“Because I do not agree with what Takashi is doing. The yakuza ninkyodo forbids it, yet he does it anyway. I have been thinking about my role in all of this for some time. I knew what Sakura was doing with Katsuro. The drugs—I knew about that. I argued against it, but Takashi did not listen to me. The function of a wakagashira is to advise the oyabun. He doesn’t care for my opinion any longer. What is the point of a wakagashira who does not command the respect of the boss? My usefulness to him is at an end.”

Hachirō glowered. “You are here because you are afraid for yourself?”

“No. I am here because I do not want to see your daughter sent to Kyoto and there is nothing that I can do to stop it myself. I thought you should know.”

Milton rested the shotgun on the counter and stepped behind it to sit opposite Fumio.

“Takashi is at the tower?”

“He never leaves.”

“And Katsuro?”

“The same.”

“I’m going to go and get Sakura and Yamato,” he said. “I have some questions about the best way to do that. If you want to help, I’ll need you to answer them.”

Fumio nodded. “What do you want to know?”

116

Fumio stayed for thirty minutes, answered all of Milton’s questions, and agreed with the plan that he proposed. There were no thanks once the conversation had concluded; Milton could see that Hachirō was at the edge of fury, and that there was nothing that Fumio could do or say that could have rehabilitated him from his involvement in what had happened to Sakura. Fumio left with the promise that he would help Milton as much as he could. Hachirō let him go without a word.

“Do you trust him?” Milton said once the door was locked once more.

“About this? Yes. He was always very traditional. The ninkyodo is important to him. What Takashi is proposing…” He paused, his mouth twisting as if he had tasted something unpleasant. “It will go against everything that he considers to be honourable.”

Milton looked at his watch. It was half past midnight. “We need to get to work,” he said. “We have a lot to do and not very long to do it.”

Milton assessed his own physical condition. He was bruised and sore from the beating that Katsuro had delivered. His ribs were sore and his shoulder was still tender after he had arrested his fall from the balcony. He would have liked to wait and recover a little, but Sakura and Yamato did not have the luxury of time. It was tonight or not at all, especially for her.

“What do you need?” Hachirō asked.

“Your shotgun.”

“What about the Glock?”