Page 19 of Pragma
I kind of miss LA, but I think I’ll be fan-fucking-tastic here. New York is my oyster. I need to create my own cradle here before getting full reign of the whole organization in a distant future.
I cross the sparkly lobby, wave at the security at the front desk, and get in one of the spacious elevators. The people behind me turn abruptly silent upon seeing me. I’ve been here a week, but every single employee in the whole building knows I’m the boss/CEO and acts accordingly.
Fucking love my life.
I purchased this construction company, adding it to the Hebikawa conglomerate a year ago, and through corporate fraud, financial scams, and manipulation of the industry, I’m seeing it grow. I have big plans for branching out next into electronics and even entertainment.
I exit the elevator on the top floor and go down the corridor. Trevor, my secretary, is on the phone. He looks like a thug with those leather pants and scarred knuckles. But that’s one reason why he’s such a good assistant—he knows how to deal with assholes. He’s an old dog. Became part of the family when my grandfather was still thekumicho.
He covers the receiver to tell me the big boss is waiting in my office. I already inferred that by looking at the two men in blackstanding on each side of the doors. They both bow when they see me.
Moving to the Big Apple was my idea to put some distance between me and my aunt…the big boss, with her watchful eyes and even more vigilant spies. She’s here to check on me, after a mere week. Talk about distrustful, overbearing relatives/big bosses.
I push the heavy doors open—which feel more like the gates of hell today—ready for whatever battle she’ll start today. A cloud of smoke awaits me. My aunt is sitting on one of the cream sofas near the large window, the butt of a cigarette perpetually residing on her lower lip. She’s wearing a black silk kimono with a white snake pattern, looking all graceful and proper when in reality she is a vicious, cussing machine.
She likes to say to people that she raised me, but the truth is that she was barely home. And even when she was, all she did was remind me of my role in the family and what was expected of me. Affection is an absent word in her vocabulary. Still, she gave me everything I needed, and when I followed her orders she fulfilled every last one of my whims—including having River. The times I rebelled, well, her punishments were unconventional at best—kneeling under a waterfall taking the brunt of the cold-as-fuck water on my head for hours tends more toward torture.
“Ane-san.” I bow in the traditional Japanese greeting. “You alone?”
“Aren’t we all?” she teases with her raspy voice, as I move to the oversized desk to drop my jacket. I expected more men, since she always has a cloud of them around her. “Spit that damn gum out!”
I do as she says.
“Gaijin,” she addresses River, insisting on using that archaic nickname after all these years.
“Kumicho.” He gives her a deferential bow before moving to the window to crack it open. Then he positions himself like a good bodyguard near me.
The door opens letting one of the men in black inside. She snaps her fingers and waits with her hand up until he places a glass filled with Perrier water in it. She takes a sip and then lets the man place it on the coffee table before he gives her a napkin to pat her mouth with.
When I was a kid I thought she used this Cleopatra act to remind people she was the undisputed leader of the yakuza, but I learned soon enough that she actually enjoys flaunting her power.
“Did you wait long?” I see two cigarette butts lying in the glass ashtray on the coffee table.
“You are one minute late,” she scolds me, throwing the napkin on the floor and forcing her man to pick it up.
“Which is fourteen minutes earlier than usual,” I retort cheekily.
She cusses under her breath. “I didn’t punish you enough, you’re still a brat.”
I give her a beaming smile, pressing my butt against the desk’s edge.
“Did you meet with Ishida-san?”
Straight to work as usual.
“Not yet. He seems occupied at the moment.” The old man has been scheming against us…forever. Apparently the Ishida family was the ruling one once upon a time until my grandfather killed his great-uncle and obtained thekumicho’stitle. He’s been salivating to get it back while kissing my aunt’s ass like a pro—and that’s not an easy thing to do. I love her, but she is a royal bitch.
“He invited me to his grandchild’s ceremony.”
“Mm. Power play.” She tsks, patting the sofa cushion in invitation. I push away from the desk and sit near her. I know she isn’t going to help me with the Ishida boss, and I don’t want her to. That would undermine my position.
“Keep an eye on Ishida-san. You are at a loss here, moving on his home field, he has a big advantage. You can easily deal with him, just don’t be too…you.” My aunt loves to give backhanded compliments. It’s her daily bread.
She is bold and fearless, rules the organization with an iron fist and a merciless approach. She is always ten steps ahead of everybody, that’s how she took my grandfather’s position after he died. Being a woman, holding that much power in this line of business is a daily battle.
She suddenly blows smoke my way. No wonder the acrid smell feels comforting to me. I do prefer the smell from River’s menthol cigarettes, though.
“Now, the bloody Triad encounter. A trap?” She is too astute not to know their meeting request was fishy. So why did she send me? Did she hope they’d show their cards after I started cutting?
