flattened by four firebomb raids. Everything but the outer shells of concrete buildings burned down. Three weeks after the end of the war, the U.S. military arrived to begin the occupation. Soldiers set up headquarters at Hibiya, just northwest of Ginza, in the heart of the city. That’s where the shogun had once built Edo Castle. The Imperial Palace of the emperor now stands on the ruins.
“The yakuza, after the war, were all but annihilated. Since the 1700s, they had preyed as two groups. The tekiya were peddlers. Snake-oil salesmen who worked fairs and markets. The bakuto were gamblers. Dice men and card sharps who worked towns and highways. The wartime military draft had severely reduced their ranks, and the American occupiers proceeded to sweep away the topmost layer of control in government and business. That created a power vacuum in Japan, spawning a new form of yakuza: the gurentai.
“The gurentai ,”Yamada said, “grew into our version of the Mob. Imagine The Godfather movies cast in Tokyo. Japan’s Don Corleone is Genjo Tokuda. He’s the gangster who built the building to which the national police followed Kazuya and Makoto Ochi.”
“They went in?” Jackie asked.
“Yes. But only Makoto Ochi came out.”
“Is Genjo Tokuda alive?”
“Very much so,” said Yamada. “In fact, he’s in Vancouver. That’s why I’m here.”
The diplomat fetched another photo from his briefcase.
DeClercq pinned it up beside the previous two.
Jackie found herself staring at an eighty-year-old Japanese face that was half an ugly scar.
“I know this guy!” she said. “My granddad, my dad, and I just had a run-in with him at the airport.”
“That’s a good one,” Yamada said, referring to the prosthetic finger that Jackie withdrew carefully—so as not to disturb any forensic traces—from a pouch on her gun belt.
“My granddad scored this trophy by tussling with one of Tokuda’s bodyguards.”
“A yakuza wears a prosthetic finger when he’s traveling abroad. Not to wear one is to advertise that he’s a thug. Some are of poor quality and wouldn’t pass scrutiny. They fall off at inconvenient times, like during a customs check. The best prosthetics are crafted in London, but they cost a lot. Discount shoppers get theirs in Hong Kong.”
“Not a booming trade.”
“It used to be. By the early sixties, there were 184,000 yakuza in 5,200 gangs. More men than in Japan’s army.”
“All under Tokuda?”
“No, but he was the most vicious of the lot. Yakuza cut off their fingers to make amends for mistakes, and he held his hoodlums to an impossible standard of bushido. ”
“How’d he get to the top?” asked Dane.
“Ginza had to start from zero after the war. The Americans seized six hundred buildings around Tokyo and established PXs in the Hattori clock tower—now the Wako Building—and the Matsuya store in Ginza. The PXs—”
“I’ve always wondered what that stands for,” said Dane.
“Post exchange,” replied Jackie. “A PX is a store within a military post.”
“All of Tokyo became a U.S. military post after the war,” Yamada explained. “The Americans rationed food and liquor, and that spawned an instant black market. In Ginza, shanties were hastily hammered together from salvaged boards, and tent stalls mushroomed along the dim streets. The smart businessmen hung out shop signs written in Roman letters or adorned with pictograms so the Americans would know what went on inside. Soon bars, cabarets, dance halls, and pool halls were crowded with GIs. That’s when Genjo Tokuda—having been freed under an amnesty that released Japanese prisoners of war—muscled in.”
“What’d he do in the war?”
“No one knew. His face was scarred beyond recognition. His only ID was the uniform he was captured in.”
“Where was that?” Dane asked.
“Okinawa. Tokuda used his wartime connections to put together a gang of unemployed, repatriated soldiers. He commanded like a
“The yakuza, after the war, were all but annihilated. Since the 1700s, they had preyed as two groups. The tekiya were peddlers. Snake-oil salesmen who worked fairs and markets. The bakuto were gamblers. Dice men and card sharps who worked towns and highways. The wartime military draft had severely reduced their ranks, and the American occupiers proceeded to sweep away the topmost layer of control in government and business. That created a power vacuum in Japan, spawning a new form of yakuza: the gurentai.
“The gurentai ,”Yamada said, “grew into our version of the Mob. Imagine The Godfather movies cast in Tokyo. Japan’s Don Corleone is Genjo Tokuda. He’s the gangster who built the building to which the national police followed Kazuya and Makoto Ochi.”
“They went in?” Jackie asked.
“Yes. But only Makoto Ochi came out.”
“Is Genjo Tokuda alive?”
“Very much so,” said Yamada. “In fact, he’s in Vancouver. That’s why I’m here.”
The diplomat fetched another photo from his briefcase.
DeClercq pinned it up beside the previous two.
Jackie found herself staring at an eighty-year-old Japanese face that was half an ugly scar.
“I know this guy!” she said. “My granddad, my dad, and I just had a run-in with him at the airport.”
“That’s a good one,” Yamada said, referring to the prosthetic finger that Jackie withdrew carefully—so as not to disturb any forensic traces—from a pouch on her gun belt.
“My granddad scored this trophy by tussling with one of Tokuda’s bodyguards.”
“A yakuza wears a prosthetic finger when he’s traveling abroad. Not to wear one is to advertise that he’s a thug. Some are of poor quality and wouldn’t pass scrutiny. They fall off at inconvenient times, like during a customs check. The best prosthetics are crafted in London, but they cost a lot. Discount shoppers get theirs in Hong Kong.”
“Not a booming trade.”
“It used to be. By the early sixties, there were 184,000 yakuza in 5,200 gangs. More men than in Japan’s army.”
“All under Tokuda?”
“No, but he was the most vicious of the lot. Yakuza cut off their fingers to make amends for mistakes, and he held his hoodlums to an impossible standard of bushido. ”
“How’d he get to the top?” asked Dane.
“Ginza had to start from zero after the war. The Americans seized six hundred buildings around Tokyo and established PXs in the Hattori clock tower—now the Wako Building—and the Matsuya store in Ginza. The PXs—”
“I’ve always wondered what that stands for,” said Dane.
“Post exchange,” replied Jackie. “A PX is a store within a military post.”
“All of Tokyo became a U.S. military post after the war,” Yamada explained. “The Americans rationed food and liquor, and that spawned an instant black market. In Ginza, shanties were hastily hammered together from salvaged boards, and tent stalls mushroomed along the dim streets. The smart businessmen hung out shop signs written in Roman letters or adorned with pictograms so the Americans would know what went on inside. Soon bars, cabarets, dance halls, and pool halls were crowded with GIs. That’s when Genjo Tokuda—having been freed under an amnesty that released Japanese prisoners of war—muscled in.”
“What’d he do in the war?”
“No one knew. His face was scarred beyond recognition. His only ID was the uniform he was captured in.”
“Where was that?” Dane asked.
“Okinawa. Tokuda used his wartime connections to put together a gang of unemployed, repatriated soldiers. He commanded like a
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