An Encounter

Picture this.

A gleaming white limo pulls up onto the busy sidewalk scattering shoppers in all directions.

Out jump 3 guys in dark suits and sun glasses one hand in suit pockets. An all white suited guy emerges, dappa, unaware of the commotion. I suppress a giggle, surely this is a film scene being enacted before me. No cameras and here come the Police. Tokyo’s finest shuffle down the street, take one look at the white suited figure and run, yes run, in the other direction.

Royalty?

The car stays parked on the sidewalk, its in front of Tokyo’s most up market café in the Omotosando district near Harajuku, at which I am sitting with an American Photographer friend of mine (drinking espresso of course, did you need to ask?).

“Oh oh, it’s Mori san standby” says my American friend, I suppress a giggle at the entourage looking like all time bad actors in a D grade gangster movie, Mori san in white at the center. They sit at the table next to us and nod in our direction. I focus the camera and then think better of it as I ask my friend “who are these guys and who is the clown dressed in the all white suit?”

Yakuza.

My friend turns round and smilingly says “Hey Mori san, come say hi to my Australian photographer friend”

Oh no, now we are in for it. Mori stands, the black suits look uneasy, he casually strolls over and in good enough English says “You are friend of Randy? Welcome to my city”. He sits down. Waitresses appear, falling over themselves to get whatever he wants, the café owner appears, sweating, nervous, fluttering.

He asks me a few banal questions then asks to see my photos at which I pull out the trusty Mac, fire up and our real conversation begins.

He’s a talkative yet authoritative character. We drink espresso and smoke cigars (Cohiba Siglo’s my favourite). When he needs a light he flicks his fingers and one of the black suits snaps to attention with a lighter, bowing formally as he lights the Bosses cigar ever so ritually. We talk about photos, photography, the world, coffee, cigars and after an hour or so, we are “mates”, regular buddies just doing coffee on a Sunday afternoon, except for the getups and the ever present mobsters hovering, plus the obsequious fans who keep coming over to formally bow, not to mention the big limo parked across the sidewalk.

Eventually, he rises to leave. There is no bill for the afternoon. He reaches into his jacket and hands me a business card. Not just any card but hand made paper with his name and clan written in calligraphy and chopped with his personal seal. The phone number is on the back. “Miko san, you may go anywhere in my city, show this card and you will be made welcome”.

“Thanks Mori my friend, here’s mine, and you are welcome in my city whenever the mood strikes you to visit me in Bangkok.”

The entourage departs, frankly I don’t quite understand what I have just witnessed and still find it a little comical.

It’s not till later that I understand when I get a very strange reaction as I show a waiter the card and ask for a translation. The waiter goes white, disappears very quickly and is extremely reverent for the rest of the night.

Weeks later I discuss the incident (for wont of a better word) with a media friend of mine who has lived in Tokyo for over 20 years.

“Ahh the Yakuza” he says, the real Japan. Mobsters who not only do crime, prostitution and drugs as the least, but they “know” people and are the oil between the gears, the advisors and fixers for big industry. Need some dirt on a rival, Yakuza are the boys to help out. Need some girls for a little soiree? Something else not quite legal? Yep Yakuza to the rescue.

Employ their labor? Yakuza control most of the labor unions and this is why Japan has so few labor strikes.

These are the guys who do all the dirty work for industry. They are the modern day Ninja, an indispensible part of Japan. Their clans and code of honour are legendary and on subsequent meetings with Mori san I learn of an older more formal strata of society, bound by deep rituals and respect for hierarchy to the point of self destruction if that’s what it takes.

Mori is a killer, I can see it in his eyes, i have no doubt he wouldn't hesitate. He is also the number 3 man for Tokyo, and I never treat him lightly nowadays no matter how he dresses.

He is good conversation over coffee though.

I carry his card with me everywhere to this day. Well, you just never know eh?