My Yakuza by A.J. Llewellyn (books for 6 year olds to read themselves TXT) 📕

No, there’s no trouble, I just like my privacy, that’s all,” Shiro said trying to calm him down.

“Okay, but remember what I said if you’re lying. Out on your ass you’ll go if I see one cop who doesn’t know you as his long-lost buddy.”

“Look,” Shiro said now leaning over the counter, “I know you got whores in here and that this is a slap and tickle hotel that you rent out rooms by the hour. I don’t care about that and neither does my friend. I just don’t want you giving out any information on any Asian guys staying here, okay?”

“Okay, as long as you’re telling me the truth, then fine. I’ve never seen you.”

Shiro smiled. “Now was that so hard?”

Chapter Five

Kono had some useful contacts. It didn’t take him long to reach the back door of Homo-Sapien, and his friend Ron, a serious computer geek most people would call anti-social, but whom Kono considered to be a godsend. Ron held sway at the rear of the serious, underground leather bar where he booked clients for a couple of bondage masters. Well, more than a couple. He booked clients for dozens of bondage masters, an assortment of dominatrixes and a few hard-core hookers who booked rooms in some of the cheap hotels in the neighbourhood. Ron was a very fat white guy whose going rate was two cheese pizzas and a hundred bucks.

As Kono passed the parade of tops and bottoms in the leather bar, he wondered how low a man’s self-worth had to be to allow another man to walk him around on a leash.

He knocked on Ron’s door. Ron’s lover, Swoo, opened it, looked at the pizza cartons and the crisp new Benjamin on top of it.

“Haven’t seen you here in a while, detective.”

Swoo was a sweetheart. A transgendered female to male, she looked after Ron, ran the bar with a velvet fist and wielded bottles of bleach washing the joint down at the end of each night like a proper haus frau.

“Sorry, Swoo. I’ve missed you.”

She grinned. “Come on in.”

He handed Ron the cell phone from Japan. Ron cracked his knuckles.

“Whadda we got here?”

He took the phone, holding it in two fingers, examining it closely. Kono worked hard not to stare at the multiple screens in front of the guy. Several quick flicks revealed Ron was monitoring a peep show somewhere on the premises, a crying guy shackled in the dungeon begging his Sir to piss on him…and Second Life. Ron loved that particular alternate universe.

Ron was a respectful, business-like guy who’d proved useful to the cops from various precincts so everybody left him alone. He had his limits though, and when he glanced back at Kono, the cop made sure his gaze was firmly on the cell phone.

“This is a nice one. Got a problem with it?” Ron asked.

“It’s bugged.”

“Naw. It ain’t bugged. It’s got a fancy-schmancy tracking device. Very nice. What do you want me to do with it?”

“I want you to remove all the info from that phone to another one and lose the tracking signal.”

“You want that I should print out the incoming and outgoing calls?”

“Sure.”

The expression on Ron’s face indicated another Benjamin was in order, but Kono was fresh out of hundreds. He broke off five twenties from his wallet, amused at the pained expression on the guy’s face.

Ron tinkered a few minutes longer and handed over a new cell phone.

“You got some time to check on the photos in that thing?” Kono asked.

“He’s got a few. What’s his name? Ye Yu? What…is he Japanese?”

The phone was registered to somebody called Ye Yu? Kono took hold of the new cell phone and the printed call log.

“There’s one photo I’m interested in.” He pointed to the picture of Miki in the cage.

“Oh, wow,” Swoo said. “A bird in a cage.”

“What do you want from it?” Ron asked.

“Do you think it’s authentic?”

Ron glanced at it. “I have no way of knowing right now. Leave it with me.”

“Great. Thanks.”

“It’ll cost you,” Ron said.

What a fucking surprise.

Kono left, his cell phone ringing.

It was Gen. “Remember. Be willing to receive ninety-nine per cent of an opponent’s full force and stare death in the face.”

Fuck that. Kono wanted to live. Fate could go point its fickle, fucking finger someplace else.

* * * *

Shiro headed over to the rickety elevator and took it to the fifth floor, and as he walked down the hall towards his room, he heard laughter coming from one of the rooms. It was a female voice. When he closed the door to his room, he felt like collapsing on the bed. The exchange with the desk clerk had gotten him all riled up and nervous. Man, he could still taste the greasy chicken kabobs, too. He didn’t know what he’d do if he was forced to leave the Baxter before meeting with Kono who would then believe that Shiro was lying.

He needed a drink but had nothing in the room but water. He paced the floor for a few minutes trying to calm himself down. As he paced, he ran the entire scenario through his head again. His trip to Japan, what he’d learnt while working for the Yakuza, his mother’s trail, and his present situation in New York. All of it ran through his mind like a runaway freight train. He knew there was a solution staring him in the face, but he just couldn’t see it. Maybe Kono would be able to come up with a plan.

Shiro went into the bathroom and once more splashed water on his face in an attempt to clear his mind. As he was drying himself, a light knock on the door made him jump. He went over to the door, and standing to one side least he be shot through the door, asked, “Who is it?”

“Your friend from the bar, open up,” came the response.

Shiro cracked the door and when he saw Kono’s