CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

The one-digit solution

Saigo had always been friends with the members of the local band Rapper Orchestra, which had become one of Japan’s premiere rap groups before dissolving in 2004. The lead vocalist, Barbarian, and he had become pals. There was a point in time when Saigo had beaten the crap out of Barbarian — because Barbarian had been peddling pot in Machida, Saigo’s turf, without permission — but after the beating and his escape from Machida, he came back and patched up things with Saigo.

Barbarian and his crew were fun, and while Saigo had no use for pot, he didn’t consider it a hard drug. In fact, in Japan, using the drug isn’t a crime — just possession of it. So he turned a blind eye to Barbarian’s dealings, and the two became friends. And Barbarian brought in a little cash now and then. Saigo would also go watch Barbarian perform as a solo artist, and while he preferred rock and roll to rap, some of Barbarian’s lyrics were pretty funny. Years later, Barbarian wrote a song about Saigo beating him up. Saigo shows up in the video as himself — in a wrestling mask, re-enacting the worst days of Barbarian’s life. Art does imitate life, sometimes.

One particularly lucrative new source of income came from peddling uncensored adult films. Due to strict obscenity laws in Japan, the juicy bits in the movies are blurred out. The uncensored copies, only available on the black market, command a higher price. Saigo was able to obtain the original tapes from a producer friend in the porn industry, and, armed with eight video decks, good advertising, and the complicity of the local police, managed to maintain a tolerable business.

His father was still doing the books, making sure that revenues and expenditures worked out so that the business was perpetually in the black. He was paying association dues of nearly $30,000 a month and not even feeling pinched by it.

He even met a beautiful woman who his troops liked. Saigo met Yuriko at a hostess club in Tokyo. She had a long history of encounters with the police, and Saigo felt like he could straighten her out. In some ways, he needed someone who he felt was more screwed up than himself. At the time, she was dating a member of the Yamaguchi-gumi Kodo-kai. He decided he needed to be with her, so he whisked her away. He took malicious pleasure in knowing that he was stealing the woman of a Kodo-kai man. It was a terrible reason for choosing a mate, but Saigo excelled at making terrible choices in his personal life. Still, it helped him on a professional level, and kept him happy.

But it only took one screw-up for everything to go haywire, and that screw-up was Mizoguchi.

Mizoguchi was acting as a collector for the group, collecting debts, rent, and protection money. He borrowed 2 million yen (roughly $25,000) from Baraki Tetsu, a loan shark associated with the Inagawa-kai Kumaya-gumi. The problem was, Mizoguchi was behind on his payments, and Tetsu had allegedly been short on capital when he’d made the loan — and thus had also borrowed money from Charlie, a member of the Yamaguchi-gumi Rachi-gumi. Although Mizoguchi had only directly borrowed from Tetsu, in the yakuza world, the money trail is followed beyond the initial two parties. In short, Saigo’s foot soldier owed money to both another faction of the Inagawa-kai and the rival Yamaguchi-gumi at the same time.

Unlike Saigo’s crew, Preacher’s crew was dealing drugs and was involved in brothels — not just taking a cut of brothel profits, but running the whorehouses down in Kawasaki City. He owned the rights to two soapland parlors as well, The 7th Gate and Paradise Pleasure Palace. Most of the women working there were also buying shabu from Preacher at the same time, so he was able to keep his expenses low. North Korean meth was much better than the shit stuff they sold in the U.S. and called meth. It was more organic — made primarily from the ephedra plant.

It seemed like a dubious business for a Christian to be in, but Preacher said that every day he repented for the sins of his flock and his own — and that the more you sinned, the more Jesus forgave you. It sounded like a lot of bullshit to Saigo, but almost all religion sounded like bullshit to him. If the afterlife was so wonderful, he figured that Preacher should just shoot himself in the head and rise up like an angel to a better place, but Preacher wasn’t keen to do that. For all his talk of the wonders of the Lord and the glories of heaven, he seemed much more interested in his own kingdom on earth. He was also notoriously tight-fisted about money. So when Tetsu, who was Preacher’s corporate blood brother (kigyoshatei), complained that Saigo’s soldier Mizoguchi was behind on his debts, he didn’t take it lightly.

The first word of the problem came by a phone call. Preacher called Saigo directly. The two had entered the organization around the same time, so they were on friendly terms. After chit-chatting, Preacher got to the point. He had a problem. Preacher explained the situation, and Saigo got a sinking feeling when Preacher mentioned the Yamaguchi-gumi’s involvement.

He could understand one of his men borrowing money from a loan shark, although he wished Mizoguchi had come to him first. But he didn’t quite believe that a loan shark tied to the Inagawa-kai would need to borrow money from the Yamaguchi-gumi. It strained credulity.

It should have been simple, but it was already complicated. Preacher made it clear that it was more than just a matter of late loan payments. Mizoguchi was one of Saigo’s soldiers. He had borrowed from one of Preacher’s loan sharks, who had borrowed money from the Yamaguchi-gumi Rachi-gumi. Because Mizoguchi hadn’t repaid what he owed, Tetsu lost face, Charlie lost face, and, ultimately, Preacher lost face. It made him look bad to the Yamaguchi-gumi.

Saigo promised to have a talk with Tetsu and Mizoguchi to clear things up. Altogether, including interest, the amount was maybe 3.5 million yen ($40,000).

Saigo had his driver take him to Tetsu’s office. He didn’t make an appointment.

Tetsu had an office on the second floor of an office building near Yokohama station. It was ostensibly the premises of Roses Real Estate; but, of course, almost no legitimate real estate office operates on the second floor of a building where foot traffic is unlikely.

The office was large. There was a reception area in the front, where two women and a man sat behind a long counter. Behind that was Tetsu’s private office. There was also another room next to it that appeared to be connected.

Saigo had his bodyguard come with him. Ignoring the wailing staff members trying to bar them, they stormed into the ornate private office, which was surprisingly well decorated for your standard loan shark. Tetsu was dressed in a dark navy-blue suit, sitting behind a large oak desk with a marble top, leaning back in a leather chair. His black-and-gray hair was slicked back, accenting his oval face and tiny, mole-like eyes.

He was wearing a purple-tinted Armani shirt, much too tight for his slightly pudgy body, and a paisley patterned bright-red tie. He didn’t stand up to greet Saigo when he came in. He didn’t have a bodyguard in the room, but there was a camera embedded in the ceiling. Saigo was fairly certain that there were several thugs waiting in the adjoining room, and that Tetsu had a gun under his desk that he could reach quickly.

The conversation did not go very well. Tetsu was arrogant. He made an off-color remark implying that Saigo was “the bottom” in a homosexual relationship with his oyabun. The comment angered Saigo so much that he came close to smashing the man’s face in on the spot. He seemed to know exactly what buttons to press to make Saigo reach his full storm potential. Before he knew it, Saigo was saying things he had sworn he wouldn’t say. He felt like he was driving a truck whose brakes had failed while he was going downhill.

By the time the conversation was over, Tetsu had assailed Saigo for his failure to adequately govern his subordinates and had implied that he would be taking up the matter with Saigo’s boss and possibly the Yamaguchi-gumi as well.

What had stung the most was Tetsu’s parting shot: “Your people come to borrow money from me because you’re such an arrogant asshole that no one wants to deal with you.” Tetsu called Saigo a cheap bastard, and said that was why people called him the “Jew of the Inagawa-kai.”

“You know what?” Saigo said. “I’d rather be a cheap Jew than make my living sucking Yamaguchi-gumi cock for cash.”

That line hadn’t gone over very well. Tetsu stood up, and the side door of his office opened, his goons emerging from inside. Saigo’s bodyguard immediately moved close enough to Tetsu that it was clear he could stab the man to death before his hired hands could stop him. No one apologized, and Saigo held his ground until Tetsu’s men went back into the other room.

Tetsu told Saigo to tell Mizoguchi to pay up, or he’d collect the money himself. Saigo told Tetsu that he’d deal with him. And that was where things stood.

Saigo sent Maruyama to pick up Mizoguchi. Saigo trusted Mizoguchi very much. Instinctively, he knew that this wasn’t just about late payments. There was more to it; he just couldn’t see all the angles yet. It was like trying to thread a needle while looking at the string through a fishbowl.

When Mizoguchi came into the room, Saigo motioned for him to sit down in the tatami room for guests. He nodded to Maruyama, who slid the paper doors shut behind them when they sat down. For everyone’s sake, the fewer people who knew about these problems, the better. Mizoguchi had been with Saigo a long time. He was fond of the guy, but that didn’t mean he completely trusted him. Only a fool trusted someone 100 percent. Sometimes, Saigo didn’t even trust himself.

Saigo knew Mizoguchi owed 3.5 million yen. Mizoguchi said he hadn’t paid it back because he didn’t have the money. Saigo asked why he had borrowed it, but Mizoguchi didn’t want to say. That answer caught Saigo by surprise.

He didn’t want to answer because he thought Saigo would be very angry if he told him the truth.

Any other person would have just lied, but Mizoguchi just didn’t seem to be capable of lying. Baka-shojiki, “stupidly honest,” was the term for people like him. It made him trustworthy, but it also made it hard to entrust him with some jobs. He wouldn’t lie to the cops. He would keep silent, though. Maybe that was better than someone who would lie without a moment’s hesitation.

Saigo splayed his fingers on the short table in front of him, tapping them, thinking. He stood up, went to the corner of the room, and pulled a wooden sword from the umbrella rack. He walked back to where he had been sitting, lifted the sword above his head, and ordered Mizoguchi to put his left arm on the table.

Mizoguchi did as he was told, leaning forward and putting his arm on the table. His whole body shook violently.

Saigo brought down the sword so quickly and powerfully that he could feel the air fly against his face. The sword came down with a nasty snap — cracking the table right next to Mizoguchi’s arm. An inch to the left, and it would have shattered the man’s elbow. But Saigo didn’t believe in pointless violence.

Saigo raised the sword again, holding it right over Mizoguchi’s arm. He wanted answers.

Mizoguchi told him to break his arm, because he didn’t want to say.

Saigo threw down the sword. “Goddammit!”

They sat in silence for a minute. Saigo pulled a cigarette out of the crystal cigarette-holder on the table, chewed on the end, and lit up. He blew out smoke, and sighed. After thinking it through, Saigo promised that no matter what Mizoguchi told him, he wouldn’t cripple him, banish him, or kill him — so he needed to tell him.

Mizoguchi nodded. He was heavily into shabu. He couldn’t get enough, and he had started borrowing money to get some.

Saigo backhanded Mizoguchi so hard that his face turned 90 degrees, and bloodied his mouth. Mizoguchi, like a punching bag, rocked back to his previous position, his head bowed in shame. The Saigo-gumi had a zero-tolerance policy towards methamphetamines. He knew where it led.

Saigo had promised not to cripple him. He hadn’t promised not to beat him up. Saigo asked if he was still using, but Mizoguchi said he had been clean for three months. Saigo made sure. He had him roll up his shirtsleeves; the tattoos disguised the needle marks, but he could make them out in the areas where the flesh wasn’t fully inked. Saigo couldn’t see any fresh marks.

Saigo kept his word. He wasn’t going to banish Mizoguchi, but if he touched the stuff again — bought, sold, or used it — he’d break his fucking arms and banish him from the organization.

Mizoguchi understood. Then Saigo asked him why he hadn’t come to him for the loan instead of going to that asshole loan shark Tetsu. In a sense, Mizoguchi explained, it was because he knew better. Saigo would have asked him why he needed the money, and then would have beaten the crap out of him. As for why Mizoguchi went to Tetsu, and not someone else, it was because Tetsu was a dealer, too. Charlie supplied him with meth, and when Mizoguchi didn’t have enough to buy any more meth, he could borrow money from Tetsu to buy more. They were supplying the money and the drugs.

Now Saigo understood. He thanked Mizoguchi for telling him the truth, and decided he would pay off his debt.

Mizoguchi put both his hands on the table and lowered his forehead to the surface, prostrating himself as low as he could possibly go. That was when Saigo noticed the rubber band wrapped tightly around Mizoguchi’s left finger. The blood had already drained out of it.

In a calm, low voice, he told his foot soldier that he was not going to chop off his finger. It wasn’t necessary, and he forbade it. Saigo ordered Mizoguchi to give him the knife.

There were not many ways to atone for a screw-up of the caliber that his soldier had made. Mizoguchi had broken the code. He’d disgraced his boss, and he owed serious money. In those days, in the yakuza world, that kind of atonement, if it wasn’t paid in huge wads of cash, could only by paid in single digits: one amputated pinkie. But this wasn’t one of those times, Saigo decided. Not for his soldier, at least.

Mizoguchi sat up, looking shocked. He pulled a short knife from inside his jacket and handed it over to his boss. Saigo made his soldier hand over the white handkerchief, too. He took both items and laid them on the table. He nodded to Mizoguchi, and told him he was not to speak about what had happened to anyone, and, in the future, he was not to borrow money from anyone other than Saigo personally.

Yubizume means “to shorten the finger.” It’s a yakuza euphemism for chopping part of it off. Traditionally, the first joint of the pinkie was more than enough to indicate great regret or to make absolution for your screw-ups or the screw-ups of your friends. There are any number of explanations of how the practice began and what it means, though no one seems to know the truth. Some assert that in the days when the sword was the yakuza weapon of choice, cutting off the tip of the pinkie weakened one’s grip and thus showed submission and sacrifice.

In the postwar yakuza world, where killing an enemy up-close with a knife was considered the manly way to finish off an opponent, the lack of a pinkie was also a liability. That was because, if you wanted to stab someone to death, you had to jab them in the gut deeply, and then turn the knife. That would cause so much pain they couldn’t fight back, and would most certainly kill them. With no pinkie, turning the knife was a serious challenge — much harder to do.

In other words, the chopping off of part of the finger, wrapping it in a white handkerchief, and offering it to the one who had been offended was much like a dog showing its neck to the victor in a dog fight.

In the old days, there were very few yakuza lucky enough to rise up the ladder without losing one or two fingers in the process. Usually, some trouble or grievance arose that necessitated the procedure. To make the cut, you had to make “the cut”, so to speak. It wasn’t uncommon for some bosses to reach the top missing two or three fingers. One legendary boss in the Sumiyoshi-kai was called Kani-san (Mr Crab) because a lifelong series of screw-ups had left him with only the thumb and index fingers of both hands.

Saigo understood that his time had come. It was part of the life, but if he was going to have to lose a finger, he was going to make sure he gained something in return. He wasn’t like the other yakuza who thought nothing of chopping off their fingers — as though it was a fashion statement. Even among the top echelon of the yakuza, not everyone held the practice in esteem. For one thing, it easily identified the individual as a yakuza, and that wasn’t a plus as they began moving into more corporate-type activities. A missing finger was even more obvious than a tattoo. Still, for his generation, there was a time when that was the only solution.

According to a police study circa 1992, roughly 40 percent of all yakuza had chopped off a finger or partially amputated one. Of those who had performed yubizume, 60 percent had done the deed while still a low-ranking yakuza member. When asked how they came to lose their finger, eight out of ten yakuza replied that it was “an expression of apology,” and the rest that it was to “show sincerity.” The most common reasons given for performing yubizume were 1) money troubles; 2) women troubles; 3) causing problems to the organization; 4) causing trouble to a brother; and 5) to remain in the organization or to leave it. The most uncommon reason was “to take responsibility for the mistakes of an underling”, which was about 5 percent of the total.

The ritual was most often done in the home (40 percent) and other places such as the gang office, a soldier’s home, or in the woods.

Saigo’s motivations were unusual, but he chose a common place: in his kitchen at home. He had everything he needed there to do the job right; but, as it turned out, amputating his own finger was not easily done.

Most yakuza, when they’re being honest, will tell you that yubizume is not a solo job. One mid-level boss explained, “If you ask me, the 88 percent of the yakuza who said they did it all by themselves are lying out their ass. It’s not as easy as you’d think. Some yakuza even call a doctor to come do the deed for them; there is less infection, the cut is cleaner, and there’s not so much of a problem with nerve damage and phantom limbs later. Probably hurts less, too. So I hear.”

Saigo didn’t call a doctor for help, or anyone, for that matter — at least, not at first. He decided to call Yuriko, on her cell phone. She was out shopping. He asked her to buy him a sashimi knife and to bring it home immediately. He had some serious crap to clean up.

Yuriko asked whether he was going to kill someone or chop off a finger. He was honest with her, and she was happy that at least he wasn’t going to kill anyone. If he did that, he would definitely go to jail. She double-checked with him and he said he wouldn’t kill someone if he didn’t have to, and again asked her to bring home a sashimi knife.

Saigo had to get prepared. Yuriko told him the rubber bands were in the kitchen. She knew the drill. Her previous boyfriend had been a yakuza as well, and a screw-up. He was down to eight fingers when she left him.

She had one more question: “Don’t you think a saw would be better?” Saigo thought about it. No. Saws made huge messes — he’d get a jagged and sloppy cut.

He hung up. He took out the rubber bands and sat at the kitchen table. He wrapped one around the base of his left little finger as tightly as he could, looping it repeatedly.

At first, the finger got slightly black as it filled up with blood, the white of his fingernail becoming whiter, almost glowing. After a while, the pinkie became swollen, full of blood that couldn’t leave, and then it suddenly turned white. He smashed his right fist on the finger to check — no sensitivity at all. His little finger was effectively numb to the world.

He knew a yakuza boss that actually had a surgeon do the procedure. He’d thought about that, but it seemed unmanly. And if word got out — well, then you would become a first-class joke in the yakuza world. You might as well slit your wrists if you were going to have a surgeon cut off your pinkie. Doctors talked.

Actually, he was lucky. He’s seen guys who’d had to cut off their fingers right there on the spot, with no time to prep or buy the sharpest of knives. That always resulted in a bloody, painful mess.

Yuriko came back with a bag of groceries and a sashimi knife. In another bag, she brought a white handkerchief, some rubbing alcohol, and a Kero Kero the Frog set of Band-Aids.

Good god, he thought to himself. He wasn’t putting a fucking Band-Aid on his amputated finger. And if he did, it would definitely not be some cute smiling frog. But he didn’t say anything about it.

He took out the knife from its box and held it up to the light, eyeing it. She’d gotten a good knife. It had a black neo-ivory handle, and a blade that looked like folded steel. There was a pattern on the cutting edge made of delicate swirls. It had almost no curve.

Yuriko stood next to the refrigerator, keeping her distance. In the back room, he could hear the sound of Maruyama snoring.

He motioned to Yuriko with his jaw. She brought over the cutting board, and dropped it on the table with a big thud.

She pursed her lips. She didn’t want him to use that cutting board, she said. Ideally, she’d prepare dinner on it. Salads and stuff.

Saigo knew better. She’d never chopped a vegetable in her entire life, nor made a salad. But she argued she might start, and then she wouldn’t have a clean cutting board. Saigo said he’d wash it when he was done, but Yuriko knew that was a lie. He’d only have one hand for a few days. How was he going to wash a cutting board?

They stared at each other. She could sense that Saigo wanted her to leave. She gave him a gentle squeeze on his shoulder, went into his office, closed the door behind her, and left him alone. He knew he could call her if he needed anything.

There he was at the kitchen table — a knife in one hand, and his other hand splayed out on the white cutting board. Four of his fingers were flesh colored. His pinkie was now as white as the cutting board. It almost blended in. That was probably the root of the mistake.

He stood the knife up almost vertically, the blade edge facing towards his finger, and pulled it down hard. But he hadn’t been careful enough, and cut right into the second joint.

He had meant to only sever the tip. He’d cut two joints down. There was nothing to do but keep cutting. However, to his surprise, the finger was enormously sinewy. And the blood made traction difficult.

“Yuriko!”

She came running, saw the mess, and put her hands over her mouth, sucking in air. The knife wouldn’t cut anymore. He needed her help, but she wasn’t sure what he wanted her to do.

He thought about it. He told her to take the doorstop and pound on the knife.

She ran to the entrance and brought back a heavy brick. Saigo gritted his teeth as she brought it down hard on the top of the knife — and nothing happened.

She did it again, and this time missed the knife and hit the tip of his middle finger.

He swore up a storm. At this point, Maruyama woke up and opened his door. He was in green pajamas. He took in the scene, and his mouth opened wide.

Saigo didn’t have the time for Maruyama to gape. He needed a hand. He walked over to the table and stared at Saigo’s finger, pinned under the knife. Saigo explained that he couldn’t cut his finger off. Maruyama stroked his goatee. Then he motioned for Saigo to turn his hand over.

Saigo pulled out the knife and did as much, his palm now facing up. Maruyama took the knife, positioned it over the joint, and held it in place. He motioned Yuriko to hand him the brick. Knife in place and brick in hand, he brought it down on the back of the blade with controlled impact, and with a rubbery snap the finger severed.

Saigo instinctively pulled his hand away. He stared at the little bloody nub of flesh sitting there, and went over to the sink to wash his hand. He told Maruyama to take care of his finger — and, seriously, not to lose it.

Maruyama told him to trust him — he could handle it — but his voice sounded a little strange. Almost nasally. Was he crying? Fuck. Saigo didn’t need that.

Saigo looked at Maruyama, and saw that he had stuffed the severed finger joint up his nose. He smiled. “See? Safe and sound. It’s right under my nose.”

In spite of himself, Saigo laughed. He thought it wasn’t the time to be making jokes, but Maruyama felt the exact opposite. If he thought about what had just happened, he’d go crazy. “Dude, we just chopped off your pinkie.”

Saigo gawked. We?

Okay, Maruyama admitted. Saigo had done at least 90 percent of the work, but it wouldn’t have been severed if he hadn’t been there to help finish the job. It was that less than 10 percent that was important. “Aikawarazu tsume ga amai ne,” Maruyama said.

The saying is understood to mean, “To overconfidently do something half-assed and fail to fully complete it,” but it literally means “Poorly compacted.” The word tsume means “to pack in, to shorten,” and the word for chopping off your finger in yakuza slang is “yubi (finger) tsume”. The joke may translate poorly, but it was quite witty at the time.

It was a wonderfully morbid and appropriate pun. Even Yuriko laughed at this one. They were all laughing now. Maruyama laughed so hard at his own joke that he blew the finger out of his nose and then caught it quickly in one hand.

He showed it to Saigo and gave him a thumbs-up with it. They couldn’t stop laughing at the whole situation. Eventually, Maruyama held out the finger.

Saigo reluctantly took it back and wrapped it in the white handkerchief. He was starting to feel some pain. The two of them got in his car and headed towards Shinjuku. They were going to meet Charlie and Tetsu at the Furinkaikan Coffee Shop in Kabukicho. It was neutral territory.

Saigo had a plan. He was going to pay the debts and come back with five times what he was going to pay in cash there. He was going to give the two of them the finger, both literally and metaphorically. Sometimes, he thought, the Japanese saying is true: losing is victory.

The coffee shop was in yakuza central: Kabukicho. The place was nearly empty that afternoon.

At the table in the back were Charlie and Tetsu. Saigo had summoned them there. Saigo walked up to Tetsu and pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket, and then unwrapped his bloody finger and held it up for Tetsu to see, straight up.

Saigo gave him the finger. He didn’t need to say, “Fuck you.” Sign language was working for him quite well. That should settle their debts. He had cash in his bag and a finger for Tetsu’s troubles.

Tetsu was shocked. He didn’t know what to do with it. The proper ritual would have been to hand Tetsu the finger, wrapped in a white cloth, bowing and murmuring apologies. But Saigo was in a bad mood, and was feeling more pain. “Why don’t you put it in your coffee?” he suggested. “It’ll add some flavor.”

So Saigo just dropped the finger in the man’s coffee cup, where it quickly floated to the surface, turning red. Tetsu turned very pale. Charlie didn’t say anything.

Tetsu tried to take the finger out of his coffee with a spoon, as his coffee with cream started turning a darker shade of brown, thanks to the faint amount of blood oozing from the finger.

Saigo mocked him. Tetsu was a yakuza. The least he could do was touch the piece of flesh with his own hands. “Take the finger.”

Saigo hadn’t been to the doctor yet, so there was now blood oozing from the joint where he’d severed his finger.

He pointed at the floating finger, and joked about how it sort of looked like a wiener. Tetsu looked like he was going to throw up. He tried to pull out the finger, but the coffee was so hot, he burnt his own fingers and dropped the finger as soon as he pulled it out. The finger rolled off the table onto the floor. The waiter, unperturbed, scooped it up deftly, wrapped it in a napkin that was on the table, and pushed it towards Tetsu.

The two of them were now completely silent.

“Take the damn finger,” growled Saigo. From out of his bag, he took an envelope of cash and tossed it in the lap of Tetsu. “And the money.”

Now he had control of the conversation. Saigo’s subordinate had owed Tetsu money, and now he was paying it back. But because Tetsu had made a scene about it, Saigo had felt he had to cut off his finger, too. Tetsu looked at Charlie, who immediately excused himself to the restroom.

Tetsu apologized extensively. He hadn’t meant to make so much trouble — but words were cheap. Saigo wanted him to show his sincerity in the form of 7 million yen. That was twice the amount that Saigo had just thrown in his lap. Tetsu wasn’t counting the money, though.

“It’ll take me until next week.”

“Bullshit,” Saigo said. “You’ll bring it to my office tomorrow.” He ordered the money in cash, and told him to bring it sooner, if he had any decency. Saigo knew that, when closing a deal, especially one that was pretty much extortion, you never wanted to give the person time to think it over. Give someone too much time, and they might talk to the cops. They might have second thoughts.

Tetsu started protesting feebly, but Saigo pounded the table with one hand and pointed his amputated finger at Tetsu. He took the wet napkin with his finger inside it, and stuffed it into Tetsu’s inner coat pocket.

Tetsu had until the next night, at the latest. And he was never allowed to lend money to Saigo’s people again.

Maruyama drove Saigo to the closest hospital. He told the doctor that he’d slammed the door on his hand while driving down the freeway, and his finger had flown off and was lost on the expressway. Of course, the doctor didn’t believe him.

Since there was no finger to reattach, the doctor severed the nerves as best he could, and sewed up the wound. He didn’t use much anesthetic. When Saigo got home that night, one of Tetsu’s emissaries was waiting for him with the money — 7 million yen in cash.

He would have counted the money himself, but his hand hurt too much. He had Maruyama do it.

Once the money was counted, Maruyama and Saigo sat down to smoke. Saigo didn’t feel like talking much. He was really feeling the pain now.

Maruyama was optimistic.

“Saigo-san, it’s not so bad. You came out of this with 3.5 million yen.”

“Yeah,” Saigo said, “but I lost a finger.”

“Yeah, but now that you only have nine fingers, you can park in the handicapped zone.”

It was true. After having applied his one-digit solution, he never had trouble getting a parking space. Technically, he should have applied for a handicapped person’s benefit card, but showing the parking attendant his hand usually did the trick.

Over the years, before chopping off his own finger, there had been a couple of screw-ups who’d offered their fingers up to him as penance. Saigo used to keep the jars on display in the house, but the cops started to use them against him. So he started to bury them in his backyard, but he could never remember their exact locations.