Cure (2010)

parked in an obvious no-parking zone, but Naoki wasn’t concerned. The local police would recognize the vehicles and leave them be. Naoki was well aware of the unorthodox and fluid relationship between government authorities, including the police, and the Yakuza, as was certainly evidenced by the upcoming meeting he was hosting that morning.

Checking the time, Naoki felt his nervousness return. Despite the slight pleased smile Naoki had perceived on the oyabun’s face when the hostesses had appeared, Naoki understood that the oyabun might consider his being forced to wait as a sign of disrespect on the part of the vice minister. To Naoki’s relief, however, the moment he turned his line of sight to the right, he was rewarded by the sight of the vice minister’s cavalcade.

Bearing down on him half a block away were three black Toyota Crowns so close together as to be seemingly conjoined. The middle one stopped directly in front of Naoki. Although Naoki extended a hand to open the vehicle’s rear door, a team of black-suited men with earpieces jumped from the two other cars and waved Naoki off. Naoki hastily complied.

Naoki bowed deeply when Kenichi Fujiwara stepped out onto the sidewalk. The man, who was dressed almost as sumptuously as the oyabun, hesitated briefly while glancing up to survey the ten-story facade of The Paradise. The five upper floors of the building were part of a love hotel, whose themed rooms could be rented by the hour or by the day. Kenichi’s expression was of mild disdain, suggesting the location had not been his choice. Regardless, he proceeded to enter The Paradise through the curtain of air by bypassing the bowing Naoki with the same disregard that the oyabun had exhibited on his arrival fifteen minutes earlier.

As Naoki straightened up and rushed ahead to gain the lead, he called out to his arriving guests loudly enough to be heard over the racket of the pachinko balls: “The meeting is to be held on the second floor. Please follow me!”

Upstairs, the hostesses were giggling and shyly covering their mouths. A moment later they found themselves swept to the side as the oyabun abruptly stood up from the table as he caught sight of the vice minister. Without complaint, the girls quickly retreated to the bar.

Although the two entourages eyed each other with a mixture of disdain and a twinge of suppressed hostility, the greeting between the two principals was cordial and painstakingly equal, like that of two friendly businessmen.

“Kenichi Fujiwara Daijin!” the oyabun said in a clipped, forceful voice, giving equal emphasis to each syllable.

“Hisayuki Ishii Kunicho!” the vice minister said in a similar manner.

At the same time they spoke they both bowed to each other at precisely the same angle, respectfully lowering their eyes in the process. Then they exchanged business cards, the vice minister first, holding out his card clasped by both thumbs and both forefingers while repeating a shallower bow. The oyabun then followed suit, mimicking the minister with precision.

Completing the business-card ritual, the men briefly turned to their respective attendants, and with simple glances and slight nods of the head directed them to opposite sides of the room. At that point the oyabun and the vice minister sat down, facing each other across the expanse of the mahogany library table that had been found for the occasion. Each carefully placed the other’s business card front and center, exactly parallel to the table’s side.

Without specific instructions to the contrary, Naoki, who was obviously not to be acknowledged, remained within earshot in case either of his two distinguished guests had any requests. He stood silently off to the side and tried vainly not to hear what was said. In his business, knowledge could be dangerous.

After a series of pleasantries, reaffirming their mutual respect, Kenichi got down to business. “We haven’t much time before my presence will be missed at the ministry. First let me express my sincere appreciation for your willingness to have made the tedious drive from Kyoto to Tokyo.”

“It was no bother,” Hisayuki said with a casual wave of his hand. “I had reason to come to Tokyo for one of my other business ventures.”

“Second, the minister himself sends his regards and hopes you understand that he would have much preferred to have had this meeting with you instead of me. He was unfortunately called to an unexpected meeting with the prime minister.”

Hisayuki didn’t respond verbally. Instead he merely nodded his head to indicate he’d heard. In truth the sudden change early that morning had irked him, but for fear he might risk cutting off his nose to spite his face, he’d accepted the alteration. A high-level meeting with the government, whether it was with the minister or the vice minister, was too unique not to be taken advantage of. Besides, in many ways the vice minister was more powerful than the minister. He was not an appointee of the prime minister but rather an established civil servant. And Hisayuki was curious about what the government wanted, and even more curious about what they would offer. Everything between the Yakuza and the government was a negotiation.

“I also want you to know that we would have liked to have come to Kyoto, but with the world economy and national economy as they are, we are continuously hounded by the media and felt we couldn’t take the risk. It is important that this meeting between us is strictly kept from the media. The government needs your help. You know as well as I, Japan does not have the equivalent of a CIA or an FBI.”

With some effort Hisayuki suppressed a contented smile. As a born negotiator, he loved being approached for a favor by someone capable of helping him. With his interest piqued, Hisayuki leaned over the table to bring his face closer to Kenichi’s. “Is it safe to assume in this particular circumstance that it is my reputed position as the oyabun of a Yakuza family that affords me the opportunity of being able to help the government?”

Kenichi leaned forward as well. “It is precisely the reason.”

Despite Hisayuki’s attempts to avoid it, a slight smile appeared on his face, forcing him to contradict his mantra of showing no emotion when negotiating. “Excuse me if I find this ironic,” he said as he controlled his expression. “Isn’t this the same government that passed the anti-gang laws of 1992 now asking for help? How can that be?”

“As you know, the government has always been ambivalent to the Yakuza, and those laws were passed for political reasons, not for law enforcement. On top of that, they haven’t been particularly enforced. More to the point, an equivalent to the American RICO Act has not been passed, and without such a law our anti-gang laws could never be truly enforced.”

Hisayuki tented his fingers. He liked where the conversation was going. “The irony is that the anti-gang laws have not had as much influence on vice operations as they have had on our legitimate businesses. Would you be averse to looking into some of these specific circumstances if I were to help you and the government?”

“That is specifically what we were planning to offer. The more legitimate the operation or company, and the freer it appears from Yakuza control, the more we can do. It will be our pleasure.”

“One other question before telling me what it is you are requesting: Why me? Why the Aizukotetsu-kai? Compared to the Yamaguchi-gumi or even the Inagawa-kai, we are very small.”

“We’ve come to you because you and Aizukotetsu-kai, as the ascendant Yakuza of Kyoto, are already involved.”

The oyabun’s eyebrows rose slightly, reflecting as much surprise as confusion. “How do you know we are involved, and what exactly is the issue?”

“We know you are involved because of the strong position you have taken in the relatively new company called iPS Patent Japan through your equity company, RRTW Ventures. With that much stock involved, we assume you feel, as the government does, that induced pluripotent stem cell technology is going to dominate the biotech industry for the next century. Most of us believe that within a decade or so these iPS cells are going to be the source of cures, not mere treatments, for a multitude of degenerative diseases. And they will spawn a highly profitable industry in the process. Am I correct?”

Hisayuki did not move.

“I’m going to take your silence as a yes. I’ll also assume, because of the size of your investment, that you believe Kyoto University was ill equipped to deal with the patent aspects of the breakthroughs emanating from their stem cell labs, because that’s specifically what iPS Patent Japan was to rectify and manage.”

Kenichi paused again, but Hisayuki remained as immobile as a statue, taken aback by the accuracy of what