He shook his head no.
Mozasu laid his hand on the boy’s forearm. He’d bought the dark blue suit Solomon was wearing now from Brooks Brothers the time he’d visited Solomon in New York. It had been a nice feeling to be able to buy his son however many interview suits and whatever else he needed at such a nice American store. That was the whole point of money, wasn’t it, to be able to get your kid whatever he needed?
“Have some curry,” Mozasu said.
Solomon shook his head.
Goro frowned and waved the waitress over.
“Kyoko-chan, give the boy some tea, please.”
Solomon looked up and stared at his father’s former boss.
“I don’t know what to say, Goro-san.”
“Sure, you do. Just talk.”
“My boss, Kazu, said that the lady, you know, the seller, she died. Is that right?”
“That’s so. I went to the funeral,” Goro said. “She was ancient. Died of a heart attack. She had two nieces who inherited all that money. Pleasant girls. One married and one divorced. Beautiful skin. Nice, open brows. Real Korean faces. They reminded me of my mother and aunt.”
The waitress brought his tea, and Solomon held the brown, squat mug between his hands. These were the same mugs that Empire had used ever since he could remember.
Totoyama patted the boy’s shoulder gently as if to wake him.
“Who? Who died?”
“The lady. The Korean lady who sold the property to Goro-san. My boss’s client wanted this property, and the lady wouldn’t sell to a Japanese, so Goro-san bought it and sold it to the client, but the lady is dead now, and the boss’s client won’t touch the deal. Something about having a clean public offering and possible investigations.”
Totoyama glanced at Mozasu, who looked equally puzzled.
“She died? Is that so?” Mozasu glanced at Goro, who nodded calmly.
“She was ninety-three years old, and she died a couple of days after she sold her property to me. What does that have to do with anything?” Goro shrugged. He winked at the waitress and tapped the edge of his mug for another beer. When he pointed to the empty beer mugs of Mozasu and Totoyama, the men shook their heads. Totoyama covered the top of his beer mug with his hand.
“What did you pay for the property?” Mozasu asked.
“A very good price, but not crazy. Then I sold it to that client for exactly what I paid for it. I sent Solomon’s boss the copies of the contract. I didn’t make a single yen. This was Solomon’s first deal, and—”
Mozasu and Totoyama nodded. It was unthinkable that Goro would ever seek to profit from Solomon’s career.
“The client bought it for less than what he would have if he’d bought it himself,” Solomon said slowly, as if Kazu were in the room.
“The client got a piece of property that he would never have gotten because he’s Japanese, and she had refused on several occasions to sell to him. He got it cheap.” Goro grunted in disbelief. “So now the client is saying he won’t build the country club? Bullshit.”
“Kazu said the project will be on hold because they didn’t want the bad news contaminating the public offering.”
“What bad news? The old lady died in peace. Though it might take time to wash away that dirty Korean smell,” Goro said. “I’m sick of this.”
Totoyama frowned. “If there had been something questionable about her death, I would know. There’s been no complaint.”
“Listen, the deal’s done. If this little prick wants to cheat you out of your cut, fine. I didn’t expect him to give you a fair bonus, but remember this: That bastard will not profit from you again. I will watch that motherfucker until the day I die.” Goro inhaled, then calmly smiled at the boy.
“Now, Solomon, you should eat some curry and tell me about this American girl, Phoebe. I’ve always wanted to go to America to meet the women there. So beautiful, so beautiful.” He smacked his lips. “I want a blonde American girlfriend with a big ass!”
The men smiled but they didn’t laugh as they would have before. Solomon appeared unconsoled.
The waitress brought Goro a small beer and returned to the kitchen; Goro watched her walk away.
“Too skinny,” he said, smoothing back his dyed black pompadour with his brown hands.
“I was fired,” Solomon said.
“Nani?” the three men said at once. “For what?”
“Kazu said that the client is holding off on the deal. They don’t need me anymore. He said that if there was an investigation because of—” Solomon stopped himself before saying the word “yakuza,” because suddenly, he wasn’t sure. His father wouldn’t have associated with criminals. Should he be speaking like this in front of Totoyama? He was Japanese and a high-ranking detective with the Yokohama police; he wouldn’t be friends with criminals. The suggestion alone would have hurt all the men deeply.
Goro studied Solomon’s face and nodded almost imperceptibly, because he understood the boy’s silence.