Poker News

Hold’em Japan: A Joe and Hobby fiction

[Read Part One of this story]

Our host, Sugi, forewarned us as we left our Tokyo hotel that unscrupulous characters were trying to muscle in on his poker tournament, but we were notexpecting to be sideswiped by a truck. Thanks to airbags we were just buffeted about. As I was trying to get my mind in gear, Hobby shouted, “Quick, they’re coming.”

Three big lugs-wielding short clubs-came rushing toward us. I saw Hobby and Sugi get out. I was having trouble with my door. By the time I swung it opened, one of the bruisers was about to introduce me to his war club. Not one to challenge a superior force, I ducked back inside and closed the door. It soon opened, but I was prepared with a trick I learned from Hobby; I lay across the seat with my legs doubled back. When a head appeared I launched both feet, heels first, and knocked my assailant on his ass. Stunned, he released his weapon to me. I gave him a conclusive crack on the noggin.

“Joe, you okay?” Hobby asked.

“Yeah, but this mug is history. How’re you doing?”

“No problem, there was only one each.”

I wasn’t surprised, both Hobby and Sugi are worldclass martial arts experts. Sugi spoke up, “Quickly, take their wallets. We go before police come.” He spoke rapidly to his driver, who was none the worse for the crash, and we left him behind.

We jogged to the next corner and hopped into a taxi. Sugi gave directions then said, “My friends, I apologize. So sorry. I had no idea they would use such violence.”

“Apology accepted, Sugi. But I think you owe us an explanation.” I said. “Of course. You know about Japanese underworld?” When we kept silent he continued. “We have like your Mafia, we call Yakuza. In cities they have many members and do shady and illegal business. There are several groups in Tokyo. They are well known to police.”

“If the police know about them, why aren’t they arrested?” Hobby asked.

“Not so simple. Police allow if they don’t make too much trouble. You know our pachinko, Hobby; you played when you were here before.

Yakuza controls most of those. Recently, they try to control the new poker clubs.”

I said, “I’m confused, is gambling illegal here?”

“This may seem silly, but gambling with pachinko or games like mahjong or poker is not legal, but permitted if not done in open. At pachinko when you win many balls you can exchange them for tokens. You leave the pachinko place and go to nearby alley, knock on a certain door and exchange tokens for yen. In mahjong and poker clubs members have accounts and play with tokens. Records are kept and accounts are settled elsewhere.”

“So,” I speculated out loud. “Some Yakuza gang heard about your tournament and wants a piece of the action. Have they threatened you?”

“Oh yes, they say all my clubs will go out of business if I don’t give big money.”

“How serious are they?”

“You see what they do today and before they burned my friend’s poker club.”

“So what will you do, Sugi.”

“I have a plan. That is why I take wallets. Tonight we have nice dinner and tomorrow if I am successful, I go to big man-like Mafia godfather.”

We had a superb steak dinner at a fancy restaurant in the Roppongi district, and drank a lot of beer and sake before we returned to the Imperial Hotel. Hobby suggested we dress in our sweats the next morning for a run in Hibya Park across the street. I said, “Sure, Hobby,” as insincerely as possible hoping he wouldn’t bother to awaken me.

I surprised myself and got up with Hobby for a run in the park. The brisk air was refreshing and the park’s well cared for gardens were worth seeing.

After our run we agreed to meet at the first floor coffee shop for lunch. Hobby arrived late, but I could tell by the look on his face that he had some exciting news. “Joe, the big Yakuza boss wants to see us, too. He wants to meet the Americans who beat up their tough guys.”

We joined Sugi in his new car at the hotel and went a few blocks to Tokyo station. In the early afternoon it wasn’t crowded so we could see how immense it was. We boarded one of the bullet trains. Sugi said, “We go south to Atami, about one hour; seaside city where big boss lives. He is head of most powerful Yakuza in Tokyo. If he say so, nobody goes against him. I hope he agrees with me.”

At the Atami station we were met by a tough looking Japanese man who directed us to a large black sedan. We meandered over small roads up a mountain for about a half hour before entering a private drive to a large two-storied wood building nestled among old pines. As we disembarked an elderly Japanese woman in kimono directed us to the entryway. After crossing a large porch we were asked to remove our shoes and were given slippers. We followed her down one corridor after another, turning here and turning there, as if in a maze. Sugi said quietly, “This pathway is meant to confuse unwanted persons.”

“Like salesmen,” Hobby said with a laugh. “No, assassins,” Sugi said seriously.

Finally our guide stopped and slid open floor to ceiling panel doors. She said something in Japanese that Sugi translated. “Please remove slippers.” We had been walking on highly polished wood floors, but the large room we entered was covered with straw tatami mats. After being seated on thin floor cushions at what we would deem an oversized cocktail table, another kimonoed Japanese woman delivered lacquered cups of hot green tea. Then we waited, and waited, and were served more tea. About the time my patience and bladder were reaching the breaking point, panels to our left suddenly slid open. Dressed in a black kimono, hands on hips, elbows out, a scowl on his face, he reminded me a wood block print samurai caricature.

Sugi began to stand, but was waived down. After the posturing, the man moved quickly and sat opposite us. There followed a lively exchange inJapanese. Sugi showed his nervousness, but although I had no idea of what was said, the tone was such that I felt Sugi was making points. When Sugi placed the three wallets we had taken from our attackers on the table, the Yakuza leader became very animated. He tore into them and studied what were apparently ID cards. With a flip of his arm he swept the wallets and contents onto the floor. He seemed angry, but then he smiled and nodded toward us. Sugi began to explain.

“Iwaki-san is angry. He said the men who attacked us were very stupid. They were stupid to try to get into poker business, but doubly stupid to attack us in public. Especially since you are foreigners, if you were hurt there would be big trouble from police for all Yakuza. Iwaki-san says, there will be no more trouble for us, but there will be fingers.”

“Fingers?” I asked. “Oh yes. Now that he knows the men involved he also knows their bosses and they must accept punishment of a chopped off finger.”

“Yuck,” Hobby said. “Do they really do that?” “When it is very serious offence it must be done to keep order. They don’t take whole finger, though; just cut at top joint.”

Iwaki-san apparently understood what was being said and laughed. He spoke in Japanese and spread his hands on the table. The top of one finger was missing. Sugi translated, “Iwaki says he only made one mistake.”

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