Enzan. John Donohue
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intelligence bureau to be known. They figure you can use us as an asset to locate the girl. Then you swoop in and get her. There may be some heads need knocking. Which, I have to admit, you can do.” The admission that I had any sort of competence seemed to pain him. “Once that happens, they can have her loaded on a private jet and out of the country well before anyone raises a stink.”
Art held up a finger. “Although a stink will be raised.” He nodded somberly at me.
“And you, you moron, will be left holding the bag,” my brother concluded.
I said nothing. I knew deep down they were right. But I also knew they didn’t get the whole picture.
“Walk away, buddy boy,” my brother urged.
“I agree, Connor,” Art said quietly. “We’re gonna pass on this one. You should too.” Nobody said much after that. Art looked down at his glass. It was empty. So was mine.
Even in a crowded room, Osorio seemed alone. It wasn’t just the minders who watched, unblinking, from the corners of the room. It wasn’t the regal solitude of the man as he sat at the best table in the house, savoring the bouquet that swirled from a brandy snifter. There was a space around Osorio at all times, a zone filled with threat and innuendo and the memories of old violence.
“Dr. Burke,” he said, smiling. His face was lined like old leather, his teeth square and strong looking. He swirled the brandy around the crystal glass, watching the languid wash of the liquid with deep appreciation. I stood a pace away from him, hands held at rest by my sides. I waited.
You don’t get too close to Don Osorio without an invitation. He’s a legend in Brooklyn’s criminal underworld. And the stories of his rise to his current undisputed prominence as a Latino crime boss made Macbeth seem squeamish. You can say his crazy days were long behind him. And looking at him, dapper and placid, an old lion at rest, you might almost have believed it. But don’t be fooled. Yamashita had once confided to me that Osorio was the second deadliest person he knew.
“Who’s the first?” I had asked Yamashita.
He had almost smirked. “I am, Burke.”
We had done Osorio a favor once and he had reciprocated. He understood deals. He even might have understood honor, if the cost were not too high. I thought he might be willing to help me with the Miyazaki, so I arrived unannounced at his dinner table. He might have been surprised—it was hard to tell—but the old gangster was certainly amused. And that and only that explained why I had gotten this far at all. I saw the subtle dismissive wave he gave his bodyguard. The man sat back, coiling down into stillness, but not into rest. His eyes never blinked. In contrast, Osorio’s eyes crinkled in expectation.
I needed help finding Chie Miyazaki and her low-life boyfriend. There are two types of people who have the information that can help with problems like this. You can go to the good guys—people like my brother. Or you can go the other way—to people like Osorio.
I apologized to Osorio for my intrusion. “I’ve come seeking help, Don Osorio.” I could tell that he liked that, the way I called him “Don,” the archaic title of respect. Osorio knew nine-tenths of successful intimidation is reputation alone. He worked hard at cultivating his aura of Old World menace, and pleasing him was always a good strategy for any supplicant. Osorio didn’t smile at the flattery, yet he waved a hand in invitation and I sat down.
And waited. The crisp table linen, the image of the old man caressing a brandy snifter, the hum of the conversation of the other diners could almost lull you into relaxing and speaking your mind. But that wasn’t the way the game would be played. It wasn’t exactly Japanese in approach, but it was close enough so I understood the dynamics.
“And how is my sister’s son?” the old man inquired.
Some time ago, Yamashita had agreed to train Osorio’s nephew, an aspiring young martial artist. It went against most of my teacher’s standards for admission to the dojo, but at the time it seemed a small price to pay for the help we needed. Osorio had delivered the requested service, and his nephew picked up the sword with us. Surprisingly, young Ricardo had endured.
“Fine,” I said evasively. I remembered my recent class demonstration and what I had done to Rick, but kept it to myself.
“And Yamashita Sensei?”
“Aging gracefully.”
Osorio smiled tightly. “Grace … a welcome companion in old age, Dr. Burke. But do not be fooled. Old tigers are often the most dangerous.” His eyes were brown and knowing.
“Indeed they are, Don Osorio.”
A waiter arrived, seemingly unbidden, and set a second brandy snifter down in front of me.
“Salud,” the old gangster said, extending his glass.
“Salud,” I answered. I sipped carefully, letting the fumes engulf my face. A drop of brandy pooled on my tongue. Warmth. The scent of oak and vanilla. A fine drink, shared with a vicious felon. But you take the good things in life where you can find them.
“You mentioned help?” Osorio said. He set the brandy down on the table and was very still.
“A minor thing,” I shrugged, “some information. Nothing more.”
Osorio’s head tilted to one side as he watched me. “There is information and there is information.”
“This matter has nothing to do with your immediate …” I paused to think of a good euphemism, “… concerns.”
His lips tightened in displeasure. “My concerns are many, Dr. Burke. I doubt you are intimately familiar with them.”
I held up a placating hand. “I meant no disrespect. As far as I know, the information would not directly impact upon you. Nor would it be used that way.”
Something flickered behind his eyes. He sat forward slightly. “We shall see.”
So I explained about Chie Miyazaki and her boyfriend Lim, and how I needed to find them for her father.
“A father’s concerns are to be respected,” Osorio said, nodding. “But why come to me?”
I didn’t fidget, although I felt the need. “This Lim, the boyfriend,” I ventured. “He’s a conduit for drugs.”
“And you thought?” Osorio left the question dangling.
“I thought someone with your … wide range of acquaintances might be able to find some hint as to his whereabouts.”
Osorio smiled then, big square teeth. “A wide range of acquaintances. I like that, Dr. Burke.” He sipped his brandy and his eyes narrowed. “And in return?”
I sensed the whisper of warning swirling up inside my head. “As you know, Don Osorio, I am a man of limited resources and poor skills.” He smirked at that, but he let me continue. “I can offer my goodwill, my services as a teacher …”
Osorio was not impressed. “I left the schoolroom many years ago, Dr. Burke.” I started to speak, but he held up a hand.
“Please. Let us simply say I may call upon you in the future for a discussion if I have the need for you?” He gave it the intonation of a question, but there was nothing interrogative about the statement. The message was clear. I was in his debt.
I took a deep breath, sure I had made a terrible mistake. “Thank you.”
Osorio shook his head. “Please. Who is to say my own ‘limited resources’ will be of any use? Let us simply say it is my pleasure to offer this gesture to un maestro de la espada.”
I stood up and nodded my thanks. But our eyes locked and we both knew what had just happened. I owed him now. And he never forgot a debt and never failed to collect payment.
I left the murmur of the restaurant and headed out into the cold. As I pulled my collar up around me, I shivered.
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