They Do Things Differently in Japan.

The name is Philip Spade, my friends call me Phil and my enemies call me something unprintable. I have worked in the LAPD for the past 20 years. Over the past 6 months we’d been hearing of a new outfit doing business in the ‘City of Angels’, only this outfit were no angels. Mean, nasty and cold blooded killers were the words I’d use to describe them. What’s more they are Japanese and call themselves the ‘Sisterhood Yakuza’, strange name but I didn’t pick it. Five days ago there was a hit on Jimmy Cherazni, a pimp who hadn’t paid his dues to them. OK the guy was a slime ball but he didn’t deserve to have some Japanese chick wait for him behind a wall and blow his brains out. Mike Damboza, a drug runner for the Gabrezi family, was next. Same kink of method, a Japanese chick walks up to him in broad daylight and puts six slugs in him. Too bad that she took out a couple of witnesses as well - now I guess we’ll never know it if was the same woman who did Cherazni.

Anyway when my boss tells me that the local sleaze balls are being forced out by this new crew I tell him to tell me something I didn’t already know. He says we need more information on this new gang and that hardly raises my temperature either. But when he asked if would I like to go to Japan to get the low-down from the local boys in Tokyo my eyes lit up. The way things have been over the past few days the prospect of a few days in Japan, away from the LA smog, seemed like a great idea - my mistake.

Let me tell you, they do things different in Japan. When I step off the plane I am expecting the local boys to greet me, usual thing, the big chiefs in business suits and a briefing on the way to headquarters. Boy, did I get a shock. Instead of the business suits I am met by three lookers in uniform all wearing mini skirts, all carrying pieces and all of them keen to show me they know how to use them. Apparently they are my bodyguards in case the ‘Sisterhood Yakuza’ try anything on the way from the airport. Listen, I ain’t judgmental but these girls would have been arrested for something if they dressed like that on Hollywood Boulevard. Like I say, they do things different in Japan.

Forty minutes later I am at the HQ and speaking to one of the suits. He gives me the intel on the ‘Sisterhood Yakuza’. They are big time into drugs, racketeering, money laundering. You know typical stuff for a gang of hoodlums. The real peach however is that the outfit is run by women and all the enforcers are babes too - like I say, this is a strange country. It turns out that the good guys have got an agent on the inside and the suit suggests meeting her in my hotel at 8 PM.

Well the bell to my room goes at 7:45 and I let the woman in. Demure and cute, that’s how they make ‘em in Japan. How was I to know that there’d been a switch? I mean she seemed real nice and when she suggested having a few drinks to lighten the atmosphere that seemed friendly. Too bad she loaded ‘em with knockout drops. Of course, I realised what had happened when the room started swaying from side to side. I was just about to get up to debate the point when she pulls a gun on me and clicks off the safety. She raises a finger to her lips to tell me to shut up whilst the drops take full effect. I ain’t gonna argue with her after hearing what happened to Jimmy Cherazni and Mike Damboza. It was probably only a few seconds that she sat there, the gun pointed rock steady at my heart but to me it seemed like forever. In some ways I was glad when I finally passed out.

Anyway a few hours later I come to, or it may have been a few days - hell I wasn’t counting anything except the huge throbs in my head. When I open my eyes I’m not in the hotel anymore and there’s another Japanese broad pointing a gun at me, I sure seem to attract the wrong sort of woman. I am just about to introduce myself when BAM, she slugs me across the face with the barrel of the gun. She tells me that my turn to do the talking comes later but until then it would be wise if I kept my mouth shut. Not easy when you are almost choking on your own blood and you want to spit one of your teeth on the floor.

She introduces herself as ‘Ms Michiko, the tertiary interrogator’ whatever that means - maybe something gets lost in the translation. She then spills the beans on what’s going on. Apparently there was a leak at Tokyo Police HQ and the ‘Sisterhood Yakuza’ heard about the hotel meeting. So they sent along one of their own girls to take care of me and waited for the real informant to show up - she didn’t. Judging by the state of my mouth that was a pretty wise move. Anyway now they want me to tell them the name of the informant or I’ll start regretting it. What am I to do? I don’t know the name of who I was meant to be meeting but if I tell her that I’m a dead man. Life can be real tough sometimes.

Despite the rhythm section of a heavy metal band playing drums in my head and my mouth aching like a good one my mind is working overtime. I tell her I ain’t telling her nothing, if she wants the name she’s gonna have to beat it out of me. Not the wisest move as that is exacting what she starts doing. Not the face this time but the body. I tell you I’ve taken a few beatings in my time but the guys who did them could learn a lot from this lady. Of course I keep my mouth shut, after all I haven’t got a lot to say. I think it was the punch into the solar plexus with the gun butt which put me out this time but she’d hit me so often it was hard to tell.

The next time I come around is even worst than the first. In addition to a sore head and bloodied mouth my body feels like a punch bag. To cap it all there’s yet another woman pointing a gun at me. She bows and introduces herself as ‘Ms Megumi, secondary interrogator’. Real polite like, Japan is the only country I know where the women kill you slowly with politeness. She lights up some cigarettes and the interrogation begins again. She stubs the cigarettes out on my hands and legs but it ain’t so bad, her timing seems off and to be honest the burn marks looks worse than they really are. She could use a few lessons from the first one, Ms Michiko. After a few minutes she gives up, gives me a strange look and leaves the room. ‘Piece of cake’ I think to myself.

I suppose I was alone for around 15 minutes before the door opened again. For a moment she was silhouetted in the doorway and then she moved into the room and into the light. When you’re a cop you learn to recognise the real bad ones, the ones who are totally beyond redemption and who live only for themselves with no pity or compassion for others. I looked into the eyes of this woman and, despite her elfin like face, I knew right away she was one of those. Of course she carried the obligatory firearm, its gotta be the ‘must have’ fashion for these girls. She was elegently attired in a long black gown but her eyes and the enthusiastic way she grasped the automatic confirmed my suspicion that she was the kind of girl who wouldn't be too fussy on how she obtained the information that the 'Sisterhook Yakuza' was after   She walked up to me and I braced myself. As it happens she took me off guard by giving me a huge smile. ‘Ms Miho, primary interrogator’ she said sweetly. Somehow I didn’t think the bonhomie was going to last if I didn’t come up with a name soon.

Sometime your hunches are right and unfortunately this was one of those occasions. I won’t go into the gory details but the following two hours were not pleasant. This one used all the ploys of the previous interrogators plus a few new ones. When she bowed and left the room I thought that was it for the day. Instead she returns a few minutes later with an ugly looking horsewhip in her hand..I close my eyes and wait for the worst. The worst comes. I thought the first two hours were bad enough but that was just a warm up act for this broad. She certainly knew her trade. Sure, I wanted to slip back into the oblivion of unconciousness but she manages to keep me awake long enough for the next bout of pain to overwhelm me.

Eventually she stops and gives me that coy smile again. She tells me she reckons I don’t have a name to give her - wise girl. She tells me that since I don’t have a name I’m no use to them anymore - that’s logical. She tells me she is going to shoot me - bad news. I say bad news but in some ways after what I’ve been through death has its attractions. She sits down in front of me and draws her gun and once again gives me an irresistible smile, either she likes me or she enjoys her work. Next thing she pulls back the slider which puts a bullet in the gun’s chamber , I guess she must enjoy her work.

‘I just come back from your country with Ms. Michiko where we kill many men. Now Mr. Spade, I am going to kill you’ she says. She gives me one final smile, poses briefly whilst she gathers concentration for the task ahead then lowers the gun and takes aim.

You know the rest. You burst in, she drops the gun but it don’t do her no good, you still shoot her. Your backup team gets the other one. It would have been swell if the cavalry had arrived a bit sooner but I suppose it takes time to organise these things.

That’s my statement. By the way, thanks for being real easy on me, I thought that was a bit odd at the time. Another thing, you didn’t shout a warning when you came in the room and you sure as hell never read her rights before plugging her.

Ms Megumi smiled and finished writing my statement. ‘As you have discovered Mr. Spade, we do things differently in Japan’ she said inscrutably.