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My two pursuers must have agreed, because after a few seconds of stunned shock with their faces tilted upward, they both turned and shot down the street.

A low chuckle started from deep within the enormous belly of my benefactor, and in a few moments, he was laughing uproariously. Watching my erstwhile tormentors, I couldn’t help but join in. My two pursuers looked like they could sprint for Japan at the Olympics as they scrambled down the street.

The giant sat down and composed himself. He almost filled the backseat of the car, jamming me up against the side. The driver said something to him in Japanese and he waved the driver on. As we drove along, the sumotori asked me, “Why were they chasin’ you, bruddah?”

“I honestly don’t know. They chased me last night, too, so I don’t think it was a random mugging. Tokyo has twelve million people and I don’t see how I could come across the same two muggers.”

My large companion peered down at me and said, “Say, you look familiar.”

“I’ve been on some TV commercials for a show called News Pop. That’s why I’m in Japan. I’m supposed to appear on it in a few days.”

The sumotori snapped his fingers. “Dat’s it. You’re da kine detective.”

“I’m not a detective. I just solved a murder.”

He smiled. “You better do some detecting on da two punks, bruddah.”

Hawaiian Pidgin English has its own vocabulary and grammar. I’ve forgotten all of mine, but I can still detect the rhythm of Pidgin. He was talking an accented English, not true Pidgin. It’s just as well, because I don’t know if I could still communicate with a Pidgin speaker. “Who are you?” I asked.

“Gary Apia. Also known as Torayama. Dat’s my shikona, my sumo fighting name.”

“What’s an island boy doing in Japanese sumo?”

“There’s all kinds of island boys in sumo. Jesse Takamiyama, Konishiki, and Musashimaru are all island boys. Chad Rowan is Akebono, he’s da Yokozuna.”

“What?”

“Chad Rowan fights with the shikona of Akebono. He’s da champ. A Yokozuna is a grand champion, da tops in sumo. I’m still in the Juryo division. Dat’s sort of the minor leagues farm club of sumo. I’ll be moving up to the majors soon. That’s when da big bucks come, bruddah.”

“Well, you’re already the champ as far as I’m concerned. If you hadn’t come along, I don’t know what I’d have done. You said you’re from Olaa?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you know Henry Tanaka?”

“Sure! I went to high school with his kid, George.”

“I’m Henry’s cousin, Ken.” Hawaii is actually a small place, especially for old-time families. I took Gary to be a Samoan or Tongan and not Hawaiian, so his family might be relatively new to Hawaii. But if he claimed Olaa as home, it was a safe bet that he either knew my cousin or he knew someone who knew him. In Hawaii, even for a bigger city like Hilo, that was always a good bet.

“Dat so? Gee, bruddah, you’re a long way from home.”

“So are you.”

He laughed. “Dat’s true. Dat’s why we island boys gotta stick together! You need help? You call da Torabeya and ask for me. In fact, you can come to da beya anytime if you want to see us work out. Jes tell ‘em that you’re da kine friend of mine. I’m goin’ a sumo party right now, but after I get dropped off, I’ll have da driver take you anywhere. Jes ask.”

“Right now, I’d like to be taken to a police department.” Despite what Sugimoto had told me about Japanese cops, I decided it was time to talk to them about my two persistent shadows.

11

Inspector Ishii of the Tokyo police sat back at his cluttered metal desk. “You sure the two men were chasing you?” he asked. His accent was so thick you could pick it up with a chop-stick. I had to listen intently to understand him. They called him in especially to deal with me in English, and it took over an hour for him to arrive at the station. I wanted to take my best shot at getting aid from the Tokyo police. Asking him to repeat everything he said to me didn’t seem like a good tactic for accomplishing this.

“That’s right.” The metal chair I was sitting on was hard and uncomfortable.

“How do you know?”

“Inspector, those guys chased me for blocks. They weren’t just out for a late night jog. This is the second time they’ve followed me.”

“How did you get away?”

“Yesterday, I lost them on a train. I slipped out as the doors were closing. Tonight, I got the help of a sumo wrestler.”

Ishii showed a flicker of interest. Maybe he was a sumo fan. “Which rikishir

“That’s a word I don’t know.”

“A rikishi is a sumo wrestler.”

“Oh. His name was Gary Apia. He wrestles under the name of Torayama.”

“Oh, a Juryo rank rikishi.” Definitely a fan, but apparently it would have gotten me more help if I had jumped on the belly of a big-name sumo champ. In fact, Ishii seemed irritated by the whole situation. They had probably dragged him from home to take care of an excited English-speaking tourist.

“Could you identify these men?”

“I think so. I’ve seen them for the past two nights.”

Ishii made no comment. He went to a shelf and took down two large books. He put them in front of me and flipped them open. Mug books, with several rows of pictures on each page. “Please look at these pictures. If you see the men, tell me.”

I nodded and Ishii left to get himself a cup of tea. The room we were in had no private offices. Instead there was a small area with a couple of plastic-covered couches. The rest of the office was filled with small metal desks jammed together in rows, similar to the television station. Ishii’s desk sat at the end facing a row of desks, which probably meant he was a supervisor or section chief for investigators. His business card, which was in Japanese, wasn’t much help to me in figuring out the hierarchy. The room was incredibly cluttered, with white boards on the walls with various notes and charts. The floor was linoleum, and although it was old, it was spotless. Uniformed officers were coming in, making jokes, drinking tea, sitting down, and working on reports. They wore a gray military-style uniform.

I started the tedious task of flipping through the books, page by page, looking at the individual photos. After forty minutes I called Ishii back to me and pointed at a picture in the book.

“I’m sure this is one of the men who chased me.”

Ishii glanced down at the photo. I noted a look of surprise. “This one?”

“This one. I’m positive. There was another guy with him, quite a bit taller and thinner. I didn’t see his picture in these two books.”

Ishii went to another section of the squad room and returned with another mug book. “Please look at this book. See if you can identify the other man.” This time he stood over my shoulder as I flipped through the book. About a quarter of the way through I found the guy with the wolfish gait. I looked up at Ishii and said, “That’s him.”

Ishii sat down. “Could you explain exactly what you’re doing in Japan?”

That seemed a peculiar question, but I told him I was appearing on the News Pop television show.

“Are you some type of political activist in the United States?”

“No, I’m just here because I got involved in the murder of a Japanese businessman. That’s why they want me on News Pop.”

He looked at me and said, “It’s strange.”

“What’s strange?”

Ishii pointed to the picture of the thin man. “The first books were known thieves and muggers. The man you identified is a thug named Junichi Honda. He has ties to the Yakuza and a variety of radical political groups. This book has pictures of known members of radical groups.” He pointed to the second picture I identified. “This is a picture of Kim Chung Hee,” he said. “Does that name mean anything to you?”