her in his direction - he didn’t know which now. One phrase stuck in his mind – a pivotal phrase that had him panting like an idiot.
‘She gives excellent head,’ Kinjo had lustily explained. Watanabe had been in no mind to refuse. He had few principles and even fewer scruples.
Whatever his own failings Watanabe concluded that he had been placed in this position because of one man – and one man only! His mind was working overtime now. When he was cornered, as he quite often was, he had a tendency to lash out. He was quite incapable of attributing culpability to himself or taking responsibility for his own actions. Without doubt the man to blame was Kinjo!
Also within the dark recesses of his mind - in the secluded, distrustful and paranoid places where he dared not often tread but often found himself alone and wandering – and wondering, the thought stabbed at him that Kinjo might well have engineered this whole honey-trap deliberately for his own political ends and ambitions.
He looked at Kinjo who was sat blank faced on one of the office’s comfy chairs. He had said nothing, explained nothing – had shown no emotion what-so-ever, except perhaps a snivelling disregard for the fortunes of his leader. Watanabe’s thoughts bounded from one to another leaping effortlessly like a mountain goat. It was Kinjo who had suggested the link up with the Ryozo - they weren’t Watanabe’s natural partners. It was Kinjo who had negotiated the meeting, established the connections and smoothed the path. But perhaps this was all for himself. Perhaps this was all a simple coup by his erstwhile close companion.
Watanabe looked upon his colleague with different eyes.
‘You are responsible Kinjo!’ Watanabe shouted, pointing an accusatory finger in Kinjo’s direction. ‘You said that the hotel was discreet and you said the woman was safe! You said a link with the Ryozo would be beneficial! I blame you and no-one else!'
‘I can explain.’
‘No Kinjo – I don’t think you can!'
‘ Gomenasai .’ Kinjo fell to the floor.
Watanabe paced around the room. Kinjo remained wretched, his face ill-looking, reduced to a shade of pearl, glistening with moisture and appearing as if he was about to throw up.
‘You’re fired!’ said Watanabe suddenly.
‘W-what?’
‘You heard! Get out of my sight. I never want to see you again.’
8 - In which we experience a drunken interlude , the delights of pachinko and the prostitutes dilemma
Friday 31st December 9:45am
Kenta Fujiwara drained what was left of his whiskey and slumped back into his chair. He was blind drunk, as he had been for most of the previous night. He derived little pleasure from it. His head was thumping and his office seemed to have the unnerving habit of billowing back and forth in front of him. He spat into a spittoon that he kept nearby his desk, topped up his glass, downed it in one, topped it up again and then threw the now empty whiskey bottle against the wall. It simply thudded loudly and then dropped to the carpet without smashing. He couldn’t even get that right!
It would be quite fair to suggest that his numerous dilemmas had forced him to slip involuntarily into alcoholism but he couldn’t admit to it. He was completely unaware that he had come to depend more and more on the drink to see him through his day.
And one prime cause of his dilemma was that he was becoming less and less confident that the faint trickle of money that was currently dribbling into his coffers would soon turn into a free-flowing stream even once the real pressure had begun to tell on all those who persisted in their late payments. He desperately needed the cash and was anxious to call in a few favours. The trouble was that the few friends that he knew had suddenly deserted him.
He took out his mobile phone from his jacket pocket and dialled a number but it remained unanswered and he was in no mind
‘She gives excellent head,’ Kinjo had lustily explained. Watanabe had been in no mind to refuse. He had few principles and even fewer scruples.
Whatever his own failings Watanabe concluded that he had been placed in this position because of one man – and one man only! His mind was working overtime now. When he was cornered, as he quite often was, he had a tendency to lash out. He was quite incapable of attributing culpability to himself or taking responsibility for his own actions. Without doubt the man to blame was Kinjo!
Also within the dark recesses of his mind - in the secluded, distrustful and paranoid places where he dared not often tread but often found himself alone and wandering – and wondering, the thought stabbed at him that Kinjo might well have engineered this whole honey-trap deliberately for his own political ends and ambitions.
He looked at Kinjo who was sat blank faced on one of the office’s comfy chairs. He had said nothing, explained nothing – had shown no emotion what-so-ever, except perhaps a snivelling disregard for the fortunes of his leader. Watanabe’s thoughts bounded from one to another leaping effortlessly like a mountain goat. It was Kinjo who had suggested the link up with the Ryozo - they weren’t Watanabe’s natural partners. It was Kinjo who had negotiated the meeting, established the connections and smoothed the path. But perhaps this was all for himself. Perhaps this was all a simple coup by his erstwhile close companion.
Watanabe looked upon his colleague with different eyes.
‘You are responsible Kinjo!’ Watanabe shouted, pointing an accusatory finger in Kinjo’s direction. ‘You said that the hotel was discreet and you said the woman was safe! You said a link with the Ryozo would be beneficial! I blame you and no-one else!'
‘I can explain.’
‘No Kinjo – I don’t think you can!'
‘ Gomenasai .’ Kinjo fell to the floor.
Watanabe paced around the room. Kinjo remained wretched, his face ill-looking, reduced to a shade of pearl, glistening with moisture and appearing as if he was about to throw up.
‘You’re fired!’ said Watanabe suddenly.
‘W-what?’
‘You heard! Get out of my sight. I never want to see you again.’
8 - In which we experience a drunken interlude , the delights of pachinko and the prostitutes dilemma
Friday 31st December 9:45am
Kenta Fujiwara drained what was left of his whiskey and slumped back into his chair. He was blind drunk, as he had been for most of the previous night. He derived little pleasure from it. His head was thumping and his office seemed to have the unnerving habit of billowing back and forth in front of him. He spat into a spittoon that he kept nearby his desk, topped up his glass, downed it in one, topped it up again and then threw the now empty whiskey bottle against the wall. It simply thudded loudly and then dropped to the carpet without smashing. He couldn’t even get that right!
It would be quite fair to suggest that his numerous dilemmas had forced him to slip involuntarily into alcoholism but he couldn’t admit to it. He was completely unaware that he had come to depend more and more on the drink to see him through his day.
And one prime cause of his dilemma was that he was becoming less and less confident that the faint trickle of money that was currently dribbling into his coffers would soon turn into a free-flowing stream even once the real pressure had begun to tell on all those who persisted in their late payments. He desperately needed the cash and was anxious to call in a few favours. The trouble was that the few friends that he knew had suddenly deserted him.
He took out his mobile phone from his jacket pocket and dialled a number but it remained unanswered and he was in no mind
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