Startled, Sushi managed to click on the lights, and discovered his company commander sprawled in one of the room's chairs, squinting against the sudden brightness.
"Good evening, Captain. You gave me a bit of a turn just now. I didn't expect to see you."
"I gave you a bit of a turn?" Phule snarled. "You've had the whole force in an uproar since you showed up with those tattoos. I had to move fast to keep them from charging to the rescue when that goon picked you up.''
"Really?" Sushi said, raising his eyebrows. "I'll have to apologize. I didn't mean to panic everyone."
"Well, you panicked me!" the commander snapped. "Now, what's with the tattoos? Why are you posing as a member of the Japanese Mafia?"
"What makes you think it's a pose, Captain?" the Legionnaire countered blandly. "Our regular uniforms are long-sleeved. Have you ever seen my arms before?"
Phule gaped at him.
"Relax, Willard." Sushi laughed, resorting to Phule's civilian name. "You were right the first time. It's a disguise. I just wanted to pull your leg a little to try to get you to loosen up. You seemed awfully tense."
"Do you blame me?" the commander said, settling back in his chair with a glower. "All right, I'll bite. Where did you get the tattoos?"
"As a matter of fact, Lieutenant Rembrandt put them on for me," Sushi said, holding up his arms to display the decorations. "Aren't they great? I told her what I wanted in general, but the actual design is hers."
"Are you saying you cleared this masquerade with Rembrandt?" Phule said, ignoring the display.
"To be honest with you, Captain, I don't think she realized the significance of what I was asking." Sushi smiled. "I'll admit, I wanted it to be a surprise."
"Oh, it was a surprise, all right," the commander snorted. "But I'm still waiting for you to tell me why you're doing this."
"Isn't it obvious? You said you wanted to know what was going on here, didn't you? I simply figured that the best way to get reliable information was to go to the source-to try to infiltrate the opposition. Once I settled on that objective, it became clear to me that the best way to achieve it was to pose as a visiting dignitary from another criminal faction, of which the Yakusa was a natural choice."
"Did it occur to you that it might be dangerous?" Phule said, his original anger giving way to the concern that spawned it.
"Of course." Sushi smiled. "Remember what I said when you asked me to go under cover? About being addicted to high-risk games and not being sure I could control myself at the tables? Well, I've found the answer. The tables are pretty tame compared to the game I'm playing now. To be honest with you, I'm having more fun than I've had in years."
"Games? Fun?" the commander said, his temper starting to rise again. "Aside from the danger of the locals figuring out your charade, what are you going to do if you run into a member of the real Yakusa? I don't think they'd take kindly to your trying to pass yourself off as one of their representatives."
"I think you're underestimating me, Captain," the Legionnaire said. "I may refer to it as a game, but as a habitual gambler, I've studied the odds very carefully. It's doubtful it will even occur to the locals that I might be an imposter for the very reason you just mentioned: Who would ever think of posing as a member of the Yakusa? What's more, it's extremely doubtful that I'll run into anyone from that organization, since they've been carefully staying away from Lorelei for years."
"How do you know that?"
"I made a few calls," Sushi said with a smile. "While my family is quite scrupulous about avoiding criminal enterprise, myself being a notable exception, it nonetheless is aware of the underworld network and maintains several contacts for the sole purpose of information and communication. That raises another point, Captain."
The Legionnaire dropped his smile.
"I'm not sure how familiar you are with the Yakusa, but it's not really a single organization. Like its Western counterparts, it's actually made up of several families who operate under a mutual truce. If I did run into a member, I'd simply claim to be from another family. I'm familiar with the general recognition codes."
CHAPTER NINE
Journal #215
In earlier entries, I have made passing reference to my employer's temper. While he is as prone as the next person to occasional flares of irritation or annoyance, these pale to insignificance when compared to his real anger.
Anyone who has been the focus of his attention when he is in such a mood usually goes to great lengths to avoid repeating the experience in the future, myself included. Fortunately he is not normally quick to anger, and peaceful coexistence is not only possible but probable as long as certain topics and situations are avoided.
One situation which is guaranteed to trigger an explosion, however, is (if you'll pardon the pun) when he feels he's been made to play the fool.
Gunther Rafael looked up from his work as the door to his office slammed with sufficient force to blow papers off his desk. It didn't take a genius to tell that the black-clad figure that had just entered was upset.
"Is something wrong, Mr. Phule?"
"Why didn't you tell me Maxine Pruet was part owner of the Fat Chance?" the Legion commander demanded without preamble, storm clouds billowing on his face.
The youth blinked. "I ... I didn't think it was important. Is it?"
"Not important?" Phule raged. "For God's sake, she's the head of the gang that's trying to take over your operation! The organized crime we're supposed to be saving you from!"
"She can't be," Rafael said, frowning. "She's one of the most respected businesspeople on Lorelei. In fact, I think she owns some of the casinos here."
"She has controlling interest in all of them except yours, and she's working on that right now!"
"But she was the one who-oh my God!"
The stricken look on the youth's face as full realization dawned on him was sufficient to cool Phule's anger somewhat.
"Look, Gunther," he said levelly, "why don't you tell me exactly what happened?"
"There's not much to tell," Rafael stammered, still shaken. "She gave me a loan for my remodeling-even suggested it, in fact. She paid me a social call to welcome me as the new owner and seemed quite open in her admiration of the facility, though she did suggest it could use some renovation."
"And when you said you didn't think you could afford it, she offered to lend you the money," the Legionnaire supplied.
"That's right," Rafael said. "She said she was looking for a short-term investment to hide some money from the tax men. It seemed like a good deal at the time. She even offered an interest rate below what the bank would charge me."
"She did, did she?" Phule scowled. "What were the other terms of the loan? All the terms?"
"Well, I can't remember them all, but I have my copy of the contract right here," the youth said, quickly rummaging through one of the desk's file drawers. "Basically she gave me the money against twenty-five percent of the Fat Chance. When I pay it off, her share drops to five percent, as a permanent interest."
"Twenty-five percent?" Phule echoed. "That doesn't sound right. From what I hear she usually goes for controlling interest. Let me see that contract."
"I still don't see how it can ..." Rafael began, but Phule cut him short.
"Here it is!" he declared, pointing to a spot in the document's depths. "The `Late Payment' section. According to this, if you fail to pay the loan off on time, you not only forfeit the right to buy back her shares, but she gets additional points of the enterprise up to-"
"Forty-nine percent," the youth supplied. "I know. But even then it's not controlling interest. I don't know what you're worried about, though. The loan isn't due until a week after our grand opening, and that alone should generate enough money to pay her off."