style="font-size:15px;"> “You have, sir?”
“Jiro called ahead. He fears you have encountered difficulties.”
Rotten sneak! Machii ground his teeth and made a mighty effort to control his tenor.
“It is true, sir. Difficulties have arisen.”
“Tell me.”
So he did, in outline, leaving out only the price his men had paid in blood. With the scrambler on his own phone, and the oyabun’s private security measures in place, Machii had no fear of law enforcement snatching his words from the air. Still, there was no reason to link himself with any killings, just in case. Police already knew about the raid on Sunrise Enterprises. There was nothing to be lost by mentioning the smoke grenades or the prowler’s escape.
Takumi heard him out, then told him, “You were fortunate to have no injuries.”
Machii bit the bullet, said, “A few employees have departed over the affair.”
“Oh, yes? How many?”
“Seven, sir.”
“Unhappy news. But you can carry on without them?”
“Certainly. I’m taking measures as we speak.”
Measures to run and hide, that was, where he would have better security.
“What of the project?” Takumi asked, all business.
“It’s proceeding well, sir. I anticipate a breakthrough later in the week.”
“That’s excellent. I shall expect another call when all of it is finalized.”
Meaning Machii should not call again until he had good news. The kyodai nodded, feeling slightly foolish when he realized his master could not see him.
“I shall definitely be in touch, sir.”
“I look forward to it with anticipation. Goodbye.”
And the line went dead.
Machii was not sure if he should feel relieved or apprehensive, maybe some of each. His boss had not raged at him, but that was not the oyabun’s style. If he wanted you dead, he would smile to your face, then make arrangements for your execution when it suited him. A soldier who displeased Kazuo Takumi might be left as an example to his comrades. Other targets of his anger simply disappeared.
Machii knew he was not safe yet. To secure himself and his position in the family, he had to correct the problems that beset him. First and foremost, he had to find out who had dared to move against him and eliminate the threat. When that was done he could proceed with taking over Wolff Consolidated.
Which, of course, included a casino in Las Vegas. That, under the old plan, would have gone to Jiro Shinoda, but Machii had other plans for Shinoda now. He would not forget being stabbed in the back.
And he would not forgive.
* * *
Azabu, Tokyo
AZABU WAS THE richest neighborhood in Tokyo, home to celebrities and business moguls, living side by side with foreign embassies. It bordered the Akasaka business district and upscale Aoyama, where fashion was everything. Aside from the Roppongi entertainment district, most of Azabu was relatively quiet, considering its placement in the world’s most crowded city. One-bedroom apartments in Azabu started at 700,000 yen—call it $8,500—per month.
That had no impact on a man who owned seven high-rise apartment buildings.
Kazuo Takumi kept large suites in five of those buildings, and smaller bolt-holes in the other two, sometimes spending a month or more at one apartment, other times shifting each night, if he believed that staying in the same place might involve some risk.
Above all else, he took no chances where his safety was concerned.
This day he had awakened at his second-favorite home, on Block 8. City addresses in Japan did not depend on street names, but on numbered blocks. Within each block, buildings were numbered by their age, with “1” assigned to the oldest, and so on to the newest structure. Thus, Takumi’s present home, however briefly, sat atop building 12 on Block 8, with a view of traffic gleaming on the Sakurada Dori freeway.
He was troubled by the two calls from America. Jiro Shinoda had been on the line as soon as he had finished speaking with Noboru Machii in Atlantic City, voicing his concern, twisting the knife in a transparent effort to advance himself. That was unfortunate, but nothing unexpected for a relatively young, ambitious big brother. Bad blood would separate them now, a fact Takumi had been conscious of when he informed Machii of the call from Shinoda.
It was always best to keep subordinates at odds with one another, constantly competing for their master’s favor, rather than agreeing to conspire against him while the master’s back was turned.
Machii’s call had been more troubling. Seven men lost, and police would now be on alert to watch him, if there had been no surveillance previously. An attack was bad for business, all the more so when its source was unidentified. Noboru would be working urgently to solve that problem, knowing that his very life depended on it, but the crime lord wondered now if his Atlantic City kyodai was equal to the task.
Machii had disposed of Tommy Wolff, using the agents he’d supplied, but now the takeover of Wolff Consolidated would be stalled until Machii solved the riddle of his latest difficulty. Should that drag on much beyond Wolff’s funeral, Takumi was prepared to send more men around the world to lift the burden off his kyodai’s shoulders.
And, if necessary, they would lift his head at the same time.
Machii had a short window of opportunity in which to prove himself. And when that window closed, it would descend upon him like the blade of a katana in a ninja’s hands.
After victory, he thought, quoting a proverb from his youth, tighten your helmet strap.
The moral: premature excitement over great success might cause a careless man to drop his guard before the war was truly won.
Takumi never quit, never let down his guard. As for Machii…
The Yakuza crime boss decided he would send another team, four of his best this time. His private jet was always ready on a moment’s notice, and the flight from Tokyo to Atlantic City International Airport was fourteen hours long. If they arrived in time to help Machii, fine. If not, at least they would be on-site to begin the cleanup process.
Put things right before it was too late.
Meanwhile…
Takumi had his own concerns at home, completely unrelated to the situation in America. His son and heir apparent had not grown into the man Takumi hoped would run his empire when the time came for him to depart this life. In youth, Toi had been frivolous and spoiled—his father’s fault, of course, as it had to fall on any father. Lately, he had grown more serious, but also more distracted, as if no part of the family business inspired him in the least. The thought that Toi might try to leave the Sumiyoshi-kai appalled Takumi, but he could not rule it out.
Worse
