The Debt Collector Who Keeps Buying His Debtors Lunch AI漫畫·條漫

Chapter One The Problem With Lunch The problem with threatening people before lunch was that nobody was reasonable on an empty stomach. Ren Takahara had developed this theory over eight years of professional criminal activity. He considered it one of his better ones. Unfortunately, nobody had asked. “Break his fingers.” Ren looked up. Across the desk, Lieutenant Sudo was smoking beneath a NO SMOKING sign. Ren looked at the cigarette. Then at the sign. Then back at Sudo. “Which fingers?” Sudo stared at him. Ren sat with one ankle resting over his knee, dressed in a charcoal suit that had been expensive once and was now merely comfortable. His tie was loose. His black hair was slightly too long around the ears. There was a small scar running through his left eyebrow and another, older one across the second knuckle of his right hand. He looked less like a gangster than a salaryman who had slept through an important meeting. “All of them,” Sudo said. “That seems excessive.” “He owes us three hundred thousand yen.” “That's ten fingers.” “Yes.” “Thirty thousand per finger.” Sudo's eye twitched. Ren nodded thoughtfully. “I suppose I've heard worse exchange rates.” “Ren.” “Yes?” “Go collect the money.” “That I can do.” “And if he doesn't have it?” “Ask when he'll have it.” Sudo slowly removed the cigarette from his mouth. “And if he doesn't give you an answer?” “Ask why.” “Ren.” “Then fingers?” “Then fingers.” Ren sighed. It wasn't dramatic. There was no visible protest, no defiance. He simply looked disappointed. Sudo knew that look. “Don't.” “I haven't done anything.” “You're thinking.” “I do that occasionally.” “I know exactly what you're thinking.” “That would make one of us.” Sudo pointed the cigarette at him. “Kawashima has ignored three collection notices. He missed two deadlines. Yesterday, I sent Tetsu over there and Kawashima threw a bowl at him.” Ren raised an eyebrow. “Did it hit him?” “No.” “Good throw?” “What?” “How far away was Tetsu?” Sudo stared. Ren uncrossed his legs. “Never mind.” He stood. At thirty-one, Ren Takahara had spent enough time around dangerous men to know there were three kinds. The first kind wanted you to know they were dangerous. They wore loud suits, spoke loudly, laughed loudly, drove loudly and usually ended up bleeding loudly. The second kind tried very hard to look harmless. Those were worse. Then there were men like Sudo, who had been doing this for so long that violence had become administrative. Break fingers. Collect money. Send flowers to the funeral. Pick up dry cleaning. Ren respected Sudo. He also found him exhausting. “Three hundred thousand,” Ren said. “Three hundred thousand.” “Anything else?” “Don't come back without it.” Ren stopped halfway to the door. Sudo closed his eyes. “No.” “I didn't say anything.” “You were going to.” “I was going to ask if you'd eaten.” “Get out.” “There's a soba place downstairs.” “OUT.” Ren opened the door. “I'll bring you something.” “TAKAHARA.” Ren shut the door behind him. He stood in the hallway for a moment. Then he looked at Tetsu, who was waiting against the wall with a bruise on his forehead. “Bowl?” Tetsu touched the bruise. “Plate.” Ren frowned. “Sudo said bowl.” “He wasn't there.” “Fair.” They walked toward the elevator. Tetsu was twenty-three and had joined the family eleven months ago. He had the posture of someone perpetually trying to make himself look three centimeters taller. His suit was too shiny. His shoes were too pointed. His hair contained enough product to survive a typhoon. Ren liked him. Mostly. “You're coming with me?” Ren asked. “Lieutenant's orders.” “Why?” “To make sure you actually collect.” The elevator doors opened. Ren stepped inside. Tetsu followed. “That's hurtful.” “You gave a debtor money last month.” “He needed train fare.” “He owed us money.” “He couldn't pay us if he couldn't get to work.” “You gave him ten thousand yen.” “He lives far away.” “You bought him lunch!” “He hadn't eaten.” Tetsu threw his hands up. “There! That's exactly what Sudo's talking about!” The elevator descended. Ren watched the numbers above the door. 7. 8. 9. “You want lunch?” Tetsu's anger vanished. “What?” “I'm hungry.” “We're working.” “We can do two things today.” “We're collecting from Kawashima.” “Correct.” “And you're thinking about food?” “I've been thinking about food since Sudo said fingers.” “What does that have to do with food?” “Nothing.” The elevator reached the ground floor. The doors opened. Ren stepped out. “That's why it's becoming a problem.” --- Kawashima's restaurant was called Aoi Lantern. It occupied a narrow corner beneath an apartment building in Nerima, wedged between a coin laundry and a bicycle shop whose owner seemed to have declared war on available sidewalk space. The restaurant's sign had once been blue. Now it was mostly weather. Ren stood across the street with his hands in his pockets. Tetsu stood beside him. “This place looks terrible,” Tetsu said. “Don't say that inside.” “Why?” “Because that's rude.” “He threw a plate at me.” “That doesn't mean you need to insult his restaurant.” “He threw it at my head.” “Was there food on it?” “No.” “Then he showed restraint.” Tetsu looked at him. Ren crossed the street. A little bell rang when he opened the door. The restaurant was empty. Six counter seats. Three tables. A television mounted in one corner quietly played a daytime variety show. Steam clouded the kitchen window. Somewhere in the back, something simmered. Ren stopped. He smelled soy. Ginger. Pork. His stomach made a decision before he did. “Oh.” Tetsu nearly walked into him. “What?” “This might be good.” “We're not eating here.” Ren looked over his shoulder. “Why not?” “Because we're here to collect money!” “We can collect money while eating.” “No, we can't!” A voice came from the kitchen. “We're closed.” Ren turned. A man emerged carrying a stockpot. Kawashima looked to be in his late fifties. Thick forearms. Gray hair. Apron. Face carved into the permanent expression of someone who had been disappointed by every government since birth. He saw Tetsu. His expression got worse. “You.” Tetsu pointed. “See?” Kawashima put down the pot. “I told you people I'll pay when I have it.” Ren walked to the counter. He pulled out a stool. Sat. “What are you doing?” Tetsu whispered. Ren looked at Kawashima. “What're you making?” Kawashima blinked. “What?” “Smells good.” “Ren-san.” “Pork?” Kawashima stared at him. “Chashu.” Ren nodded. “Ramen?” “Yes.” “What kind?” “Shoyu.” “I'll have one.” Tetsu grabbed the back of Ren's suit. “We are not customers.” Ren looked down at the hand. Tetsu immediately released him. “Sorry.” Ren straightened his jacket. “Sit.” “But—” “Sit.” Tetsu sat. Kawashima remained behind the counter. He looked from Tetsu to Ren. “You're from the Kiryukai.” Ren nodded. “Kawashima-san, I'm Ren Takahara.” “I know who you are.” That interested him. “Do you?” “Yes.” Ren glanced at Tetsu. Tetsu looked smug. Ren turned back. “Good things?” “No.” “Fair.” Kawashima folded his arms. “If you're here for the money, I don't have it.” “I figured.” “So what now?” “Ramen.” “What?” “Two bowls.” Tetsu raised one finger. “I don't actually—” “Two.” Kawashima stared at Ren for several seconds. Then something peculiar happened. The old man laughed. Not happily. It was a short, exhausted bark. “You're insane.” “I've been told.” “You come here to break my hands and order lunch?” “I haven't decided to break your hands.” Tetsu leaned toward him. “Lieutenant Sudo specifically said—” Ren turned his head. Tetsu became very interested in the television. Kawashima's expression changed. Just slightly. Ren saw it. Fear. There it was. People always tried to hide it. Anger was easier to wear. Ren hated that part. Kawashima looked down at his hands. Big hands. Cook's hands. Burn marks along the fingers. A knife callus. Ren knew hands. His own told a different story. “You really don't have it?” Ren asked. “No.” “Why?” “Business is bad.” “How bad?” Kawashima gestured around the empty restaurant. Ren looked. “Right.” “What do you want me to say?” “The truth is usually easiest.” “You people don't care about the truth.” “I do.” “You're yakuza.” “So I've been told.” Tetsu groaned quietly. Kawashima studied him. Ren rested his elbows on the counter. “Three hundred thousand yen isn't enough money to disappear over,” he said. “So you're either stupid, desperate, or you think we're stupid.” Kawashima's jaw tightened. “There he is,” Tetsu muttered. Ren ignored him. “If you're stupid, I can't help you. If you think we're stupid, I'll get offended. If you're desperate…” He shrugged. “That we can work with.” Silence. The television audience applauded something none of them had heard. Finally, Kawashima turned toward the kitchen. “Two ramen.” Tetsu blinked. Ren smiled. “Thank you.” --- The ramen was excellent. Ren knew this immediately. The broth had depth without being heavy. The noodles were firm. The chashu practically surrendered when touched. He ate three bites before speaking. “This is really good.” Kawashima was cleaning the counter. He grunted. Ren ate another bite. “Tetsu.” Nothing. “Tetsu.” Tetsu was devouring his bowl. He looked up. “What?” “You said the restaurant was terrible.” “I said it looked terrible.” “Apologize.” Tetsu stared at him. Kawashima stopped wiping. “What?” “Apologize.” “For what?” Ren pointed his chopsticks toward the bowl. “You judged the man unfairly.” “I—” “Apologize.” Tetsu's face tightened. Then he looked at Kawashima. “…Sorry.” Kawashima stared. Ren continued eating. A moment later, Kawashima started laughing again. This time it was real. It changed his entire face.