners of my mouth feel stiff as it stretches into a grin without my permission. I don't need a mirror to know I look like a fucking lunatic right now.
Dojo raises his head, just enough to look me in the eyes. I see mockery, contempt, hesitation..... and reminiscent in that thin line between his plump cheek and drooping eyelids.
Who the fuck do you think you are?
"I'll be alright..... As long as you're alright. Isn't it? Friend?"
"Depends. A customer came to my shop at noon. He ordered two plates of chicken and a ball of noodles, then he asks me to tell him what I know about Club 57...... That's what happened ...... for now."
The emotions in his eyes were replaced by a calmness with greed and a longing for violence. The guy survived this long for good reasons.
"The customer has some commissions. If the person finishes it without tribulations, attention, and blood spill. You can tell them you refused to give information about club 57...... if they have reasons to question you."
Dojo remains unmoved. But I can see his pupils expanded and narrowed simultaneously like it's a beating heart.
"What if..... the customer fuck up? And it backfired on me?"
I stand up from the chair.
Stretch my arms and legs.
And pulls out my gun pointing it straight at his forehead where a drop of sweat slowly slides down.
It's been a while since I draw my 1911 in a scenario where time is the factor. But doing it faster than this motherfucker is more than enough. Standing up, at the corner of my eyes, I see his left hand is on a revolver this whole time he was leaning on the counter.
Smart move.
But I caught him by surprise, his left hand is stuck in an awkward position. The gun is off the kitchen table, but he hasn't aimed the muzzle in my direction yet.
"Easy now. Buddy." My eyes shoot a glance to his left hand.
Got to give him some credit. He's not fast but maintaining a poker face this whole time is not a small deal.
"This is what happens when he fucked up. And it backfires on you. You tell them, he put a .45 on your head, your man is out for a smoke break, it was noon like you said so there's no one outside yet. You have no help. At first, you still refused. But then....."
I move the pistol four inches to the left and squeeze the trigger. Before the slide is back in position again, I've already moved it back on his face.
The sound of an old 1911 is like a small explosion, especially in a confined space. As pieces of tiles fall behind him, he will probably have hearing problems in the next 30 seconds to 30 years. A flash of panic flies through his face as he's breathing heavies.
"This happened. Under pressure and shock, you spilled what you know. That...." I point at the hole behind him with my left hand.
"....And this are the proofs." I picked up the shell on the smoking shell on the table and place it right in front of him like it's a tin soldier. Dojo seems a bit back in control of himself now, the poker face is back on again as he slowly nods.
"That...could work......... but the gumi will ask why I didn't report this." I let out a dry laugh.
"But you did! You report back, right after the customer leaves. But the incident already took place at the club." Dojo knit his eyebrows for a second before a knowing grin creeps up his face.
"And if the incident never happens....."
"You'll have nothing to answer for and nothing to report."
The fat man starts giggling with his high-pitched voice. His left-hand moves away from the gun.
"The customer owes me a big one........ wouldn't you agree, Friend?"
"Obviously, after the customer's done with what needs to be done. Appreciation can be shown in..... many aspects, which is up for discussion next time." I slowly lower my gun but keep the barrel pointing at him.
"And when would the hypothetical incident might occur?" Dojo is back in his usual self again with an upbeat enthusiastic voice
"Soon. Don't you worry, the commission is supposed to be nonbelligerent ..… In theory."
"I wish I can believe that, My friend." Dojo shrugs as he rubs his hands and massage the back of his ear.
I fish out two 20 dollar bill from my wallet and place it under the cup of cold tea.
"For your trouble. I'll be seeing you very soon, Nariyaki-San." Dojo tsk and grins a malicious smile as he waves his hand like he's trying to swat a fly.
"Lunch is on me, you can pay for the wall next time." I let out another dry laugh at his words.
"That was for the tea." Dojo raises his open hands in the air like he's surrendering.
I put my gun down, fix my jacket, and grab the violin case by the wall. Without turning my back on him this whole time. Nariyaki is standing there motionless, grinning like a fool.
"Save travels. Mr.Lee. And good luck....for both of our sakes."
Why is everyone telling me that lately? The thought flashes through my mind as I move the curtains before stepping outside.
***
The LED lights outside form a strong comparison to the almost pitch-black food joint. I squint my eyes as purple and gold dots block out my sight. The underground street is still disturbingly empty, steel rolling doors are still shut. It's just me and the sound of my footsteps in this place, I subtly turn my head to make sure dojo isn't trying to do anything in any way.
Ten more steps later (I intentionally soften my steps) I strap my pistol back on the holster.
Closing the stairs up I sneak a peak at the tattoo parlor but find it empty too like the rest of the small Kabukicho.
Strange. I was half expecting the bald fellow to come rushing to his boss when the gunshot happened. He would have made a perfect witness.
I walk past the last few closed shops and start climbing upstairs. The narrow alleyway greets me with the ferocious sunlight and the smell of nicotine. On my left, the cook, the bald guy, and the Korean are leaning on the wall smoking....... my cigarettes that I gave the doorman earlier.
The three of them nod at me with cordial smiles, I returned them with the same while thinking about something else.
I take out the business card Ivan gave me while navigating my way out of this maze. 2:45 I'm back on Main Street. As I make my way north once again to Via Martinase.