. . . . .

Yakuza.

Where to start? The first place that came to his mind was Shinjuku, but it was quite a distance from where he was now. When he entered the Metro station, he was astonished by the sheer number of people swarming the place. He never before had ridden on the subway, and there was no way he would allow himself to be swallowed up by a crowd like that.

There's too many people. No, I'll have to find another way.

He looked at a map. Roppongi was another place that had a reputation for Yakuza activity and it was nearby. He walked in that direction.

The first area he entered into had expensive stores, but he soon made his way to the entertainment section. There wasn't much activity yet, since it was still daylight. He knew the touts would soon be out, looking for unsuspecting foreigners with fat wallets to draw into their clubs. How does one approach a Yakuza? He had to figure out a way.

He wandered around, carefully watching people. One man looked uncomfortable in the heat of the day. He reached up to wipe the sweat from his brow, causing the long sleeve of his shirt to ride up and expose a part of his forearm. The boy spotted the unmistakable blue color of a tattoo. The man lowered his hand and tugged his sleeve down to cover the mark, almost as an afterthought. The boy decided to follow him.

The man with the hidden tattoo entered through a door of what looked like to be a small restaurant, tucked discretely among the other shops. The boy followed, but when he entered the place he discovered it was more of a bar than a restaurant. Several of the men looked up, staring at him and clearly communicating that he was not welcome there. One in particular, gave him a significant piercing look. His eyes reminded him of a tiger he once saw at a zoo.

Rather than to apologize and call more attention to himself, he figured his best course of action would be to quickly turn around and leave without a word. Hopefully, they would think he made a mistake. He immediately turned around and walked back out the door.

He quickly crossed the street and entered a small used-book store. There were stacks of books everywhere and they made for a good cover. I'll just wait until the tattooed man leaves the bar, and then I'll follow him to see where he goes.

Watching out of the window from the store, he saw someone exit the bar as if in a hurry. He stopped and looked intently to the left, and then to the right. He brushed his shaggy hair away from his eyes before he leaned against the wall next to the entrance, and lit a cigarette. It was the one who had been staring at him as if he were prey; the one with the tiger gaze. He was looking for me, the boy realized.

Tiger-eyes finished his cigarette and turned to walk down the sidewalk. The sun was now low in the sky, and the clouds were beginning to thicken with the promise of rain. Maybe I should try following you, instead.

The boy slipped out of the store. Making sure he kept a safe distance, he followed his new target. The man was walking at a brisk pace, so in a short time he made his way quickly through the district.

The boy could smell the sea long before he arrived at the warehouses near the port. Tiger-eyes walked up to a man that appeared to be a supervisor, and began talking to him. The man nodded, and then pointed in another direction. A large truck drove up and stopped, blocking the boy's view from the two men. The boy walked a little further down until he came upon a small group of men loading boxes into a van. Again he noticed some of the men were tattooed, but in this place they were not trying to hide the marks. He saw the lengthening shadows on the ground as the sun began to set.

This looks like the perfect place to start.

He turned around and walked away from the pier. It was getting late and he needed to think about where he was going to find shelter for the night.

He came upon a small park with a playground. It was rapidly getting dark and the clouds were coming in fast. He felt a heavy drop of rain hit him on the arm. He looked around the park and noticed the colorful playground was now abandoned. He focused on a plastic tunnel that connected a climbing area with a platform that led to a slide.

He climbed onto the play set and crawled into the tunnel. It was long enough for him to lie down, although the angle curled around. He heard a few heavy patters of rain hit the tunnel, then briefly stop, before erupting again in a torrent.

. . . . .

He was lying in the tube with the rain beating down hard. It was almost deafening, but the static-sounding noise was causing him to nod off. It's a narrow space, more uncomfortable than lying down on that narrow white couch.

A white couch. White becomes stained so easily. The back of the couch looks spotless though.

He opened his eyes and violently shook his head. No, I'm not falling asleep... with THAT memory. Later, when things have calmed down, I'll deal with it.

The hard rain turned lighter but more steady. He concentrated on the softer rhythmic sound. Calmer. I'm in my bed back home. Everything is as it was before. The desk lamp is on, and my textbook is waiting for me to finish the problem. He got up and went to his desk to work, but just when he finally began making some progress, the loud BANG caused him to jump. When he opened the door to his room, he could only see the back of the couch.

NO. I have no intention of looking on the other side of the couch. This time I'll just stay by my door.

But his father was looking. He was standing next to the couch, looking. A grief-stricken cry erupted from his father. It was a sound he would never guess his father was capable of making. Now he felt compelled to look. He began to walk toward the couch...

"AAAH!" he yelled out. "Damn it!" He had drifted off to sleep again. He slammed his fist into the side of the tube. I'm not going to let those thoughts defeat me! The throbbing pain in his hand from striking the tube seemed to focus him.

Fine, let's do it.

I'm inside a playground tunnel. I know it's supposed to be yellow, but why does the inside look black?

He realized he was looking down the barrel of a gun as it was being aimed directly at his forehead.

Why was I so calm at that moment?

He closed his eyes and followed the path of the memory.

You're calm because you know you're about to die, and there's nothing you can do about it. You realize... this is the moment. Only you didn't expect it to come so soon. Maybe 80 years from now, if you've lived well, but... okay.

I'm ready now.

I wonder what it will feel like? Will I feel the bullet shattering my skull and burying itself in my brain, or will it be an instant black-out?

What's it like to die?

Where will I go... will I fly?

Ah, the sound of birds...

. . . . .

He opened his eyes at the sound of birds. There was light in the tunnel now. The sound of a motorcycle starting up and then speeding away masked the birdsong temporarily. Other noises became clearer. He could hear cars and the rattle of large trucks as they passed nearby. He realized his muscles were cramped up from conforming to the shape of the tunnel. He crawled out of the tube and stretched, working out the kinks. Despite feeling sore, his mind was once again refreshed.

He felt hungry, but his money was rapidly running out. Yesterday's train ticket to Tokyo had drained most of his funds.

First things first... he needed to return to the pier to try to talk to one of those men. He began walking, retracing his steps from the day before. It felt good to stretch his legs.

He arrived back at the pier, but the scene was a little different than before. Instead of working, the men were all standing around in a large group. Others, some with clipboards, were talking to a few of the men. The boy saw that Tiger-eyes was there again, and had pulled one of the men aside. After talking to the man for a bit, he handed something to him. As the man walked away, the sharp-eyed man suddenly turned in the boy's direction and stared directly at him.

You knew I was here.

The man walked toward him. The predator expression disappeared and turned into something a little more friendlier by the time he reached him. "Are you looking for a job?" the man asked.

Surprised at the convenience of the question, the boy answered, "As a matter of fact, I am."

"Shouldn't you be down there with the rest of them, then?"

The boy hesitated. He knew he didn't have enough information about what was going on to convincingly bluff his way through it. He decided his best bet would be to answer honestly. "Is that how it's done? I go stand with that group?"

"I thought you might be new at this." He pointed to the group of men, "Those are day laborers. Every morning they gather there and wait for someone to hire them for the day. Sometimes you load or unload cargo on the docks. Sometimes, someone comes by with a truck and picks up a crew to help with other jobs... such as, cleaning up construction sites."

"I see. Thank you for the information. Are you someone who is hiring?"

This question earned him a sharp-eyed glance. "I might have something for you, if you don't mind making small... unusual deliveries." His emphasis on the word "unusual" suggested that the deliveries were not quite legal.

The boy acknowledged that he understood the meaning. "I wouldn't have any problems with making... unusual deliveries."

The man smiled slightly. "I am Majima. What should I call you?"

Not wanting to reveal his true name, the boy hesitated for a second before remembering the nameplate at his grandmother's house. "Asami."

"Asami?" Majima seemed surprised at the name. "I expected you to give me a more common name, like 'Sato'. Now that's a good anonymous name. For the job I have in mind for you, you'll need to meet someone first."

He indicated to the boy... now known as "Asami", that he was to follow him.

. . . . .

They walked into one of the warehouses on the wharf. As they entered, Asami saw a middle-aged man standing next to an older man. There was somebody else prostrate on the ground, before them.

"I am very sorry, sir! I didn't recognize him right away!" The middle-aged man grabbed the person on the ground by the hair, and pulled his head up until he was looking him directly in the eyes. It was a teenage boy, not much older than Asami. What hair the man wasn't clutching fell to the boy's shoulders. There was an earring in his left ear.

"How could you not recognize the man?!" He yelled at the boy, "How many times have you met him? At least 5 or 6 times!" The man let go of the boy's hair, and then backhanded him, hard, across the face.

That was a solid hit.

The teenager fell prostrate again. "Please forgive my incompetence! I swear, it won't happen again," he cried out. Asami had a glimpse of the teenager's face through the spray of long hair; however, instead of fear, he saw anger and defiance flash in the teen's eyes.

"Try not to do too much damage, Toyama," the older man said. "He's still useful to me. Perhaps your son just has bad eyes."

"There's nothing wrong with his eyes. And he's no son of mine! That baggage came with the new wife," Toyama said, with a disgusted look on his face. He kicked the teenager. "Get out of my sight!"

The teenager stood up and bowed deeply to the older man. No trace of anger was on his face, only a contrite look. The right side of his mouth was trickling blood and was already beginning to swell. "I am sorry to be so much trouble." He quickly walked out.

Majima approached the older man. "Tsukino, we had discussed... "

Toyama suddenly laughed and rudely interrupted Majima. "What an interesting new stray you've picked up, Majima! You seem to only favor the pretty ones. It makes me wonder about your true motives."

Majima smiled at him, maliciously. "I have a perfect track record with my delivery boys. It makes me wonder how yours has been, lately?"

Toyama scowled at him, "I'd rather work with adults instead of a bunch of children any day. You wait... someday, one of your brats will fuck up and I'll be there to gloat over it."

"I never have any problems with them."

"Try taking on that worthless piece of shit that just walked out. See how long your track record stands then!"

"I'll take him," Majima said so softly, only Asami could hear him.

Tsukino held up his hand. "Enough, Toyama. What do you have, Majima?"

Majima indicated toward Asami. "What do you think?"

"He looks very clean-cut," Tsukino nodded. "Yes, he might do nicely. What's your name?" he asked Asami.

"Sato."

"Sato," Toyama repeated, shaking his head. "Why are all the fucking kids named Sato?" He glared at Asami, "What's your REAL name... BOY?"

Asami glanced at Majima, confused, but Majima was looking at him, frowning. "Asami," he answered again.

"Well, Sato-Asami... " Tsukino said, "Majima has a special job for you. The pay is decent. Do you like sweets?"

"Not particularly."

Tsukino raised his eyebrows bemusedly, "'Not particularly'?

"Are you 'particular' about things?" Toyama sneered. He mock-sniffed the air a couple of times. "Smell that stench, Boss? It's coming from the boy. He REEKS of privilege."

"Yes, he does seem to have that air about him."

Toyama turned back to Asami, "You a runaway from a rich family? Daddy forget to give you your allowance, brat?"

"I'm not... !" An angry retort was on the tip of his tongue, but he held himself in check, "I no longer have a home. My parents are dead."

The expression on Tsukino's face, softened. "How old are you, kid?"

"20."

Toyama burst out angrily, "That's a load of shit! I'd say you were maybe 17... at the most!"

"I'm 20," Asami replied firmly to Toyama. "I've been told that I look young for my age."

Tsukino turned to Toyama, "Majima also looks young for his age, but I know for a fact that he is 19." He then turned to Majima, "If he proves to be of some use to you, I have no objections. He's your responsibility though... got it?"

"I understand."

. . . . .

Before they left the warehouse, Majima picked up a small backpack. Asami and Majima walked through an area where they would occasionally stop and enter into a store. Majima would talk briefly with someone, and then disappear into the back for minute, before reappearing again.

They finally came to a bakery. Majima handed him a small, paper-wrapped package, "What this contains is highly illegal. Deliver it only to the owner, and wait for him to hand you payment for it. If anyone asks, it's a special sugar blend."

Asami entered the store, and asked for the owner. The owner's attitude during the transaction was slightly condescending. Asami quickly figured out that it really was just sugar in the packet.

So, I'm being tested. That's not too surprising.

They repeated this again at another bakery. When Asami returned, Majima gave him a suspicious look.

And now he knows that I know.

The next place they stopped was a cafe. The package Majima handed him was slightly different. Asami made the delivery, and then returned with the payment in an envelope, along with two small jars. He handed both over to Majima. "The owner seemed to be unhappy with the delivery. There was a policeman in there."

"Yes, that would be Nomo. He stops in there, around this time of day, to chat with one of the waitresses." He looked down at the jars and frowned. "Why are you giving me these jars?"

"There was some question about why the secret spice blend was packaged in such an odd way. I told him the old lady who blends the spices had run out of jars."

"Did you know you were delivering the real thing this time?"

Asami nodded.

Majima smiled slightly. "Aren't you a cool one?" He pulled his backpack off, and put the envelope and the jars in it.

"You knew the cop was going to be there. Why would you take such a risk?"

"Any kid with half a brain can easily make these kinds of deliveries in this neighborhood. I need a reliable courier with nerves of steel for a different job with not only a hell of a lot more risk... but also more potential profit." Majima pulled the backpack back on, and they begin walking again. "Why did you tell Tsukino your name was Sato?"

"I thought you suggested I should be an anonymous person. You mentioned the name, 'Sato'."

"I was just commenting on how people who are trying to hide their past, tend to pick the most common names." Majima glanced at him with those sharp eyes. "You're trying to work it out, aren't you? You're purposely trying to get in. Why are you so eager to become involved with the Yakuza?"

Asami knew it was easier to tell a convincing lie when it contained an element of truth to it. He decided to "borrow" a little of his father's history. "I'm the youngest of three in my family. My older brothers inherited my father's business. There's no position left for me, except to become one of their underlings. I refused to be under their thumb, so I was encouraged to seek my fortune elsewhere. This is the fastest way I can think of to begin making money."

"Sure, it is. Fast, yes. Tricky, dangerous... you'll still be an underling though. You probably were better off staying with your brothers. Easy life, easy job..."

"I have no chance of advancing there, no matter how hard I work at it. I want to see how high I can climb."

"You've been watching too many gangster films. Why did you come here? Why in particular do you seek out the Yakuza?"

Asami was becoming agitated at being scrutinized so closely. "What business is it of yours why I seek this out?!"

"Histories are only good for idle gossip. Now, if you can learn a man's true motives... that's useful information. What are you really after?"

"I've already told you."

"So, you're looking to ally yourself to a powerful group, is that it? You'll have to prove yourself to them before they'll consider accepting you, and then work your way up from there. I know most of them, so I can suggest which group might be a good fit for you. You'll be a nobody for the first few years though, if... they're willing to take you."

"Are you with Tsukino's group?"

"They're called the Udaka. And nobody owns me. I'm independent... or what you might call a 'freelancer'. I choose my jobs."

"Maybe I should try to be independent."

"I wouldn't advise it. You won't have any protection. You'll be an easy target should you overstep the boundaries, which you're likely to do."

"And yet, you manage to be independent."

"My situation is unique. Your situation, however... " Majima took a deep breath, "I wonder... " He thought quietly for a while. "Where are you staying?"

Asami hesitated replying, because "the playground" was not going to be a good answer.

Majima closed his eyes and looked as though he had come to a decision. "I know a place where you can stay. It's a place I own. I charge by the week, but you'll be sharing with a few others, so you won't find it too difficult to afford. If you're doing jobs for me, then part of your rent is covered, but you'll need to get another job on the side. The docks are not a bad place to start."

. . . . .

Majima took him to a rundown apartment building. He didn't knock, but just walked straight in. Two teens were sitting on the couch with game controllers in their hands, playing a video game. There was a strong scent of cigarette smoke mingling with other, unpleasant smells.

One of them looked up. "Hey, Majima! You here for the rent?" He elbowed the other teen, who was engrossed in the game. "Majima's here."

The other teen looked up and grunted. The table in front of him was piled with junk and trash. He searched through the mess, fished out a wallet, and began pulling out money.

The first teen got up, and walked over to a door. He banged on it and yelled, "Hey Yamamoto! Rent's due!"

A young looking, but very tall man opened the door. He had wet hair, and was shirtless with a towel draped around his neck. "Welcome back, Majima. Who is that with you?"

"Your new roommate, Asami. Asami, this is Yamamoto." Majima then pointed to the teen who first greeted him, "This is Aida...," and then he pointed to the teen on the couch, who was looking at him with a sullen expression, "and that one, is Ikeda."

"And just when I was getting used to having more room," Ikeda pouted.

"Well, you're going to have to squeeze in a little more than you realize," Majima said. "Kirishima is coming back, too."

This statement caused a surprising stir amongst them.

"WHAT?!" Ikeda raised his voice in protest. "You mean to say you're going to pack five of us into this tiny place?!"

"Did he get kicked out again?" Aida shook his head. "Poor Kirishima!"

"Nah, he's better off staying here," Yamamoto said. "We'll make do."

"Then I'll leave Asami in your care." The three handed him money and Majima quickly counted it. "Oh... and do something about this place, or next time I'll charge you all extra. Pigs live cleaner than this." Majima walked out the door.

The three of them stared at Asami silently. Asami knew in this moment they were forming their first opinions of him.

Just wait... I'll prove my worth soon enough.

"So... " Aida said, breaking the awkward silence, "can you cook?"

The unexpected question took Asami by surprise. "Not really."

. . . . .

.

Notes: the ages of Asami's new roommates are: Yamamoto- 19, Ikeda- 17, Aida- 16, Kirishima- 15.

Asami lied about his age; he will be turning 15 soon.

Roppongi is presently more upscale and has less of a Yakuza presence than it did during the mid- to late 1980's (during the time this story takes place.)

Yakuza often recruit workers from among the homeless and runaways. This is why Asami was able to fall in with them so easily and quickly.

To Sage, Lidsworth, Ryuakilover, Kunoichi of the Moonlit Night, Asami's clown, Vykki, Taylorlin1234, and freyja, I appreciate your feedback and extended conversations about this story. It has been incredibly helpful.

Next: Seeking answers, Asami immerses himself into the criminal underworld.