Read Online Kamikaze by Michael Slade - Free Book Online
Authors: Michael Slade
Tags: Canada
Ads: Link
general, a samurai ruled by bushido. In the beginning, he was just one of many engaged in a free-for-all struggle to corner the black market and control the bars and clubs favored by GIs.”
“To pimp prostitutes?” Jackie asked.
The diplomat nodded. “The gurentai fought among themselves, as hoods do everywhere. Turf wars erupted, with gangsters trying to kill off rival bosses. In the yakuza, your boss is God. So a gang without a boss is weak and crippled in a fight. Whoever kills a rival boss takes over his gang and territory.”
“Capone,” said Jackie.
“That’s who they mimicked. Right down to the clothes they wore. The legend of Genjo Tokuda is this: A yakuza boss from another district aimed to take over the black market in Ginza. He asked Tokuda to meet him to settle the matter honorably and then pulled a gun he’d hidden under the negotiating table. He triggered a shot at Tokuda, but the gun jammed. Tokuda fled with his bodyguard, but they were pursued by men with swords who caught up to them on the street. The bodyguard was killed. Tokuda was injured. Though wounded in the shoulder, he grabbed one of the swords by its blade—”
“Ouch!” Jackie winced.
“And wrenched it from his pursuer’s hands. Swinging the sword, Tokuda counterattacked. He hacked the heads off three men, including the rival boss.”
“Is that true?” Dane asked.
“The incident wasn’t reported. But that was the start of Tokuda’s reputation for vengeance.”
“The start?” said Jackie. “There’s more?”
“Members of the rival gang ate the ashes of their boss and vowed to avenge his beheading. One night, Tokuda was drinking in one of his Ginza clubs when a would-beassassin walked up to his table, pulled out a pistol, and shot him near the heart. When he got out of the hospital, Tokuda had the Claw—his enforcer—hunt down the triggerman and the others who had botched the hit.”
“The Claw?” said Dane.
“Tokuda and his closest henchmen snuck the captives out to sea in a boat. Clad in spongy, air-filled life jackets so they could breathe, the doomed hoods were forced into open coffins on the deck. Slats were nailed across the tops to hold them down. Dividers were fitted around their necks to compartmentalize their heads. Then freshly mixed concrete was poured over their bodies. When it hardened, the gangsters’ faces stared up from concrete overcoats. With his bare hands, the Claw gouged out their eyes, and one by one, the blind men were dumped into the ocean. They sank—alive—to the bottom of the sea. The following day, the rest of the rival gang members received a jar full of eyes. They quickly swore allegiance to Tokuda.
“After that,” Yamada said, “other gangs were loath to challenge him. He let it be known that no quarter would be given. All he claimed to want was a piece of the pie, and he offered blood brotherhood to rival bosses. Those who accepted sealed the deal with a traditional sakazuki ceremony at his home. The alliance was sworn over cups of sake, and a go-between declared the union complete. That done, Tokudo slowly seized control. Instead of a piece, he ate the whole pie.”
“What about the police?” asked Dane.
“The civil police were unarmed. Tokuda’s gang switched samurai swords for automatic firearms, and soon they became known as the Ginza police.”
“And the Americans?”
“From 1945 on, their obsession was Communism. Tokuda was a tool for their dirty work. The occupiers agreed to leave his gang alone if he would control the labor unions and crush any movement that might be a Communist initiative.”
“Lucky Luciano reached a similar deal with the Allied invaders in Sicily during the Second World War,” said DeClercq. “The Allies kept their hands off his army of street criminals, and he offered them the services of the Mafia.”
“Kickback deals with occupation officials guaranteed Tokuda freedom from prosecution for his black-market crimes and
“To pimp prostitutes?” Jackie asked.
The diplomat nodded. “The gurentai fought among themselves, as hoods do everywhere. Turf wars erupted, with gangsters trying to kill off rival bosses. In the yakuza, your boss is God. So a gang without a boss is weak and crippled in a fight. Whoever kills a rival boss takes over his gang and territory.”
“Capone,” said Jackie.
“That’s who they mimicked. Right down to the clothes they wore. The legend of Genjo Tokuda is this: A yakuza boss from another district aimed to take over the black market in Ginza. He asked Tokuda to meet him to settle the matter honorably and then pulled a gun he’d hidden under the negotiating table. He triggered a shot at Tokuda, but the gun jammed. Tokuda fled with his bodyguard, but they were pursued by men with swords who caught up to them on the street. The bodyguard was killed. Tokuda was injured. Though wounded in the shoulder, he grabbed one of the swords by its blade—”
“Ouch!” Jackie winced.
“And wrenched it from his pursuer’s hands. Swinging the sword, Tokuda counterattacked. He hacked the heads off three men, including the rival boss.”
“Is that true?” Dane asked.
“The incident wasn’t reported. But that was the start of Tokuda’s reputation for vengeance.”
“The start?” said Jackie. “There’s more?”
“Members of the rival gang ate the ashes of their boss and vowed to avenge his beheading. One night, Tokuda was drinking in one of his Ginza clubs when a would-beassassin walked up to his table, pulled out a pistol, and shot him near the heart. When he got out of the hospital, Tokuda had the Claw—his enforcer—hunt down the triggerman and the others who had botched the hit.”
“The Claw?” said Dane.
“Tokuda and his closest henchmen snuck the captives out to sea in a boat. Clad in spongy, air-filled life jackets so they could breathe, the doomed hoods were forced into open coffins on the deck. Slats were nailed across the tops to hold them down. Dividers were fitted around their necks to compartmentalize their heads. Then freshly mixed concrete was poured over their bodies. When it hardened, the gangsters’ faces stared up from concrete overcoats. With his bare hands, the Claw gouged out their eyes, and one by one, the blind men were dumped into the ocean. They sank—alive—to the bottom of the sea. The following day, the rest of the rival gang members received a jar full of eyes. They quickly swore allegiance to Tokuda.
“After that,” Yamada said, “other gangs were loath to challenge him. He let it be known that no quarter would be given. All he claimed to want was a piece of the pie, and he offered blood brotherhood to rival bosses. Those who accepted sealed the deal with a traditional sakazuki ceremony at his home. The alliance was sworn over cups of sake, and a go-between declared the union complete. That done, Tokudo slowly seized control. Instead of a piece, he ate the whole pie.”
“What about the police?” asked Dane.
“The civil police were unarmed. Tokuda’s gang switched samurai swords for automatic firearms, and soon they became known as the Ginza police.”
“And the Americans?”
“From 1945 on, their obsession was Communism. Tokuda was a tool for their dirty work. The occupiers agreed to leave his gang alone if he would control the labor unions and crush any movement that might be a Communist initiative.”
“Lucky Luciano reached a similar deal with the Allied invaders in Sicily during the Second World War,” said DeClercq. “The Allies kept their hands off his army of street criminals, and he offered them the services of the Mafia.”
“Kickback deals with occupation officials guaranteed Tokuda freedom from prosecution for his black-market crimes and
Similar Books
