"So, this is the rare delicacy you're selling for $500 per slice? These are tiger pufferfish, aren't they?" Jack remarked as he spotted several fat pufferfish, each over fifty centimeters in length and marked with a black eye-like spot on its back, swimming happily in a large transparent tank in the kitchen.
"Yes, these are 'Fugu Kings' from Shimonoseki, Japan—top-grade pufferfish," Chef Katsui replied, his demeanor growing increasingly tense. His once-straight posture was now slightly hunched, as though preparing to bow in apology.
In his 20 years of working in New York, Katsui had never encountered a Westerner who could identify a pufferfish species at first glance. Watching the smirk on Jack's face, he couldn't shake the feeling that things were about to go south.
Jack rolled up his sleeves, dipped a net into the tank, and scooped up a chubby tiger pufferfish, giving it a flick on the head, causing the fish to puff up like a balloon.
"How cute," Hannah said, eyes sparkling as she reached out a finger to poke the now-spherical fish, but Jack grabbed her wrist to stop her.
"Careful. Pufferfish are actually aggressive carnivores. Their bite is powerful enough to easily crack hard shells," he warned.
Nearby, Mike Taylor and Stella watched with curiosity as Jack inspected the pufferfish's mouth and lips. Meanwhile, Chef Katsui's forehead was dotted with beads of sweat.
"Alright," Jack muttered, holding the pufferfish in his hand. He used its spiky belly to wipe his shoe, then tossed it back into the tank as if completing some ritual.
Before anyone could react, Chef Katsui, who had previously maintained a proud demeanor, suddenly dropped to his knees in a perfect orz bow, pressing his head to the ground. "Moushiwake gozaimasen!" he exclaimed.
Everyone but Jack was startled. Mike instinctively reached for his handcuffs, thinking the chef was confessing to something.
"These fish aren't toxic; this incident likely has nothing to do with him," Jack said with a sigh, gesturing for Mike to hold back.
Stella looked puzzled. "How can you tell just by looking?"
In her view, determining whether the fish were toxic should involve lab testing, ideally by grinding them into fish paste for analysis.
Instead of explaining immediately, Jack gestured for the kneeling chef to stand. "Get up. We're here to find the culprit, not to ruin your business. Could you find us a quieter room?"
A few minutes later, the group was seated cross-legged on tatami mats in a luxurious private room. Several young women in yukatas served delicate snacks, and Hannah picked up a sakura mochi, savoring it with a blissful expression.
"Try this. Yokan is an essential part of Japanese tea ceremonies, and the craftsmanship here is impressive," Jack said, taking a purple confection from the tray and tasting it. He offered some to the two CSI detectives like a gracious host.
Curiosity barely contained, Mike and Stella each took a piece and, after chewing thoughtfully, asked, "So, can you explain how you knew those fish weren't toxic?"
"Pufferfish are highly aggressive carnivores. During breeding and transport, they're prone to cannibalism from stress. Breeders clip their teeth and even sew their mouths shut before transport.
"The pufferfish in that tank weren't the rare and wild variety the chef claimed. Wild pufferfish are valuable enough to be shipped individually, with their teeth intact and mouths unsewn. The ones in that tank, though, are a farmed variety, going for about $20 to $30 per pound."
"If I remember right, he said earlier that a single slice of their meat costs $500!" Stella gasped. "So these rich people are easy marks, huh?"
Jack shrugged, pointing to the women in yukatas outside. "Do you think these wealthy patrons care what they're eating in a place like this? Here, not only are the women lying on tables as human platters naked, but I'd wager those waitresses aren't wearing anything under their yukatas, in keeping with tradition."
"How do you know so much about this?" Hannah asked, giving him a suspicious look.
Jack had his answer ready. "If you want to learn a language, you need to understand the culture. Besides, I need material for my novels."
Then he steered the conversation back. "The consensus is that pufferfish themselves don't produce toxins. Their TTX usually comes from what they eat, like certain algae or shellfish."
"Farmed pufferfish are fed a carefully selected diet, so they're not toxic. Their flavor is actually considered superior to wild pufferfish, which can vary in quality due to their natural diet."
Chef Katsui returned with a large platter of cut watermelon, which he placed reverently on the low table, bowing deeply. Jack knew the chef was interrupting him intentionally but didn't mind. As he'd said, he wasn't there to ruin his business—if Japanese chefs wanted to make money off wealthy Americans, that wasn't his concern.
"Has your restaurant received any threats or been targeted recently?" Jack asked.
Chef Katsui shook his head in confusion. "No, we've always maintained good relations with the… local scene."
Jack assumed that the restaurant had some gang protection and didn't press further. He changed topics.
"Katsui-san, did Deborah Gale often dine here?"
"Yes, Ms. Gale is a valued guest. She's been coming frequently, almost weekly, for the past two months," the chef replied humbly.
"Tell me, what was your impression of her?"
Chef Katsui frowned, hesitating for a moment before speaking. "She didn't seem interested in our food."
"Why do you say that?" Mike asked, sitting uncomfortably cross-legged on the tatami.
Chef Katsui hesitated again before answering. "One of our servers once complained to me, asking not to serve Ms. Gale anymore. I told her we don't have the right to choose our customers, especially when they're VIPs."
The four of them exchanged glances, intrigued. Stella leaned forward, asking eagerly, "Is the server you mentioned one of the human platters? Was she serving Gale tonight?"
The chef nodded, "Yes, I'll call her in."
Soon, a beautiful young woman with mixed features arrived at the door, grumbling under her breath. "I don't feel well; I don't want to serve tonight."
Upon seeing the four serious-looking people in the room, she froze, turning to leave. But at a sharp look from Chef Katsui, she stopped in her tracks.
"Michiko, what did you do?" Katsui asked sternly.
Michiko looked nervous, her gaze darting away. "I didn't do anything. I don't know what you're talking about."
"Please come in, Miss Michiko," Hannah said, standing and firmly taking her arm. "We're going to have a talk."
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