It Happened One Night: Asami's POV (1 of 2)
By all appearances, it was an ordinary Friday evening. He had a brief but productive meeting with a Member of Parliament, conducted over drinks at one of his clubs in Shibuya. Leaving the MP in the VIP lounge with a couple of nubile young hostesses, he considered going back to his office at Club Sion, but after checking in by phone with his assistant, he decided to change course.
“Club Panache,” he said settling into the backseat of his limousine. His bodyguard-cum-driver gave an almost imperceptible nod from behind the steering wheel, and fifteen minutes later they arrived at their destination. One of the few ventures in Asami’s portfolio where he served only as an angel investor, providing startup capital along with his considerable business knowhow and connections but leaving the day-to-day operations to the management team, Panache catered exclusively to gay men of means and advertised itself as the place where members could relax and have all their needs met, total privacy guaranteed. The clientele seemed to buy into the posh setting and the illusion of privacy, and the latter had evidently lulled many of them into a false sense of security. Striding in through the VIP entrance, Asami smirked at the memory of the goings-on recorded by hidden cameras in the club’s members-only areas and routinely forwarded to him by the club’s management.
Minutes later he found himself frowning as Panache's top executive brought him up to date on the “little problem” that had been plaguing his establishment.
“So this guy’s been coming here every week?” asked Asami, his face once again unreadable.
“More like twice a month, Asami-sama. Always on a Friday evening...”
“What’s his MO?”
“I’m not sure we can call it an MO. We only know what he did with this boy, who contacted us...”
“Go on.”
“He said this foreign guy befriended him at the bar, bought him a couple of drinks. He was real smooth, our guy. Nothing heavy, nothing too obvious. Later that evening the boy went to the men’s room, realized he’d lost his wallet and panicked. Our guy came to his rescue, offered him a ride home, which the boy accepted. But after he got in the guy’s car, he blacked out. Woke up the next day naked, with burn marks, candle wax and... other stuff all over his body.”
“So he called you?” Asami’s voice remained flat.
“Not right away. He spent a couple of days in the hospital getting checked out, then he went home, told one of his friends, who happens to be a law student, and the friend told him to contact us.”
“What does he want?”
“He wants the guy brought to justice, of course. But since going to the police would mean opening himself up to all sort of unwanted publicity, he would settle for the next best thing.”
“Did you pay him off?”
“Not yet. I wanted to clear it with you first.”
“Pay him what he asks, but make sure he knows he can’t go to the press or come back for more,” said Asami, rising abruptly from the plush leather chair he’d been sitting on. “Now show me what this scumbag looks like.”
The CEO hurried to show him security footage from the night in question. Asami stood watching silently as the dark-haired foreign guy in a body-hugging black shirt and slacks approached the pretty young man sitting alone at the bar. His golden eyes remained riveted on the screen even after the young man had walked off, presumably in search of the men’s room.
“We think he lifted the boy’s wallet, but I’ve watched this 20 times and I can’t-“
“He took his wallet, and it doesn’t matter how he did it. Question is, what are you going to do when he turns up here again?”
“I’ve put our security guys on alert. If he comes back---“
A beep from his mobile phone put a frown on the CEO’s face. He glanced down at it, and the frown was instantly replaced by an excited expression.
“It’s my head of security. If you don’t mind...”
Asami’s face remained expressionless as the man took the call. When he hung up, his eyes flashed with glee.
“Speaking of the devil...”
“Where is he?”
“Downstairs, at the bar. He’s not a member, so he can’t get in any of the private lounges--“
But Asami was already out the door, the corners of his mouth lifting in a parody of a smile, but his eyes showed no mirth, only the anticipation of a predator scenting his prey...
“Come here often?”
That most cliched of pick-up lines made Asami’s eyebrows go up slightly. He stopped a few feet behind the foreigner in the well-tailored jacket who was leaning in close to the young man with silvery brown hair on the next stool. From his body language, the object of the man’s attention would rather be somewhere else at that moment. Asami glanced back at the club’s head of security, whose muscle shirt and painted-on pants help him blend in effortlessly with the Friday night crowd. Receiving a slight nod in return, he casually took the seat next to the brown-haired young man. Instantly the bartender, Kenji, rushed over from the other end of the bar.
“The usual, Sir?” Kenji asked solicitously.
Asami nodded, and seconds later a tumbler half filled with amber liquid appeared before him. He swirled the glass gently, breathed in the heady aroma and took a sip, all the while pretending to ignore the fascinated stare of the young man at his side. But when his neighbor picked up his own glass and tried to copy his move, only to have the cocktail go down the wrong pipe, he could no longer feign indifference.
”Here.”
Handing the boy his silk pocket square, Asami noticed for the first time his beautiful face and flawless skin. The perv has good eyes, he thought as he took in the lean but athletic build, the strength in those long arms, the graceful lines of his neck and shoulders. Even clad in that ridiculous getup and coughing uncontrollably, the boy exuded a vibe that made Asami’s skin tingle. Their arms brushed against each other and Asami could feel the warmth and vitality from that lithe body. In that moment he could imagine the taste of those soft red lips as he crushed them with his own, could hear the boy's sweet moans as he buried his face in the hollow at the base of his neck...
“Hey, nice watch! Is it real?”
Brought back to earth by the boy’s perky voice, Asami gave him a sideways glance.
“I suppose so.”
Encouraged by this vague reply, the boy shared that he’d seen a watch just like Asami’s in a magazine, then went on to speculate as to how many were made and how many had been sold in Japan. Asami knew the answer to both - very few and just one, respectively - but saw no point in sharing it with him. Instead he said, in a casual voice:
“Would you like one?”
“Nah.” The boy shook his head. “I have no use for fancy stuff. And anyway, people would think it was a fake.”
Asami merely raised an eyebrow, but inside he began to feel very amused by their conversation.
“I mean, even a million-dollar watch would look cheap on me.”
The boy appeared to find this very funny, because he started to chuckle, then laughed hysterically.
“I think you’re drunk,” said Asami, merely as an observation. He was finding it hard to tear his eyes away from those glowing cheeks and lush lips, but luckily the boy didn’t seem to notice. He mumbled that he should go home, then turned away and became absorbed in his effort to find someone or something in the crowd of muscular, glistening bodies. Asami’s eyes met those of the club’s security chief, whom he had last seen following the gaijin man to the men’s room. He slipped the bar man a large tip, then followed the security head to the man’s domain at the back of the club.
“We got him, Asami-sama.”
“And the boy’s wallet?”
“Found it in his jacket pocket.”
“Good. Take care of him, and don’t let anything like this happen again.”
“Yes, sir.” The sheepish look on the man's face was totally incongruous with his size.
“Give me the wallet.”
The man quickly complied, bowing low as the yakuza strode out of the room. He was rather surprised that Asami would take an interest in a mere guest who wasn’t even a member, and at any rate didn’t look like he could afford to become one. I suppose he knows what he’s doing, thought the security man. After all he’s Asami Ryuuichi.
Nestling in the comfort of his car, untouched by the February cold, Asami felt a sudden stirring inside when he spotted the boy from the bar pacing agitatedly near the club’s entrance. Penniless and nowhere to go, he thought, the incipient smile on his face giving him the look of a tiger about to pounce on his prey. His heart did a little jig when a customer leaving the club stopped to give the boy a long look. But seeing him engrossed in his phone call, the man finally stepped up to the curb and flagged down a passing cab. As soon as the cab’s tail lights disappeared around the corner, Asami gave his driver an instruction:
”We’re giving that boy a lift.”
(To be continued)
“Club Panache,” he said settling into the backseat of his limousine. His bodyguard-cum-driver gave an almost imperceptible nod from behind the steering wheel, and fifteen minutes later they arrived at their destination. One of the few ventures in Asami’s portfolio where he served only as an angel investor, providing startup capital along with his considerable business knowhow and connections but leaving the day-to-day operations to the management team, Panache catered exclusively to gay men of means and advertised itself as the place where members could relax and have all their needs met, total privacy guaranteed. The clientele seemed to buy into the posh setting and the illusion of privacy, and the latter had evidently lulled many of them into a false sense of security. Striding in through the VIP entrance, Asami smirked at the memory of the goings-on recorded by hidden cameras in the club’s members-only areas and routinely forwarded to him by the club’s management.
Minutes later he found himself frowning as Panache's top executive brought him up to date on the “little problem” that had been plaguing his establishment.
“So this guy’s been coming here every week?” asked Asami, his face once again unreadable.
“More like twice a month, Asami-sama. Always on a Friday evening...”
“What’s his MO?”
“I’m not sure we can call it an MO. We only know what he did with this boy, who contacted us...”
“Go on.”
“He said this foreign guy befriended him at the bar, bought him a couple of drinks. He was real smooth, our guy. Nothing heavy, nothing too obvious. Later that evening the boy went to the men’s room, realized he’d lost his wallet and panicked. Our guy came to his rescue, offered him a ride home, which the boy accepted. But after he got in the guy’s car, he blacked out. Woke up the next day naked, with burn marks, candle wax and... other stuff all over his body.”
“So he called you?” Asami’s voice remained flat.
“Not right away. He spent a couple of days in the hospital getting checked out, then he went home, told one of his friends, who happens to be a law student, and the friend told him to contact us.”
“What does he want?”
“He wants the guy brought to justice, of course. But since going to the police would mean opening himself up to all sort of unwanted publicity, he would settle for the next best thing.”
“Did you pay him off?”
“Not yet. I wanted to clear it with you first.”
“Pay him what he asks, but make sure he knows he can’t go to the press or come back for more,” said Asami, rising abruptly from the plush leather chair he’d been sitting on. “Now show me what this scumbag looks like.”
The CEO hurried to show him security footage from the night in question. Asami stood watching silently as the dark-haired foreign guy in a body-hugging black shirt and slacks approached the pretty young man sitting alone at the bar. His golden eyes remained riveted on the screen even after the young man had walked off, presumably in search of the men’s room.
“We think he lifted the boy’s wallet, but I’ve watched this 20 times and I can’t-“
“He took his wallet, and it doesn’t matter how he did it. Question is, what are you going to do when he turns up here again?”
“I’ve put our security guys on alert. If he comes back---“
A beep from his mobile phone put a frown on the CEO’s face. He glanced down at it, and the frown was instantly replaced by an excited expression.
“It’s my head of security. If you don’t mind...”
Asami’s face remained expressionless as the man took the call. When he hung up, his eyes flashed with glee.
“Speaking of the devil...”
“Where is he?”
“Downstairs, at the bar. He’s not a member, so he can’t get in any of the private lounges--“
But Asami was already out the door, the corners of his mouth lifting in a parody of a smile, but his eyes showed no mirth, only the anticipation of a predator scenting his prey...
“Come here often?”
That most cliched of pick-up lines made Asami’s eyebrows go up slightly. He stopped a few feet behind the foreigner in the well-tailored jacket who was leaning in close to the young man with silvery brown hair on the next stool. From his body language, the object of the man’s attention would rather be somewhere else at that moment. Asami glanced back at the club’s head of security, whose muscle shirt and painted-on pants help him blend in effortlessly with the Friday night crowd. Receiving a slight nod in return, he casually took the seat next to the brown-haired young man. Instantly the bartender, Kenji, rushed over from the other end of the bar.
“The usual, Sir?” Kenji asked solicitously.
Asami nodded, and seconds later a tumbler half filled with amber liquid appeared before him. He swirled the glass gently, breathed in the heady aroma and took a sip, all the while pretending to ignore the fascinated stare of the young man at his side. But when his neighbor picked up his own glass and tried to copy his move, only to have the cocktail go down the wrong pipe, he could no longer feign indifference.
”Here.”
Handing the boy his silk pocket square, Asami noticed for the first time his beautiful face and flawless skin. The perv has good eyes, he thought as he took in the lean but athletic build, the strength in those long arms, the graceful lines of his neck and shoulders. Even clad in that ridiculous getup and coughing uncontrollably, the boy exuded a vibe that made Asami’s skin tingle. Their arms brushed against each other and Asami could feel the warmth and vitality from that lithe body. In that moment he could imagine the taste of those soft red lips as he crushed them with his own, could hear the boy's sweet moans as he buried his face in the hollow at the base of his neck...
“Hey, nice watch! Is it real?”
Brought back to earth by the boy’s perky voice, Asami gave him a sideways glance.
“I suppose so.”
Encouraged by this vague reply, the boy shared that he’d seen a watch just like Asami’s in a magazine, then went on to speculate as to how many were made and how many had been sold in Japan. Asami knew the answer to both - very few and just one, respectively - but saw no point in sharing it with him. Instead he said, in a casual voice:
“Would you like one?”
“Nah.” The boy shook his head. “I have no use for fancy stuff. And anyway, people would think it was a fake.”
Asami merely raised an eyebrow, but inside he began to feel very amused by their conversation.
“I mean, even a million-dollar watch would look cheap on me.”
The boy appeared to find this very funny, because he started to chuckle, then laughed hysterically.
“I think you’re drunk,” said Asami, merely as an observation. He was finding it hard to tear his eyes away from those glowing cheeks and lush lips, but luckily the boy didn’t seem to notice. He mumbled that he should go home, then turned away and became absorbed in his effort to find someone or something in the crowd of muscular, glistening bodies. Asami’s eyes met those of the club’s security chief, whom he had last seen following the gaijin man to the men’s room. He slipped the bar man a large tip, then followed the security head to the man’s domain at the back of the club.
“We got him, Asami-sama.”
“And the boy’s wallet?”
“Found it in his jacket pocket.”
“Good. Take care of him, and don’t let anything like this happen again.”
“Yes, sir.” The sheepish look on the man's face was totally incongruous with his size.
“Give me the wallet.”
The man quickly complied, bowing low as the yakuza strode out of the room. He was rather surprised that Asami would take an interest in a mere guest who wasn’t even a member, and at any rate didn’t look like he could afford to become one. I suppose he knows what he’s doing, thought the security man. After all he’s Asami Ryuuichi.
Nestling in the comfort of his car, untouched by the February cold, Asami felt a sudden stirring inside when he spotted the boy from the bar pacing agitatedly near the club’s entrance. Penniless and nowhere to go, he thought, the incipient smile on his face giving him the look of a tiger about to pounce on his prey. His heart did a little jig when a customer leaving the club stopped to give the boy a long look. But seeing him engrossed in his phone call, the man finally stepped up to the curb and flagged down a passing cab. As soon as the cab’s tail lights disappeared around the corner, Asami gave his driver an instruction:
”We’re giving that boy a lift.”
(To be continued)