Phoenix Rising

Tucked comfortably in first class, 26 year old Rachel Yamaguchi sat quietly with her bento box, and her concealed Beretta, contemplating her recent meeting with her father. The bullet train to Kyoto was even more crowded than usual, but it didn’t bother her. Cherry blossoms dotted the route on both sides of the tracks; Japan’s best fireworks putting their Chinese rivals to shame.

Taka Yamaguchi, head of the notorious Yakuza family, was no ordinary father figure. Born in the Niigata prefecture, the child of rice farmers, Taka cast aside his near feudal upbringing thanks to a combination of grit, guile, and a knack for organized crime. Known to be distrustful of outsiders, he surprised many when he excommunicated his eldest son. Years of missteps broke his father’s spirit; forcing him to thrust his youngest, and most cherished, daughter into a leadership role.

Rachel’s return to the Kyoto HQ marked a coronation. With her brother banished, she was now the head of the local tribe. Despite her youth, she was no ingenue. She stood by her father’s side during the warring years with the Yama-ichi clan. But the unrelenting violence fatigued her. Not for moral reasons. Rachel knew occasionally a trigger had to be pulled. It was the imbalance in risk and reward that tested her patience.

Her father built an empire, but one that necessitated life in the shadows. That didn’t appeal to Rachel. She was more pragmatic, but no less ambitious. She had her own vision; one with compound returns, a burnished legacy, and less risk of incarceration. She wasn’t naive. Pivoting her father’s business interests would take decades. What she needed was a few allies.

Ambitions aside, Rachel was nervous for what lay ahead. She knew her brother’s leadership was doomed from the start, but her father’s eventual rebuke had been swift and merciless. She thought she had more time.

As the train pulled into Kyoto station, Rachel steeled herself. The spring air was sweet from recent rain. The platform bustled with a mix of tourists and commuters making their way to work. Her two security guards flanked her to the waiting car, doing their best to stay just inside her peripheral vision. Tanaka, a wrecking ball of stature, and her head of security, charged ahead cutting a path through the crowd like a bull in Pamplona.

Her brother’s driver waited just outside the station. Rachel took a mental note to replace the car with something more understated. She oft remarked her brother's tastes ran low-level Checen gangster. Gold wasn’t her color.

As the Maybach sedan accelerated through the cobblestone streets of Kyoto, she reviewed her planned remarks a final time. Of paramount importance was a show of strength; rival gangs would view the regime change as an opportunity. Her brother had many faults, but weakness was not among them. And, if the rumors from her advisors were true, rival gangs weren’t her only concern.

As her car pulled into the underground garage, she immediately knew something was wrong. There was no security presence at the door. Her guards, wakizashis drawn, exited the car before it had completely stopped; fanning out to each side.

Rachel followed silently in Tanaka’s wake. She knew she had to maintain her cool, but her heart was pounding despite the beta blocker she’d taken on the train. Her speech to the men was now the least of her concerns.

A small mass on the ground caught her eye as she approached the door; an object about the size of a stuffed toy. Her eyes adjusted to the light as she got closer. Fingers, dozens of them, piled on top of one another in a pool of blood that looked black in the dim light.

Her guards rolled open the garage door, but their flashlights revealed an empty room. Blood covered the floor. Light bounced off fallen hatchets and wakizashi sending a kaleidoscope of colors in every direction. A lone bar stool sat in the middle of the room. A card, no larger than a pack of cigarettes, sat on top. As Tanaka scanned the card his face fell. Shaken, an emotional response she had never seen, he passed it to her. There was no text - just a single image. A stencil of a phoenix enveloped in flames. The rumors were true.

Pulled out of his labored sleep by the incessant chime on his mobile, Inspector Jackie Sato scraped himself off the cold bathroom floor. The rush of his blood sent him reeling; he clutched the vanity to right himself.

The reflection staring back at him was that of a broken man. Bloodshot, watery eyes, and what appeared, ironically, to be glitter smeared across his cheek. He leaned into his shame reflexively. Years of antidepressants left him numb; a bystander in a muted life. He preferred the clarity guilt afforded him having abandoned them two weeks prior.

A cursory review of his mobile revealed multiple missed texts and electronic payments for last night’s transgressions. Over 400k yen - nearly exactly his monthly rent. The memory of last night’s private room took an amorphous shape; unfolding slowly like a bad dream. Of more immediate concern was his 3rd incoming call from Deputy Chief Yamada.

”You’re late.”

”For what?”

“I texted you an hour ago. 20 likely dead Yakuza at a warehouse in Minimi-Ku. The chief wants you here. Now. Well, an hour ago actually.”

“Likely?”

”I’ll fill you in when you get here.”

The streets of Ichijoji were nearly empty at the early hour. He barely slowed as he bombed through a series of red lights to make his allotted time; tires squealing on his government-issued Skyline. A few club kids dotted the streets; trudging home after untold debauchery. He smiled at the thought despite himself. As he pulled into the garage Yamada was waiting for him.

“You’re late.”

“You’ve said that.” Staring at Yamada until he yielded, he matter of factly offered “it was a long night.”

”Spare me tales of your transgressions. Why the chief tolerates your……” He paused, searching for the word. …“proclivities….escapes me.”

Jackie had come to rely on the chief’s contrarian nature - preferring substance over form - a rare trait in a culture that prized optics. Annoyed, he could not let Yamada’s remark go unchecked.

”The chief knows talent when he sees it. It’s the same keen eye that recognized your knack for…. Administration.”

Yamada fumed; summoning the courage to hold his gaze for an extra beat. “Best not to keep the chief waiting.”

Max Wagner scarcely had time to process the red dot on his buyer’s forehead before it exploded. He ducked instinctively, but not before his torso was coated with a mixture of blood, bone fragments, and grey matter.

Dropping his mobile, he bolted behind a stack of drywall at the construction site he’d personally selected for the transaction. The gunfire continued. It was high caliber, suppressed, and uncomfortably close in range - a Sig Spear if he wasn’t mistaken. He’d sold several himself. Luckily he’d secured payment before his buyer literally lost his head. His focus now was simply survival; however unlikely that seemed.

He counted three additional shots which were punctuated by the sounds of his guard and those of his buyers hitting the oak floor. Efficient. This wasn’t a rival tribe; the firearm alone told him that. He slid his hand along the floor from his prone position; drawing his Hecker and Koch 9mm from his shoulder holster. He’d spent half his life trafficking arms, but this was only his second firefight. His heart felt near exploding; the only part of him that wasn’t paralyzed with fear. The gunfire ceased as quickly as it started; the echoes in the cavernous warehouse replaced by silence until, suddenly, a voice from mere feet away.

“I didn’t come for you. I came for the guns. Stay concealed and you live. Get curious and you die. Do you understand?” His voice was measured; that of a man who describing the day’s financials, rather than one who dispatched four men in less than ten seconds.

”I do.” Max paused while he summoned his courage. He had to know.

”Are you who I think you are?”

”I suppose I am.”

The massage parlor back room was unknown to them. It was selected for its seclusion, providing a spartan backdrop for the first crisis of Rachel’s brief tenure as the first female boss of her clan.

Seated at the head of a long rectangular table, she was flanked by Tanaka, and three of her remaining advisors. Last night, while struggling to sleep, she remembered a lesson in American politics - never waste a crisis. An opportunity to assert her leadership like this wouldn’t emerge again.

“Would someone kindly tell me how we lost ten men last night on their own turf?” Rachel spoke slowly to mask her anxiety. Projecting confidence was essential. Her western education already aroused suspicion.

The room was silent at first. Each hoping the other would speak first. Her advisors took careful measure as a matter of course. She turned her head slowly; her glare beckoning Tanaka into a response.

“Rachel-San - this was no ordinary hit. If the Phoenix has returned we should…… consider ourselves fortunate.”

”I thought the Phoenix was a myth; someone my father made up to keep my brother in line - for all the good it did. I never imagined he might be real.”

”Fact or fiction, we’re dealing with a worthy adversary. Ten men gone with little trace.” Tanaka paid careful deference. He’d known Rachel all her life, watching her grow-up as he rose through the ranks during her father’s reign. Her efforts to mask her fear were laudable, but he knew the signals. Such support, he hoped, would bolster her confidence.

Rachel paused. “Are the police involved?”

“They arrived on the scene this morning. Harbor security guard called it in.”

“Who will they assign?”

”Sato most likely.”

”The drunk? He hasn’t washed out yet?”

”I wouldn’t underestimate him. He has his demons, but he gets results. Ask your father about the Aizukotetsu bust while you were away at school.”

Rachel knew the story. Her remark was more bluster than ignorance. She had built herself a near encyclopedic knowledge of the major crime families. The jewel of her father’s eye, Rachel learned action was the antidote to her anxiety. Her preparation had always served her well.

The threat Phoenix posed was urgent, but a crusader like Sato could prove useful if carefully cultivated. His history was sure to draw scrutiny inside the force; something Rachel could empathize with.

”Find him.”

The chief’s office was austere; even by Japanese standards. The steel and leather chairs across from his cypress desk were uncomfortable by design. To linger in the chief's presence was a mistake junior officers learned once.

”Inspector Sato. How nice of you to join us this morning. I appreciate your vigor.”

Briefly considering a rejoinder, Jackie managed a shallow bow.

“You shared the report?” Yamada nodded.

”What’s your assessment inspector?”

”Judging by the scene we likely have ten dead from the Yamaguchi clan. There’s not much left in the way of evidence other than hatchets, knives, and fingers. I suspect their bodies will turn up soon in the harbor.”

”Assailant. I take it you have a theory?”

Jackie paused. He didn’t like being pressed for theories before a careful inspection of the evidence, but he knew the chief trusted his instincts.

”Loosely held. We’re dealing with a professional. Military trained. They are organized, equipped, and have a clear motive that, as of yet, is not entirely clear.”

”Say more.”

“This was more targeted terrorist attack than hit - its principal goal was fear. Not fear for the masses, too isolated for that, fear for a select few.”

”You believe the rumors then?”

”I only know what the evidence tells me, but the pattern is undeniable. No innocents. Large…presuming…body count. Surgical efficiency. And it’s been two years since he last surfaced after nearly wiping out the Inagawa clan.”

”You… admire him.”

”Your words, chief. But his effectiveness is undeniable.”

“What’s your first move?”

”Rachel Yamaguchi. She’s educated, but unproven.This is a pivotal time and has to have her shaken.”

”What makes you think she’ll talk to you?”

“She went to school with my son.”

Jackie stifled a smile. He knew this revelation would shake the normally stoic chief and wasn’t disappointed when his left eyebrow uncharacteristically canted upward.

The chief paused - considering what he’d learned. He didn’t like surprises. Still, the opening could prove useful. “Don’t just stand there inspector. I want updates every four hours.”

Even for a Wednesday evening, the Secret Garden Hostess Bar was less crowded than usual. Tuesdays were Inspector Sato’s preferred night. As a member of the police force, Jackie preferred a low profile, but Japanese discretion had its limits.

To his disappointment, his preferred hostess, Yoshikia, was already engaged with another client. Jackie turned away the other girls, preferring the company of his favorite whiskey. They were pretty enough, but none offered the intoxicating mix of desire and shame of Yoshika. Her striking resemblance to his late wife lay just at the door of his consciousness, but for now the deadbolt of denial was holding.

It was Yoshikia who pulled him out of his spiral. Putting three Yakuza in the hospital might have earned him the respect of the junior officers, but it also secured him a suspension. Jackie swirled his whiskey reflecting on her words. “You don’t honor them by bloodying your hands. You do so by washing it off. Until then, find yourself another girl.” Hostess bars weren’t known for tough love - it was considered bad for business. But it was what set Yoskiia apart from the other girls. And it brought Jackie back from the brink.

He was just finishing his first whiskey when two Yakuza entered. One built like a small tank with no discernible neck, the other surprisingly tall, but athletic judging by the fit of his charcoal grey suit. Their arrival wasn’t entirely unusual, but their patron was - Rachel Yamaguchi.

Scanning the room, Rachel spotted Jackie nearly immediately. Her navy jacket and trousers fit with tailored perfection, the custom pocket designed to conceal her trademark compact Beretta the only thing setting her apart from a corporate executive. He rose as she approached.

”Inspector Sato. It has been a long time.” She paused in front of him; withholding her bow until Jackie initiated one of his own.

”Indeed it has, Yamaguchi-San. Ten years.”

“I was sorry to learn of your wife and son. I’ll never forget Akira. He had his mother’s smile.”

Jackie reeled. He hadn’t heard his son’s name aloud since he quit therapy. It had helped, but like many Japanese men of his day, he struggled with the stigma.

“Thank you.” He hesitated to say the name. “Akira was a private boy. Were you close?”

“Not particularly, he wasn't popular with the other boys. Not uncommon for the son of a police inspector.”

Jackie was schooled enough to know he was being baited, but his guilt was insatiable. He retreated to his harbor - the task at hand. “Forgive me. This isn’t a social call. To what do I owe the honor?” He left his tone flat; holding his eye contact before side-eyeing her two guards who stood stoically at her side.

“I imagine you heard that I’m stepping in to run the family’s business interests after my brother’s exit. I’m….” Rachel paused to consider her words. “...doing an inventory. Diversifying our interests, shedding some riskier ventures, and dealing with threats.”

Jackie found Rachel’s phrasing deliberate - the words of a businessman trying to maximize yield rather than one trading in extortion and opiates. He wondered if the rumors of her intentions were true.

“Threats from within?”

“Inside and out, but nothing I cannot handle. Underestimation can be an effective tool.”

Jackie was surprised by this admission. Rachel continued.

“I’m assuming, judging by your presence, that you have no leads on… a certain vigilante’s whereabouts.”

“I think you know I’m not going to divulge anything about an active investigation. Just how are you planning on handling it?”

“My advisors are mixed. Those still allied with my brother demand immediate action. Those of my choosing are more deliberative.”

“I’m pleased you have a diversity of viewpoints. Too much blood has been spilled already.”

Rachel recoiled almost imperceptibly. She practiced more coded language; certainly when talking with the police. She was confident Jackie wasn’t wearing a wire, but there was no need to overplay her hand.

“New relationships take time; especially those that aren’t traditional. That’s as true inside my organization as it is outside.”

Rachel accentuated her last word. The emphasis wasn’t lost on Jackie.

“What’s the phrase - the enemy of my enemy is my friend?” she followed.

”I think you may misjudge. My path is dictated by evidence, not agenda.”

Rachel raised an eyebrow. The remark amused her. ”That’s the funny thing about grief isn’t it?”

”What’s that?”

“If you tell yourself something long enough, you start to believe it.”

Conversation halted while Jackie and Rachel took stock of one another. Her guards exchanged glances; uncomfortable with the prolonged silence.

“Let me tell you a bit about hostess bar culture since you’re not accustomed - they aren’t known for subtext. If you have nothing else, I’ll be…”

“Don’t depart on my account. I wouldn’t want you to miss Yoshikia.” She smiled at him knowingly; her confidence brimming like a well played hand. She stood to make her exit; fastening the top button on her blazer in one fluid motion. Without waiting for him to stand, she turned to head to the door. She paused briefly as Jackie offered his parting advice.

“Take care Rachel-San. If I may, trust your advisors. You're the last born.”

The tracker affixed to Rachel’s Maybach worked flawlessly. Jackie didn’t have too many friends in the department, but the surveillance guys had always acquitted him well. He hung back several blocks in his Skyline. There was no need to follow closely, risking his tail. It was his third night tailing her every move. The first two had been uneventful. Dinner with her mostly retired father the first night. What he would have given to listen in on that conversation.

But it was last night’s late night meeting with her advisors that finally produced something useful. They didn’t have audio in the restaurant, but long range mics picked up an interesting conversation as they exited. A meeting of rival clan leaders tonight. Jackie figured three or four families would be represented. The Yamaguchis, the Inagawas, and either the Sumiyoshi-kai, the Tojo clan, or both.

Luckily for Jackie, the judge approved their late breaking request to bug the restaurant. A Yakuza favorite, it was difficult to gain access on short notice, but surprise health inspections weren't unheard of.

He parked 50 meters from the restaurant’s small surface lot where he would avoid discovery. The tracker showed her car stopped just in front. Jackie imagined her driver would remain in the car. A meeting of clan leaders would not be a large-scale show of force; too likely to incite violence.

Jackie radioed his back-up crew. Parked two blocks away in a panel van outfitted to look as an aquarium manager, they managed the gear as well as operational comms. “Are you guys picking up the restaurant audio?”

“Five by five in the private room Jackie. We managed a couple of mics on the dining floor and kitchen just in case. But we’re expecting they’ll use the back room.”

“They will. Patch me in. I’m walking past now for a smoke. No discernible guards outside. They’re keeping this alarmingly low key.”

“Copy. We’re going dark. Don’t get made.”

Jackie smirked at the thought. The audio guys were hard-wired for caution, he doubted they’d even test fired their service revolvers in months. As he lit his cigarette the restaurant audio spilled into his ear piece.

“Good evening Rachel San. I was hoping you would join us. I was pleased to hear of your father’s choice. Your brother was so… spirited.” Jackie recognized the voice - the head of the Tojo clan.

“Thank you Yakiro San. I’m pleased to see you and the Inagawas at the same table..”

“Tell me, is it true you’re planning on offering a pension plan?” The other clan leaders snickered.

Rachel bristled at the barb. He was testing her. “My business practices aren’t your concern. Tell me, as a father of three daughters, do you have difficulty sleeping while your clan traffics young women?”

Yakiro glared at her. “Your western education has softened your resolve, but sharpened your tongue. Neither presents an improvement. Choose your next words more carefully.”

Jackie was impressed. He expected Rachel to be guarded, but she would not shrink from her pet issue. She’d implored her father to abandon the sex trade - a lucrative business. It was the only time he’d heard Taka yield.

Another voice chimed in - this one unknown. “Yamaguchi San, do your….” Jackie reflexively touched his ear, the audio had been dropped. He reached for his mobile, calling the audio techs.

“We know. Our audio dropped too. It’s not our gear. Someone is jamming us.”

“But how can they be jamming us, if they don’t know we’re…..listening. Shit. Call for back-up now.” Jackie broke into a run heading for the restaurant's service entrance. If he was right, he was already too late. He stopped short of the backdoor taking shelter behind the industrial garbage bins. He checked his ear piece one last time; still no audio. He pulled his Nambu revolver from his shoulder hoster, checking the chamber. He hadn’t pulled his firearm in the act of duty in two years.

The oak backdoor was heavy, but luckily unlocked. He pulled it open slowly, hoping surprise would give him the upper hand. The kitchen was bustling. Whatever had transpired inside hadn’t alerted the staff. He kept a low profile to avert attention; hunching down with his firearm low. There was no need to cause an alarm. He didn’t want to accelerate whatever was ahead.

Before exiting the double doors into the restaurant floor, he grabbed a white small towel from the servers station. Shoulders back, he concealed his firearm with the towel and strode through the main dining area. Clad in his black jacket, the diners would just assume he was another member of the staff.

He reached the corridor to the private room in the opposite corner. Jackie reminded himself to thank the staffer who shared the floorplan during their briefing. The private room was down a long corridor. When Jackie reached the door it only gave a few inches; impeded from below. It didn’t take Jackie long to recognize Rachel’s head of security. His neck was broken - quite a feat considering Tanaka’s stature.

Jackie turned sideways to bypass the door while pushing it open with his hip. Once clear of the door, the rest of the corridor came into view. Two more guards, both security leads Jackie knew from mug shots, lay dead. Their throats had been slit. The shoji walls were painted red indicating their carotid arteries had been severed. Blood ran down the rice paper running over the thin wooden panes. They never even drew their weapons.

Stepping carefully to avoid slipping in their blood, Jackie crept toward the private room door. A muffled conversation could be heard just past the door. He could make out two voices; a man he didn’t recognize, the Phoenix he presumed, and Rachel Yamaguchi - she was bargaining.

“Your story is compelling, but if you think I’m going to trust the youngest daughter of Taka Yamaguchi - you’re mistaken.”

“Killing me does nothing, but spill more blood. A new leader will emerge; one rooted only in violence, not reform. I shut down the trafficking. Surely that must indicate…”

The Phoenix interrupted. “It only indicates the depths of your ambition, not your morality.”

Jackie, fearing he had moments, made a bold move - sliding open the door and stepping into view.

“Ah, this must be the capable inspector. So nice to make the acquaintance.”

Jackie scanned the room, his eyes adjusting to the light. Rachel stood across the room; on the other side of a long rectangular table. Behind her, with a katana blade to her throat, stood the Phoenix. Clad in a hooded gi and tactical gear, he stood 5’10” with an athletic build, jet black hair, with piercing green eyes.

Scanning the room for other threats; Jackie quickly discerned there were none remaining. The room, redolent of iron and excrement, was awash in blood. Rachel’s Yakuza counterparts, now beheaded, lay to her immediate left.

“You don’t need to do this. Let her live and maybe you walk out of here.” Jackie pulled his Nambu closer to his eyeline; securing the butt with his other hand. Using both hands made him feel more secure.

“Inspector, I can assure you I will exit this room under my own power. A question, if I may?”

“Go ahead.” Jackie was happy to keep him talking. The more he drew this out, the more time his back-up had. Even with his gun trained on his head, he did not want to take down the Phoenix by himself.

“Why bring me in? We’re two sides of the same coin.”

“Funny. Rachel made the same pitch. Did you two work this out in advance?”

“Shoot him Jackie. Shoot him now.” Rachel implored. The katana blade had already opened up three superficial cuts on her neck. The pressure was minimal, but the blade was a razors’ edge. She knew her life was in the two men’s hands; one jury, one executioner.

“Rachel never told you, did she?” Even in the dim light, Jackie could see the Phoenix’s eyes dance at the realization. Rachel’s visage suddenly changed.

“Tell me what?”

“It was her father that ordered the hit that day. Your wife and son were just a bit of collateral damage in a larger war. The family of an up and coming inspector? That’s just a run of bad luck”

“Don’t listen to him Jackie. He’s playing you. Think about it. My father excommunicated his own son for careless violence. He would never have greenlit a hit risking innocents.”

Jackie’s world had tilted on its axis. She was lying, he knew it. It all made sense now, why their leads had been fruitless, why so many refused to talk, why Rachel’s father stepped up his charitable works in the aftermath. It wasn’t PR for the family's legitimate business interests. It was guilt.

His years of agonizing, therapy, drugs, women, booze - all an attempt to fill a void that only the truth could so perfectly fill. It hit him like a hammer. Dropping his firearm, he staggered out of the dining room as Rachel’s final words were cut short. The Katana blade barely slowed as it severed her spine.

Jackie walked through the front doors of the restaurant just as his back-up arrived. Deputy Yamada was first to reach him. Stopping short seeing the blood covering Jackie’s shirt and trousers, “Jackie - what happened?”

“You were right. No, they were right.” Whispering to himself, “the enemy of my enemy….” he trailed off.

“Did you see the Phoenix?”

“Only his handiwork. I just missed him.”