The next morning, I don't go to school. Instead, I take the train to a different part of the city, seeking an address scribbled on a crumpled napkin that a shifty-eyed informant sold me for an absurd amount of my allowance. Rumor says this is where the Tanaka gang's real leader holds court, away from the small-time territory squabbles.
The 'court' turns out to be a run-down pachinko parlor reeking of stale cigarettes and desperation. I find the guy they call Boss Tanaka easily enough. He's not what I expected - no muscular enforcers, no silk suits. Just a tired-looking middle-aged man hunched over a noisy machine, his balding head gleaming under the harsh fluorescent lights.
My approach is a mix of practiced intimidation and calculated groveling. I flash the pictures of his injured men, emphasizing their connection to the Saito gang. He listens, his expression a mix of anger and fear as I spin my tale of brewing gang war, both sides poised to tear into each other at the slightest provocation.
The truth is, I have no idea what'll happen next. Tanaka could order me beaten up and tossed out. Or worse. But a gamble is what brought me this far.
"And what exactly do you propose, kid?" Tanaka finally says, his voice surprisingly mild.
"I...uh..." I'd rehearsed some vague threats about "forces you can't imagine," but facing him, the words seem ludicrous. Instead, a different play emerges, "I can help you. I have…information."
He raises a skeptical eyebrow. "Information? From a scrawny brat like you?"
I swallow hard and launch into the next part of the deception.
"They say you're smart, Tanaka-san," I say, laying the flattery on thick, "That you see the big picture. Well, the Saito idiots, they think they're making a power grab. But their boss, a guy named Kenji? He's got bigger plans."
This last bit is pure invention, based on a hunch and those overheard snippets of conversation. A risky play, but Boss Tanaka frowns, interest flickering in his eyes. I describe an imaginary Kenji, ambitious and ruthless, using Saito's expansion as a stepping stone. It's part truth, part embellishment, a story tailored to prick at this man's anxieties.
"And how is that my concern?" Tanaka asks, but his voice is less dismissive now.
"Because with Saito running amok, you'll be dragged in," I counter, "Kenji will force an alliance, take over your territory, leave you with nothing."
He snorts. "And you can stop him how, exactly?"
"I can't." I hold up my hands in a gesture of surrender. "But I can get you proof. Of what Kenji's planning, how he talks about you behind your back."
That's when I notice his fingers clench into a fist. Pride, a more dangerous weapon than ambition for a man like this.
The rest of our 'negotiation' is a blur. Tanaka, rattled by my half-truths, ends up agreeing to an absurdly complicated scheme. I'll pose as a disgruntled Tanaka underling, feed Kenji fake information, and set up a meeting. A classic double-cross, a staple of the crime movies I've studied. Except I'm no seasoned conman, just a kid fueled by manga plots and a desperate need to see this through.
I leave the pachinko parlor buzzing with equal parts terror and triumph. This is no longer a game. If my flimsy deceptions collapse, I could very well end up at the bottom of a river. But there's also a thrill, the heady mix of fear and control that makes me understand why people crave this kind of power.
The following days see me acting like a triple agent, switching sides more often than seems sane. I cozy up to some Saito goons at a seedy karaoke bar, playing the part of the Tanaka grunt who's been passed over for promotions. They eat it up, their inflated egos making them blind to my slip-ups.
Using them, I pass the carefully crafted 'intel' to Kenji. Rumors of large cash stockpiles, fabricated tales of Tanaka disrespecting him. It's childish, really, but it works like a charm. Through those same goons – remarkably easy to manipulate – I convince both sides that a face-to-face meeting is necessary to 'resolve tensions'.