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

want this,” she said, after examining all the souvenir parasites on offer. She plucked a big key ring from a bamboo box. It was an intestinal worm encased in blue plastic resin. At least she had inexpensive tastes.

He was in the middle of paying for the key ring when his cell phone buzzed. A text, from Shun’ichi’s henchman and Shiro’s immediate boss, Nobuo-san.

Meet me downstairs. Now.

Chapter Two

Shiro had no idea what to expect. He rarely saw Nobuo-san, but he knew he had to leave immediately. He’d seen and heard enough about his mercurial boss to know that dithering was unacceptable.

Miki tried hanging onto him, but when he received a second text, he panicked, shouting at her.

“Don’t you understand? I have to go. I’m in trouble!”

She started to cry. People were staring now, so he took her arm and guided her out of the store as fast as he could. Outside, a long black Lincoln awaited him.

“Get in. Both of you,” Nobuo-san said as the shiny, blackened passenger window lowered. Only his eyes and nose were visible.

The driver hurried to the other side of the vehicle and opened the door.

Taking her elbow, Shiro led Miki across to it. Now she wasn’t just upset about their ruined date. Fear had caught up with her and she trembled.

“It’s okay,” he said softly, but in truth, he was petrified too.

“My motorbike,” he said to the driver who shook his head.

“It’s my motorbike,” Nobuo-san said from inside the car. “It will be taken care of.”

Shiro let Miki into the car first then he squeezed in beside her. An ice cream truck passed them. They were called yaki imo in Japan and the music emitting from them was like a dirge. Shiro froze, one foot in, one foot out. Was it an omen? Was he on his way to his own funeral?

He forced himself to join Miki in the car. She was so frightened, she sat as far from their boss as she could, not giving Shiro much room to sit. Nobody said a word as the driver shut the door and they merged with the flow of traffic. Shiro could smell Nobuo-san’s aftershave. It was quite…erotic. For the first time, Shiro realised that Keizo had unleashed long-dormant hormones in Shiro. In spite of his fear, he was attracted to Nobuo-san. Beside him, Miki shook. Shiro wondered if they would both die. What had upset Nobuo-san so much?

He knows I’m gay. He found out I slept with Keizo. Keizo. His heart flip-flopped at the memory of their torrid encounter. I can’t apologise for the best sex I ever had in my life. I know Nobuo-san is homophobic…oh, man. An image of his mother floated into his mind. The thought came to him in a burst of clarity that he recognised because it happened to him so infrequently. Intuition.

Somehow he knows I’m Siono’s son.

Shiro tried to quell his desperate thoughts. The first time he’d met Nobuo-san was over lunch at a food stall in the quaint, pedestrian-only street, Nakamise-dori. Maybe Nobuo-san had been lulling him into a false sense of security in a place with so many people on foot and no cars in sight. He agreed to meet the nephew of his Honolulu banker and treated him to a meal. Not that Shiro had been able to eat. Sparrow, snakes and scorpions on sticks were not his idea of tasty fare. Nobuo-san had gloated over the crunchy bones of the cooked, whole sparrows. Shiro had worked hard to hide his revulsion as he begged for a job.

He had worked out his prepared speech, that he was willing to start at the bottom.

“Oh, you will, don’t worry about that,” came the response.

Nobuo-san had surprised him. He didn’t look like the Yakuza he’d seen in movies.

“You have both pinky fingers,” Shiro had said.

Nobuo-san had actually laughed.

“We don’t do that anymore, Shiro-chan. We try to blend in these days.”

Shiro had spent some time with Nobuo-san who showed him the magnificent Buddhist temple at the end of the street. He introduced Shiro to two of his immediate subordinates. They took him to one of the lodges, more like a dormitory, where the baby Yakuza slept. They gave him a cell phone, which took days to master, then his motorbike. Shiro had felt challenged and tested, but felt he had remembered all the rules, followed all the instructions.

Until now. He quickly tucked his thumbs into his palms. This was a sign of respect and one of many, crazy things he’d had to learn.

They stopped outside Miki’s building and she wept softly as Nobuo-san opened his door and pointed outside. She climbed over him, not looking at Shiro, and walked on shaky legs to her front door. They sped away before she even entered the building, but Shiro was certain he saw a man standing inside the entrance.

“Is she…going to be okay?”

Nobuo-san gave him an indignant look. “What kind of question is that? My business is not with her. It’s with you.”

The iciness reminded Shiro of the danger he’d glimpsed behind Nobuo-san’s elegant, understated suit the first time they met. He didn’t exude flashiness. He did, however, exude danger.

They drove a few miles to Roppongi and Shiro tried not to let his relief show. At least it wasn’t a river where they could shoot him in the head and dump him. They were going to Nobuo-san’s office and Shiro knew that Nobuo-san never did dirty business in his office.

The car paused out front. Nobuo-san waited for the driver to let him out, but barked at Shiro, “Open your own door.”

Shiro followed him up the white marble stairs to the front door. He realised now that Nobuo-san was very angry. Inside the building, he pressed a button but this time he pressed down. Not up. There was an evil glint in Nobuo-san’s eye. They rode down in silence, and as the doors slid open, Shiro knew this man was going to hurt him and that he couldn’t wait to do it. So