Saito asked anxiously, “You will speak to the superintendent? About protection and to make sure they arrest Kanemoto and his gang?”
Tora said vaguely, “We’ll share our information with the police. And we’ll be back in case there are more messages from Kanemoto.”
Saito nodded glumly.
Outside the house, Tora rubbed his hands with satisfaction. “Couldn’t be better,” he said. “This will interest Kobe greatly. You’ll see your blind girl will be out in no time.”
Saburo thought about it. Perhaps Shokichi would forgive him then, but he no longer wanted to be forgiven. He was better off alone than with a wife who burst into angry recriminations whenever he did not do as she wanted. Perhaps he might tolerate such behavior in a mistress, but certainly not in a wife. Yes, why not? She could be his mistress. And he could leave whenever she behaved badly; she would soon learn to behave. The thought cheered him. “What next?” he asked Tora.
“Well, since Kanemoto hangs out in the willow quarter, we should go there.” Tora looked up at the moon. It was a cold clear night. “Come along, the day has started for the whores and gamblers.”
They returned home briefly to exchange their sober blue robes with the black sashes for the cheap but colorful clothing of young men bent on a night out.
As they walked through the empty streets on this cold night, Saburo became glum again. It troubled him that he always seemed to be in the wrong, not matter how hard he tried to please his master. He was beginning to suspect that he had never been forgiven for his past life as a spy or agent. In the end there had still been a certain dislike, a lack of trust, and whenever his lordship thought he saw something in Saburo’s actions that displeased him, the old prejudice emerged. That would never change.
But apart from the vague hope that Shokichi might change her mind, this time something else motivated Saburo to disobey. It was not only the arrest of the blind girl, though he did feel sorry for her. It was the memory of that schoolmaster, bent over his endless copying work with red-rimmed eyes as his hungry family watched. What would happen to them when winter came? That broken roof would collapse under the first snow, and they had no money for fuel. They would freeze to death if hunger had not killed them first.
Shivering in the wind and with this image before his eyes, Saburo followed Tora into the world of pleasures offered by the willow quarter. As soon as they passed under the gaudy gate, they were surrounded by lights, colors, sounds, smells of food and perfumes, and the sense that everyone was dancing in the streets.
Nobody danced, of course, but the busy scene with the colorful costumes of the women, the laughter of the men, and the sounds of music being played in wine shops, eating places, and houses of assignation gave the impression of joyous abandon.
Tora smiled happily as he looked around, and Saburo gave him a sour look. Tora’s visits to the quarter had become severely curtailed since his marriage and life as a husband and father, but he had clearly missed it.
“I wonder if the Bamboo Grove is still there,” Tora said. “Not first-class, but a lively place. They always had fresh young girls from the provinces, decent wine, and good card games.”
Saburo grimaced. “And how are those things going to help us find a gangster boss?”
Tora raised his brows. “You’re in a bad mood a lot lately, brother. There’s gambling everywhere. Gamblers know each other. If you’re serious about gambling, you make a study of your opponents. That means you watch and try to draw them out. Gamblers know what’s going on.”
“If you say so.” Saburo glared at the painted young women who made determined efforts to lure them into the premises where they worked. One put out her tongue at him and turned her attention to someone else.
Tora dealt with them by grinning and joking with the women, claiming that his wife would beat him if he succumbed to their charms. This sort of thing was clearly mutually enjoyable, and Saburo thought bitterly that he just did not have the knack for attracting women.
The Bamboo Grove still existed. It was now a wine shop catering to working men and small tradesmen, but it was still as lively as Tora remembered, and in the back room a noisy game of dice was being played.
Tora said wistfully, “I wish we had some funds. All I have is a string of coppers and one piece of silver. What about you?”
Saburo made a face. “I don’t think we should waste any more funds, and certainly not on gambling,” he said primly.
Tora eyed him askance. “I told you you’ve got to pay for information. I don’t think buying a cup of wine will get us what we want.”
Saburo felt in his sash. “Half a string and three pieces of silver.” He added accusingly, “I’d meant to give the silver to the schoolmaster.”
“Hmm. Use the coppers and one piece of silver, and play cautiously.” Tora strode into the backroom, eyed the gamblers, and cried, “Can I trust my eyes? Gengyo, is that you, you thieving rascal?”
Gengyo looked up from his pile of winnings. His face broke into a gap-toothed grin. “Tora, you randy dog! What, you’re chasing the whores again? I knew that marriage wouldn’t last.” He jumped up and embraced Tora, both laughing out loud and slapping each other’s backs. Saburo scowled.
“You’re wrong,” said Tora. “I’m still a dutiful married man and father. But I thought I might try my luck tonight. I brought my friend Saburo. Saburo, meet the sharpest dicer in the willow quarter. Can we sit in?”
Of course they could. Introductions were made and Tora decided that the clientele of the Bamboo Grove had declined a little. The one called Hankei looked like the sort of man they needed. But if he was a gangster, they would have to tread carefully. He hoped Saburo would not make any mistakes.
When told about the stakes, Tora grimaced. “We’re poor, guys. Can you take it down a bit?”
Hankei, who resembled a small monkey, objected. He already had a neat pile of winnings and claimed that any change might break his streak of luck. “If you run out of money,” he offered generously, “I’ll stake you. And the wine’s on me.”
Tora nodded. “Well, maybe your luck will rub off.” Making loans during games was one way unscrupulous moneylenders preyed on the poor and stupid. They settled down, put their money in and awaited their turn with the dice.
Tora watched Hankei rattle the dice in a cup and upend it on the floor, hiding the dice inside. They made their guesses, even or odd, and Hankei’s neighbor lifted the cup. Saburo had guessed correctly and received a share of the pot. Tora had lost.
The payout being settled, and the wine cups refilled, Tora asked, “Did you hear about Nakamura’s murder?”
They had all heard about it and expressed shock that a blind girl should go so far as to slash a man’s throat.
“Though mind you,” said one of the players, “he was known to abuse women. Some of the houses stopped admitting him. But the girls and their aunties are pretty desperate for money, and so he still had plenty of entertainment.”
“Yeah,” said Gengyo, “these days the whores gamble just as much as their clients. The one they call Phoenix owed Nakamura one thousand pieces of gold.”
Shouts of derision greeted this figure. “You must be crazy. Even in silver, that’s more money than anyone in the quarter has, let alone a whore.”
Gengyo defended himself. “The Phoenix is a choja. She makes a lot of money for her house. Her clothes alone are worth a fortune.”
They squabbled over it until Hankei, the monkey, said impatiently, “Come on! Let’s play. I came for a good game.” He pushed the cup and the dice toward his neighbor, who obediently picked them up and rattled the cup. Bets were made. More wine was dispensed and drunk. Money was added to the diminished pile, and the game went on. Tora won a few times, but Saburo only once.
Saburo asked, “Did this Nakamura gamble?”
“Never,” said one of the players. “But he’d ask enough questions about big losers.” He laughed. “Always on the look-out for people needing a loan, that one. No, he was much too smart or too tight to risk his own money.”