Mad Worlds Collide (24 page)

The smell of Shibuya changes depending on the street, but there is the constant smell of people smoking. With over sixty per cent of the Japanese smoking and with poor Japanese smoking at even higher rates, Shibuya ranks in the top for smokers on the street. It is easier to find a lost thousand yen note in the street than to find a street without smokers. Japan is smoker’s heaven, as James Brown would put it, "Weez smoookin!"

A person walking Shibuya is filled with second hand smoke. Most native Shibuyans bump into smokers at least once a year, receiving small burns on their arms. Small children stay away from Shibuya and other crowded streets, for they can be blinded from cigarettes.

Besides the constant odor of cigarettes, one smells the special aromas of each little street and its sub streets. One of the two main county roads from the main intersection smells of diesel gasoline engines used to power lights for construction crews working on the roads. The hum of the diesel engines is a constant sound on the main roads in Japan.

Japan spends more on construction per capita than any other country. It is the NY Mafia construction crew on designer drug steroids. Roads are dug up, closed, dug up again and closed. It is hard to imagine more construction going on than in Shibuya, but in the countryside Japan builds more unnecessary dams than any country in the world. Of course it is not true that the dams are not necessary, they are. The locals living in the countryside do not have much work and the politicians own the dam corporations.  It is political kickback heaven.  But in Shibuya a lot of the construction is needed; waste and graft here only account for forty per cent of the work being done.

Leaving the main country road for a smaller subsidiary road one comes onto streets with more bars per mile than almost anywhere in the world. Getting a liquor license in Shibuya requires five hundred thousand-yen or the monthly salary of one white-collar worker in his forties, a working salaryman.  The bars are sometimes stacked onto three different floors. Most of the bars on the Shibuya side streets are no more than one or two stories. Except for the big department stores, buildings in Shibuya Tokyo are not that high, maybe an average of two to five stories. With certain sunshine laws and always the possibility of another 1934 type earthquake, the buildings have stayed quite short.

Shun pushes up through the crowd, standing out at almost six feet. He meets Robert who is in a trance watching the "JetMan" blast off.  Robert has seen the commercial run six times, but the clouds look relaxing so he keeps watching.

"Hi Robert…You okay?"

"Huh?  Uh, yes, this is an lively street, a little crowded, but interesting."

"Follow me," said Shun directing Robert to cross the main street. "There is a nice club my Dad owns over here.  Let’s get some food and then meet the rest of your friends. My Dad is with Gill and they’ll come by later.

Robert didn’t really consider Gill and Frick to be friends, but did not correct Shun for fear of sounding unfriendly. With recent events Robert considered Gill less of a friend. It would be time to move into a new field soon thought Robert. The technology was turning into a disease. Nothought Robert, technology
was
a disease. A song from the Dire Straits popped into Robert’s head as he walked:

Warning lights are flashing down at quality control

Somebody threw a spanner and they threw him in the hole

There's rumors in the loading bay and anger in the town

Somebody blew the whistle and the walls came down

There's a meeting in the boardroom they're trying to trace the smell

There's leaking in the washroom there's a sneak in personnel

Somewhere in the corridors someone was heard to sneeze…

'Goodness me could this be industrial disease?

"Robert, are you Ok?" asked Shun.

"Oh, I’m fine.  It’s just all the people, and the glare of the TV above the street. I felt like I was blasting off with the Jet guy on the screen over there."

"Yeah, can’t even get any rest walking in the street.  We’re just filled with shit -- too many smokers. The government owns half the tobacco industry. That Jet shit should be a prescription drink but in Japan nicotine is not considered a drug, it’s a way to make money." Shun directed Robert to cross another busy street.  A guy next to Robert coughed while puffing on a Lucky. Another flash of melody from the Dire Straits popped into Robert’s head:

Doctor Parkinson declared "I'm not surprised to see you here

You've got smoker’s cough from smoking brewer's droop from drinking beer

I don't know how you came to get the Bette Davis knees

But worst of all young man you've got industrial disease"

He wrote me a prescription he said, "You are depressed

But I'm glad you came to see me to get this off your chest

Come back and see me later - Next patient please

Send in another victim of industrial disease"

The tune repeated in Robert’s head:

"But worst of all young man you've got industrial disease!"

Robert crossed the crowded intersection and met Shun near a club called Electric Cherry.

Robert’s brain had been acting funny since he’d been on the Mind-Relaxer. Shit popping in his head, then popping out. He was sure he’d been on the system too long.

"Follow me to the basement.  The food is good and we can get a discount on the girls," Shun said, showing his pearly whites in a wide grin.

Robert walked down a dark spiral staircase lit only by red lights built into the steps. Down below a band was playing some type of rock music. Robert saw a sign with big glowing Cherry: The Electric Cherry

"Shun, what is the"Electric Cherry?" asked Robert.

"I’m not sure how they got the name.  An Italian designer named Antonio Ferratti built the joint for my Dad."

Shun opened the door at the bottom of the stairway and four well dressed men stood at the entrance.  One man was black and looked to be about six foot five. He was dressed impeccably in a black tuxedo. The others appeared to be Japanese dressed in suits; one man seemed to have a small scar on his neck. This man smiled, showing a missing front tooth.

"Welcome Shun," said the big black man with a French accent hugging Shun. "You brought us a friend?"

"Anybody I bring into this place better be a friend, eh Oumar?"

The entrance was almost completely black, and old man sat behind a counter accepting cash from some customers who were leaving. The counter had another bouncer-type working next to the frail old Japanese man. Oumar walked Shun and Robert into a room lit mostly by red glowing candles in the shape of cherries set on top of tables situated by L shaped sofas. In the corner a three-piece band played, and in the center was a small raised dance floor. A Japanese girl in her early twenties was sitting on the dance floor wearing only a blue g-string panty doing aerobatics to the music. She smiled when she saw Robert walk by. Robert felt guilty, but that turned into eroticism. In the corner sat about twenty other young women putting on makeup and eyeballing. They created guilt too, which felt good.

Robert felt like a ham hanging on a rack in a meat shop.

Robert and Shun sat at a table in the corner and were given hot hand towels. "What would you like to drink?" asked Oumar.

"A whiskey-water" said Shun.   "What do you want Robert?"

"A beer is fine." Robert fixated on the slim girl doing her dance on stage.

"You like that one?" asked Shun.

"Oh, I was just amazed at how she does those splits."

Shun and Oumar laughed.

"I’ll be right back," said Oumar.

Shun looked over to Robert. The poor guy, he thought to himself. The people in the US did not know how to have fun. America was based on some strict religion and too many people trying to run too many other people’s lives. At least in Japan a man could look at a pretty girl without all the guilt. And if he wanted more, well, that too was possible. Shun was a business man and discovered a simple business tool in dealing with Americans: hot sexy women and cheap beer could elicit business secrets, strategies and plans.

Robert looked at the beautiful girl but did not want to show his raw desire to Shun. He had to be professional. He looked at Shun who was smiling. "This is an interesting place, isn’t it?"

"Yes it is. I use it to relax and to talk business. It’s a nice setting isn’t it? Lets a man know what life is really worth living for -- the simple things."

Robert wasn’t so sure but the girls did look great. "Yeah, but these girls are after one thing."

"Yeah Robert, and what’s that?"

"Our wallets."

"If you find a woman who doesn’t want at least a little part of a man’s wallet, please leave her alone.  She ‘s dead!"

Oumar arrived with the drinks. "Sir, here are your drinks. Would you gentleman like some companionship? We have a few ladies who speak English."

Oumar looked at Robert. "Pick one."

"Ah, we’re just talking business, I’m fine, " said Robert.

Shun replied, "I’d like to have two, get me Mika and another other girl who speaks English."

Robert knew what Shun was doing but didn’t mind. He could always say that
he
didn’t ask for a girl to come to his table. He could blame it on Shun. The guilt of having fun excited Robert.

"Yes sir," said Oumar.

"He seems to be a really nice guy that guy Oumar, really polite," said Robert.

"Oh, he’s an old friend, so he’s serving our table. He actually owns the place."

"Really?"

"Yeah, he bought it from my Dad.  He just pays a small monthly fee for maintenance, much smaller than the other clubs."

Jimmy was right, Shun’s father was in the mob. Robert envisioned the new Yuki playing outside and getting run over by a car: wires dangling outside the dog’s body with a receipt inside the dog that said:  "Yuki original snuffed out by Robert Davichi".

Robert sipped his beer. "I have something to tell you Shun."

So quickly, thought Shun. The guy can’t even sit for five minutes and drink a beer before he wants to confide in me. The MicroIntel job had to be hell.

"What’s up, Robert?"

"You know your dog Yuki, your missing dog?"

"Oh yeah, I hate that mutt but my wife loves him like a son. Yeah, we found him, thanks.  Your son brought him over today, said somehow your dog Buddy and he were playing at your house last night.  My wife is so relieved, she thought I sent the mutt to the dog pound without telling her."

What?  Jimmy sent the robot dog over already? A subconscious thought popped into Robert’s head.  "You need Yuki, she has the code."  Then the thought disappeared. Maybe the beer was laced with LSD. No, it had to be the three hours on the Mind-Relaxer.

"Really Shun? I have to tell you something before you find out."

"What’s that, did Buddy knock up my little dog?"

"No! No! …He, ah, well, Yuki suffocated under Buddy when he fell asleep the other day. Buddy fell on Yuki. I wanted to tell you but I was not thinking straight."

Shun squinted his eyes. Oumar must be using some really cheap beer thought Shun. "Well then, what did Jimmy bring over today?"

"It’s an Aibo-3000 that looks like Yuki."

"Ha! An Aibo-3000, I love it! Can I set it to shut off when my wife is out?"

"I suppose so, but you aren’t angry?"

"Angry? The dog shits in my office chair every week. Angry? Hell, let’s just keep this as our secret."

Two girls approached with Oumar. One was the skinny aerobatics dancer. She wore a see through bikini bra and a g-string bikini bottom. She walked toward Robert.

"Hi, I’m Mariko. Do you mind if I sit here?"

Robert looked at the long black hair that was bleached into a light reddish brown. Her eyes looked to be a bright brown, probably contact lenses. The face was tanned. The body was thin, not an ounce of fat, and shapely.

"Sure," said Robert trying to act friendly.

Mariko sat close to Robert, but not too close. She knew to feel him out, make sure he was enjoying himself. Must be somebody important since Shun was sitting with him. Probably married and rich. The wedding ring was still on. A loyal father, not one who takes his ring off before entering, leaving wedding band marks on the finger.  Those guys were not trustworthy but usually spent a lot. Robert would take time but he would fold too, they all did at Electric Cherry’s.

"Robert, that’s a nice name. Does anyone call you Rob or Robbie?  May I call you Robbie?"

Mariko smiled like a mischievous child, brushing her long red hair back. Robert knew this was a game but he liked it.

"Yeah, call me whatever you like."

"Good, I like the name Robbie.  I’ll call you Robbie."

Shun looked over to Robert. "How about we buy the girls a drink?"

Robert was new to the club. The girls made money by getting clients to buy them drinks, and they made more money doing private back room dances.

"Sure, Shun. My apologies."

Mariko picked up a check sitting next to the table and wrote her order. She then put up her hand, and the Japanese guy with the missing tooth came and took the note.

The band started a song. It sounded familiar to Robert and went something like:

Some girls, they like candy, and others, they like to grind,

I'll settle for the back of your hand somewhere on my behind.

Treat me like I'm a bad girl, even when I'm being good to you,

I don't want you to thank me, you can just spank me. Mmm.

Robert watched another girl get on stage and start to dance. White smoke was coming out of a tube and the girl put it between her legs like a fireman hose carrying his piece.

"Do a lot of Japanese go to these clubs Mariko?"

"Sure, it’s a way to let off steam.  Are you letting off steam Robbie?"

Mariko playfully pushed her little finger into Robert. She then rubbed his leg. Robert sat frozen.

When in Rome do as the Romans…when in Rome do as the Romans.  Robert repeated those words in his head, then sipped his beer.