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Fifteen years ago...
What was the point of going home when I knew there was nothing there for me?
My mother was a shell of the vibrant woman she used to be, and she was struggling to pay rent and utilities, let alone buy groceries with the meager amount of my father's pension and insurance payout that was left.
I felt like I was stuck in limbo, unable to truly live or die.
I was fifteen, and in my first year of high school, I shouldn't be wandering around in the dark. I should be at home with a loving family or studying for college entrance exams at cram school.
I knew college wasn't in my future, and if I wasn't lucky soon, neither would be a hot dinner.
I wandered around the bars, keeping my eyes peeled for a drunk salaryman who wouldn't notice me stealing his wallet. With any luck, I'd have enough cash on me to keep me fed for a few days.
A few minutes later, I saw my chance. An old guy was leaning over his food, his ass hanging halfway off the stool. His wallet stuck up from his back pocket, tempting me.I'd pick-pocketed dozens of times over the years now, and the guilt that I'd originally felt was gone. I walked past, seemingly minding my own business as I snatched his wallet and turned into an alley.
I opened the leather, wilting when I saw only a couple thousand yen, but it would be enough for now. I pocketed the money and threw the wallet in the trash before putting as much space between me and that guy as possible.
I went to my favorite convenience store to buy some hot food. But the night cashier wasn't there. He was a nice guy who even let me buy beer sometimes, even though it would get him fired if anyone found out.
I set down my instant ramen bowl and energy drink on the counter. "Hello?" I called out.
Then, I heard some noises in the back room. Muffled shouting and the sound of fighting.
I jumped over the counter and into the stock room before I could convince my stupid brain to turn and pretend I never saw anything. That would have been the smart thing to do. But what happened next changed my life forever.
The night cashier, I never did find out his name, was on the ground bleeding from his head. He curled up to protect himself while two big guys in leather jackets kicked him.
"Hey!" I shouted. "Stop that! What is this?"
The two guys turned. One had a scar across his cheek, and they both had tattoos visible under their shirt collars.
Yakuza.
"Mind your own business, kid," one said.
"No, you can't hurt him," I continued to speak even though I was terrified. "He's a good man."
"He owes the Nakamura family money. I don't give a shit if he's good or not." The taller of the two men spoke as he pulled out a knife. "He knows the cost of being late on payments."
"No, please!" I cried out. "Stop, I'll pay his debts."
The two yakuza men looked at each other and laughed. "You have a few million in that bookbag of yours, kid?"
My face burned with shame. "I don't have cash, but let me work it off," I offered. "Please, just don't hurt him."
The man, whose blood had dried to a crusty stain on his graying hair, looked up at me from the floor. "Sasuke," he groaned. "Don't, these guys, they're trouble."
"Don't worry, Uncle," I said out of respect and suddenly feeling terrible for never taking the time to learn his name after all the times he'd helped me out when I was short on cash.I set my shoulders, looking up at the yakuza goons. "Well?"
The one with the knife smiled, tapping the blade against his palm. "Well?"
The other nodded. "Let's let the kid play with us for a bit. It could be interesting." He tossed me a business card. "Call us tomorrow, and we'll have some work for you to do."
"I will," I said, clenching it in my fist.
The taller of the pair kicked the cashier one more time. "You're lucky this time, you rat."
As soon as the goons left, I rushed to the man's side. His face was swollen and bruised beyond recognition.
