Flask of the Drunken Master (7 page)

Hiro and Father Mateo approached the fourth room down. The door slid open before they knocked.

Ren’s surprise revealed he hadn’t seen the two men coming.

The brewer wore an unadorned kimono over white
hakama
, a color normally reserved for family in mourning. He bowed to Hiro and then to Father Mateo. “May I help you?” His forehead furrowed as recognition registered in his eyes. “Pardon me, but didn’t I see you this morning, outside Ginjiro’s?”

Hiro exercised the samurai right to ignore a commoner’s question. “We need to know some things about Chikao.”

“Pardon me,” Ren said, “you don’t look like
d
ō
shin
.”

“We are looking into the matter as a favor.” Hiro kept his answer vague and hoped the priest would do the same.

“I see,” Ren said. “I wish I could help, but I wasn’t there when the murder happened.”

“Yes,” Hiro said, “we understand. Where were you?”

“When it happened? I don’t know.” Ren thought for a moment. “I came directly home from the Lucky Monkey after closing.”

“Of course,” Hiro said. “Did you know Chikao intended to visit Ginjiro late last night?”

“No.” Ren looked from Hiro to Father Mateo. “Are you a priest?”

“I am,” the Jesuit said, “a Christian priest, from Portugal.”

“What did Chikao tell you about the debt he went to pay?” Hiro asked.

Ren sighed. “He told me about the argument, the one they had in the early evening hours. I knew he went, because I watched the shop while he was gone. When he returned, he said Ginjiro insisted on payment, immediately, or the debt would impact our petition to join the guild.

“I told Chikao that Kaoru needed to get a job and pay the debt himself—we’ve taken care of Kaoru long enough.”

“This wasn’t the first time?” Hiro asked.

“No, and it wouldn’t have been the last.” Ren exhaled sharply and shook his head. “I told Chikao many times. Kaoru will never learn until he has to deal with consequences. Still, Chikao kept throwing money into a fire and expecting it not to burn.”

“So you disagreed with paying this debt,” Father Mateo said.

“Wholeheartedly,” Ren agreed. “We needed that money to pay for admission into the brewers’ guild.” He slid open the door, revealing a tidy space. “Would you like to come in? May I offer you tea?”

“No, thank you,” Hiro said. “How do you plan to handle your new partnership with Kaoru?”

“What does that have to do with Chikao’s death?” Ren asked.

“Investigations always start with heirs,” Father Mateo said. “They gain the most from a murder victim’s death.”

“I doubt Kaoru considers his inheritance a gain,” Ren said.

“Nonetheless,” the Jesuit said, “he benefits from the tragedy, as do you.”

Hiro wished the priest would stop revealing information.

“I? Benefit?” Ren raised a hand to his chest in surprise. “I assure you, I do not benefit. Before last night, Kaoru was Chikao’s problem—his alone. Now, he’s mine, at least until I divest myself of the lazy, wasteful dog who is now my partner.”

“You do not intend to continue running the Lucky Monkey?” Hiro asked.

“I do not want to see Mina destitute,” Ren said, “but I have no intention of continuing to run a shop with Kaoru.”

“What will become of the brewery?” Father Mateo asked.

“A complicated question.” Ren’s artificial smile revealed discomfort. “I cannot tell you. I haven’t exactly had time to consider my options.”

“Who killed Chikao?” Hiro asked.

“How would I know?” Ren countered. “I wasn’t there.”

“What about Kaoru?” Father Mateo asked. “Could he have done this?”

“Kaoru?” Ren repeated. “As I said, I don’t believe he wanted his father dead. If you want to know what happened, ask Ginjiro.”

“Why Ginjiro?” Father Mateo asked.

“The police arrested him for the crime,” Ren said. “Though, I admit, I do not think he actually killed Chikao.”

Chapter 12

“You don’t believe Ginjiro killed Chikao?” Hiro asked.

“I think he was involved,” Ren said, “however, I don’t think he did the killing.”

“How could he be involved but not responsible?” Father Mateo asked.

“Do you know what debt collectors do to debtors who refuse to pay?” Ren asked. “I wouldn’t want one catching me in an alley late at night.”

“You think Ginjiro hired someone to harass the money from Chikao?” Hiro asked.

“Perhaps,” Ren said, “or possibly a guard to protect his brewery. Kaoru has vandalized some buildings in the past.”

“The
yoriki
claims that when Chikao returned, he fought with Ginjiro personally,” Hiro said.

Ren shook his head. “Chikao knew how to fight. He wouldn’t let Ginjiro beat him. No, Ginjiro must have hired someone else to watch the alley. When Chikao returned, that person killed him.”

“Why wouldn’t Ginjiro mention a guard to the
yoriki
?” Hiro asked.

“It makes no difference to his liability,” Ren said. “The law considers Ginjiro responsible either way. But as long as he doesn’t tell the truth, both he and the guard have a chance of escaping justice. Ginjiro blames an unknown bandit. The guard disappears entirely.”

“Maybe it was a bandit,” Father Mateo said.

“Not even a desperate gambler would take those odds,” Ren told the priest. “Kaoru owed Ginjiro money. They argued yesterday evening, and the argument ended in threats. A reasonable man in Ginjiro’s position would make arrangements to protect his family.”

“I’m confused,” Father Mateo said. “Do you believe the
yoriki
arrested Ginjiro properly or not?”

“The
yoriki
made the right decision. I think Ginjiro hired someone who killed Chikao, which makes Ginjiro responsible for my partner’s death.”

“Even if the death was accidental?” the Jesuit asked.

“The law does not distinguish between accidents and murder in these situations,” Ren replied. “A man must answer for his hirelings’ actions, as a father must pay the debts of dependent sons. Perhaps in your country the law is different, but this is the law in Japan.”

“Speaking of debts,” Hiro said, “why did Chikao continue paying Kaoru’s debts without complaint?”

“Who said he didn’t complain?” Ren asked. “Every father objects to a spendthrift son. But Chikao’s other children died in infancy. Kaoru alone survived. For that reason, Chikao refused him nothing. Not until recently, anyway.

“Chikao and I wanted more than an unlicensed brewery hidden away in a low-class alley. We wanted to join the brewers’ guild and move to a new location. A few months back, we started saving money toward that goal.”

“Until Kaoru ran up a debt,” Hiro said.

Ren shook his head. “He didn’t want to sacrifice. He wanted women, new kimonos, gambling, and sake. I should not criticize the dead, but Chikao’s indulgence ruined his son completely.”

“If Kaoru killed his father, he will forfeit his inheritance,” Hiro said. “The Lucky Monkey will belong to you, and you alone.”

“Forgive my lack of tact,” Ren said, “but I could not hope for such good fortune. Kaoru is a worthless dog, but not a killer.”

Hiro couldn’t verify Ren’s claim of sleeping through the murder, but the idea of a guard in Ginjiro’s alley fit the facts and made some sense. Ginjiro didn’t take risks with his family’s safety.

“May we speak with you again, if we need more information?” Father Mateo asked.

“Of course,” Ren said, “though, I admit, I consider investigations a waste of time. The
d
ō
shin
already arrested the man who should bear the blame for my partner’s death, whether or not he actually killed Chikao.”

*   *   *

Tears filled Tomiko’s eyes when Hiro and Father Mateo explained that Chikao’s family agreed to petition the magistrate.

“Four days is so much time,” she said. “I know that you will find the real killer.”

Hiro knew the time would pass more quickly than she thought but saw no reason to destroy her slender hope.

“If we don’t, the magistrate could still conduct his own investigation,” Father Mateo said.

Hiro’s stomach sank. So much for hope.

“Please—no,” Tomiko’s eyes widened with sudden fear. “My father won’t survive interrogation.”

“Interrogation?” Father Mateo asked. “What do you mean?”

Hiro avoided looking at Tomiko as he answered. “The law allows the magistrate to obtain a confession by any effective means.”

“You mean he can torture Ginjiro until the brewer says what the
yoriki
wants to hear.” Father Mateo raised his hand but stopped just short of running it through his hair.

“My father will not lie, and won’t confess to a crime he did not commit,” Tomiko said. “They’ll torture him until he dies because he will not break.”

Her hands began to tremble. “Please, Matsui-
san
, I beg you. You must find the killer. It’s the only way to save my father’s life.”

*   *   *

As they left Ginjiro’s, Father Mateo asked, “Where do we go from here?”

“To the prison.” Hiro glanced at the priest. “We need to hear Ginjiro’s side of the story.”

“Could Ren be right about the guard?” the Jesuit asked. “We should have asked Tomiko what she knew.”

“She would lie to protect her father,” Hiro said, “and I don’t blame her. It’s Ginjiro’s place to tell us what he’s done.”

“Or hasn’t done,” Father Mateo said.

Hiro nodded. “Trust me, I don’t want to learn Ginjiro hired a guard who killed Chikao. If he hired the killer, even just to guard the brewery, Ginjiro’s life will answer for the crime.”

Chapter 13

A pair of
d
ō
shin
stood on guard outside the prison gates. Despite their samurai swords and topknots, they had little else in common with the well-dressed nobles strolling through the city. The cuffs of their
hakama
trailed, threadbare, to the ground, and their tunics showed the signs of cheap repairs. One
d
ō
shin
looked too old to work, his hair more white than gray. The other’s wrinkled hands and sagging eyes revealed that he, too, approached retirement age.

Hiro and Father Mateo stopped at the gates but did not bow.

“We have come to see a prisoner named Ginjiro,” Hiro said. “We were told that he is here awaiting trial.”

“Ginjiro?” the white-haired
d
ō
shin
repeated. “Yes. I will ask if he can see a visitor.”

The
d
ō
shin
entered the gates and locked them again from the opposite side. His companion, who remained behind, watched the priest with the mute alarm of a Japanese man who had never seen a foreigner.

Father Mateo nodded to the guard but didn’t speak. Hiro noted the behavior with approval. The lowest-ranking samurai drew the assignment to guard the prison gates. No man of rank would engage them in conversation without need.

After several awkwardly silent minutes, the ancient
d
ō
shin
returned. This time, he didn’t lock the gate.

“You may see the prisoner,” he said, “but only briefly.”

“Acceptable,” Hiro replied, “we don’t need long.”

“And thank you,” Father Mateo added, to Hiro’s minor disapproval.

“Follow me.” The elderly
d
ō
shin
led them into the prison yard.

The ammonia-rich scent of human waste assaulted Hiro’s nostrils with the force of a physical blow. He coughed but stifled it quickly. Coughing showed weakness. More importantly, coughs required deep inhalation, which renewed the assault on Hiro’s senses.

The acrid smell rose up from puddles in the dozens of wooden cages that lined the yard and ringed the compound walls. The cages measured three feet across and as tall as Hiro’s shoulder—too short for a man to stand erect and not quite wide enough to sit or kneel. Some of the cages stood empty, but most held a single, miserable prisoner. Without a night-soil bucket, the prisoners’ waste ended up on the ground, creating puddles that even the flies avoided.

“How long do they keep these men in those tiny cages?” Father Mateo asked in Portuguese.

“Until the magistrate hears their cases,” Hiro replied in the Jesuit’s language, glad to keep the conversation private.

“And after that?” the Jesuit asked.

“Fines, or flogging, or execution, depending on the crime.”

Near the middle of the compound, three wooden posts stood upright in the center of an open space. Each post measured as tall as a man and almost a foot in diameter, and had a pair of shackles secured to the top by a length of rusted chain. Dark red spots on the whipping posts attracted swarms of iridescent flies. Hiro didn’t need to get close to know the spots were blood.

Just in front of the whipping posts, the
d
ō
shin
took a left and led the visitors to a row of cages near the compound wall.

Ginjiro crouched in a wooden cage near the end of the row, feet half-buried in mud and human waste. He kept his eyes on the ground as the jailer approached, in part because of the cage’s height but also, no doubt, in shame.

The
d
ō
shin
stopped and called, “Ginjiro, identify yourself!”

The brewer raised his head. “I am Ginjiro.” His mouth fell open in shock, eyes wide, at the sight of Hiro and Father Mateo. He struggled to bow, but the narrow cage made courtesy impossible.

“Matsui-
san,
” Ginjiro said, “I am honored, and shamed, by your visit.”

“You have five minutes,” the
d
ō
shin
said.

“May we approach him?” Father Mateo asked.

“If you choose,” the
d
ō
shin
said. “I wouldn’t. The prisoners throw filth if you get too close.”

Hiro and Father Mateo walked to Ginjiro’s cage as the
d
ō
shin
departed.