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Authors: Michael Slade
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extortions. He got involved in everything: gambling, smuggling, loansharking, prostitution, pornography, gun-running, slavery, and drugs.”
“Heroin?” said Dane.
“Methamphetamines. As post-war Japan developed its competitive and frenetic pace, speed became the national drug of choice. The yakuza also bartered it for Western arms.”
“Tokuda sounds ruthless. A nasty piece of work.”
“He’s an organizational genius. Because of his wartime connections, he has a long-standing alliance with the right-wing political nationalists. That’s how he infiltrated the corporate world. In the bubble economy of the 1980s, helaundered his dirty money through stocks and real estate. Then he got millions more from the banks in bad debts.”
“What’s his scam?”
“ Sokaiya. The word literally means ‘shareholders’ meetings men.’ Tokuda would buy up a small number of shares in a company, earning his sokaiya the right to attend shareholders’ meetings. They would gather information on, or create, damaging scandals about the company and its executives—secret mistresses, tax evasion, unsafe factory conditions, pollution, and such. They’d threaten to disclose those scandals at the shareholders’ meetings unless their demands were met. If the shakedown was rebuffed, the sokaiya would attend the meeting and raise hell, shouting down those who tried to speak and broadcasting the scandals for all to hear. In Japan, people fear embarrassment and shame more than physical threats. One or two shareholders’ meetings like that had all executives running scared. In the end, Tokuda got majority stock control of thousands of companies.”
“And real estate?” said Dane.
“For that, he used jiageya, ‘land turners.’ As land prices rose, these men blackmailed, threatened, or committed arson to force small businesses or residents off prime real estate. Then Tokuda developed his acquisitions with dirty money.”
“What happened when the bubble burst?”
“Nothing,” said Yamada. “Tokuda caused the recession, so he knew it was coming. He cashed in at the height of the false economy and bought overseas.”
“Here?”
“Everywhere. America, Europe, Asia.”
“Then what?”
“He retired and became a recluse. He lives on the top three floors of a skyscraper behind the building to which the national police followed Kazuya and Makoto Ochi.”
“Doing what?”
“He collects shogun antiques.”
“Why’s he in Vancouver?” Jackie asked.
“We don’t know. That’s why I’m here. Not once since the end of the Pacific War in 1945 has Genjo Tokuda left Japan. He’s always had a passport, but he’s never used it. So whatever brings him here now, you can be sure that you want to know.”
“Sergeant, Corporal,” DeClercq said, “locate Tokuda, follow him, and see what he does.”
“I can help,” Yamada said, “with a phone call. May I summon my sister from the car?”
The woman who entered DeClercq’s office five minutes later was also in her sixties, but she was full Caucasian.
“Hello,” she said, bowing as her way of introduction. “My name is Lynda West.”
“My half -sister,”Yamada said, as if reading Jackie’s mind. “My mother was Japanese, my father an American GI with the occupation forces. He died before I was born. My mother named me after him.”
“Don’t let Roger fool you. He’s reserved on the outside, but he’s not above a prank. We joke that we’re related, but we’re most likely not.”
“We might be,” Yamada said. “Your dad was in Tokyo during the occupation.”
“True,” said West. “And I’m Tokyo Rose.”
“You could be tested,” said Jackie, a cop to the core.
“Heavens, no!” exclaimed the woman. “Joshing is one thing. That would be another. I wouldn’t want to know if Dad cheated on Mom. And that would spoil the joke.”
“ You spoiled it,” Yamada said, “by outing me. That was my test to see how sharp these officers
“Heroin?” said Dane.
“Methamphetamines. As post-war Japan developed its competitive and frenetic pace, speed became the national drug of choice. The yakuza also bartered it for Western arms.”
“Tokuda sounds ruthless. A nasty piece of work.”
“He’s an organizational genius. Because of his wartime connections, he has a long-standing alliance with the right-wing political nationalists. That’s how he infiltrated the corporate world. In the bubble economy of the 1980s, helaundered his dirty money through stocks and real estate. Then he got millions more from the banks in bad debts.”
“What’s his scam?”
“ Sokaiya. The word literally means ‘shareholders’ meetings men.’ Tokuda would buy up a small number of shares in a company, earning his sokaiya the right to attend shareholders’ meetings. They would gather information on, or create, damaging scandals about the company and its executives—secret mistresses, tax evasion, unsafe factory conditions, pollution, and such. They’d threaten to disclose those scandals at the shareholders’ meetings unless their demands were met. If the shakedown was rebuffed, the sokaiya would attend the meeting and raise hell, shouting down those who tried to speak and broadcasting the scandals for all to hear. In Japan, people fear embarrassment and shame more than physical threats. One or two shareholders’ meetings like that had all executives running scared. In the end, Tokuda got majority stock control of thousands of companies.”
“And real estate?” said Dane.
“For that, he used jiageya, ‘land turners.’ As land prices rose, these men blackmailed, threatened, or committed arson to force small businesses or residents off prime real estate. Then Tokuda developed his acquisitions with dirty money.”
“What happened when the bubble burst?”
“Nothing,” said Yamada. “Tokuda caused the recession, so he knew it was coming. He cashed in at the height of the false economy and bought overseas.”
“Here?”
“Everywhere. America, Europe, Asia.”
“Then what?”
“He retired and became a recluse. He lives on the top three floors of a skyscraper behind the building to which the national police followed Kazuya and Makoto Ochi.”
“Doing what?”
“He collects shogun antiques.”
“Why’s he in Vancouver?” Jackie asked.
“We don’t know. That’s why I’m here. Not once since the end of the Pacific War in 1945 has Genjo Tokuda left Japan. He’s always had a passport, but he’s never used it. So whatever brings him here now, you can be sure that you want to know.”
“Sergeant, Corporal,” DeClercq said, “locate Tokuda, follow him, and see what he does.”
“I can help,” Yamada said, “with a phone call. May I summon my sister from the car?”
The woman who entered DeClercq’s office five minutes later was also in her sixties, but she was full Caucasian.
“Hello,” she said, bowing as her way of introduction. “My name is Lynda West.”
“My half -sister,”Yamada said, as if reading Jackie’s mind. “My mother was Japanese, my father an American GI with the occupation forces. He died before I was born. My mother named me after him.”
“Don’t let Roger fool you. He’s reserved on the outside, but he’s not above a prank. We joke that we’re related, but we’re most likely not.”
“We might be,” Yamada said. “Your dad was in Tokyo during the occupation.”
“True,” said West. “And I’m Tokyo Rose.”
“You could be tested,” said Jackie, a cop to the core.
“Heavens, no!” exclaimed the woman. “Joshing is one thing. That would be another. I wouldn’t want to know if Dad cheated on Mom. And that would spoil the joke.”
“ You spoiled it,” Yamada said, “by outing me. That was my test to see how sharp these officers
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