A Deal You Can\'t Refuse

Goten flew with Vegeta toward the Rising Sun and before long the skyline and Tokyo Tower came into view. “They think I’m your uncle and legal tutor,” Vegeta told him. “But I’m eighteen. Why would I need a tutor?” Goten asked indignantly. “Their age of majority is twenty,” Vegeta informed him, “And one isn’t taken seriously as an adult until they’re twenty-five and settled down. But your fake ID makes you twenty-five, and congratulations on your Economics degree from West City University.” Goten snickered and exchanged a grin with Vegeta. They landed in an alley out of sight and Vegeta led Goten through the colorful, crowded quarter of Shinjuku to the notorious yakuza-governed sub-quarter of Kabuki-Cho. Vegeta seemed to know the way, so Goten followed him through the maze of narrow streets past pachinko parlors that paid cash prizes, bars, porno theaters and myriad other establishments, until he stopped at a specific pachinko parlor and they entered. The brightly flashing lights and colorful, smoke-filled ambiance with a noise level equalling a 767 at takeoff assaulted their accute senses, and Goten followed Vegeta up a stairway to a platform, affording a view of below. Vegeta recognized a group of kobun who motionned for them to follow them through a security-locked door across a hallway leading to an adjoining office building. One could tell at a glance that the whole place contained as much security as the average bank. Goten studied the group. Part of them had permed hair and bad, gaudy colored suits, while the others that he guessed of higher rank were more classily dressed in black suits and ties, smartly coiffed, and were more reserved. None of them spoke, and one of the men in black rang at a deceptively modest looking door to signal their presence. A chime sounded and two impeccably dressed men inside bowed politely and bade them to enter, returning to their places like bookends at each side of the room, reminding Vegeta of the royal guards back on the old planet. Goten looked around the ornate room, an intriguing mixture of tradition and modernity. The Oyabun stood with a smile. “Ah, Vegeta-san. It’s good to see you again. Welcome.” “Hello, Shimada-san.” They exchanged bows. “This must be your nephew, Goten,” Shimada guessed in a friendly tone. “Yes, sir.” Goten bowed politely. “It’s an honor to meet you.” Goten had been a little intimidated and was impressed that Vegeta was on familiar terms with the big boss of the Shimada Clan, reputed to be the largest and most powerful yakuza clan worldwide. Pleased by his good manners, Shimada nodded. “I can see the ressemblance, and am curious about your origins.” “Oh, a small faraway… island… no longer on the map,” Goten improvised. The oyabun seemed to accept that. “Do sit down. Make yourselves at home,” he bade them, indicating luxuriously embroidered cushions set around a low table on the tatami. Goten took a cushion next to Vegeta and they sat across from Shimada. “Noriko, serve them their tea,” he told his secretary. The young woman in a tailored black and white suit dress stepped out and returned immediately, smiling as she served their green tea and small, leaf-shaped biscuits, then discretely left them. After a bit of small talk, the ageing boss called in the said financial advisor assigned to Goten, who explained the procedure. Goten was given false identity papers, startup money and the aforementionned Economics degree to be used only for that purpose, and a bank account had been opened in the new name he was to use that passed through an offshore account in the Cayman Islands. Indeed, all he had to do was heed the advise of the financial advisor, sign and fax to authorize stock investments, and meet with his advisor once a month. Goten stared at his new ID card and the astonishing amount the account statement contained. “I’m supposed to be half Spanish?” “You guys learned Spanish in high school,” Vegeta reminded him. “No es bueno,” Goten muttered under his breath. * TBC in part 3…