and bowed at the waist. “ Gogo, kôei oji yoi, watashi wa anata no namaenode, watashi wa tadashiku anata ni taisho suru koto ga dekiru ga aru kamo shiremasen ?”
The man’s eyes sparkled for a moment with the respect Jax showed by speaking in his language, 'Good afternoon, honored uncle, might I have your name so I may address you properly?', before he returned in perfect English, “I am Tomihisa Shiroo. Your Japanese is good.”
“Thank you. Would you care for some tea, Mr. Shiroo?”
“But of course.”
Both Jax and he sat as Jax served them, and spoke pleasantries for a while. At length, Shiroo finished his cup of tea and placed it on the saucer.
“Tell me, if you would, how has your visit to our nation been thus far?”
“Quite pleasant. I've visited before and I find the atmosphere agreeable. As well as the food.”
“And the people?”
“Polite. Decent. Honorable even.”
“It is well then. I am sent by one higher who wishes to know these things.”
“To what end?” Jax asked.
“We hope you have a quiet, enjoyable stay here in Tokyo. Preferably not playing poker.”
Ah … Belize . So word had gotten around , Jax thought very cheerfully.
Jax had been in Belize on business when he got caught in the middle of a kidnapping attempt. Without weapons, he'd been powerless to stop the kidnappers from taking himself too. Kidnap the Gringo they'd said . All gringos are rich they'd said . He'd promised one hundred million dollars for his return, and the kidnappers let their greed override good sense. They'd called the number Jax told them to, demanding their ransom money—one of many contingencies the Jaëgers had planned for. They hired professionals, men who didn't need to have their hands held to do their job.
In the hours that followed, fifty-two very angry men took a trip to a quiet Central American country, fully determined to prove themselves loyal to their salt. The city of Belmopan became host to the largest running urban battle since Ramadi or Fallujah. And the gunmen Jax had on his payroll were the victors of those fights. Urban combat, even on unfamiliar territory, was their specialty.
The long bloody swath they cut through the criminal underground saw buildings burned to cinders, spent brass cartridges all over the ground, and the smoky reek of burnt cordite everywhere. Cartels blamed each other, the government, and the Americans for their woes; government blamed the contentious street gangs; and Interpol didn't have a clue. But Interpol had never learned about the playing cards the Jaëgers left behind as a warning to others. Jack of Diamonds—the suicide Jack. Or the sheer blood-minded terror they’d left in their wake. The Belizean government knew just enough to hand Jax a suitcase stuffed with money to stay silent about the whole matter and to never come back to Belize.
“You may tell your patron that we are not here for personal reasons, simply professional business with Hiroyo Kikuchi. On this he has my word of honor.”
This answer seemed to relax Shiroo. He nodded his head slightly, then stood and bowed deeply at the waist. “Please enjoy your stay here.”
“Always.”
The men were ushered out and Xavier closed the door behind them. “I wasn't listening to all of that. Care to explain what the hell just happened, please?”
“That was the senior most advisor to a Yakuza boss. They were checking to make sure we didn't come here to do a Belize.”
There were chuckles around the room. “I think our contract is secure. Deferring to the board was probably Hirohito’s way of getting me out so their boss could have a chat with him.”
“Judging by the tattoo on big boy’s neck, Yamaguchi-gami,” Donny interjected. “Biggest of the Yakuza, sixty thousand known members. We kept tabs on them when I was in Counter-Intelligence.”
Xavier gawked. “Sixty thousand?”
“Yeah,” Donny smiled. “Those are the made men, the shot callers. They started moving into Tokyo a
The man’s eyes sparkled for a moment with the respect Jax showed by speaking in his language, 'Good afternoon, honored uncle, might I have your name so I may address you properly?', before he returned in perfect English, “I am Tomihisa Shiroo. Your Japanese is good.”
“Thank you. Would you care for some tea, Mr. Shiroo?”
“But of course.”
Both Jax and he sat as Jax served them, and spoke pleasantries for a while. At length, Shiroo finished his cup of tea and placed it on the saucer.
“Tell me, if you would, how has your visit to our nation been thus far?”
“Quite pleasant. I've visited before and I find the atmosphere agreeable. As well as the food.”
“And the people?”
“Polite. Decent. Honorable even.”
“It is well then. I am sent by one higher who wishes to know these things.”
“To what end?” Jax asked.
“We hope you have a quiet, enjoyable stay here in Tokyo. Preferably not playing poker.”
Ah … Belize . So word had gotten around , Jax thought very cheerfully.
Jax had been in Belize on business when he got caught in the middle of a kidnapping attempt. Without weapons, he'd been powerless to stop the kidnappers from taking himself too. Kidnap the Gringo they'd said . All gringos are rich they'd said . He'd promised one hundred million dollars for his return, and the kidnappers let their greed override good sense. They'd called the number Jax told them to, demanding their ransom money—one of many contingencies the Jaëgers had planned for. They hired professionals, men who didn't need to have their hands held to do their job.
In the hours that followed, fifty-two very angry men took a trip to a quiet Central American country, fully determined to prove themselves loyal to their salt. The city of Belmopan became host to the largest running urban battle since Ramadi or Fallujah. And the gunmen Jax had on his payroll were the victors of those fights. Urban combat, even on unfamiliar territory, was their specialty.
The long bloody swath they cut through the criminal underground saw buildings burned to cinders, spent brass cartridges all over the ground, and the smoky reek of burnt cordite everywhere. Cartels blamed each other, the government, and the Americans for their woes; government blamed the contentious street gangs; and Interpol didn't have a clue. But Interpol had never learned about the playing cards the Jaëgers left behind as a warning to others. Jack of Diamonds—the suicide Jack. Or the sheer blood-minded terror they’d left in their wake. The Belizean government knew just enough to hand Jax a suitcase stuffed with money to stay silent about the whole matter and to never come back to Belize.
“You may tell your patron that we are not here for personal reasons, simply professional business with Hiroyo Kikuchi. On this he has my word of honor.”
This answer seemed to relax Shiroo. He nodded his head slightly, then stood and bowed deeply at the waist. “Please enjoy your stay here.”
“Always.”
The men were ushered out and Xavier closed the door behind them. “I wasn't listening to all of that. Care to explain what the hell just happened, please?”
“That was the senior most advisor to a Yakuza boss. They were checking to make sure we didn't come here to do a Belize.”
There were chuckles around the room. “I think our contract is secure. Deferring to the board was probably Hirohito’s way of getting me out so their boss could have a chat with him.”
“Judging by the tattoo on big boy’s neck, Yamaguchi-gami,” Donny interjected. “Biggest of the Yakuza, sixty thousand known members. We kept tabs on them when I was in Counter-Intelligence.”
Xavier gawked. “Sixty thousand?”
“Yeah,” Donny smiled. “Those are the made men, the shot callers. They started moving into Tokyo a
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