miro yo! Ano futari no chinsa wa Kawasaki ni sunderun da ze! Yo, look there! Those two night thieves live in Kawasaki!
• Ano onna ga kono atari dewa ichiban no ssyotsu da'tte koto omae shitteta kai? That woman there, did you know she's the best night thief around here?
Thieves who go on walks looking for eligible houses are said to be flowing (nagasu). During these flows, buildings are carefully appraised and classed according to potential loot, lighting, street exposure, and the accessibility of front and back entrances and windows. Likely looking houses are earmarked as anzan (“easy deliveries,” as in birth) or andon (flimsy lanterns), while buildings that offer easy entry but are dangerously close to busy roads or police stations are rated as gan kitsui (the eyes are tough), and more lyrically oki ga kurai (the seascape is dark).
• Nante kot'a! Koko wa anzen no hazu datta no ni, aitsu tsukamachimatta ze! What the fuck! This was meant to be an easy job and he got busted!
• Iy! Nanda kono hen, zenbu andon ja n ka? Kor'a boro mke da ze! Man! Fuckin'-A! This area is full of easy houses! We're really gonna cash in!
• Kono hen wa gan kitsui kara, saketa h ga ii ze. A void this neighborhood. The eyes are tough.
• H! Kono yakata wa mepp ii ga, oki ga kurai ze. What a beautiful, stately mansion. Pity the seascape's so dark.
After flowing past house after house, the thieves close in on the most suitable target in three phases. Toba o kimeru (choosing the den) is the preliminary audition, in which whole rows of homes are given a general glance-over. Toba o tsunagu (tethering the den) is the second, closer look in which alarm systems and entry and exit points are examined. The final stage is toba o fumu (stepping on the den): out of all the possible targets, one home is chosen, and the thief approaches it, tool bag in hand. Once a house has been picked, the thieves proclaim ate ga tsuku (the aim will be fulfilled), and it graduates from being a toba (den) to a taisaki, pronounced by some groups daisaki (the table ahead).
Many of the better burglar gangs employ individu-als who make a career of spotting vulnerable houses. In the post-war years in Tokyo these men and women came to be known as doroya (streetsters) and hiki (pullers), while in Osaka and Kyoto they were given the pastoral title of hitsujimawashi (meandering sheep). The gang would pay them tsukesage (touchdown), the cab-and bus-fare from one location to the next, and if they spotted a good house would guarantee them kabu (stocks), a share in the loot. As criminals became more and more affluent during the sixties, seventies, and eighties, the kurumaebi, or prawns (literally “car shrimps”), moved in on the scene. These were the modern “streetsters” and “pullers,” who combed their areas by car. Spotting a prime target, they would whip out their car phone, and crouching secretively (hence the “shrimp”), would quickly beep a burglar.
Thieves who work alone are known as ichimaimono (one sheet of individual). Some are completely independent of larcenous attendants; others have sturdy gang affiliations but do breaking and entering on their own. Thieves who work in pairs are classed as nimaimono (two sheets of individual), in threes, sanmaimono (three sheets of individual), and in foursomes, yonmaimono (four sheets of individual).
• Aitsu wa shgai ichimaimono de ts'tten dakara, mattaku hen na yatsu da ze! He's real weird; he's been a loner all along.
• Shigoto wa nimaimono de yaru ni koshita kot' n yo! You've gotta be at least a twosome to carry off a job well! (kot' is Tokyo slang for koto wa)
• Ore-tachi mo sanmaimono de hajimete nagai koto naru n. It's been ages since we started working as a threesome.
• Ore-tachi no nawabari ni ano yonmaimono ga shima tsukur to shiteru rashii ze! It looks like those four guys are trying to move in on our territory.
Groups that work under the umbrella of a gang report directly to the kaoyaku (face function), who is also lovingly referred to as the kataoya (“one parent,” as in one-parent family). This parent is like a department manager in a bona fide firm: he hires and fires executives and maneuvers them profitably from one job to the next. When the ringleader happens to be a younger man, mischievous executives might refer to him behind his back as anigao (brother face). In his presence, however, heads are brusquely bowed and he is meekly addressed as aniki (older brother). When sneak thieves work in packs, social and professional hierarchy plays a star role. The man in charge is dotama, a name the street crowd claims developed from atama (head). The dotama is the brain of the pack. He might not personally break the lock, smash the window, or climb the drainpipe, but he makes the on-location decisions, orchestrating each movement of the burglary. In rougher packs the leader is the konatruki, a Korean gang word for “ruffian” which has acquired on Tokyo's modern streets a whiff of bravura and daredevilry. Important jobs that promise a high yield in loot are handled by larger sneak-thieving groups that come equipped with specialized watchmen, lockbreakers, computerized-alarm dismantlers, and a vault cracker or two.
Partners in crime refer to each other as hikiai (those who pull against each other), tsute (connections), dshi (kindred spirits), gui and guhi (lopped-off versions of tagui, “peer”), hbai (comrade), and more affectionately as kydai (brothers) which, for security, is often inverted to the less comprehensible daiky. Cruder bands of thieves, however, opt for heftier appellations. A favorite is the Korean expression chie, which is often distorted to a more feral chiy or chiy. The general rule with this set of words is: the harsher the expression, the warmer the criminal bond. Busuke (plug ugly), fushiyaburi (joint breaker), hiru (leech), and hine (stale) are often used with great cordiality by one leathery tough to another.
• Nan da yo? Orera no hikiai wa anna chatchii doa mo akeraren'n da ze? What the fuck? Our buddy can't even open a simple door like this?
• Orera wa dshi kamo shiren ga, aitsu wa dmo mushi ga sukan. We might be partners, but somehow I just don't like the guy.
• Oi! Oi k-chan! Chotto soko de chiy to hikkakete kuru wa! Yo! Hey old woman! I'm just going out for a bit with the gang!
• Oi, busuke yo! Katai koto iwazu ni—m ippai tsukiae yo! C'mon butt-face, cut the crap and let's have another drink!
• Oi tanomu ze! Omae ore no fushiyaburi ja n ka? Kane kashite kure yo! C'mon man, you're my partner, man! Lend me the money!
• saka no hine ichiban tayori ni naru ze. Our most reliable men are the guys from Osaka.
Another important part of respectable sneak-thieving gangs are the assistants, usually younger men who do dirty work like terikiri (“burning and cutting,” or blowtorching locks) and kaminari (“thunderbolt,” or making entry holes in roofs). These assistants are called tobakiri (den cutters) and ashi (legs), and are usually studying hard to become full-fledged professionals themselves. The youngest in the group, who is kept busy carrying tool bags and loot, is the hidarisode (left sleeve). He keeps out of the way, trotting behind the experienced elder of the group, the migisode (right sleeve), and drinks in as much technique as circumstances allow.
In a class of his own, the gang's lookout stands inconspicuously at gates, ducking into apartment house entrances or waiting in the getaway car, his hand on the ignition key. The lookouts of old whistled at the first sign of danger and were often masters at imitating tremulous bird calls; today's professionals, however, beep, page, and even ring up the gang on cellular phones. Over the years thousands of thief clans, large
