Japanese vendors had an appreciation for flowers. You couldn’t throw a rock and not hit a flower shop, and I spied one down the street the car was headed down. Though I was getting drenched in the rain, I ran towards the flower shop and ducked in.
“Konnichiwa!” the florist greeted right away. She looked me up and down and then smiled. “Hello. How can I help you?”
Her accent was strong and I got the sense that she assumed I didn’t speak Japanese, so I switched to the language when I said, “Hello. My Japanese is only just okay, but I do speak it.”
Her smile grew as she nodded at me. “Oh, good. I speak English okay too. We’ll communicate somehow.”
“Do you have any Camellias?” I asked.
Her face lit up. “They’re technically out of season, but I have a couple of bouquets I’ve been keeping alive.”
“Can you, um…” I switched to English and laced my fingers together, “combine them?”
“Yes sir.”
She turned around and fluttered into the back and returned a few minutes later with the combined bouquet of two dozen flowers. I paid her for the bouquet, plus a hefty tip, and then she placed a strange-looking, cardboard box on the top of the flowers, gently enough to not crush them, but enough to block them from the rain. I thanked her and then carried the flowers outside and started looking up and down the street.
As expected, the town car hadn’t made it far from where it was, so I raced between the lines of traffic and back up to the car that came to pick me up. I jumped back inside, glad that the flowers seemed to survive the rain, and set them on the seat next to me. I flapped out my jacket a little bit, sending water flying everywhere.
“Sorry,” I said.
The driver shook her head. “No worries. I’m used to it during this season.”
I settled into the car ride and remained stuck in traffic until well after 3:00 pm. The more and more it carried past the time, the worse I felt, but at least I had some time off now.
I’d make amends with my bride to be just fine.
“Mr. Varberio,” Boone said. “I got a call back from our contacts in Shibuya. They’ve seen Mitsuki in and out of the casinos there.”
I groaned. “That doesn’t surprise me.”
“What should we do?”
I shrugged. “Send him my regards.”
“How so?” Boone asked.
“He’s a big fan of those fruit baskets that look like flower baskets. Have one sent to his office. Maybe send one home to his kids too, but no kiwi, because his son is allergic. Attach a note letting him know that when he’s ready to sign off, I’m ready too.”
“Of course sir,” Boone replied.
There was one thing that Angelo had taught me as much as I hated to admit it, how to be a good businessman. Not long after I arrived in Japan, I learned that one of the most booming industries was tourism. At first, I tried to pick a niche, but then I realized I was best at getting inroads anywhere I could, and I quickly established and was growing an all-encompassing entertainment business in Hokkaido. Thanks to my old man, I knew how to be intimidating without being intimidating. Did I know more about my clients than they shared with me in our meetings? Yes. Did I ever threaten or harm anyone? Never. If they found me scary enough that they gavemetheir business as opposed to someone else, that wasn’t my fault. I’d never done anything wrong.
“Hey, can I ask a question?” the driver said. “Why do they call you Gianni the Cat?”
I laughed. “Because I’m a man of nine lives.” She furrowed her brow, so I swiped a hand into my hair and pulled my hair away, revealing where I’d been shot in my head. “Shot in my head.” I grabbed my stomach and lifted it, revealing the collection of scrapes and scars along with the large, bullet wound scar that was there. “And in my stomach.”
“Walked away from both,” Boone said with a snicker. “Gianni the Cat. Seven lives left.”
And yeah, I may have started to use the canvas of my dad’s torture on my body and the stories of my brushes with death to grow my reputation.
So what? If it worked it worked. I had suffered a lot in my comparatively short time on this earth, why shouldn’t I cash in on it now with a few tales that would shock most people.
When we got to the front of my condo complex around 3:30, Boone hopped out with an umbrella and unfurled it as he opened my door. I grabbed the suit, my shoes, and the flowers and climbed out. Boone shut the door and kept the umbrella over my head as we crossed up to the door, then he closed it, flicking off the umbrella as he did so.
“Okay,” I said once we were well under the door. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Yes sir,” Boone replied.
