Feels for Jigoro - Prologue

Feels for Jigoro


Prologue


The winter season always does wonders for business; it's common practice for folks of all kinds to want to come out of the cold and get a little warmth in their bellies. Look no further than exhibit A, the unmistakable figure of one Jigoro Hakamichi, striding through the doors with typical swagger. Hanging up his hat and thick winter coat, he glances at the jazz quartet in the corner with what might just be approval before making his way over to the smoky bar.
Most people would be intimidated by the sight of  a surly bear of a man headed their way, but I've had years of practice with this one. In fact, even though his mood seems about the same as ever, tonight he isn't even swinging around that fancy sheathed sword of his, opting instead for what looks like an expensive umbrella. An interesting choice for the snowy weather outside, but you don't get very far as a bartender by judging people. Time to throw the smile on.
“Welcome, Mister Hakamichi. The usual?”
Jigoro nods as he takes his seat at the bar, and I reach for a bottle of our finest sake. It doesn't come cheap, but we cater to some of the finest tastes in all of Saitama, and cheap was never on the menu for Mister H anyway.
Normally you wouldn't want to give a foul-tempered, sword-toting man alcohol, but Jigoro isn't here to fight. Apparently he's been a regular for even longer than I've been working here, and that's quite a few years now. He just drinks, and sulks, and rants, occasionally grumbling about a business deal that fell through or various other things, like kids today. I seem to recall his daughter and her useless boyfriend being a favorite topic as of late.
Tonight seems to be a little different, though. Part of the art of bartending is being inconspicuous when the situation calls for it, and since Mister H is obviously in no mood to talk, I decide to give him space. Moods can change pretty quickly after enough expensive drink, though, and nobody comes to a bar to be alone. I have a feeling that, if Jigoro really wanted to sit somewhere and drink in solitude, he'd already be doing it.
My patron slams his empty glass down on the counter, loosening his tie with the other hand.
“Again, Ueda.” But the bottle is empty.
“Right away, sir.” I reach for another one.
Time passes, and the second bottle fares about as well as the first. Mister H can handle his liquor pretty well, but by the time the third appears, the seams are starting to show. His breathing is fast and shallow, and he's clutching onto that umbrella like the side of a liferaft. I hate having to cut customers off, especially the well-paying kind, but the way things are going, I won't have much of a choice soon. And he's being unusually quiet tonight, usually he'd have broken out into some rant by now. I decide to take a stab at conversation.
“Is everything all--”
“Do you have kids, Ueda?”
The interjecting isn't new, but the question is. Mister H prefers to keep the conversation solely focused on himself most of the time.
“Can't say I do, sir. Things never really fell into place, it would seem.” I try to make my answer as noncommittal but still sincere as possible.
Jigoro pauses, and I'm sure he's throwing together some venomous speech.
“You're probably a lucky man, then.”
I wait for him to go on, and am not disappointed.
“My oldest, she's in her third year of college now.”
“I remember. Going to school for business, right?” He nods and gives his drink a shake.
“She hasn't spoken--” Jigoro stops mid-sentence, then lets out a laugh that manages to be both hearty and bitter at the same time. Recovering, he takes a long drink. Recovering from that, he turns his head back to me, but his gaze is somewhere off in the distance, his eyes narrowed.
“She hasn't contacted me in two years.” He says it through clenched teeth.
I nod, unsure of just how supportive Mister H is expecting me to be right now. I really can't say I've been in his shoes, so it's either offer some cliched advice or hope he gets where he's going anyway. They usually do.
“But my son, she sends him a picture of her and her damn boyfriend at some school thing.”
He pauses for another drink before muttering something under his breath.
“Still wearing those goddamn sweatervests.” The disgust in his voice sounds like a force of habit.
“Anyway, my son, one of the few who knows how a man should act these days, he shows me the picture.”
“Does she look happy?”
“I'm going to need another drink before I even think about answering that question.” Jigoro growls, and I fill up his glass once again. Instead of continuing though, he glances around for a clock, the way his eyes strain another indicator that he may have had one too many.
“Is it midnight yet, Ueda?”
I look over at the clock mounted in fancy polished brass to my right, the only place that Mister H seems to have missed in his search for one.
“Just after, sir.”
Jigoro's eyes narrow even further, and he slams the umbrella on the bar counter, one hand gripping it tightly while the other does the same for his glass.
I'm trying to work out what could be causing my patron's strange behavior, and it takes a little bit for me to remember. We do have quite a lot of customers after all, with quite a lot of tales to tell, quite a lot of wounds to nurse. Scores to settle, if they're lucky. And scores they'll never be able to, if they're not.
Ah.
“It's come around again already, sir?” This has to be done carefully. Mixing the right amounts of respect, macho solidarity, and sympathy is just as difficult as making any drink.
Jigoro stars at the clock with disgust, as if simple ire could turn back time.
“Hit me again, Ueda.” He growls.
This is the bottom of bottle number three.
“Are you sure--” He turns that venomous gaze on me, and I comply. The customer is always right, after all. Until they're not. But we're not quite at that point yet, I think.
So bottle number three is snuffed out. Jigoro twirls the umbrella around in one hand impatiently as I reach for number four. The sound of the sake hitting the glass does little to fill the emptiness of the bar, even with noise of the other patrons and the entertainment. The jazz quartet slurs out quiet melodies that seem to reflect off the soft white flakes tumbling down outside the windows.
“So, in the picture...” I try to push things along.
“You know god damn well what she looks like.”
Ah.
A little bit early this year.
“They grow up so fast these days, I hear.” I try to tip-toe around an issue that I only even know exists because I've been working here for a long while. Jigoro nods.
“In the blink of an eye.” He rasps, the sake finally starting to take its toll. His skin is flushed, and his hands shake slightly as he rattles his drink around.
The conversation dies off again. I wave goodbye to a few rosy-faced regulars who begin to make their way into the dark, frozen night. It's starting to get pretty late.
In an effort to steer things in a more manageable direction, I fall back onto the painfully old standard.
“There's supposed to be a winter storm setting in tonight. Could be pretty bad out there.”
Mister H scoffs, as if frozen roads and pelting snow were things he could berate into nonexistence.
“Trying to get rid of me, eh?”
“Nothing of the sort, sir. It's just that if you had to stay here overnight, we might run out of sake.” I crack a grin in another attempt to diffuse the tension, but I don't think Jigoro's even listening to me anymore. He's staring into space, eyes narrowed. Maybe I'd rather have him argue with himself than with me.
Finally, he seems to come to a decision. He stands up, but too suddenly, and reaches for the bar to steady himself, looking more angry than embarrassed.
“Calling it a night, Mister Hakamichi?” Probably a good idea, the weather's only going to get--
“I need to see her.”
Uh oh.
“Your daughter? But isn't she studying in--”
“Not her.” Mister H's interruption catches me off guard.
Big uh oh. He radiates anger like a heater in a cold room as he throws a wad of money on the counter. Even after four bottles of sake, there's enough there for a generous tip. It pays to get to know your clientele, but right now there are bigger things at hand.
“Let me call you a cab, sir.”
“No need, Ueda.” Jigoro is already stalking towards the entrance on unsteady feet. I feel a slight swell of panic begin to rise in my gut. This is a first. And at a place like this, we don't like firsts.
“Sir, I really don't think you should be driving right no--” I begin to move out from behind the bar but Jigoro spins around and marches back to meet me head on, stopping only inches away.
“Do not tell a man what he can and cannot do, Ueda.” He snarls. His tone is all venom, but his expression doesn't quite match. He looks frustrated, sure, but not at me. His anger seems more directed at himself, something I'm grateful for in the moment where a muscular man wielding a blunt object glares down at me.
“Now, I am going to see my wife. Good night.” He whirls around, finding steadier footing this time. Jigoro collects his hat and overcoat, and then, just like that, he's gone.

I can't stave off a growing sensation of dread as I'm left there in his wake. Customers get too drunk to drive home all the time, but they've always either lived within walking distance or haven't had a problem with taking a cab. I can't help but think I may be partly responsible for anything that could go wrong now. After all, I did pour the drinks.
I make my way back behind the bar and begin preparing to clean up for the night, trying all the while to think of a solution. Then it hits me. Reaching into my pocket, I pull out my cell phone, and begin looking through my list of saved contacts.
There it is. The number is one I acquired from one of Jigoro's rare drinking partners years ago, a well-dressed, rather androgynous young woman. A likeable girl, handled her liquor well. Most people came here to escape their jobs but when she was here with Mister H, she always looked like she was still on duty. I had jokingly passed it off as an advance being made when she gave me her number one night, but we both knew it was in case anything important might come up with our mutual acquaintance.
I glance around the sleepy, upscale bar. The entertainment is beginning to pack up for the night, and the other staff are waking up the few patrons who have dozed off, drinks still in hand. Excusing myself for a moment, I make my way out the back entrance and into the cold, frosty air of a midwinter night.
It's worth a shot. I dial the number.

No good, it's disconnected. I can't really be surprised, it must have been about four years ago since I first got it. And there had never been a need before now.
It's not uncommon for Jigoro to drink so heavily, especially at this time of the year. And he's not the type to get too drunk and do something stupid. But still, I have a bad feeling about this. I decide to try one more thing. Mister H might not be nicest guy around, but that doesn't mean I want to see him or some innocent bystander get hurt. Anyone stuck out in the cold on a night like this has it bad enough without getting run down by a car.
I pick another number in my phone and begin to dial. It rings this time, once, twice, click.
“Hey Kamikishiro . Yeah, it's me. Fine, thanks for asking.” I make the necessary small talk but try to hurry it along, the frigid night air is starting to chill me to the bone. I glance up at the sky, a sheet of gray and black, moonlight just barely peeking through the thick clouds that pour down snow. Here we go.
“Listen, I need to ask for a favor. Can you send a patrol car over to Sasagawa Memorial Cemetery?”