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hitters take care of that end,” he said.
    â€œAre there enough yakuzas here to really control all these kids?” Antonelli seemed skeptical.
    â€œWe’ve counted at least a hundred of them, but it’s hard to tellwith these yakuza guys. Most of them don’t talk, and they just seem to show up whenever they’re needed. They’re weird that way.” He stopped and considered what he was going to say next. “I had hidden video cameras put in down at the docks and at a few of the factories just so we can keep tabs on the yaks.”
    Antonelli frowned. “I don’t like that, John. That’s not showing trust. Hamabuchi is an old friend of mine. We helped each other a lot after the war. He wouldn’t have his people spying on us.”
    The hell he wouldn’t.
    â€œNo more spying on them. Get rid of the video crap.”
    D’Urso lowered his eyes and nodded. “Okay.” Yeah, just watch me.
    â€œNow back to my original question. Are Hamabuchi’s people keeping the kids in line?”
    â€œDefinitely. It’s really only the ones doing the hard work in the factories that give us any trouble, and the yaks come down hard on them right away. No warnings. First time a kid starts complaining or drags his ass, they beat him silly. And then there’s Nagai’s right-hand man, Mashiro. I don’t know what it is with him, but all he has to do is show up and bing! the slaves snap to it. I’ve seen it. They’re terrified of him. Supposedly his specialty is tracking down runaways, and so far we’ve only had a few.” He decided not to tell the old man about the two Mashiro tracked down just yesterday. He wondered if Antonelli knew what his old pal Hamabuchi’s mandatory punishment for runaways was. An awful waste of good merchandise to his way of thinking.
    â€œWell, I’m happy to see that things are going well. Very good, John.” Antonelli had that tone of voice that implied the meeting was over and he should go.
    â€œOne more thing, Mr. Antonelli.” He took a deep breath, hoping. “Have you reconsidered my idea for a high-class bordello in Atlantic City? I’ve got a line on a good place, close to the casinos. I was thinking about doing it up like a geisha house, you know? The girls could all wear kimonos. You know, a lot of these kids are very very nice looking, and we really shouldn’t be wasting them on baby-sitting and that kind of stuff. These girls really know what they’re doing, from what I hear. Most guys have never done it with an Oriental broad, and a lot of them are curious. I think we could clean up—”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œBut—”
    â€œI said no, and that’s it.” The old man slapped the tabletop and Vincent shifted in his seat, getting his feet on the floor in case he’d have to do something. “I told you before that it’s too risky, too high-profile. Besides, Hamabuchi keeps the pretty girls for his own house here in town.”
    â€œBut, Mr. Antonelli, we could clean up with—”
    â€œYou’re not stupid, John. Think. Cops go to whorehouses, too. What if one of the girls started talking to the wrong guy. What then?”
    â€œWe’d control that—”
    â€œHow? You gonna get in bed with them? Make sure they don’t talk?” The old man’s eyes were wild now.
    D’Urso’s hands were shaking under the table, he was so mad. He was biting the insides of his cheeks. Fuck you, old man. Fuck you. I’ve already got my whorehouse going. A month and a half we’ve been in business, you old fucking fart.
    â€œDo we understand each other now, John?” Antonelli leaned across the table and tilted his head like the kindly old grandfather. Who the hell did he think he was? Papa Geppetto?
    He glanced at Vincent. “Yes, Mr. Antonelli. I understand.”
    Vincent seemed to relax then.
    â€œOkay. Good. Keep up the