Men With Painted Skin

Itoko watched Ryouma from the sofa as he fixated on the front door like a puppy waiting for its owner to come home. Midoriko was an individual with a consistent routine that she rarely strayed from, but tonight she hadn’t come home on time.

“Master Ryouma, is dinner ready yet?” Xiǎomíng asked, sitting down at the kitchen table.

“Yes, but we can’t start eating until Midoriko gets home.” Ryouma stood in the doorway separating the entryway from the main living area of the apartment with his arms crossed.

“Ugh! Seriously? But I’m starving,” groaned Xiǎomíng.

Itoko’s stomach growled. She was hungry too, but she knew that Midoriko might not be back for a while. The man next door with the painted skin was taking her out on a date.

Midoriko insisted he wasn’t a bad person, but Itoko had only ever met bad people with skin like that. The more painted their skin was, the worse they seemed to be. He only had a little bit painted, so maybe he was only a little bit bad—he did save Itoko from falling over the edge of the balcony that one time.

He was also just like Midoriko—able to put his hands on Itoko without getting hurt. Midoriko didn’t know that about him either. Itoko couldn’t say anything to her about it the night before because that would mean admitting to breaking a rule.

She had been explicitly told not to go out onto the balcony by herself at this house because she could fall and get hurt. But on that day, it was raining at the other house, and she wanted to go outside. When she heard a dog barking from below, curiosity got the best of her.

If she told Midoriko about going out there, she might scold her or take away the TV. Itoko didn’t want to get in trouble.

But Papa looks really worried… Itoko hugged the plushie Midoriko won for her from the machine tightly. She was worried about Midoriko, too. What if that man tricked her?

What adults fail to understand is that most children are sharper than they look. Itoko was acutely aware that dangerous men had come after Midoriko in the past. Even though there were more people here to protect her now, it didn’t mean she was always going to be safe.

“Papa…” Itoko swallowed hard. “Is it okay to break a promise as long as it helps someone?”

“Hm? Where’s this coming from?” Ryouma crossed the room and kneeled beside the couch. His eyebrows knitted together as he scratched his head. “If the promise puts someone in danger, then it should be broken…I think…I guess…”

She clutched her plushie hard and squeezed her eyes shut. “Midoriko-nee told me not to tell you, but last night we saw the next-door neighbor and he has painted skin, but he’s just like Midoriko-nee and he caught me when I fell, but I couldn’t tell Midoriko-nee because I went on the balcony when I wasn’t supposed to and…and…”

“Whoa! Slow down!” urged Ryouma. He looked at Xiǎomíng, who just shrugged and shook his head. Ryouma grabbed a throw blanket off the sofa, threw it over Itoko, and patted her on the back. “Just tell me the most important part.”

“Midoriko-nee went with the neighbor man today!” blurted Itoko. She lowered the blanket from her head and looked at Ryouma with glassy eyes. Her lower lip trembled. “Papa, what if she’s in trouble? His skin is painted like the bad men!”

Ryouma’s brain short-circuited. What did she mean, Midoriko went with the neighbor today? Like on a date? Midoriko…on a date…with the neighbor…?

He tried to maintain a smile for the sake of the child, but inside of him, a typhoon of emotion raged. Ryouma was willing to be patient for her sake, to let her figure out her feelings. If he showered her with love, then of course she would come to love him back. Wasn’t that how it worked?

Was she seeing that pest behind his back this whole time? Was she thinking of him every time they embraced? Every time she called out ‘Ryouma’ and pleaded with him for more, was it just an act?

“Master? Hello? ...Master!” called Xiǎomíng, pulling Ryouma out of his own spiraling thoughts.

“What is it, Xiǎomíng?” he asked, curtly. Ryouma stood up and started flitting about the kitchen as if on autopilot, plating food.

“Did you hear what Itoko said about that neighbor?”

“That he’s with Midoriko right now?” He brought plates of food to the table and set them down.

“She said he had painted skin, Master.”

Ryouma froze. Painted skin was how that child with her stunted vocabulary referred to tattoos. When he first brought her in, Ryouma had to convince her that his cursed arm was not a tattoo. Having been raised and abused by yakuza, she’d come to fear anyone who had them.

“Itoko…” He beckoned her over. The child hopped off the couch and cautiously approached. Ryouma crouched to her level. “Can you tell me again how you know this?”

“I went outside when I wasn’t supposed to,” she said, pointing to the balcony door. “He was outside too. His shirt was open.”

“His shirt was open? Can you show me where his skin was painted?”

She traced her finger through the air above her chest on each side in a crescent motion.

“It looked like a dragon,” she added.

Ryouma and Xiǎomíng gave each other a knowing look. The style varies from country to country, but Western gangsters opt for monochrome black tattoos with insignia, religious imagery, numbers, words and names. For Asian gangsters, the styling and imagery were similar across East Asia—fish, florals, tigers, and dragons.

“Xiǎomíng…Does the name Kuroiwa ring any bells to you?” Ryouma asked as he stood up and moved toward the front door.

“They’re a small-time yakuza family based in–!” Xiǎomíng jumped up from his seat. “Master! You don’t think they found out about Miss Suwa, do you?!”

“It’s possible she was targeted from the start…” Ryouma sucked air through his teeth. He shouldn’t have ignored that fucking pest next door, especially not after what she’d said that one time.

“He mentioned your Nishikawa alias before...”

Maybe they were just using Midoriko to draw him out. Maybe he had been the target all along.

“Itoko! Do you know where they were going?!” Ryouma frantically put on his shoes and threw on a long-sleeved button-up to cover his arm. At that moment, he sincerely hoped that it was a date between the two of them for him to crash. The alternative was sickening.

“Um! H-he said he would meet Midoriko-nee at the t-train station!”

“Got it!”

Ryouma knocked twice on the front door and opened it to transport him instantly to the station. They’d probably already left, but he could search the area.

***

The place where Akira had brought Midoriko was in the complete opposite direction from where they lived. Under any other circumstances, she might have liked to explore the area with all of its cafés, restaurants, and shops populating old buildings. It was a bit of a trek from the station, so she took the opportunity to probe Akira for information along the way.

“What kind of work do you do for this man claiming to be my father?”

“I’m something like a private eye.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means I look for people on behalf of a client.”

“Then did he hire you to track me down?”

“No. He hired me to find…someone else. The fact that you’re his daughter was entirely coincidental.”

“Did he ask about my mother?”

“No.”

“Why does he want to meet me?”

Akira only gave her a look that said he knew the answer, but wasn’t going to tell her. He was worse than Ryouma—at least he would have given an answer even if it was vague. After that, Akira stopped answering her questions and stayed silent the rest of the way.

He used to be so easy to talk to...

Was the Akira she knew just an act? It made her sick to her stomach. She wasn’t a stranger to that kind of deception—her ex had been like that after all. Someone who treated her kindly, telling her sweet lies for as long as it took to get the thing he wanted from her, then let the mask fall and shatter alongside her heart. The fact that she fell for it again made it feel all the worse.

When they reached the restaurant, Midoriko snapped a photo of the traditional-style building’s exterior. Akira shot her a puzzled look. She shrugged it off with an ‘I just like traditional architecture,’ as they entered.

Midoriko fished the paper with the address out of her pocket and stealthily began typing it into a message to Ryouma. She attached the photo she’d just taken, but didn’t hit send.

Calling on him would be a last resort—she knew that as soon as she sent the message, he would magically appear through one of his doors. Midoriko wanted to meet the man claiming to be her father first.

Akira led her through the restaurant past the staff who’d clearly been expecting them. Its interior matched the exterior with almost nothing but zashiki-style seating. A few groups of customers were seated here and there at the low tables, and their eyes followed Midoriko as she passed them.

Trying to avoid making eye contact with any of them, she took in her surroundings through her peripheral vision. It was mostly men in suits—maybe the place was popular with salarymen—with some more casually dressed men and a couple of flashy-looking women mixed in. But as Akira led her to the stairs at the rear of the dining room, Midoriko spied a distinctive tattoo on a man’s forearm out of the corner of her eye.

That’s nothing. That means nothing. Midoriko tried to assure herself as she followed Akira up the stairs. She tried to maintain a poker face, but completely lost control of her expression when she saw Akira’s own tattoo circling his bicep from underneath his short sleeves.

Midoriko clutched her phone. Forget alarm bells—sirens were going off in her head, trying to warn her of the potential danger she was walking into. She just had to confirm if her father was at the top of those stairs before hitting send on that message.

When they reached the second floor, Akira opened a sliding door to a private tatami room and ushered Midoriko inside after she’d removed her shoes. Seated at the center of a low table, while men in dark suits stood stiffly along the walls, was a middle-aged man wearing glasses and a tan suit.

He looked up as Midoriko entered the room, staring straight at her with an unreadable expression. Akira bowed, then turned and left the room with another man in a tacky shirt.

“H-hey! Why are you leaving?!” she shouted as they slammed the door shut behind them.

“Mr. Kuroiwa has a job to do,” said the man, gesturing for Midoriko to sit opposite him where a place setting was laid out. “You and I have a lot to catch up on.”

“Is that so? If you’re really my father, then what’s your name?” Midoriko’s thumb hovered over the ‘send’ button in the messenger app.

“Hmph. So he ruined the surprise, huh?” he scoffed, adjusting his glasses. “Shishiba Tsuneo. Your mother’s name was Mikoto… And you are my only daughter, Midoriko.”