Da

(February 2020)

Early the next afternoon I find myself seated on a bench in the middle of an open plaza, waiting for the Russians.

It is Setsubun, and the plaza is filled with people in costumes dancing, and booths the smell of warm food. I’m eating a pastry, a big danish kind of thing that is coated with powdered sugar and reminds me of an elephant ear from back in the day. Setsubun festival is a celebration held to ward off demons and, apparently, to throw beans at everyone in sight. The public meeting place was supposed to make me calmer, and I suppose it has, but the right question then is “calmer relative to what?” I am certainly more calm about this meeting with Russian organized crime lords than I might be about one that was to be held down, let’s say, at a boat dock at 2AM. But if you ever discover how you can be calm about any meeting with this kind of person, please do let me know because right now my stomach is doing acrobatics that I’m hoping the elephant ear can make some headway against.

Asakusa, which is where this festival is hosted, is in the northeast corner of Tokyo. Sensō-ji, an important Buddist temple, is here. The Taito Invaders, one of the minor league ballclubs associated with the Kawaguchi Transmitters, plays nearby.

Invader fans, too, will lose their team–a fact that few think about when they start making up the ledger that will measure the merger’s shock-waves. Japan is a relatively small place, you know? And, as Mr. Seigyoki’s note has left me thinking, between contraction and relocation, it will be losing seven organizations of three ballclubs each. Twenty-one teams removed in total. That’s a lot of scars for hometown locals to deal with.

I look around at the crowd of dancers and festival goers, all talking and eating during their businessmans’ lunches before scurrying away to get back to work before the boss. How many of these will see an Invader game this year? Mostly I’m looking for the Russians, of course.

I hoped they were coming.

Last night, I dropped a post on my travel blog, saying where I was going to be. Realizing (hoping?) they would be monitoring it, I added the following bit.

If you’re the driver of the Honda I was in the other day, feel free to introduce yourself. I’m sorry I had to run off so early, Definitely interested in new conversations as well as completing any that we might have left hanging. Perhaps we can learn from each other?

Not the most subtle of things, sure, but I figured it should work.

This would be an even more important meeting than I had at first expected, too, because Yuni cornered me as I left this morning to tell me one of the three leads they followed from their Russian paperwork had resulted in serious progress. “Charlie Cooper,” aka MSB, had spent time at a safehouse in a tiny place called Svetloye, wherever that was.

He face was glowing with this news.

“We are close to a breakthrough,” he said. “I can feel it.”

Of course, in this punch-drunk phase, Ichihara also said it was “good news” that Russian crime was involved rather than the Russian government because “at least they were efficient,” so you take the good from the bad there.

None of it added up to make me feel any better when I saw the same three men who had come to my hotel room quickly and, dare I say, efficiently picking their way through the crowd toward my bench.

The Chief Stooge calmly sat down beside me, the Goons took their assigned standing posts, and the world got suddenly very small.

“So,” he said.

He smelled of a stiff cologne.

“We know Charlie Cooper was in Russian territory for some time,” I replied, trying to get the upper hand. “And we know the money moved from team accounts into accounts your people … uh … managed.”

He gave a gruff “Hhnn” kinda sound and waited.

“That’s enough for now, I think,” I replied. Ichihara and I had decided that the Goon Squad was sent to my room specifically to find how how closely connected I was to Ichihara. My answer gave them that.

“Da,” the man said, nodding. “It is enough for now.”

“You think we’re on a time-share now?”

The man smirked.

“I think we are on the same team.”

“I seriously doubt that.”

“You think we are holding Charlie Cooper away from you, no?” the Russian said. “You think thiis ‘Mistor Slimeball’ lives in some Russian castle in the hills and drinks vodka from ice pipes while he spends your money.”

This time it was my turn to remain silent.

“Understand this one thing today, Casey Neal and Inspector Ichihara. And that one thing is that we come looking for Charlie Cooper, too.”

This new truth burned through me like a straight shot of Ouzo.

“Slimeball too your cash, too?”

He tweaked an eyebrow in response, and I suddenly felt almost sorry for Charlie Cooper for the first time ever. I knew a little bit about how it felt to have these guys on your tail, after all. On the other hand, I suppose he now deserves whatever he’s got coming. These guys, I’m pretty sure, have very long memories when it comes to this kind of thing. What kind of idiot prick pulls a double cross on the syndicate?

“Let us just say that Charlie Cooper stepped out of line.”

“And you intend to put him back in line?”

The man got a dark look about him.

“Da,” was all he said.