My Yakuza

was nothing in the newspapers he scanned online. It was as if Siono Kanake had never existed at all.
Shiro scraped money together with help from friends and family. He was forced to set aside a critical thesis to fly to Tokyo. He had no desire to be here. For four long weeks, he’d ingratiated himself into Shun’ichi Harada’s clan. His family was the biggest name currently reining Yakuza clan. Shiro had never met Shun’ichi and frankly feared the very idea. One of Shiro’s uncles worked for the Japanese bank in Waikiki. He had always held a soft spot for Siono and offered to help Shiro.
“I know a man who worked for the Harada family,” he had said. “I can get you in there, but take your time, boy. Don’t start asking questions about Shun’ichi Harada the second you arrive.”
He got Shiro an appointment with Nobuo-san. He in turn, slotted Shiro into the bottom rung of bike messengers working for one of the many companies belonging to the Harada Empire. Shiro’s grandma thought it was a fine plan since Siono had never told Shun’ichi that she had a son.
He worked directly for and reported to Nobuo-san, one of the big guy’s employees, a hundred times a day.
His cell phone rang, interrupting his reverie.
“Shiro-san?”
“Hai.”
“It’s Miki.”
He grimaced. Miki was the one who had told him his mom had placed the ad in a local adult newspaper. All the ‘girls’ did. Miki knew because she was one of them. She was a tiny slip of a thing from Cebu, Manila. Many years younger than Siono, she too had bought the Pretty Woman myth and now she was stuck. She’d gone from hostess in a karaoke bar to hooker in a matter of weeks. She’d been promised the return of her passport many times, but the deadline repeatedly came and went. He got to know her through the Harada clan. He’d taken her to various appointments and they’d struck up a friendship. He knew Miki liked him, but he had one mission here and that didn’t include a girlfriend. Besides which, he was gay.
“You didn’t forget our date, did you?” she asked.
“No, I didn’t forget. I have one parcel drop-off then I can pick you up.”
She giggled, which she always did, making him wonder what she thought was so funny.
“I’ll call you when I’m on my way.”
He climbed back on his bosozoku. His stomach was in knots just thinking about his date. He’d taken a risk confiding in Miki, but she’d assured him he could trust her. His heart bled for her situation. She’d virtually been sold to the Harada clan by her own parents. He unlocked his seat and retrieved the package he had for Keizo. He already knew it was pencils and brushes. Just touching the package made him feel an erotic high…Keizo was the most beautiful man he’d ever met.
Keizo lived in the heart of Ni-chōme, Tokyo’s gay district. Shiro longed to explore Ni-chōme more, but he worked almost all the time. When he wasn’t working, he was sleeping, snatching time in the small lodge room he shared with two other guys who worked for the Harada clan. He zipped through the maze of allocated sexual zones,, fascinated by the number of streets reserved for different gay fetishes. BDSM had its own zone, bears had one, twinks had one…and those who were men who just loved men were another. Keizo’s apartment building topped a café and bar that catered to gay couples.
Shiro buzzed the eighth floor unit. Once he’d identified himself, Keizo buzzed him in. Shiro removed his shoes just inside the entrance. Being raised by a Japanese mom had taught him well. He took the elevator up, inhaling the scent…of what? It seemed to Shiro he could smell floor cleaner, polish and…sex.
Keizo opened the door to him as soon as he left the elevator. Shiro had only seen him three times, but each time, Shiro became increasingly useless. He was so intoxicated by Keizo’s beauty he couldn’t speak. Keizo was magnificent. He had long, shoulder-length, straight black hair that gleamed. Keizo wore jeans and a white T-shirt, a silver Buddha on a chain around his neck. His face was lovely. He looked as if he belonged to a time hundreds of years ago. He had a beautiful physique but his presence was angelic…there was something dignified and gentle about him. He smiled as Shiro extended the parcel to him.
“Thank you, Shiro-san. You are the only one I trust with my valuables.”
Shiro felt himself blushing as Keizo took the package, their fingers touching. Shiro’s heart started to beat faster and a goofy smile was his only response.
“I just finished a new piece. Would you like to see it?”
Shiro nodded, stumbling over the entrance. Keizo was a mangaka, and Shiro had learnt, one of the most successful and prolific in all of Tokyo. He let out a cry when he saw the piece, balanced on Keizo’s massive work table. It leaned against the wall.
It was extraordinary. A warrior, clad in Feudal-style robes, strode forward, as if he was about to burst through the painting. Everything about him was fearsome, except his face.
“Oh, Keizo, it’s you. It’s a self-portrait.”
“I had no model…do you like it?” Keizo seemed concerned now.
“Like it? I love it.”
“It’s for a big client. Shiro, do you really like it?”
Shiro couldn’t speak again. Keizo’s nearness robbed him of all his vital functions. Even breathing.
“Are you okay?” Keizo asked.
Shiro nodded. “It is beautiful, Keizo.”
Keizo smiled. “Thank you, Shiro-san.”
Something passed between the two men. Shiro knew nothing about Keizo except that he was probably gay seeing as he lived in Ni-chōme. His website and all biographical detail was strictly business when he’d researched the man online. He had no idea if Keizo was single, or not.
“Thank you,” Keizo said again and Shiro knew he was being dismissed. As he bowed and walked to the door, he felt as if he was losing a friend. It was as strange feeling, as if he would