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  Going up to the third floor, he stood at the door to Playground. He had told Kunimatsu to keep the sign unlit so as not to attract the cops' attention, but once you opened the door, there was no hiding the noise and excitement of a casino that came pouring out. Satake slipped inside and surveyed his club. In about seventy square metres, he had managed to arrange two small baccarat tables that could accommodate seven customers and one full-sized table where fourteen could play for higher stakes. At the moment, there were crowds around all three. In attendance were three black-suited men, Kunimatsu among them, and three girls in bunny costumes to serve drinks and snacks, all circulating briskly through the room.

  The dealer at one of the smaller tables noticed him come in and nodded, though his hands never stopped stacking the chips that lay in front of him. Satake nodded back. He was familiar with this type of disciplined, skilled young man from his mahjong days. All in all, he found the whole club exactly to his liking.

  Baccarat was a simple game. The customers bet on either the player or the banker to win the hand, and the dealer took a fivepercent commission from the banker's winnings as the house cut. That was all there was to it. The mark of a good dealer was his ability to get the customers to compete against each other, but the game was such that most people got caught up in it without much coaxing.

  The player and the banker were each dealt two cards, as in blackjack, but the object in baccarat was to get cards adding up to, or as close as possible to, nine. The player or banker was allowed to draw a third card depending on the total of the original hand. If the player was dealt cards totalling eight or nine, that was considered a 'natural', and he either won or tied, and the banker wasn't allowed to take another card. If the player was dealt a six or seven, he would 'stand' and wait to see the banker's cards. Below five, he took a third card. Besides that, there were just a few simple rules relating to particular card totals.

  The secret of the game's popularity was that anyone could learn to play almost immediately; and because of this, the place always seemed to be full of respectable-looking young businessmen or office girls on their way home from work. But Satake knew the truth about his customers. Though the atmosphere of the place was trendier than a traditional casino, Playground attracted a crowd of losers and scumbags. Still, he was more than happy to watch them throw their money away.

  'There he is,' Kunimatsu whispered in his ear, pointing at a man seated next to one of the tables, sipping a drink and watching the other customers play. 'And he's already down about a hundred thousand for the night.' Satake moved to a corner of the room where he could observe Yamamoto without being noticed.

  He seemed to be in his mid-thirties. Short-sleeved white shirt, nondescript tie, grey pants. A forgettable man with a forgettable face. You would never notice him in the endless crowds of other office workers. So then what was this nobody doing falling for Anna? She was still just twenty-three, the prettiest girl in Mika, which was full of pretty girls. But more than that, she was his number one - Yamamoto was way out of his league by any standards. Anna was right: just as there were rules in gambling, there were rules in this game as well; and it made Satake, who was himself so scrupulous, furious to see someone like Yamamoto ignoring them.

  The game at Yamamoto's table was coming to an end. The cards in the tray would give out in another round or two. Trying to look decisive, Yamamoto took the few chips he had left and bet them all on the player's hand. Almost everyone else around the table immediately bet on the banker, anxious to avoid following Yamamoto's lead. The dealer, pretending not to notice the stampede to the banker's side, quickly dealt the cards. The player drew two face cards, or zero. Loser, Satake thought to himself. The banker's cards totalled three, so both sides had to take a third card. The player took the card dealt him and, in the customary fashion, curled up both edges before looking at it. Then he threw it down in disgust. Another face card. The banker flashed a smile of relief and showed a four. Zero to seven, bank wins, and the game was over.

  'The card shark gets bitten,' Satake muttered, and Kunimatsu, who was standing close by, chuckled softly. A young woman dealer took over at the table, and several of the customers changed places as well, but Yamamoto, though he was now out of chips, sat where he was and sulked. A young woman dressed like a bar hostess who was waiting for the place at the table glanced over at Kunimatsu by way of protest. Satake signalled that he was ready to step in and walked up behind Yamamoto.

  'Excuse me,' he said.

  'Yeah?' A shock must have gone through Yamamoto as he turned to look: the hard body, the soft face, and the outfit that could only suggest one profession. He managed to keep it from showing on his face, but inside everything was probably numb.

  'If you aren't going to play, would you mind letting this customer have your seat?' Satake said.

  'Why should I?'

  'Because people are waiting.' Satake's tone was still polite.

  'Who says I can't sit here and watch?' He had apparently had a few too many free drinks, and was flicking the ash from his cigarette on to the table. Satake called an assistant manager and asked him to clean up the mess.

  'I'm sorry, but I'd like to have a word with you. Please come this way.'

  'You can tell me here,' Yamamoto muttered. The other customers at the table eyed him with distaste, and several of them, noticing Satake standing behind him, seemed scared and looked away.

  'No, I think you'd better follow me.' Yamamoto made a show of being offended, but Satake managed to lead him to the door. When they reached the dimly lit corridor outside, he turned to face him. 'I've been told that you've asked to borrow money from the house, and I wanted to inform you that making loans to customers is against our policy. If you need funds to play with, please make arrangements elsewhere.'

  'This is a business, isn't it?' Yamamoto said, beginning to look like a pouting child. 'People ask to borrow money all the time.'

  'That's exactly why we don't do it,' said Satake. 'And another thing, I have to ask you to stop following Anna around. She's still young, and you've been frightening her.'

  'Hold on. Who says you can tell me what to do when it comes to her?' Yamamoto looked indignant. 'I'm still a customer, aren't I? I've spent enough money on her, that's for sure.'

  'And we appreciate it. But you should stop following her. It's not allowed to see the girls outside the club.'

  'Who says?' he snorted. 'She's a hooker, isn't she?'

  'She's way too good for the likes of you.' Satake was losing his temper. 'We asked you nicely to stay away, now fuck off!'

  'Who the fuck d'you think you are?!' Yamamoto shouted, suddenly throwing a punch. Satake blocked it with his right arm and grabbed him by the collar. Planting a knee in his groin, he pinned him against the wall and held him immobile and gasping for air.

  'Go home now, before you get hurt,' he hissed. Just then, a group of business types came up the stairs and, seeing the two of them at it, hurried inside Playground. This was exactly the kind of thing that started rumours that the mob was running the show, which was never good for business. He loosened his grip. Given an opening, Yamamoto threw a wild punch that caught him on the jaw. Satake swore, then jabbed his elbow into the man's stomach and, when he doubled over, kicked him down the stairs. As he watched him roll down and come to rest sitting on the landing, for a moment he felt the rush of adrenalin that fighting had once given him. But only for an instant, before his carefully cultivated self-control kicked in again. 'If you come back, I'll kill you, asshole,' he called down at him.

  Yamamoto sat in a daze, wiping the blood from his mouth. Maybe he hadn't even heard the threat. A bunch of young women heading upstairs stopped short, screamed, and ran back down. Shit, thought Satake, not wanting women to get scared away as well.

  It never occurred to him to wonder what else might happen to Yamamoto that night as he straightened his suit and went back inside.

  5

  Hate: that's what you call this feeling. The thought occ