Page 6 of Dangerous Deceit

“I hear the designers at the Palazzo are making canes now,” I say.

“Urusai,” he says.Shut up.

Cherry knocks on the door, and the enforcer lets us in again. I hand my knife to Tomo, and Tomo places the knife in front of the prisoner.

Tomo has a decade or two on the prisoner—Tomo could even be his father—but the prisoner’s comparably youthful advantage doesn’t stop the fear from clouding his eyes.

“My son will take your niece to the charity gala andthendecide if he wants to marry her. If he does, one of ourkanbuwill deliver the paperwork to you. But as foryou,your nieceshouldn’t pay for your debt to the Endo-kai.Youshould. As part of our tradition, the three of us will take turns teaching you respect.”

Cherry cracks her knuckles, her tongue dancing across her lips. Tomo bows his head deeply. I puff my chest and beam down at the uncle. I can already smell the blood in the air.

The color drains from the uncle’s face. His handcuffs rattle against the o-ring, accidentally hitting the knife so hard it flies off of the metal table. I pick it up and place it right back in front of him.

“F-f-for putting my arm around h-h-his wife?” he stutters. “Y-you can’t—” Panic overwhelms his body. His pale skin turns green, like he’s about to vomit. Pleasure fills me as he squirms, and those Three Dog Night lyrics sing in my mind again.

It’s a damn good day.

“You can, and you will,” Tomo says. He bends down. “Or I will have my son kill you right now.”

The prisoner’s eyes fall to the table. “I?—”

“There is no other option,” Tomo says, his voice raspy. Suddenly, his accent is thick: “You will learn your place.”

The uncle closes his eyes, his chest expanded like he’s holding it all in. Cherry goes first. She takes the knife and slashes it across the poor bastard’s face. He shouts, a garbled sound, and then it’s my turn. With the blade positioned between my fingers, I punch his chest so hard, the wind is knocked out of him, and his shirt rips. A red puncture follows my impact.

Tomo moves forward, each step filled with purpose. He nods to me, and I hold down the uncle’s fingers, crushing him into the table. Tomo carves his surname—our yakuza’s name—into the top of the uncle’s hand. The hand carving isn’t from yakuza tradition; it’s Tomo’s own thing. Blood spills onto the table, then streams over the edges. Sobs choke through the uncle’s mouth.Tomo’s eyes widen with glee as each cut in the uncle’s skin takes shape.

At the end of the first kanji, Tomo hits a new nerve, and the uncle’s scream echoes in the cell. A soldier in the corner flinches, but Tomo, Cherry, and I angle in closer. I may not share Tomo’s biological blood, but all of us—Tomo, Cherry, Dice, Niko, and me—weallshare the same love for violence. Our family tradition. There’s another layer to the satisfaction when a person is forced to endure it and wear our yakuza’s kanji forever, to see the absolute debasement, thathumiliation,as they humble themselves for a second chance at life, for the ability to better serve our yakuza.

I glance at Tomo, exchanging unspoken words, and Tomo nods. I take the knife, and Cherry holds down the uncle’s hand. Tomo grins, watching his kids do the rest of the family’s work.

“Consequences are tough, aren’t they?” I say to the uncle, belittling him. I angle the blade for the last few strokes. “Hold still, all right? You move, and I may cut more than your skin.”

A wail escapes the uncle but I widdle my way through his skin. I don’t know much kanji, but I know how to do these ones, and it’s a fucking thrill to mark someone permanently like this, knowing they’ll have no choice but to look at our name in this skin forever. Hell, they’re lucky they get a second chance at all.

After the two kanji are cut into his skin, it’s silent. The uncle wheezes while the rest of us ogle the bloody mark on the top of his hand. Covered in blood, you can’t really read the lines, and it resembles a clump of ramen noodles drenched in chili oil, but it’s beautiful too. A symbol of justice.

The uncle moans into the table, and Tomo motions to one of the soldiers. Thewakashutakes a picture on his device. Tomo grins.

“You’ll have to show it to thekanbu,” I say, motioning to the soldier.

“Of course,” Tomo says. He winks. “I leave the negotiations to you now.”

Tomo, Cherry, and the other soldiers leave and head back to the sports lounge. I leave the uncle’s holding cell briefly too, and check on my favorite holding cell again.

The Three Dog Night album is still playing, and the CEO’s body is limp against his metal seat.

And the woman—my potential future wife—is shivering across from the corpse, still completely blindfolded. Copper, faint sweat, and sugar waft in the air. I suck in deeply, and she stiffens in her seat.

I want to see the spark in her eyes and know it’s all mine. It would be amusing to put my suit jacket back on and rip off the sash covering her eyes. To see what she thinks of all of the blood splattered on my clothes. To see her sadness morph into anger. She’d probably assume I had hurt her uncle, and in a way, I have.

But then her sadness and anger would become fear, and the gala wouldn’t be any fun tonight. In the end, I still need a cooperative date.

I check my watch; it’s still morning. There’s enough time for her to recover. And after the gala, after I’ve earned a small taste of her trust, I can give her a proper introduction to the dangers of the yakuza.

I head back to the uncle’s holding cell and sit down across from him once again, running a hand through my shaggy black hair.

“Once we’re done, a doctor will cauterize and clean the wound for you,” I say. The uncle’s head hangs low, but he bobs his chin, acknowledging my words. “I can’t promise any marriage until your niece passes the test, but I won’t keep you waiting. There’s a charity event tonight, and I need a date. Think she can handle it?”

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