Kaz Nakamura hadn’t changed much. He had a more expensive haircut, and he was more formally dressed than when he’d been running his little piano bar in Nanaimo. But the black suit looked good on him. The blank face he was wearing was the same one I’d seen when he walked away from me on a snowy night in downtown Vancouver.
Kaz opened Goto’s briefcase and began to lay out his equipment. He might have been assembling a complicated cocktail behind his bar.
“Goto-san has asked me to serve as an interpreter. And to carry out your punishment. He is anxious that there be no misunderstanding.”
Goto and Akiko were in shadow, behind the desk. I could smell Goto’s aftershave. Chisel Face had taken a chair to a dark corner on the other side of the room. It was just me and Kaz. Misunderstanding? My whole time in Japan had been one big misunderstanding.
“It’s not such a coincidence,” Kaz said. “There’s a limited number of piano bars in Tokyo with gaijin performers.” He arranged two folded white cloths on one side of the opened briefcase. They were the size of tea towels. “I picked you out immediately. When Goto-san became concerned about your activities, he asked me to help. I also work for Goto-san, a small place in Roppongi. We are in Goto-san’s world, not Tokyo.”
“My activities?” I’d found my voice, but it didn’t sound like me.
“Frank. You’re sleeping with a man’s mistress. The mother of his son.”
“Ex-mistress.”
“Not for you to judge, Frank. Whatever she may have told you.”
“She told me Goto had killed her brother. Sent him to work in the reactors at Fukushima.”
Kaz looked up. “Interesting. Excuse me.” He turned to Goto, bowed and spoke rapidly in Japanese. Goto might have smiled, but it was too dark to see. I did hear him laugh. He said a few words to Kaz and adjusted his shades. Kaz turned his attention back to the briefcase.
“He’s disappointed in you, Frank. Momo works in a pink salon. Of course owned by Goto-san. As is the Fifteen Love hotel. In case you wondered why Goto-san finally lost patience with you. The rooms do have cameras, Frank.”
He took a Japan Airlines ticket out of the case and laid it beside the two white cloths. “You do know what a pink salon is?”
I’d heard of pink salons, but the Japanese sex industry confused me. I was still digesting the idea of being caught on camera. And that the hundred thousand yen had been a slap in the face. I shook my head.
“Pink salon is kind of a sex café. You buy some drinks, a girl comes to your table, you tell her what you want, and she solves your problem. Right there, but discreetly. Momo is very popular, he tells me.” He took one more object out of the briefcase, snapped the briefcase shut and set it on the floor.
“One more thing Goto-san wants to know. Before we get started.” The object, whatever it was, was inside a black silk bag closed with a drawstring. He laid it on the table between us. It made a soft thunk. “What is it about the briefcase? Goto-san says you’ve been staring at it for weeks.”
“She told me it was full of cash. And a ledger with names of the people he sent to Fukushima.” The story sounded ridiculous even to me. All I could think about was Momo servicing lonely Japanese businessmen under the table. Now Kaz was laughing. He relayed my answer to Goto, who snorted.
“Not cash, sorry,” Kaz said. “He just likes the way it looks. Maybe he keeps his lunch in there. Comic books. Who knows?” He made a tiny adjustment to the position of the black silk bag. “People start showing up for work in a couple of hours. Let’s get it done.”
“Get what done?” Now my voice was no more than a croak.
Kaz undid the drawstring and drew out something that looked like a cross between a cook’s cleaver and a hatchet. “We call it nata. Very sharp, very strong. You can cut wood with it.” The thing had a thick rectangular blade, maybe ten inches long, with a deeply beveled edge, like an enormous razor. The wooden handle curved slightly down. I could imagine chopping kindling with it. But there was no kindling here.
“Nata is nothing fancy—you can buy one anywhere. Although you’re lucky. This is a very good one. Hold out your arm. Don’t worry, I’m not going to chop it off.” He grabbed one hand and deftly angled the blade along my forearm. Instantly the metal was sprinkled with hair. I hadn’t felt a tickle.
“Japanese steel,” Kaz said. “Of course, the best. Now here’s what we’re going to do.” He put the nata down, and I snatched my arm back. “You need to apologize to Goto-san.”
“That’s all? Jesus, why didn’t you tell me? What should I say?” I pushed my chair back, and Kaz picked up the nata again.
“Not in words, Frank. Words can be insincere. Not true, even. As you’ve learned.” He swung the nata gently into the table. The sharp corner caught in the wood, and the tool stayed there, defying gravity.
“You have to make a gesture. Something that shows you are truly sorry.”
“A gesture.”
“Put your hand on the table, Frank. The left one.”
I bolted out of my chair, and Chisel Face was suddenly behind me. His thumbs went into the muscles at the base of my neck. Maybe he’d been there all the time. Probably I screamed. I wasn’t going to get out of this.
“Strong men don’t need to be held, Frank. Goto-san would be impressed if you did this yourself. Or his friend will simply break your arm first. Your choice. You’ve seen how sharp the nata is. You won’t even feel it, at first. And we will only take one joint.” He said a few words in Japanese, and Chisel Face receded. “But you won’t be able to play the piano anymore, and the girls won’t like you as much. Maybe that’s a good thing.”
My whole back seemed to be on fire.
“Left hand, little finger. Now, please.”
I heard a snuffling sound. Akiko was crying. Goto let her. I slid my left hand forward. It was hard to get the finger to lie flat.
“Try raising your elbow,” Kaz said.
Now the finger rested solidly—at least, the first two joints did. I began to shake.
“Try to hold still,” said Kaz. “You don’t want me to miss.” He tugged the nata out of the table and carefully reset the point to one side of my finger so that the blade angled above it like a guillotine. He stood, squared his shoulders, put the heel of one hand on the blade and grasped the handle in the other. “Feel free to scream,” he said. He rose onto his toes.
I heard a scuffle and in my peripheral vision saw Akiko collared as she tried to bolt. Then Kaz put his weight into the chopper.