Authors: John Donohue
men at the auto body shop eyed us warily. We once had a run-
in with one of their more excitable employees. To this day, he
finds it difficult to walk. Yamashita noticed the stares we got,
but didn’t react to them. We reached the corner and he paused.
“You wish to know where we are going?” he said.
Aha! I knew I could wait him out.
I shrugged. “That’d be
nice,” I told him, but I kept my voice noncommittal.
He turned his head and looked at me. “I have been thinking
about this man, the one who escaped…”
“Martín,” I supplied.
Yamashita nodded. “Just so. From speaking with your
brother and his partner, my understanding is that both he and
his partner were contract workers.”
“Hit men,” I corrected.
Yamashita waived a hand, dismissing this as a pointless
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semantic detail. “The presence of the third man, who is as yet
unidentified, suggests to me that their employer was not local.”
I started to say something, but he held up a hand. “And yet
their… services… are ones that would be certain to call the
attention of the police. And once that was done, the authorities
would question… who?” His eyes glittered as he waited for my
reply.
I shrugged. “The usual suspects, I suppose.”
My teacher nodded. “Indeed. The usual suspects. And since
these men are Hispanic, I assume that a great deal of attention
would be focused on criminals from the Hispanic community.”
“Sure,” I said.
“I imagine it must be quite annoying, particularly if you
had nothing to do with this attack,
neh
?” He didn’t wait for
my response. “The police questioning people. Disturbing
your activities.” Yamashita sounded almost wistful. “So if, for
instance, the local crime boss could be made to understand that
we only seek to locate this Martín and leave his… enterprises…
alone, we might be able to secure his help.”
“It’s a theory,” I admitted.
As we were talking, a big white Escalade pulled up to the
curb. The passenger side door opened and a young guy, wear-
ing wraparound shades, got out, opened the back door, and
waited. He never once looked directly at us, instead his visor
continuously scanned the perimeter.
“It is more than a theory, Burke,” Yamashita told me. “Here
is our ride.” My teacher sounded pleased.
We ended up in a sun-drenched room in an upscale seafood
place in Fort Hamilton. Our drivers—two men with extremely
neat haircuts and thick necks—led us to the second story of the
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restaurant without saying a word. The room was almost empty
of customers. It was too late for lunch, too early for dinner. A
few members of the wait staff were arranging linen and set-
ting silverware, but aside from the muted tinkle of knives and
forks and their quiet conversation, the big room was quiet. Our
escorts led us past a thickset man at the head of the stairs. He
was older than they were, but appeared to frequent the same
barber. He nodded and we passed on to the corner table where
the room’s only occupant sat.
He moved a long-stemmed wine glass back and forth in his
hand, watching the play of refracted light on the tablecloth. He
looked up when we reached the table, as if surprised to find us
standing there.
“Ah,” he said, getting to his feet. “Señor Yamashita, what a
pleasure to meet
uno maestro del espada
.” He regarded me with
a tilt of the head. “And you must be Dr. Burke.” He gestured at
my arm in the sling. “I trust you are healing well?”
“Fine,” I told him. Our host was a compact man with salt
and pepper hair. His skin was deeply tanned with clusters of
lines at the outer corners of brown and weary eyes. His suit was
gray and it fit him well. Sixty, I thought, maybe sixty-five. In
pretty good shape. His hands were manicured.
“Thank you for seeing us, Señor Osorio,” Yamashita said.
Osorio closed his eyes as if dismissing the thought. “Please,”
he said, “it is my pleasure to final y meet you. But where are my
manners? Please, be seated gentlemen. Some wine?” He made a
smal gesture and a waiter appeared with a bottle in a terra-cotta
cooler. We sat down. The waiter poured careful y, Osorio sipped
thoughtful y at the wine, and nodded. The waiter replaced the
bottle in the cooler and retreated to the far end of the room.
Osorio regarded the wine in his class. “Crisp. Cool. I find
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it just the thing on a pleasant, sunny afternoon.” Yamashita
picked his glass up and took a minute sip. He nodded in agree-
ment with our host.
Osorio looked at my glass, untouched on the linen surface
of the table. “Is the wine not to your liking, Dr. Burke?”
I didn’t like the feeling I was getting from Osorio, his driv-
ers, or the spooky atmosphere of the restaurant. I was worried
that, in my current condition, the alcohol would affect me too
much. I wanted to be ready for any surprises. But all I said was,
“I’m trying to take it easy.” I moved my arm in the sling.
“Ah. Indeed.” Osorio looked at Yamashita. “It was an unfor-
tunate event. I have assured the authorities that this was some-
thing done without my knowledge or my participation.”
My teacher bowed slightly. “I appreciate that assurance. I
imagine that the constant attention of the police must be… .”
he frowned as if searching for a word.
“An inconvenience,” Osorio suggested. “It is an unfortunate
feature of the various enterprises I engage in that a police pres-
ence can depress commerce.”
Yamashita nodded, as if in sympathy. “It would be better for
us all if this matter were put to rest.”
“Oh, I assume it will be concluded in time,” Osorio said
philosophically. “One way or the other, the police will lose
interest…”
“We have a desire to put this matter to rest soon,” Yamashita
countered.
Osorio nodded in apparent sympathy. “I imagine the threat
of Martín must weigh heavily on all concerned. But, as I have
told the police, this attack was not of my doing. What can I do
now?”
I spoke up. “The cops think Martín’s still around. That he’s
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going to try again. In the meantime, he’s laying low. I’ll bet that
some of the people who are helping him are also people who
have dealings with you.”
My tone betrayed my annoyance and I saw the warning
flicker in my teacher’s eyes. He leaned forward. “It would be
most helpful if you were to suggest to your associates that you
would appreciate the withdrawal of any assistance to Martín,”
Yamashita interjected.
Osorio spread his hands out. “But what good would that
do?” he asked.
“It would make it harder for Martín to hide,” I told him. “It
would force his hand and smoke him out.”
“And then?” Osorio inquired.
“Then we will kill him,” Yamashita answered primly. It
wasn’t boastful or said with the heat of anger, just a flat state-
ment of lethal calculus.
Osorio nodded sagely. “
Claro.
It might be best for all con-
cerned.” His words sounded every bit like a man of the world
regretting its ways. He sat back then and regarded us with half-
closed eyes. It wasn’t just the light pouring in from the win-
dows that made him do it. It was a mannerism that showed you
something of the real nature of the man. Beneath the custom
suit and the polished fingertips was a hard and ruthless core.
Osorio sat quietly. Then he began. “I work in a world of
favors dispensed or withheld, gentlemen. And all favors come
with a price. If I do as you suggest, what benefit do I receive?”
“The cops would lay off you,” I told him.
He shook his head. “They will be distracted soon by another
crime. In seventy-two hours, the protection they have arranged
for you will be revoked. It is simply the logic of budgets and
overtime and the tax rate. However distressing this may be for
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you personally, Dr. Burke, it means that the momentary dis-
ruption of some of my enterprises will end relatively quickly as
well. I can afford to wait.”
Yamashita stirred. “In my country, too, we understand the
nature of relationships, the importance of favors, of balance,”
he began. The concept of
on,
of an obligation between people
of different statuses, was important in Japan. “And I would
never consider requesting a favor from you unless I were sure
that I could provide something of value in return.”
Don’t,
I thought.
Don’t do it. You put yourself in this guy’s debt
and he’ll use you.
After all, I had seen
The Godfather.
Yamashita looked at me as if he were reading my mind.
His eyes betrayed little but I knew that look. You glimpsed
it in the split second before he drove an attack home. Osorio
watched placidly, thinking he had us in a bind. He couldn’t read
Yamashita like I could. I felt my stomach muscles unclench a
bit.Osorio gestured with an open palm, as if inviting a sugges-
tion from my teacher.
“Some time ago,” Yamashita began, “I was visited by a
young man seeking instruction. At the time, I was unable to
admit him to my
dojo
.”
It happened all the time. In any given week, Yamashita is
confronted by the impetuous, the ambitious, and the just plain
deluded. His method of screening is complex and opaque.
Sometimes he has me put the visitors through the most gruel-
ing workout I can. He likes it if I can make them vomit. That’s
when the real testing begins. At other times, people come with
letters of high praise from teachers that Yamashita knows. He
gazes at the applicants with silent intensity, searching their
faces. I do, too, but whatever he sees eludes me. Sometimes he
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nods yes and admits them. Other times he says no and strides
away. I get to walk the rejected to the door.
As Yamashita spoke of this particular applicant, I saw
Osorio’s mouth tighten. But he kept quiet and let my teacher
continue.
“He was your nephew, was he not?” Yamashita asked. “I was
surprised that you did not seek to… influence … my decision.
Osorio smiled, seemingly regaining his composure.
“Ricardo, my sister’s child. He is quite gifted, I understand, but
young. Since his father died, I have tried to assist him with his
life… . the advice only an older man can provide.” He looked
at me as he continued. “Ricardo does not approve of my activi-
ties, Dr. Burke. He seeks to make his own way in life. I admire
him for it, but even the most determined young men sometimes
need guidance. My sister, on the other hand, has a tendency to
spoil her only child.” He shrugged. “It is the way with women.
We gentlemen, we know that sometimes allowing a young man
to experience disappointment is a way to strengthen his will.”
I wasn’t convinced. I wasn’t sure that a crime boss worried a
great deal about character development. “And?” I pressed him.
Osorio sipped more of his wine and pressed a linen napkin
to his lips. He smiled at me. “Ricardo has always been inter-
ested in the martial arts, Dr. Burke. He is, I hear, quite accom-
plished. But forgive me… this is something to be put aside
as one grows older. I had hoped that your teacher’s rejection
would help him focus more on other pursuits.”
“Did it?”
Osorio smiled ruefully. “I must admit, it has not. And my
sister makes my life—uncomfortable.”
Yamashita nodded. “Don Osorio, I understand the position
of trying to keep harmony in one’s family. I am also trying to
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Kage
bring harmony to mine.” My teacher smiled tightly. “I remem-
ber that your nephew had some skill, and there is currently
room for a new student. Unfortunately, with the threat of Mar-
tín hanging over my dojo, it would be unconscionable of me to
take on a new student at this time.
Osorio looked skeptical, but finally said, “Yes, harmony is a
blessing in all aspects of our lives. You have been kind enough
to point out the disruption that Martin brings to my greater
family. Perhaps it would be wise to have them withdraw from
his presence.”
The room was quiet, with faint sounds of rushing water
coming from the kitchen. We sat silently in the sunny corner
in the deserted room. Our host drained the last of his wine and
gently set the empty glass down on the table. It made a muted
thump on the tablecloth. Yamashita stood and bowed slightly;
Osorio nodded his head in return.
My teacher and I made our way across the empty room,
past the guard and down the stairs. Not a word was spoken. I
watched Yamashita from the corner of my eye.
What are you up to?
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13
Tsuki