The Inside Man Read online

  June nodded vigorously. “I swear, I’ll never ever ever take it off.”

  The robot man placed his cold hand on her cheek.

  And then he was gone.

  The lights flickered back to life, and she saw a cardboard box filled with food and drinks. More peanut butter and grape jelly Uncrustables, along with juice and whole-milk boxes.

  She looked down at herself and saw that what she was wearing wasn’t a shirt—it was more like the life jacket she wore when she and Mommy went on a boat, except this one had loops around each of her legs. Even if she wanted to take it off, she had no idea if she could. She ran her fingers over the olive-green canvas and felt wires just underneath the cloth.

  How long would she have to wear it?

  She heard the robot’s voice in her head. “If you take it off, your mommy will never see you again.”

  June vowed, “I won’t ever take it off. No matter what.”

  She grabbed a partly frozen Uncrustable, unwrapped it, and took a bite.

  She blinked tears from her eyes. She had sworn to herself she wasn’t going to cry again. Not anymore.

  Yet the tears began to fall as she thought of Mommy all alone at home without her.

  Chapter Seven

  When Levi had last been in Japan, it was during a completely different phase of his life. He’d been mourning the death of his wife and had tossed himself into martial arts. He’d spent his days training in the karate dojo, and his night sleeping on the floor in the back room of that same dojo. He’d struggled to learn the language, and didn’t socialize much, and that had set him apart from the others.

  In Japan, there’s a ritual called nomikai—a way that employees or teammates strengthen their bonds with each other after hours. Often it involves going out to a bar or restaurant that served drinks and allowing people to loosen up. Back then, Levi was anything but loose; he had too much going on in his head. There was only one person he’d spent time with—he was young, probably in his late teens, but he too was a bit sullen and a loner—and he’d helped Levi pick up Japanese. But even then, on the rare occasion when they would go out socially, it was usually to a sumo match, never to drink.

  So, when Levi found himself sitting with four Japanese mobsters in the banquet hall of O’Shaughnessy’s, a Scottish ale house located in the middle of downtown Tokyo, he couldn’t help but smile.

  The four men took long pulls at their mugs of BrewDog, a Scottish beer that seemed to be well received by his companions, while Levi sipped at his seltzer.

  Harry pointed at Levi with his mug. “Are you sure you don’t want a drink? The boss is paying for dinner.”

  Levi clinked his glass with Harry’s mug and shook his head. “I’m allergic to alcohol. It makes me sick.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that. That must be difficult.”

  “I’ve learned to get used to it.”

  The truth was that although Levi could drink alcohol just fine, his body processed it differently. It tended to hit him almost immediately, making him dizzy for a few minutes, and then left him with a headache. Not a pleasant experience.

  Levi looked around the place. It was large, easily fifty feet square, with about twenty other tables, all with people talking and drinking beer. It was obvious they were all waiting for some event to begin. He tore a piece of bread from the loaf that had been placed on the table and popped it into his mouth. It was still warm and had a strong rye flavor to it. He grabbed another piece of the crusty rye bread and motioned to the others with it. “So, do you guys know Kiyoshi Ishikawa?”

  Two of the gangsters shook their heads, but Charlie, who looked like he was the youngest, nodded. “Hai. He and I grew up next door to each other.”

  “What he’s like?”

  Harry asked, “Why do you want to know?”

  Levi shrugged. “I’m supposed to visit him and ask some questions. It’s a private matter, but I just want to understand—”

  The sound of bagpipes erupted from the far end of the dining hall, and everyone at the tables stood and cheered as a bagpiper walked into view, followed by two more men in kilts.

  One of the men was carrying a large silver tray with the biggest sausage Levi had ever seen. Attendants quickly refilled glasses and mugs, the people in the banquet hall clapped enthusiastically, and Levi found himself getting wrapped up in the festivities.

  The largely Japanese crowd was very enthusiastic about the whole thing as the tray was set on a reserved table at the center of the dining hall.

  A large, presumably Scottish man, with a big red beard stepped up to the table. The crowd of nearly two hundred diners immediately hushed and sat back down.

  With a dramatic flourish, the man pulled a large knife from a sheath at his waist and pointed it at the large sausage-like roast in front of him. He slowly turned to address the crowd and said with a booming voice, “It is now time to address the haggis.”

  Levi suddenly understood what he was seeing. He’d heard of haggis—a Scottish specialty made of sheep, oatmeal, and other spices, all stuffed into a sheep’s stomach or something like it—but he’d never had it before. Heck, he’d never even seen a haggis until now. And he certainly hadn’t expected to be having it in Japan of all places.

  The Scottish man’s voice echoed loudly through the room.

  “Fair fa’ your honest, sonsie face,

  “Great chieftain o’ the pudding-race!

  “Aboon them a’ ye tak your place,

  “Painch, tripe, or thairm:

  “Weel are ye wordy o’a grace

  “As lang’s my arm.

  “The groaning trencher there ye fill,

  “Your hurdies like a distant hill,

  “Your pin wad help to mend a mill

  “In time o’need,

  “While thro’ your pores the dews distil

  “Like amber bead.

  “His knife see rustic Labour dight,

  “An cut you up wi ready slight,

  “Trenching your gushing entrails bright,

  “Like onie ditch;

  “And then, O what a glorious sight,

  “Warm-reekin, rich!”

  Levi could hardly understand a word the man was saying, but he watched in fascination as the man enthusiastically stabbed the haggis and squeezed it until the contents gushed out of its casing. He acted as through he’d just disemboweled a victim.

  As the man continued “addressing the haggis,” Levi’s phone buzzed with a message.

  It was from Denny.

  Figured you might want to know.

  A BOLO went out last night from the Maryland State Police for a stolen black Suburban.

  About twenty minutes ago, police scanners reported an explosion just outside of White Oak, Maryland. Police on the scene confirmed the remnants to be from the stolen Suburban.

  Levi’s mind raced. If the police were there, then hopefully a forensics team was looking into it. He couldn’t possibly be that lucky that it was the same car from the video, but…

  He quickly texted a reply.

  “Ye Pow’rs, wha mak mankind your care,

  “And dish them out their bill o’ fare,

  “Auld Scotland wants nae skinking ware

  “That jaups in luggies;

  “But, if ye wish her gratefu’ prayer”

  The man raised the tray as if in triumph and bellowed out the final line.

  “Gie her a haggis!”

  Everyone in the dining hall broke out with loud applause, and the serving people began streaming in with trays of the night’s dinner.

  Harry nudged Levi and smiled. “So, what did you think?”

  Levi returned the smile. “I didn’t understand a word, but it was fantastic.”

  Harry lifted his mug and all four men clinked glasses repeating what many of the people at the other tables were saying. “The haggis!”

  Levi laughed throughout the dinner and enjoyed the men�
��s company. But all the while, his mind was elsewhere, thinking about a five-year-old girl who was probably scared to death—or worse.

  ###

  The elevator in the Tanaka building dinged as it reached the top floor, the doors slid open and Levi was met by two serious-looking men in suits.

  “Mister Yoder.” The man on the right addressed him in Japanese and made an upward motion with his hands. “Please, no disrespect is intended, but—”

  “I understand.”

  Levi raised his arms to his sides, and the man to his left frisked him while his companion watched. When the first man was done, they switched roles, and the second man frisked Levi as well.

  The men then led Levi down a well-lit hall. Unlike Ryuki’s offices in the US, the interior of the Tanaka building was decorated with a Western sensibility. Dark wood paneling, with art pieces that looked to be copies of masters like Rembrandt and Picasso.

  Or maybe they weren’t copies?

  They stopped at a double-door, and one of the men knocked firmly.

  A voice responded from within. “Enter.”

  The men escorted Levi into a penthouse office with a three-hundred-and-sixty-degree view of Tokyo. Pillars of shelves held photographs, books, and other bric-a-brac that made the spacious office feel homey.

  From behind a massive wooden desk—mostly black with just a few streaks of very dark brown, all of which shone with a heavy polish—a man stood. “Yoder-san, it is very good to see you in person after hearing so much about you.”

  Levi bowed politely. “It’s good to meet you as well. I’ve been wondering something. If you don’t mind telling me, how did you know to look for me? I don’t think we’ve ever met, and I have a good memory for such things.”

  The mob boss smiled, and his stiffness softened. He turned to the two mobsters standing at the doorway. “Go, I’ll call when we are done.”

  The men bowed and left, closing the doors behind them.

  Shinzo Tanaka stepped away from his desk and motioned for Levi to follow him to one of the shelves. “Come here. Tell me if you see anything familiar.”

  Levi walked over to the shelving, which was also made of the same wood as the desk. It held dozens of leather-bound classics written in Japanese. Levi spotted 1984, The Color Purple, Fahrenheit 451, To Kill a Mockingbird, and The Hobbit.

  Tanaka was clearly a fan of Western literature.

  On other shelves were photos of Tanaka with other people—probably politicians or power-brokers.

  Levi’s gaze was drawn to one photo in particular. It was sitting in the center of the shelf, in a place of prominence. It featured a younger Tanaka with his arm around a kid. A familiar kid.

  Levi’s mind raced back to the dojo where he’d studied over a dozen years ago. He thought of his one friend in the dojo, the loner who’d never used his family name, just his given name.

  Jun.

  And then all the pieces fell together.

  The kid in the picture was the Jun from the dojo.

  Helen Wilson’s daughter was named June, same pronunciation.

  Shinzo Tanaka had his arm around Jun…

  Jun Tanaka?

  And then it all made sense.

  Jun had never talked about his family, and Levi had assumed he was an orphan, so he’d never asked for details.

  Levi turned to Mister Tanaka, who held an inscrutable expression. “You’re Jun’s father. I didn’t know.”

  Shinzo nodded, and a storm of emotions flashed across the man’s face. Sadness, pride, anger. And through them all, determination. “My son, I told him to not use his real name. I didn’t want him endangered due to my reputation. I’m sure you understand.”

  “Hai.” Levi bowed slightly without thinking. Old habits returned quickly. “I understand perfectly. So, it was Jun who mentioned me?”

  A smile bloomed on the older man’s face. He placed a hand on Levi’s shoulder. “Yes, he told me all about the American. He also told me you were a man of uncommon honor, and believed you were sent away from a mob family, much as he had been. For protection.”

  “Well, that’s not exactly what happened.”

  “I know.” Shinzo patted Levi on the back. “I reached out even then to learn who it was my son was associating with. I have for years meant to meet you and say ‘thank you’ for helping my son during his toughest years. I’m saddened that we are not meeting under better circumstances.”

  Levi nodded. “I will do everything I can to find your granddaughter. And speaking of that, may I ask you something? It may be inappropriate for me to ask this, but it has to do with Ishikawa-san.”

  Shinzo walked to his desk and motioned for Levi to take a seat. “Go ahead.”

  “The FBI claims that Ishikawa-san left fingerprints on a bomb that killed two of their agents. These agents were assigned to investigate child sex trafficking. Is this something Ishikawa-san may have been involved in?”

  Levi’s question hung dangerously in the air. He had just suggested that Tanaka’s business was profiting from the child sex trade.

  The mob boss’s face reddened, and his lip curled with revulsion. “I am many things … many things, but what I am not is a trader in children. I hear many of the Italians frown on involving women in their business, whether it is running business or being witness to such business. Well, it is my code to not involve children in any of my dealings. Are we clear?”

  “I’m sorry if I have offended you—”

  “No!” Tanaka slammed his fist on the desk, his eyes narrowing. “It isn’t you who has offended. If Ishikawa has done anything such as this to disgrace my business, you will leave him to me to take care of.”

  Feeling a bit relieved that this powerful man’s anger wasn’t aimed at him, Levi let out a deep breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “With your permission, I would like to interview him, and as soon as possible.”

  “Done.” Shinzo pressed a button on his phone, and the two men who’d escorted Levi into the room reappeared. “Ichiro, Kenzo, take Yoder-san to the address I gave you earlier. He’s to extract information from Ishikawa Kiyoshi. Support Yoder-san in whatever he needs. Understood?”

  “Hai.” Both men acknowledged their superior’s request with a deep bow.

  Levi stood and bowed to the mob boss as well. Tanaka returned his bow with a nod.

  It was time.

  ###

  Tanaka’s men escorted Levi into an apartment building in Ryogoku. The last time Levi had been in this town was when he and Jun went to see a sumo match.

  It was nearing midday as they entered one of the nearby apartment buildings. The smell of mildew was strong as they walked through a poorly lit hallway and was led down an even worse-lit stairwell. The building itself seemed to be reasonably well maintained, but it smelled as if it hadn’t had air circulating in it for a long time. The musty smell grew even stronger as they entered the basement.

  “Does anyone live here?” Levi asked.

  “No,” one of the men responded. He pulled a set of keys from his pocket and unlocked a metal door at the base of the stairs. “The boss keeps this building for special uses. Such as today.”

  The hinges squealed loudly as the men forced open the door and waited for Levi to enter.

  He stepped through the doorway and took in the details of his new surroundings. It was a large open room with barely anything in it but two men standing at the far end of the basement. They were standing six feet apart, their sleeves rolled up to reveal ornate tattoos. Flecks of fresh blood marred their white button-down shirts.

  There was a man between them that was slumped over in his chair, arms tied behind his back, his body strapped to the chair, which was bolted to the floor.

  He’d obviously been beaten.

  A nearby table held instruments of torture: pliers, hammers, chisels, something that looked like a modified cattle prod, and one particularly vicious-looking chrome-plated corkscrew. Boxes of
sterile gauze, alcohol, a set of syringes, and smelling salts rounded out the collection.

  These Yakuza weren’t playing.

  The two men bowed as Levi approached and took several steps back.

  “Ishikawa-san?” Levi asked them as he gestured toward the unconscious man.

  “Hai,” they responded.

  For a brief moment, Levi felt bad for Ishikawa. He’d been beaten by two of his own gang members, and he probably didn’t even know why. The men doing the beating likely didn’t know either; Shinzo Tanaka had simply demanded that Ishikawa be softened up for Levi’s arrival. To make things easier. Quicker.

  And then Levi reminded himself that this guy was likely involved with child prostitution. His pity vanished.

  He picked up a smelling salt capsule from the table, grabbed Ishikawa by his hair, and lifted his head up. Blood was oozing from a cut on the bridge of his nose. Levi shoved the capsule underneath the man’s nose and popped it open. The strong smell of ammonia wafted up, and the mobster tried wrenching his face away, but Levi held him in place.

  Ishikawa’s eyes opened, and Levi smacked him with an open hand across the cheek.

  “Wake up. I have questions for you.”

  The man blinked rapidly, not completely conscious. When Levi pushed the chemical cocktail under the mobster’s nose again, Ishikawa grunted in Japanese, “I’m awake … I’m awake.”

  Levi tossed the used capsule on the floor and sat back on his heels in front of Ishikawa. The man’s face had scarring that reminded him of Anspach, but more recent. Part of his ear looked like it had been chewed on, and his cheek and temple had the pink scarring that came from severe burns.

  “Kiyoshi,” Levi said, “Mister Shinzo Tanaka sent me to talk with you. I’m expecting some answers.”

  Despite the beating he’d already received, Ishikawa paled at the mention of the head of the Tanaka syndicate. He nodded rapidly and said, in an almost begging tone, “I’ll do whatever is needed.”