“You wore the same suit at Seiji Nakamura’s house.”
I winced. My subtle plan for interrogation was dissolving faster than the ice cubes in my drink.
“What’s that?” Mrs. Chapman sounded peeved, and I remembered I hadn’t told her about the tsuya. No time now.
“So tell me how Nichiyu connects to Sendai? And why a girl with a Japanese name is reading about wood-block prints in English?” Joe’s laugh rolled across the dining room, causing a few people to look up.
“I really came to talk about you. How you got your start and became so successful, and, of course, to introduce Mrs. Chapman. She’s looking for unusual things to do in the city.”
“Sightseeing I can tell you,” he said, smiling at Mrs. Chapman. “But I’m sure neither of you gals want to hear about the old days, it’ll put you to sleep.”
“But you’re a self-made man, I’m fascinated by that!” Mrs. Chapman flirted, helping me out.
“The Navy brought me to Japan.” Joe leaned back in his chair. “I was a young seaman based in Yokosuka, where the Americans had taken over the old Imperial Navy shipyard. People were struggling even ten years after the war. The only business booming was the black market.”
Yokosuka. Something flared in my memory but before I could speak, the waiter had arrived to take our order. Joe recommended the filet mignon. Mrs. Chapman went along with his suggestion, but I chose a Southeast-Asian style prawn dish.
“You were telling us about the black market. How did it work?” I asked when the waiter departed.
“The merchandise came mostly from the military commissaries: cigarettes, nylon stockings, Milky Way bars, Scotch like you’re drinking tonight. I got into the game like any sailor, carrying the stuff through the gate and handing it off to a guy I didn’t know. Then I started thinking I would earn more if I could organize sailors to work for me.”
“You saw a business opportunity!” It was pretty distasteful to me, but I tried to hide my feelings.
“That’s right. By the time my tour was over, I was making far more through the black market than I could hope to earn back in the States.”
“You could have gone to school on the GI bill, like my husband,” Mrs. Chapman suggested.
“I’m probably not as smart as your husband,” Joe said with a chuckle.
“He’s deceased.” Mrs. Chapman batted her eyes.
“Far East Ventures isn’t still in the black market?” I strove to return to business.
Joe shook his head. “By the early sixties, the American efforts to help rebuild the economy were finally getting somewhere. People had solid employment and enough money saved to afford things like washing machines and television sets. The American manufacturers wanted to reach them, but hadn’t the foggiest notion of how marketing and distribution worked here. I got involved.”
“What do you do now that nobody buys American televisions anymore?” I asked.
“I go the other way, advising Japanese companies on marketing strategies for the States. And I still market the foreign goods that can’t be duplicated here—designer jeans, status handbags, that kind of thing.” His smile oozed prosperity.
“Weren’t the, ah, Japanese Mafia”—it was rash to utter the word yakuza in a room full of wealthy Japanese people—“involved in the black market?”
“Sure. My partner paid the protection money so we could stay in business. When we became involved with big corporate clients, organized crime was less of a worry. Now we find ourselves dealing in board-rooms rather than run-down hostess bars.”
“Hostess bars! Were you married at this time? What did your wife think?” Mrs. Chapman harrumphed a bit.
“She was a Japanese girl, so she knew the game.”
“Was? What is she now?” Mrs. Chapman asked.
“Dead,” he said, without changing expression.
“I’m sorry,” I said. It was sounding more and more like he could have been involved with Setsuko’s mother, but I didn’t know how I’d get there, if Mrs. Chapman continued her romantic attack.
“So, tell me how I can help you.” Joe leaned back in his chair and looked at us both.
“My business relates to a woman I thought you might know. Her name was Harumi Ozawa.”
“That doesn’t ring a bell, but honey, there are a few hundred names in my Rolodex, it’s hard to keep them all straight.”
“She was Setsuko Nakamura’s mother,” I said, watching his face.
“I must have missed her last night.” He shook his head. “It’s hard to meet everyone you need to.”