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Miakahashi handed Hirayama a piece of string and the square-shaped nomi and turo plate the Shinjuku skyline. His face was an inscrutable mask of resolve. The move caught Hirayama, who was h nearby, pletely by surprise. The whole episode was just a blur. He held the string limply in his left hand and stared into space, seeing nothing. He had just told the oyabun the bad news. His men had failed to prevent the Diane Joplin girl from being spirited away frht underh their noses. And in Hong Kong, Hideo Sato and Miyagi had failed to capture Cad Caldwell arieve the sole on two attempts. The whole thing was turning into a fiasd somebody had to take responsibility. Why did it have to be him?They were in one of Takahashi’s many business offices dotted around Tokyo. A huge wall-to-wall window revealed a breathtaking vista of Shinjuku stretg out to the snow-covered outskirts of the city. The view outside was a dense sprawl of gray crete and neon. Hirayama studied the carpet, watg the memory fibers resurrect themselves, erasing the impri by their shoes. In the background was the low but indistinguishable hum of erd enterprise, wind shear against the windows and the subliminal sounds of a metropolis tig over.
The puter trolled shoji had been slid apart joining Takahashi’s office proper and his visitor area to form an expansive space characterized by elegant simplicity. Zen. A plasma s pulsated silently in one er flipping through lists of unintelligible Nikkei indices. In the seating <dfn></dfn>area, minimalist square designer chairs covered iinct buffalo hide and framed with e. Takahashi’s desk was a smooth plane of black with a high-gloss urushi finish. The area around the desk was uncarpeted, exposiured gray granite and als of crushed white stone.
Even as he bowed deeply, Hirayama’s mind was rag through the sequences. If he had had any hope of replag Kenzo Yamamoto as sed-in-and in the voluted hierarchy of the Yamaguchi-gumi, that ce had long disappeared. Hirayama had always hoped that he would never have to the subject himself to the humiliation of yubizume, the ritual severing of a se of the little finger as repentanistakes. He half suspected that the Minister knew of his ambitions and by requesting him to perform the gruesome act was deftly nipping his aspirations in the bud.
Hirayama couldn’t help, at this moment, refleg on the unfairness of life and thinking of his dead mother. When he had joihe Yakuza almost twenty years ago, his mother had asked him o return to the family home. Hirayama had agreed implicitly by moving out and urning back. It art of the Yakuza code and on joining he had sworn to place the is of the Yamaguchi-gumi above all else, including himself and family. That’s why Hirayama had never married, preferring the fleeting fort of paid iitial sex to the ity and responsibility of marriage. H<dfn>藏书网</dfn>e had kept a woman for a while, an AV starlet whose career was on the dive, but after she started being too demanding and asking unanswerable questions, Hirayama had quickly cut her loose. The last he’d heard was that she was addicted to some coe-based drug and plying the trade to stru workers somewhere in the suburbs of Tokyo. That was the way of the water business.
Hirayama ed the string tightly around the little finger of hi藏书网s right hand and pulled it tight. He watched the blood drain from his finger as it started to go numb. He walked over to the sitting area in Takahashi’s offid placed his finger on the glass coffee table with its etched drawing of the willow world. Glang over at the broad back of the oyabun, Hirayama held the nomi firmly in his left hand and placed it just above joint of his finger. All he could hear was the scraping sounds of a robot outside the window. Using the thrust of his body weight, Hirayama leaned forward ahe blade of the small chisel slide through his fihe sound of the amputation was not much. Hirayama was vaguely reminded of his mother i slig cabbage, but the pain was inte didn’t last long but Hirayama khat psychologically he would never be the same person again.
He ed the stub of his finger with a handkerchief and watched the white silk turn a sickly red. Pig up his severed fihe soft lifeless feel of his own flesh embalmed in the silk at orange and curiously familiar, Hirayama walked up to the oyabun and bowing deeply, offered the fio Takahashi. Takahashi turned around, owards his desk and grunted his acceptance. Hirayama could swear he saw a little boy smiling behind the oyabuionless eyes. He walked slowly towa<bdo>..</bdo>rds the desk and placed the blood-soaked handkerchief shrouding his severed pinkie on the shiny black surface. Zen.
“Order Sato and Miyagi back to Tokyo immediately. If that inpetent fool was not a distaion, I would have had his head long ago,” Takahashi said.
“Yes, oyabun.” This was no time to question the oyabun’s decisions.
“Now that HYDRA is so actively involved we ’t afford a political sdal. We will fix this problem at the root.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And Yamamoto’s killer?”
“We found out who he is. He is affiliated with the PLA and is reputedly uhe direand of Majeneral Wang of the PLA’s Third Department, oyabun.”
“The ese are declaring war on us?”
“Yamamoto robably spying on them, oyabun. I believe it’s all related to the soles.”
“That would seem to be the case. Find out where in New a this General Wang is right now.”
“We know that already, oyabun. The last unication was that he is planning some trip to Shanghai.”
“Shanghai? As soon as those two arrive in Tokyo, I want you to personally go with them to Shanghai.”
“Shanghai, oyabun? I have never been out of Japan.”
“Hirayama, I want Majeneral Wang dead. Do you uand? I don’t care if Sato or Miyagi lose their lives doing it.”
“Yes oyabun.”
“We’ll take care of the girl and her new-found friends here in Tokyo.”
“I see.”
“And Hirayama?”
“Oyabun?”
“If you fail, you are no longer wele in Japan.”
Hirayama grimaced and looked down at the blood-soaked stub of his fihe gods were certainly spiring against him. He swore quietly to himself that one day Nobu Takahashi would pay for this humiliation.
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