Who: Oyama Yuriko and Kusanagi Motoko When: 4/30 Where: A coffee place in Little Tokyo, LA What: Motoko asks some questions. Rating: Low Status: Complete
Motoko went out for lunch, after settling her business for the day with the local Interpol liason. She was hungry, and a little tired, but eager to start working on her case. And it was her case, no matter what anyone said. She’d see it through to the end.
She walked into a little cafe and looked around. It was very crowded.
Yuriko had debated for days about going out in public, but eventually she had decided to put on a lot of makeup and hope for the best. This was not Japan; most people wouldn’t understand the significance of the scarring, and she could just ignore those who did.
She had done some work from home, but she’d needed to go pick up things in Little Tokyo. She’d done her shopping and headed for the first cafe once she’d crossed the border back into Boyle Heights, opening the door and walking in to wait in line. It was busy, but she had nowhere to be; she didn’t move or speak until someone pushed into the line from behind, and Yuriko stumbled forward. “Clumsy ape!”
“Excuse me?” Motoko looked at the other woman, reaching out to steady her.
Yuriko looked up, blinking. “Not you, whomever pushed me.” Damn; this woman was clearly Japanese. She braced herself for any comments about her face. “Someone came in and shoved everyone in front of them.”
Motoko looked at Yuriko closely, the scars something that she clearly knew the significance of. Her expression remained otherwise unchanged, and she shook her head. “I’m still sorry, I should have been steadier.” She was, however, keenly interested in this woman now.
Yuriko blushed horribly, bobbing her head. “Gomen. It’s no problem.” She wanted to run away, and yet some part of her refused. If she continued to run from every more-than-casual glance, she would become a recluse. So she just stayed there, looking down in case the woman was still interested.
“Okay, arigato.” She nodded her head at Yuriko, and waited a moment before asking. “Do you come here often? I know that sounds cliche, but I’d rather not stand here in silence.”
She didn’t mind; it wasn’t anything rude. “Not to this place, no. I work on the other side of Little Tokyo, and I am often in this area.”
“My employer has an office nearby. I’ve just moved into town recently, and I’m trying to find my way around still. Good coffee is a must.” Motoko was notorious for drinking the stuff back in Tokyo.
“Suehiro is the best coffeehouse for miles.” Yuriko managed a faint smile. “They also have some lunch specials, and the owner is a kind man.” She reflected that she should probably not go back until her face was fixed, if she could afford it. Hiroki would either pity her or shun her.
“I’ll be sure to check it out.” Motoko tilted her head, thoughtfully. It wasn’t polite of her to ask, but she knew she had to, if only to rule the woman out as a potential lead. “I know it’s a touchy subject, but may I ask a personal question? I assure you it’s..job related.”
Yuriko stiffened, but didn’t immediately reject the question; instead she spoke in Japanese, seeing mostly white faces around them and taking the risk. “What kind of question, and what kind of job?” The line was moving; maybe they could get a table if there turned out to be something to discuss.
Motoko shifted to her native language as well. There was one more person between them and the counter by now. "The obvious one, and lets just say I'm in law enforcement, investigating sensitive matters."
Yuriko smiled, but there was no amusement there. “You frankly would not believe me if I told you the reason for this.” She didn’t want some keikan from Tokyo thinking she was insane.
“I’ve seen a lot of strange things since I joined my particular agency. I just would be remiss in my duties if I did not ensure you were okay.” It was only half-true - mostly she wanted to know if there was any connection to her case.
“I’m fine. You are Japanese.” This woman knew what the scars meant. “What kind of strange things have you seen?”
“Several, since I’ve gotten here, and some weird things when I was working cases back home.” Motoko thought about it. “I saw a flying person.”
That even made Yuriko blink. “Really?” Just then, the line ahead of them cleared, and Yuriko gestured to the woman to follow her to a table if she wanted to. She was curious, in spite of herself, about the flying person. She knew Logan’s peculiarities, at this point, but flying was in a new league.
“Really,” she said, ordering herself a coffee, black. “I’m not normally one to make extraordinary claims.”
Yuriko sat, ordering coffee and soup without looking at the server. “What do you want to know about specifically? And have you any credentials?” She kept speaking Japanese, if only because it felt safer somehow.
Motoko reached into the front of her business jacket and pulled out her badge, Interpol prominently written in English and Japanese. She slipped it back into her jacket. “I’ve been tracking a criminal syndicate. Your scars...made me wonder.”
Yuriko stiffened, but really, she couldn’t blame the woman for wondering. Especially since her badge appeared legitimate. “I live with my old father; I have nothing to hide. My name is Oyama Yuriko; my father’s name is Kenji. We came here from Japan after Father lost his business. To the best of my knowledge, he was never involved with any kind of yakuza or criminal element. The worst I have done was to be a hostess in Roppongi for about six years.” She shook her head. “I still maintain you will likely disbelieve me if I tell you the origin of this ritual.” This abomination.
The Interpol agent listened dispassionately, waiting for Yuriko to finish her tale and sipping at her coffee as she did so. When the other woman was done, she put her cup down on the table. She could verify all that information pretty easily, but for now, assuming it was all true, she said, “I am willing to keep an open mind.”
Yuriko couldn’t help but give her an eyebrow raise. Police did tend to be all the same. “I dreamt it.” She said evenly. “In my dreams, my aged father was a kamikaze pilot, but he did not give his life during the war. In shame, he scarred his face and my own. And when I woke ...” She shrugged. There it was.
“You gained the scars after you dreamed?” Motoko sounded skeptical. She’d seen many of these claims in her research on the net, and as of yet was mostly unconvinced. She’d be entirely, except she’d seen people flying. “Are you positive someone did not drug you and put them there?”
“No.” Yuriko shrugged. “But no one would have any reason to do such a thing. We keep to ourselves.” If this Kusanagi wanted to investigate her father, she was welcome to, but Yuriko would be the first to tell her it was a waste of time.
“If you believe you are not in danger, then there’s nothing I can do.” She tried to smile reassuringly. “I’m sorry to be a bother.”
“Danger?” Yuriko echoed, raising an eyebrow. “I realize you may not be able to speak of much, but why would I be in danger?” She was replaying the conversation she’d had with Logan in her head. “I have friends with enemies, but ... ”
“Anything related to what I’m investigating is a danger by virtue of relation,” Motoko explained. “But then there’s the general..protect and serve, you could say. I want to protect.”
Yuriko looked at her, shaking her head. “I’m sorry, I don’t wish to be rude, but I would need to know more. You insinuate that I may be in danger, but provide nothing more. Are you investigating yakuza? Or something worse?” She’d told the woman what she knew. Her tone was calm, but she needed more of an answer.
Motoko weighed her options, before responding. “A particularly dangerous branch of the Yakuza. They call themselves the Fire Nation, and I’ve tracked their leadership to this county.”
Yuriko nodded. She hadn’t expected honesty, in truth, but appreciated getting it. “Dōmo arigatō, Kusanagi-san. I have no relationship to any yakuza branch, but in utter truth, I cannot state that my father never did.” She had never known about it, but Father certainly had never trusted her completely.
“I’m sure there’s nothing, but you’ll understand if I have to rule it out. These people are very dangerous and their roots grow deep. They have their fingers in legitimate business, including several record labels in Japan.”
The server brought their food and drink, and Yuriko dug into her soup. “The only thing I could imagine that would not have taken place in a dream world would be if Father had taken loans to keep the store afloat. To my knowledge he did not, but I cannot say I know 100%.” It made her feel sick to say it, but she had to tell the truth.
“I’ll look into it. Do you want me to tell you if I find anything?” It was the least she could do. She might not be able to say anything until the case closed, but she could at least allay any fears. Hopefully.
She had to think before coming up with an answer. “Yes.” Information was always good. It would influence her decisions. If Father had in fact interacted with yakuza, she had allies. Logan now owed her. She had other friends. She was not bereft, as she might have been once.
She gave Yuriko a smile. “Then I’ll do what I can.” Half of her job was making contacts, and sometimes the most unlikely contact made for the biggest break. It didn’t hurt that this particular contact was ridiculously cute.
Yuriko managed a shy smile, figuring it was best to play demure with authority figures. “If there is suspicion, it should be cleared up if at all possible. Though apparently someone thinks I was already deserving of losing honor.” She was feeling a little nervous at this point, but she wasn’t about to air her suspicions to a total stranger.
“Honor is something that can be very fluid as the need arises and the situation changes, Yuriko.” Motoko glanced at her phone. “I enjoyed talking with you. Would you like to get lunch sometime?”
Enjoy might have been too strong a word, but the woman had been polite and respectful. Yuriko nodded. “I would do that, if you don’t believe it a conflict of interest.” Work had to come first, of course.
“I doubt it will be.” She got up, and bowed her head to Yuriko. “I’ll send you a message.”
Yuriko bobbed her head, looking back to her soup. “Thank you, Kusanagi-san.”
“Call me Motoko.” Turning, the Interpol agent walked out the door.