In about 2004, Horiyoshi III was working on my back at the Isecho studio when in comes this Yakuza boss and his, um, assistant. It was apparent from his attitude, speech, and presumably armed escort that he was a big cheese.
I have mixed feelings about the relationship between the Yakuza and tattoos. I endure discrimination in Japan because of the association. On the other hand, I owe a debt to the Yakuza for keeping traditional Japanese tattooing alive during that dark century before the current tattoo renaissance.
Anyway, the boss came to discuss a tattoo design with Horiyoshi. After he finished with that business, he turned his attention to me.
“That's a weird looking dragon,” he commented without regard to my (or the artist's) feelings. I suppose he was referring to the acid trip proportions of my dragon. I guess he had a point. The boss and his assistant leaned over me to further scrutinize my back. This was alarming, as I would rather not confront underworld figures while lying naked and prone on the floor. Chuck Norris would never approve.
The boss quizzed Horiyoshi about other tattoos I might have on the front of me. Always eager to meet unusual people, I engaged them in a bit of chit-chat, but the boss was more interested in talking than listening.
After a while, they left. I had survived my encounter with the Yakuza.
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