The highest enjoyment of timelessness . . . is when I stand among rare butterflies. . . . This is ecstasy, and behind the ecstasy
is something else which I cannot explain.
—VLADIMIR NABOKOV
THIS TIME I’M STAYING IN TOUCH with the guy, Newcomer promised himself. He sent Kojima an e-mail soon after their last meeting.
It was great to see you. I really enjoyed our time together. You’re a good friend.
Then he promptly switched personas and dove back into Operation High Roller. That immediately threw a monkey wrench into things. He wasn’t always around when Kojima tried to call, and the time difference made the situation difficult. Newcomer quickly learned that handling two undercover cases at once wasn’t going to be so easy. When they did finally manage to connect, Kojima had one burning question. Had Ted Nelson signed up for Skype?
Damn! He’d been so busy with the roller-pigeon crowd that he hadn’t had a chance.
“I’ll get one of those little cameras and a microphone tomorrow and set it up,” Newcomer promised. “Then we’ll be able to see each other when we talk.” And I’ll be able to get even more evidence.
Kojima reminded him that it was also a good time to collect indra larvae. The cocoons that Kojima had brought back were already beginning to hatch. He’d send pictures so that Ted would know exactly what to look for. Then either Kojima or his son would come pick them up.
“Is Ken staying with his grandfather?” Newcomer asked.
Who knew? Maybe this really was a family-run business. Kojima’s son helped to smuggle, and Grandpa cashed the U.S. checks.
“Yes, they’re in the mountains. My father-in-law has a house there, also.”
Kojima obviously had a very wealthy in-law. They agreed to speak by Skype the next evening.
“Okay. Don’t play too much with young lady,” Kojima said, signing off.
“You can never do too much of that,” Newcomer replied with a laugh, and hung up.
Newcomer spent the next day buying a webcam, opening a covert Skype account, and surreptitiously aiming a second undercover camera at the computer screen in his home office. Then it was time to arrange exactly what Kojima would see.
Newcomer’s home office tells more about the man than he’d like others to know. Outwardly reserved, he’s clearly sentimental. The room is an ode to his childhood.
Old Dr. Seuss books tidily line one shelf. Arranged next to them are a series of toys including a plastic zookeeper, the Pink Panther, and Donald Duck, among other cartoon characters. A beloved stuffed bear keeps watch in a nearby corner.
A collection of Matchbox vehicles marks the next phase in Newcomer’s life. There are models of his first Jeep, an Adam-12 police car, and a Greyhound bus, the company his father once worked for.
His G.I. Joe collection stands rigidly at attention in a glass showcase. One doll wears a tae kwon do uniform that Newcomer had taken the time to sew. Their original boxes, all in tiptop shape, stand neatly beside them. A photo of three-year-old Ed with his dad hangs just above his desk.
The screen saver springs to life whenever his computer slips into sleep mode. Languidly lying on her side is a black-and-white cat with a paw seductively stretched toward the viewer.
Zuke is the pet Newcomer adopted while in law school. She lived with him through the worst times in his life—being broke, working as a lawyer, hating his job, going through multiple girlfriends, and too many moves. She never made him feel guilty and never got mad. Or, if she did, she simply bit him and moved on. Unlike his girlfriends, Zuke always forgave him and never held a grudge. There weren’t any games between them, and she didn’t pull crap. She was the perfect companion and Newcomer’s closest buddy, the one creature that he felt he could trust. The word “no” meant nothing to her. The cat was rowdy and a scamp.
Zuke died of cancer shortly after Kojima turned Ted Nelson into Fish and Game. Her death helped to compound just how badly things were going at that time. It was the saddest moment that he’d experienced so far.
Newcomer carefully arranged the mementos so that nothing of himself would be revealed to Kojima. Then he methodically checked them once more. It was finally time for their first online video date.
He anxiously clicked on Kojima’s Skype name, and Kojima promptly answered the line. It seemed almost unbelievable. He could actually look inside Kojima’s house in Kyoto.
Kojima sat in a room filled with butterfly-rearing equipment, antique vases, and Japanese screens. The rumpled sheets on a futon bed were just behind him. The room looked as if it hadn’t been picked up or cleaned in a year. In that sense, it was exactly the same as the apartment Newcomer had seen in L.A. In fact, so was Kojima. The guy looked as if he’d just rolled out of his unmade bed.
Kojima got right down to business. He discussed the ten pair of chimaera butterflies that Ted Nelson had ordered.
“My son must have put them away somewhere, but don’t worry, I’ll find them. I’m looking, looking,” he said, and brought his face close to the camera as if to get a better glimpse of Nelson. He had on a pair of big round glasses that made him look like Mr. Magoo. “So, how do you like using Skype?”
“It’s great. I like this a lot,” Newcomer enthused. “It’s nine PM here. What time is it in Japan right now?”
It was one in the afternoon. “But I’m always at home. I’m watching dirty movies all the time,” he confided.
“Even during the day?” Newcomer asked with a laugh, unsure if Kojima was serious.
“Uh-huh,” Kojima acknowledged. “All secrets we can discuss this way.”
“That’s right. Just you and me,” Newcomer agreed conspiratorially, feeling a bit like James Bond.
“I do it for a lot of people. You can keep for your files. Prices and everything,” Kojima replied, almost as if he knew what Newcomer was secretly doing.
“It’s perfect,” Newcomer concurred. “So, do you talk to your L.A. actor friend this way?”
“Yes. He can show me his big one on Skype.” Kojima thought he saw Newcomer’s lips twitch. “No, no. I’m just joking.” Then he took a closer look at Newcomer. “Oh, you didn’t shave yet.”
Kojima still couldn’t get used to the new version of Ted Nelson. There seemed something different about him this time.
Newcomer’s fingers self-consciously wandered up to his mustache and lightly stroked it. “No, not yet. You don’t like it, do you?”
Kojima gave a small shrug. “It’s okay. You’re nice-looking always. By the way, you can play for your girlfriend together also this way.”
“Uh-huh,” Newcomer responded, his mind focusing three chess moves ahead.
“Some people have a problem because they’re showing each other,” Kojima continued.
“Doing what?” Newcomer asked, having suddenly snapped back to attention.
“They play each other inside Skype together,” Kojima tried to explain, but Nelson still didn’t seem to get it. “That’s okay. Your girlfriend is no problem.”
What the hell is Yoshi talking about, anyway? Newcomer wondered, and brought the subject back to business. Nelson had spoken to his customer, who was interested in buying an alexandrae and a homerus.
Kojima abruptly cut him off. His friend had none in stock at the moment. “Besides, you need to be very careful when it comes to those two butterflies,” he warned.
“You’re right,” Newcomer agreed. “I’m actually not going to sell them to anybody but this one person. He’s very excited about it, and I trust him. So let me know when you can get them.”
“I have twenty people waiting for them right now,” Kojima advised. However, there were other butterflies that Kojima could easily get for Nelson, all of which were legal.
Newcomer did his best to steer Kojima back in the right direction. “Most of my customers really want birdwing butterflies. Do you have any of those that are interesting?”
Come on, Yoshi. I know you must have plenty of Appendix II butterflies stored in your house.
Kojima aimed to please. He promptly sent Newcomer a number of digital images via Skype. Newcomer clicked on file after file, uncovering a series of butterflies, each more beautiful than the next.
“This one is very difficult to get,” he confided.
The creature was the size of a small bird, its wings a mesmerizing cinnabar with gold.
“I see it’s called Ornithoptera croesus wallace,” Newcomer noted, aware that it was an Appendix II butterfly. It was time to begin shopping. “I’d love to get one of those.”
“But no CITES permit, okay?” Kojima said.
That’s the idea, Newcomer thought grimly. Kojima would mark it as something else so that they wouldn’t be caught. “I don’t care about permits,” Newcomer stated, spelling out the illegal act for his recording.
“Neither do I,” Kojima concurred.
“I trust you, Yoshi. So, I’m not worried,” Newcomer said, beginning to slowly reel him in. “And you trust me, right?”
“Uh-huh,” Kojima agreed absentmindedly.
That was enough for tonight. Newcomer had just made an Appendix II purchase and couldn’t have been more pleased. “Hey, you know what? I haven’t eaten dinner yet, and I’m starving. I’m going to grab something to eat.”
“Good. Then I can call you later,” Kojima said. He was glad they were using Skype. Kojima got lonely and it was fun talking with Ted.
Newcomer glanced at his watch. It was already late, and he needed to get some sleep. He scrambled for an excuse. “Actually, I’m going to head over to my girlfriend’s house after that.”
“Oh, you can do anything you want. I can’t stop you,” Kojima replied, though he seemed to feel slightly insulted. “You are young boy still.”
That didn’t sound good. Newcomer knew he had to be available for Kojima no matter what. He quickly reviewed his schedule. Damn! He had to do a covert run on some of the pigeon guys tomorrow night.
“I’ll be around this weekend and next week, too,” Newcomer said, hoping to appease him. “Also, thanks for telling me about Skype. This is pretty cool.”
“Really? If my friend from L.A. calls sometime, I’ll call you, too. You want to see him, right?” Kojima coyly inquired.
“Sure,” Newcomer responded. Who wouldn’t want to talk to a TV star?
“Maybe he’ll want to show you something,” Kojima suggested with a giggle.
Whoa, this is starting to get weird. Is Yoshi serious, or is it just a joke?
“No, thanks.” Newcomer brushed it off with a laugh. Maybe Kojima was just a goofball.
But Kojima was on a roll. “If I find a nice photo, I can send it to you. You can send me one, too.”
Perhaps this was Kojima’s version of becoming Skype pals. On the other hand, just what kind of photo was Kojima suggesting?
“Sure, you can send me whatever you want,” Newcomer tactfully replied, and said good-bye.
He turned to see his wife, gave her a smile, and officially signed off. His work was done for the night. He could finally spend some time with her.
They’d just settled on the couch when his undercover cell phone rang unexpectedly. Now what? Newcomer thought as he saw that the call was from Japan.
“This is Yoshi. Call me on Skype. There’s something I want to show you,” Kojima instructed, and hung up.
Who knew? Maybe it was a Queen Alexandra. Newcomer had no choice but to do as he was told and log back on. Kojima appeared with a cup of tea by his side.
“Look, this is a Victoria. Do you see?” he asked, and held the birdwing butterfly up to the webcam.
Newcomer’s heart beat a little faster. The butterfly’s luminous green wings nearly shimmered straight through the screen. No wonder collectors got hooked on them. It was as regal as the British queen it had been named after. Newcomer covertly snapped a picture of Kojima holding the Appendix II butterfly.
“I have ten pairs of them. I can send you this one right away. Can you give me your address?” Kojima asked, morphing into the perfect salesman.
“Sure,” Newcomer said, and then realized Kojima had yet to tell him what the price was. Did he deal with all his customers this way? First bedazzle them and then hit them up for cash? “How much money do you want for it?”
Kojima would check with his son and get back to him.
Newcomer snapped another photo, imagining that the butterfly must have been even more beautiful when it was alive.
“This one is a very nice color,” Kojima said, almost as if he could read Newcomer’s thoughts. Then he suddenly began to cough.
“Are you okay?” Newcomer asked. For all he knew Kojima was still having heart problems.
“I’m okay. It’s only the throat. I need . . .” Kojima mumbled something and giggled.
“You need what?” Newcomer prompted. He didn’t want Kojima dropping dead in the middle of his investigation. Not after all the work he’d put into this case.
“No, I’m just joking,” Kojima replied, and looked momentarily embarrassed.
It was tough enough dealing with Kojima’s accent, but the cough made him impossible to understand.
“Anyway, just send your picture to me,” Kojima reminded him, and said good night.
Kojima was turning out to be even more of a character than Newcomer had imagined, but nothing he couldn’t deal with. All he had to do was stick to his plan of buying butterflies and somehow manage to keep Kojima happy.
Newcomer sent him an e-mail the very next day. He’d enjoyed their conversation the night before and looked forward to doing it again soon. By the way, what’s the price for that Victoria? I’ll wire the money as soon I find out. Newcomer was anxious to get the process rolling.
Two days later he morphed back into Ted Nelson, blue-collar worker, attending a pigeon-club fly on the weekend. The role was fun and easy to slip into. He was always accepted and liked by most of the men. He could schmooze with the best of them.
The fly was held at four different residences, including those of members Juan Navarro and Keith London. Newcomer took satisfaction in knowing that he’d already amassed evidence against both of them. The third fly was at the home of Eddie Scott. His place had two well-built sets of pigeon lofts, along with a two-story apartment residence on the back of his property. It was always interesting to see how these guys managed to hide what they did.
Scott regaled the group with stories of how he routinely stood on the second-story landing and shot falcons as they attempted to hunt his birds. It was a great spot from which to kill them. He even confided to Newcomer that the two-story residence had been built without the proper permits. If the city ever found out, they’d make him tear it down. Scott clearly knew what he was talking about. He was employed by the city of Los Angeles. Newcomer conscientiously made note of it.
Five days had passed since Newcomer last spoke to Kojima, and there was still no word about the price for the Ornithoptera victoria. Man, you’d think this guy would have gotten back to me by now. Isn’t this how he makes his living? He tried not to worry, but one never knew with Kojima. The guy could turn on a dime, depending on his mood.
He dashed off a quick e-mail.
Hey, Yoshi. How are you? Is everything okay? I haven’t heard from you in a while.
Kojima immediately responded.
Hi, Ted. I haven’t been able to call since you never turn your Skype on. I’m leaving for the Philippines with my son tomorrow and don’t have time to deal with it right now. I’ll be in touch when I get back.
Damn! Newcomer could kick himself. This was one reason why Kojima had dropped him the first time, and it was the last thing he needed to have happen again. The slightest mishap could screw up the case. He didn’t wait but shot back an e-mail and profusely apologized. Sorry. I thought once Skype is set up that it automatically comes on. I’ll take a look and figure out why you had trouble. He was determined to make it work even if he had to take the damn thing apart cyber piece by cyber piece. Anyway, have fun in the Philippines, and let me know the price for the Ornithoptera victoriae when you return.
It was like trying to stick his finger in a dike and praying another problem didn’t pop up somewhere else.
Newcomer’s workload now became heavier as he juggled cases, doing paperwork in the office and garbage runs and surveillance at night. Saturdays and Sundays were always spent at roller-pigeon flies. As a result, things at home began to get even rougher. Allison’s summer wasn’t as busy as the rest of the year, and she wanted to spend more time with him. The situation grew increasingly tense as Newcomer was drawn deeper into both cases. To make matters worse, Allison’s dog of fourteen years wasn’t well and Newcomer became distant as he buried himself in his work.
Newcomer spoke with Kojima by Skype two days later. Kojima appeared on-screen wearing a rumpled green shirt and navy shorts, with a fanny pack around his waist. Oversized glasses encircled his eyes, while his hair stuck out randomly. Once again, it looked as though he’d tumbled out of bed, although it was evening in Kyoto. He spoke as if everything was perfectly fine. In fact, things couldn’t be going better.
He’d just traded a pair of CITES Appendix II butterflies for one hundred indra pupae from an American collector. The two butterflies that he’d sent would normally go for a total of two hundred dollars. By comparison, Kojima would be able to sell each pair of indra for at least that amount and make a tidy profit.
“The guy contacted me on the Internet. He has kaibabensis and martini indra. I don’t know how he can get them. The martini is one hundred percent from inside Grand Canyon National Park,” Kojima boasted, clearly thrilled at having gotten the better end of the deal.
The United States protects both P. indra species. The pupae wouldn’t be sent to Japan. Instead, they’d go to his father-in-law’s house, where Kojima would pick them up.
“Now I want to show you some beautiful butterflies,” Kojima said, and pulled open a large book. Turning the pages, he pointed to one. “Do you know what this is?” he asked with a sly smile.
If this is a test, I’m going to fail it, Newcomer mused.
“Hold on. Just lower the book a little,” Newcomer instructed, having no clue as to what butterfly he was looking at. “You mean that little yellow-and-black one?”
It wasn’t a big flashy birdwing, so why was Kojima bothering to show it to him?
“This is CITES I,” Kojima said
Whoa! Hold it a second. Newcomer took a closer look. “Exactly which butterfly is this?” he asked, his interest having been sparked.
“This is a hospiton from Sicily. You know Italy? Al Capone? Everybody wants it. But it’s on the endangered species list, so no one can get,” Kojima said, his finger lingering lovingly on the page.
Was this some sort of a tease, or was Kojima actually providing an opening? Newcomer paused a moment, then decided to go for it. “That’s very impressive. I wouldn’t even know how to go about getting one of those.”
Kojima didn’t miss a beat. “If you have a customer, I can sell to you. This one we just write down machaon. They look very similar, only the machaon is a legal butterfly. No one can tell the difference between the two.”
Newcomer felt as if he’d just downed a six-pack of Red Bull. His pulse raced as adrenaline shot through him. He couldn’t believe Kojima had just offered to sell him a CITES I butterfly. Play it cool, he reminded himself.
“I’ll ask one or two of my customers and see if they’re interested. How many of those can you sell? Just a few?” he fished, hoping he sounded a lot calmer than he felt.
“I can give to you for seven hundred dollars. I used to have twenty pairs of them, but almost everything is gone. I only have three pairs of hospiton left.”
“Holy cow!” Newcomer exclaimed, unable to stop himself. How did Kojima obtain twenty pairs of a butterfly deemed nearly impossible to find? “And you have ten pairs of the Victoria?” he double-checked.
“Yes, those are eighty dollars a pair,” Kojima informed him.
Newcomer quickly added it up. He’d order two pair of Victoria to start and see if they passed through Customs. If not, they’d work something else out. “You just sent a package of CITES butterflies to an American collector, and he got his package, right?”
Kojima assured him there was never any problem. He sent packages to people in the States all the time.
“Okay. Then I want all ten pair of Victoria and I’ll get back to you about buying the hospiton.” Newcomer was on a butterfly high, having never felt more exhilarated in his life.
“Eight hundred dollars is big money for ten pair of Victoria. Are you sure you’re okay with that?” Kojima asked thoughtfully. Nelson was acting like a big-time dealer. Where was this coming from all of a sudden?
“Yeah, absolutely no problem. I just sold the boat business for a hundred fifty thousand. That gives me some play money to put toward my new career. Buying and selling butterflies is all I plan to do from now on. Besides, I trust you, Yoshi. I know you’ll send the rest, assuming all goes well,” Newcomer said, hoping to whet Kojima’s appetite.
With that, the line went dead.
Oh shit! Newcomer thought. Did I say something wrong? Does he know that I’m lying?
He breathed a sigh of relief as the musical ring tone of Skype played again.
“I’m sorry, man. I think I touched the wrong place and accidentally hung up,” Kojima apologized with a giggle.
For a big-time smuggler, Kojima was a hell of a wacky character. Newcomer agreed to speak to a couple of his rich customers about buying the hospiton.
“Okay, but it’s best to tell them by phone and not in an e-mail,” Kojima advised.
“For safety reasons, huh?” Newcomer queried. He was actually learning a lot from this guy.
“Yes, for CITES it’s always better that way. Also, remember to only take cash.”
He sneezed and explained that he had a cold.
“That’s because you’ve been running around too much naked,” Kojima joked.
“Yeah, that must be it. I haven’t been feeling well lately. My body is sore,” Newcomer replied.
“Maybe too much using for the hand,” Kojima jested, and both men laughed. Kojima enjoyed Skyping with Ted and it helped to break up his day. “You really must take care of yourself and feel better. You have a cheap apartment somewhere?”
“Do you know where Long Beach is?” Newcomer replied unthinkingly.
“Long Beach? Yes, that’s a very nice place,” Kojima remarked.
“Yeah, I live . . . “ Newcomer immediately caught himself. Damn it! He really must be sick. He’d almost told a smuggler where he and his wife could be found. Why don’t I also give him my real phone number and invite him over for dinner while I’m at it? “No, I used to live there but I live in Torrance now.”
He’d have to be more careful from now on. He deftly brought the subject back around to butterflies.
“People are very afraid of Fish and Wildlife here in the States. I’ve even heard that special agents are at the insect fair sometimes,” he offered, curious as to Kojima’s response.
“They’re always at the show,” Kojima acknowledged with an indifferent shrug. “Everybody says to me, ‘Yoshi, they are coming to your table.’ ”
“They’re probably watching you,” Newcomer teased. Little did Kojima know that he was looking into the eyes of one right now.
“The L.A. show is mostly ninety-nine percent amateurs,” Kojima scoffed. “The Tokyo fair is where all the real professional collectors go. The sellers have lots of CITES butterflies there, and no one has CITES permission.”
“Wow, I wish it was that way over here,” Newcomer said.
“You can come to my house and I’ll take you there. I’ll pay for the train. Everything. We’ll stay at the number one hotel in Tokyo. You can also help me at my table,” Kojima offered generously. That was his way. He liked to help out young collectors.
“That would be great,” Newcomer said, beginning to drift along with the conversation.
“Of course, my boy might be here, so you must sleep with him,” Kojima nonchalantly remarked.
Newcomer instantly jerked to attention. “What?” he sputtered as if gasping for air. Had he heard Kojima correctly? Or had there been a miscommunication?
“He has a bigger bed, so you can stay with him if he’s here,” Kojima patiently clarified.
For chrissakes, don’t go jumping to crazy conclusions, Newcomer thought with a sigh of relief. Talk about “lost in translation.” Sometimes he wasn’t sure what the hell Kojima was saying.
“Sounds good. Listen, I’m going to eat and then rest for a while,” Newcomer said, itching to end the conversation.
“I’ll send a package to you Express Mail in the morning. Let me know when you receive it, and perhaps we can do more business together,” Kojima suggested wistfully.
“Thanks, Yoshi. I appreciate it.” Newcomer glanced at the clock. It was 9:50 AM in Los Angeles. That meant it had to be 1:50 in the morning Kyoto time.
“Go to sleep. See you soon. Yes?” Kojima asked softly, drawing the conversation out a few more precious moments.
“Yes. Good night, Yoshi. Sleep well.”
Newcomer smiled at him and ended the call. It felt as though he’d just said good night to his girlfriend.
NEWCOMER SPENT THE DAY playing catch-up and filling Palladini in on both cases. He was continuing to get evidence of hawks being killed on surveillance tapes. Then he gave her the other piece of good news. Kojima had just offered to sell him three pairs of Appendix I hospiton.
“You’re kidding! That’s unbelievable,” Palladini said, and congratulated him.
Newcomer didn’t say so, but he thought it was pretty amazing, too. However, he still couldn’t understand why Kojima had flip-flopped from being so cautious to suddenly seeming reckless. Evidently, he truly believed he’d never be caught and was now convinced that Ted had become his compatriot. Even so, some of his remarks were pretty odd. They’d caught Newcomer off guard, and that was hard to do. Maybe it was just Kojima’s way of bonding with men. In any case, he didn’t intend to speak with Kojima for the next few days. There were other matters that needed his attention.
Newcomer went home that night planning to spend a quiet evening with his wife. It might help heal the rift that was developing between them. He was caught by surprise when his undercover cell phone rang. The insistent jingling came from where it lay buried deep inside his briefcase. It ended abruptly as he finally pulled it out.
Wouldn’t you know? The call had been from Kojima. What could he possibly want again so soon? They’d spoken only that morning. Damn, he’d have to check in and find out. Newcomer left Allison with her dog, Huck, and went into his office. Once again, he made sure that nothing personal was in sight and then logged on to Skype.
Kojima popped on-screen looking exactly as he had twelve hours ago. He must not ever bother to shower or change, simply wearing the same clothes all the time.
“Hey, Yoshi. Did you just try to call me?” Newcomer asked.
“Yes, but you never answer me,” Kojima replied testily.
“You know what? My phone’s in my briefcase and I knew it was you, so I just came to my computer,” Newcomer explained.
“Fuck you, man,” Kojima replied.
“What?” Newcomer asked, momentarily taken aback. Kojima had never cursed at him before. Something must be bugging him.
“I said ‘Fuck you, man,’ ” Kojima repeated with a laugh.
“Well, that’s not very nice. By the way, I’m feeling much better. Thanks for asking,” Newcomer retorted as his landline erupted in a series of rings.
“Oh, is that your girlfriend calling you?” Kojima inquired snippily.
What an ass, Newcomer thought, and grabbed the line before his answering machine could pick up. A fellow agent was on the wire.
“Hey, I’m talking to my friend in Japan,” Newcomer said, aware that Kojima was hanging on his every word. “Call me back in an hour.”
“Your girlfriend?” Kojima coyly asked again, as Newcomer hung up.
“Yeah, that was her,” Newcomer replied archly. He could almost swear Kojima was yanking his chain for having a personal life. Maybe he needed to get out from behind that computer of his more often.
Kojima had the tracking information for the package that was mailed that day. “I also added fifteen common butterflies. That way even if the box is opened and checked, the Victorias won’t be easy to spot. They’re mixed in with the decoys,”
“That’s very clever. You’re a smart guy, Yoshi. I like that,” Newcomer said, making a point of flattering him whenever possible. “That reminds me, I talked to my customers today about the hospiton. They definitely want to buy them.”
This was the moment of truth. Would Kojima actually make good on his offer? Come on, Yoshi. Deal or no deal? It’s your move.
“Remember I told you about the machaon? The butterfly that looks similar? I’ll mix both species together and mark them with a code. That way only you will know which are the real hospiton,” Kojima said.
Newcomer was duly impressed.
Huck chose that moment to come padding into his office. The dog panted loudly enough to have been a huffing and puffing engine. Kojima’s mind was obviously elsewhere, as he didn’t seem to notice. Instead, he glanced away from the screen as if having heard an unexpected noise in his own house. Then he went back to fiddling with some butterflies on his desk.
“That’s my boy. He returned home early this morning after being out all night. He’s still sleeping. I want to fuck him,” Kojima remarked diffidently.
Newcomer’s stomach clenched tight as a ball during a moment of stunned silence. This time there could be no denying what the man had said. Newcomer tried to cover his discomfort with a nervous laugh. “What? Your son?” he asked. His distaste for Kojima had just taken a giant leap forward.
“Yeah,” Kojima replied casually, and smoothly moved on to the next topic. “Do you like to drink?”
“A little,” Newcomer replied tentatively, curious as to what might be coming next.
“Good. When you come to Japan I can give you some sake.”
Uh-huh, and then what? Possibly a threesome with your son? Kojima had just placed himself in the definitely weird category.
Newcomer no longer had any lingering doubt as to Kojima’s sexuality. Now he was worried about how twisted he might be.
Kojima suddenly looked off to the side of the room again.
Uh-oh, Newcomer thought, his stomach twisting once more.
“My boy is still sleeping. You can see him naked. Do you want to take a picture?”
What’s going on? Is this his idea of some kind of test? Say the wrong thing and bzzzzz, you’re thrown out of the game? Just play along, Newcomer decided.
“No, thanks,” Newcomer replied.
“You know, I’ve been diabetic for almost thirty years now,” Kojima offered casually, as if it was an excuse for his behavior. “I take insulin every day. It’s because of diabetes that I had to have bypass surgery.”
“Sorry to hear that,” Newcomer commiserated, not sure of what else to say.
Kojima sighed deeply and shook his head. “It causes so many problems. I cannot see well. I cannot see your beautiful body, for instance.”
Newcomer couldn’t help but grin. “That’s a good one, Yoshi. My camera only catches my face.”
Kojima gazed at him straight through the webcam before lowering his eyes as if toward Newcomer’s crotch. “I want to see your beautiful body and everything. Leave your computer on all day. It will be easier for me to catch you that way. Now tell me, what do your customers want?”
So this was the game— butterflies and Internet sex. That’s why Kojima was becoming bolder and more brazen with each call. Now it was beginning to make sense. In that case, two could play.
“They’re interested in hospiton and homerus,” Newcomer said, boldly stating two of his demands.
“I already told you. I don’t have homerus right now.”
Maybe not, but Kojima certainly had lots of Appendix II specimens that were available. He bragged of selling three to four hundred dollars’ worth of butterflies every day and had thirty steady customers in the United States.
“How do you know who you can trust when sending CITES material?” Newcomer asked, wanting to learn how Kojima continued to get away with it.
“I don’t mind because I’m in Japan and they’re in the U.S. I tell them if you have a problem, just refuse the package. Fish and Wild can’t touch me, and Japan doesn’t care. That’s why I tell you to be careful of selling CITES butterflies in the U.S. It’s much more difficult,” Kojima warned. “CITES I, I don’t like to sell unless my customers pay cash. Checks provide evidence.”
Kojima was beginning to sound bored, so Newcomer decided to talk about something else for a moment. “I think I might shave off my mustache,” he said, his fingers playing with it suggestively.
“You shave all your hair is better,” Kojima said, instantly perking up.
“You mean you want me to shave my whole head?” Newcomer chuckled. Maybe Kojima liked bald guys.
“Yeah, everything, and then show me next time. Get on camera and show me everything,” Kojima demanded.
“Yeah, sure,” Newcomer said. That was enough of a diversion for now. It was time to get back to business.
“Hey, one of my customers said he wants to collect all three of the most endangered butterflies. The chikae, the alexandrae, and the homerus.” What the heck. The hospiton is already in the bag. Now I just have to get the rest.
“The chikae comes from the Philippines. It’s very difficult to get them out of the country, but I can sell you one from my own collection,” Kojima offered amiably.
“I don’t want to take it from you unless you don’t mind selling it,” Newcomer replied, somewhat surprised. Wouldn’t he want to keep his own collection intact?
Kojima dispelled any notion of that. “I don’t care as long as I can make money,” he stated flatly.
So much for any personal attachment Kojima had for butterflies. He was in it for the moolah.
“That would be great, but my customer still wants all three species. What about the Alexandra? Any chance of that?” Newcomer pressed. Getting an Alexandra would be nearly as good as snagging the Hope Diamond.
“You sure your guy is okay?” Kojima asked. One could never be too careful when it came to CITES I butterflies. They were the ultimate prize, and an FWS agent might be trying to nab him.
Newcomer swore there was no problem. He’d sold CITES butterflies to this client before. The man wouldn’t turn them in.
“Okay. If you say so,” Kojima conceded.
Ted Nelson was turning into such a good customer that Kojima sent him a photo of another expensive butterfly, the Papilio agehana maraho. The female sold for a minimum of five thousand dollars. The butterfly was protected in Taiwan and found only in its national parks. No one could get them. Except for Kojima, of course. He received them every month. The butterfly had a broad, lobed tail and wings of black velvet. Each bore a large white square and was rimmed in red that was rich as blood.
“How are you able to do that?” The more Newcomer learned about Kojima, the more determined he became to unravel the puzzle. The man was like an onion whose layers didn’t end.
“That’s a secret,” Kojima replied with a mysterious smile.
He sent Newcomer more butterfly pictures on Skype. There were photos of gorgeous red-and-black butterflies that Ken had recently brought back from Cuba. He had six hundred of one particular species that sold for $250 apiece and a couple thousand of another Cuban specimen. The numbers were mind-boggling. Kojima and his son were like two John Deere harvesters reaping every butterfly in sight.
“How did your son manage to get so many butterflies out of Cuba?” Newcomer asked.
“We have permission from National Geographic because we work for them,” Kojima replied.
Of course. What better way to pull legal strings?
“Wait, I’m looking for Ken’s photo for you,” Kojima told him.
“You already showed me on your cell phone. Remember?” Newcomer said.
“This one is better. It’s all naked. He’s very exciting,” Kojima said, barely able to contain himself. “I can’t find it right now, but it will make you crazy when I do.”
“Yeah, you’re making me crazy,” Newcomer said, laughing ruefully and continuing to play along.
Instead, Kojima now plied him with photos of Troides aeacus, Ornithoptera paradisea, and Bhutanitis lidderdali. Also known as the Bhutan glory, the butterfly touted spiky tails and an arresting display of scarlet, yellow, and black mosaics on a backdrop of brownish wings. Newcomer’s head began to spin, the last file seeming to take forever to download.
“Boy, this must be a big one,” he commented, beginning to tire.
He couldn’t have given Kojima a better setup line if he’d tried. “Big one? Oh, you like the big ones!” Kojima crowed in delight.
The guy is relentless! Think of it as a game of tennis, and just keep hitting them back to him, Newcomer told himself. “I think you like the big ones. So, how much do you make a month selling butterflies, anyway?” He might as well get some information in between all the double entendres.
“Depends, but is about thirty to fifty thousand dollars a month,” Kojima boasted.
“Wow! That’s pretty good, Yoshi.” You’d think he could at least afford a housekeeper, bringing in that kind of money.
The amount was impressive, but the very thought of it sickened him. That translated into thousands of butterflies being removed from the wild. For some, it was a step closer to extinction.
“Sleep well. Don’t do anything tonight,” Kojima teased, and said good night.
Newcomer turned off Skype and sat for a long time gazing at Zuke’s image on the computer screen. Kojima had now offered to sell him two different Appendix I butterflies, the Papilio hospiton and the Papilio chikae. He knew it was the first step in a complicated chess game to catch the man. Especially since Kojima had made it clear there were certain things that he expected.
The situation had taken a bizarre twist. Newcomer was no longer just dealing with butterflies, he was dealing with a man focused on him as the target of his desire. This was a game that he’d never before played, and he had a choice to make. He could get out now or stick with his plan and do whatever was necessary.
Newcomer knew this would be a true test of his undercover skills. It would also prove to be the role of Newcomer’s life.