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1 Japanese Thieves

IN THE darker corners of Japan's street scene, till tappers, pickpockets, heistmen, and bank crackers are tightly knit, along with thieves of every description, into a web of underworld associations and networks. Age-old street hierarchies still prevail, and modern Japanese thieves, much like modern Japanese businessmen, are classed according to their experience, track record, age—and whom they know. Some criminal corporations are rich; their eriito (elite) or top executives govern ten, twenty, and even thirty city blocks with an iron fist. Other groups are shoddy and small and work out of a street or alley, snatching handbags,lifting wallets, and stripping cars. But whatever their rank or affiliation, professional purloiners would be outraged should they be referred to as dorob (thieves), sett (larcenists), gt (burglars), or oihagi (robbers).

• Agari da'tte, tondemo n! Ore wa akainu daze! Me, a riser? No way! I'm a red dog! (Me, climb into houses? No way! I'm an arsonist!)

Newcomers to the Japanese street soon realize that thieves come in two sizes: the shinobikomi, “those who enter crawling” (smooth criminals who work with circumspection), and the odorikomi, “those who enter dancing” (brash criminals with guns). While successful dancers are applauded for their devil-may-care recklessness, the experienced crawler is admired for the light-fingered strategy with which he or she will calculate a heist. A house is chosen, inhabitants watched, police movements in the neighborhood monitored, and locks and alarm systems studied. When a crawler finally moves in on his target he carefully accounts for the weather, the time, and the presence or absence of a victim.

Crawling

In classical criminal slang an unattended house full of choice loot was referred to as akisu (empty nest), and “crawling” thieves who specialized in these houses were secretly known as akisunerai (empty-nest targeters). But the police uncovered the word, adopted it, and soon began using it in official reports. Akisunerai spread like wild fire. It was snatched up by newspapers, detective novels, gangster movies, cartoons, and finally even dictionaries.

With akisunerai flushed out of hiding, new code words appeared on the streets. Empty houses were rebaptized nukesu (void nests), nuke for short, and ai (chance). Tokyo's Korean gangsters introduced their own exotic word, hotsuraiki. The more theatrical thieves took to calling their empty houses butai (stage). A sneak thief, they argued, could always guarantee a spectacular entry, a breathtaking performance, and a dashing exit. Some gangs took the thespian idea even further and began referring to breaking and entering as butai o fumu (stepping onto the stage) and even butai e kamaru (barging onto the stage).

• Yappa shu ni sankai ij butai o fumu mon ja nai yo—tama n'ya rerakkusu shin to. You know I really wouldn't step on stage more than three times a week—one has to relax too, you know.

• Aitsu ga butai o funda no wa, are ga saigo datta no sa. That was the last time he stepped onto the stage.

• Aitsu ja butai e kamaru'tte koto ga d y koto nan no ka chitto mo wakatcha in! He really has no idea what barging onto the stage is all about!

• Asu ore ga butai e kamaru no o matte mira yo! Just you wait till I barge onto that stage tomorrow!

The crawlers and sneak thieves who barged into these houses were also given new names. They reappeared as nukeshi (void specialists), nuke-chan (little Mr. Void), akishi (empty specialists), kisukai (from akisukai, “empty-nest buyer”), sukai (nest buyers), and, more elegantly, gaikin (commercial travelers). Shinobi (creeping into) was molded into a whole line of new words. Shinobishi (creep specialist) became the rage and after the police adopted it, it was pruned down to nobi and nobishi (nobi-master), and then, for optimum security, was further disguised as nobe and nobeshi.

The law, however, was quick to pick up on these words too, and feverish bands of burglars churned out ever more outlandish expressions. Sneak thieves became yaya (house-ters), yashiya (mansioners), tobi (kites), konch (bugs), and sagashi (seekers). Some clans even resorted to effervescent nonsensical names like zabu (bubbles), nagajirashi (long teasers), and nagashari (“noodles,” a word of dubious Buddhist priestly origin, literally “long Buddha's bones”). The idea that many of the older diehard professionals had the habit of carefully tiptoeing from room to room in their socks gave rise to the jejune quip shirotabi (white tabi-socks—traditional socks that younger and more fashion-conscious criminals would not be caught dead stealing in). In naughtier cliques, the now standard expression for sneak thief, akisunerai (empty-nest targeter), has been flipped into a rebarbative ketsunerai (ass targeter) and ketsusagashi (ass searcher). The logic behind this witty switch is that ketsu (ass) and ana (hole) are written with the same character. A sneak thief, the gangsters argue, prods about in the dark searching for a hole to enter.

The even earthier criminals go all out and refer to breaking and entering as kamahoru (ass fucking) and burglars as kamahori (ass fuckers).

• Aitsu mo karekore ketsunerai yatte yonj nen k! Well, he's been an ass targeter for forty years now!

• Ketsusagashi'tte no wa mattaku hone no oreru shigoto daze! Being an ass searcher is real stressful, you know!

• Kamahoru nante ore mo iya da yo! Shikashi uchi nya kak to gaki ga matte yagaru kara na! I've had it with ass fucking! But what can I do, I have a wife and kids at home!

• Ana Kbe kara kita kamahori nakanaka yaru na. That ass fucker from Kobe's real good.

Chaster bands have given their boys the swash-buckling names of the legendary neighborhood criminals of yesteryear. Tay, Tbe, Kanpei, or Sansho serve as practical synonyms in everyday gang jargon. The names of shoddier ancestors have also survived on the streets. These are doled out to sneak thieves who are less successful, such as Gonkichi, for individuals who never manage to pull off a hefty job, Gonsuke, for maladroit and bedraggled criminals who live from hand to mouth, and Heikur, for sneak thieves who, barely escaping from a botched-up job, are in hiding.

Gangs with a high ethnic Korean membership went in for a simpler linguistic solution. While their all-Japanese counterparts scraped for clever new secret terms, these gangs simply peppered their clandestine speech with exotic Korean expressions. Sneak thieves were given long and impenetrable names that were sure to baffle even the most streetwise police unit: chimruhetsuta, banchiorutokii, utsuharakachiya, and konkurusarubisa. Some of the more pronounceable Korean gang-words for stealers, such as sartgui (mouse), the hybrid chiuya (chiu, Korean for “rat,” and ya, Japanese for “guy”), and k (hound) made the broader national scene.

• Isage yo! Shita de Kawasaki no kutsuharakachiya om no koto matteru ze! Hurry up! That heister from Kawasaki is waiting downstairs for you!

• Goji ni rei no konkurusarubisa to au tehazu da. We're supposed to meet that heister guy at five.

After World War II, downtown Tokyo gangs had become ethnically even more diverse as hordes of eager Chinese youths spilled out of the tightly knit Chinatowns of Yokohama and Osaka. Both Japanese and Korean gangsters were charmed by the exotic vocabularies these new conscripts brought with them. Breaking into a house was given the pounding name hkoyau (banging at the furnace), which was inspired by the Japanese burglary words tonton (bang bang) and kanamono (ironmongery). The new secret words for burglar were honpa (from heng pa, “unconscionable snatcher”), chiin-chende (hard-cash-taker) and yauchienu (from yao qien, “wanting money”). Chiipaishu'ende became the alternative word for sneak thief, and ninkt (he who leaves no traces) was reserved for cream-of-the-crop master thieves.

• Shinmai no hkoyau umaku yatteru kai? How's your new ironmonger working out?

• Ano honpa itsumo hitori de shigoto o yaru no sa. You know, that unconscionable snatcher always works alone.

• Ore wa tekkiri ana chiin-chende wa kono hen no koto shitteru to omottan da ga n! Man, I thought that hard-cash-taker knew the neighborhood!

• Oi, chotto kore mite miro yo! Kono ate wa saka no ninkt kara te ni ireta mono da ze! Yo, take a look at this one! I got this door jagger from an Osaka pro!

Along with ethnic diversity came the initial wave of lock-picking and safe-cracking burglaresses. The first female mob bosses had begun ruling their streets with an iron fist, buying, selling, and even marrying their way up the violently masculine hierarchy of the Japanese underworld. In 1982 the struggle for criminal gender empowerment reached new heights when the gentle and soft-spoken Taoka Fumiko maneuvered herself onto the throne of Japan's largest and most powerful mob-syndicate, the Yamaguchi gang. With the first signs of equal employment opportunity, the toughest and most belligerent women mingled with their local sneak thief crowd and soon began acquiring their ownsanyabukuro (widget bags), in which they could neatly arrange their own tools of the sneak-thieving trade: koburi (master keys), harigane (wire-jiggers), neji (crowbars), hch (“kitchen cleavers,” or lock-breaking wrenches), and aka (“red,” or blow torch). This first generation of female professional burglars has been given a jargon name of Chinese gang extraction, b (the maternal ones).

Lootable homes were also ordered into strict categories. For instance, a house that is always left unattended in the morning is asa aki (morning empty), while hinaka (broad daylight), and hiru'kisu (noon-time empty-nest) are good midday targets.

• Asa aki bakkari to omotetan da n! Chhe! Poka shichimatta! I thought that house was always empty in the mornings! Man was I wrong!

• Nagahama-dri wa hinaka darake datta no shitteta ka? Did you know that Nagahama Street is full of empty houses at lunch time?

A quick noon job is known as hirumai (noontime dance), tent (heavenly road), or nitch o fumu (stepping on broad daylight). Thieves who work exclusively during lunch hours call themselves hishi (day masters), nitchshi (broad-daylight specialists), hiruwashi (noontime eagles) or, in downtown Tokyo, shirotobi. The origin of the word shirotobi has sparked great controversy among the gangs. Some maintain that it means “white kite,” others “white cape,” others still “white pilferer.” In his book Ingo Kotoba no Kuruizaki, the renowned linguist Umegaki Minoru argues that the shiro of shirotobi is really just a bastardization of shiru, the Tokyo-dialect word for lunchtime (hiru). The elegant shirotobi, he decrees, is none other than the modest hirutombi (lunchtime pilferer).

Homes that are regularly left defenseless in the evening are ranked as yoiaki (nightfall empty), and more poetically as bankei (evening scenery), and evening thieves call their sprees yoimatsuri (nightfall festivals), koigamari (dark crawls), yoigamari (evening crawls), and yoarashi (night intrusion).

• Yoiaki da to omotte shinobikonda no ni, bab ga neteru no mitsukete tamagechimatta ze! I broke in thinking it was a nightfall empty, but this old bitch was asleep inside. Man, you should have seen me freak!

• Koko futaban no yoimatsuri wa mattaku hisan datta ze! The last two nighttime festivals were a total flop!

• Kin no ban wa koigamari ni wa chotto samusugi da ze. Last night was a bit too cold for a dark crawl.

Professionals who specialize in late-night thievery are known on street corners as kmori (bats), taka (hawks), yonaki (night cries), yash (night businessmen), yonashi (night specialists), and anma (traditional blind masseurs—they work in the dark, feeling their way around). Fuke (staying up late) is also used, along with nimble variations such as fukenin (stay-up-late person), and fukeshi (stay-up-late specialist). But heavy criminal jargon, in constant fear of police discovery, calls its nocturnal thieves tatonuhowa (blowing out the candle), ptairen (uninvolved guy), honteinu (confused in the dark), yauren (servant gang), and teinshin (by starlight), words of ethnic Chinese extraction, and kipuntoi, chinsa, and ssyotsu, of ethnic Korean background.

• Aitsu wa anma ni wa chotto toshi ga ikisugiteru ze. He's getting to be a bit old to be a blind masseur.

• Oi, hora, are o mite miro yo! Kmori ga yojinobotteru ze! Yo, man, take a look at that! Look at that bat scamper up!

• Oi, miro yo! Ano futari no chinsa wa Kawasaki ni sunderun da ze! Yo, look there! Those two night thieves live in Kawasaki!

• Ano onna ga kono atari dewa ichiban no ssyotsu da'tte koto omae shitteta kai? That woman there, did you know she's the best night thief around here?

Thieves who go on walks looking for eligible houses are said to be flowing (nagasu). During these flows, buildings are carefully appraised and classed according to potential loot, lighting, street exposure, and the accessibility of front and back entrances and windows. Likely looking houses are earmarked as anzan (“easy deliveries,” as in birth) or andon (flimsy lanterns), while buildings that offer easy entry but are dangerously close to busy roads or police stations are rated as gan kitsui (the eyes are tough), and more lyrically oki ga kurai (the seascape is dark).

• Nante kot'a! Koko wa anzen no hazu datta no ni, aitsu tsukamachimatta ze! What the fuck! This was meant to be an easy job and he got busted!

• Iy! Nanda kono hen, zenbu andon ja n ka? Kor'a boro mke da ze! Man! Fuckin'-A! This area is full of easy houses! We're really gonna cash in!

• Kono hen wa gan kitsui kara, saketa h ga ii ze. A void this neighborhood. The eyes are tough.

• H! Kono yakata wa mepp ii ga, oki ga kurai ze. What a beautiful, stately mansion. Pity the seascape's so dark.

After flowing past house after house, the thieves close in on the most suitable target in three phases. Toba o kimeru (choosing the den) is the preliminary audition, in which whole rows of homes are given a general glance-over. Toba o tsunagu (tethering the den) is the second, closer look in which alarm systems and entry and exit points are examined. The final stage is toba o fumu (stepping on the den): out of all the possible targets, one home is chosen, and the thief approaches it, tool bag in hand. Once a house has been picked, the thieves proclaim ate ga tsuku (the aim will be fulfilled), and it graduates from being a toba (den) to a taisaki, pronounced by some groups daisaki (the table ahead).

Many of the better burglar gangs employ individu-als who make a career of spotting vulnerable houses. In the post-war years in Tokyo these men and women came to be known as doroya (streetsters) and hiki (pullers), while in Osaka and Kyoto they were given the pastoral title of hitsujimawashi (meandering sheep). The gang would pay them tsukesage (touchdown), the cab-and bus-fare from one location to the next, and if they spotted a good house would guarantee them kabu (stocks), a share in the loot. As criminals became more and more affluent during the sixties, seventies, and eighties, the kurumaebi, or prawns (literally “car shrimps”), moved in on the scene. These were the modern “streetsters” and “pullers,” who combed their areas by car. Spotting a prime target, they would whip out their car phone, and crouching secretively (hence the “shrimp”), would quickly beep a burglar.

Thieves who work alone are known as ichimaimono (one sheet of individual). Some are completely independent of larcenous attendants; others have sturdy gang affiliations but do breaking and entering on their own. Thieves who work in pairs are classed as nimaimono (two sheets of individual), in threes, sanmaimono (three sheets of individual), and in foursomes, yonmaimono (four sheets of individual).

• Aitsu wa shgai ichimaimono de ts'tten dakara, mattaku hen na yatsu da ze! He's real weird; he's been a loner all along.

• Shigoto wa nimaimono de yaru ni koshita kot' n yo! You've gotta be at least a twosome to carry off a job well! (kot' is Tokyo slang for koto wa)

• Ore-tachi mo sanmaimono de hajimete nagai koto naru n. It's been ages since we started working as a threesome.

• Ore-tachi no nawabari ni ano yonmaimono ga shima tsukur to shiteru rashii ze! It looks like those four guys are trying to move in on our territory.

Groups that work under the umbrella of a gang report directly to the kaoyaku (face function), who is also lovingly referred to as the kataoya (“one parent,” as in one-parent family). This parent is like a department manager in a bona fide firm: he hires and fires executives and maneuvers them profitably from one job to the next. When the ringleader happens to be a younger man, mischievous executives might refer to him behind his back as anigao (brother face). In his presence, however, heads are brusquely bowed and he is meekly addressed as aniki (older brother). When sneak thieves work in packs, social and professional hierarchy plays a star role. The man in charge is dotama, a name the street crowd claims developed from atama (head). The dotama is the brain of the pack. He might not personally break the lock, smash the window, or climb the drainpipe, but he makes the on-location decisions, orchestrating each movement of the burglary. In rougher packs the leader is the konatruki, a Korean gang word for “ruffian” which has acquired on Tokyo's modern streets a whiff of bravura and daredevilry. Important jobs that promise a high yield in loot are handled by larger sneak-thieving groups that come equipped with specialized watchmen, lockbreakers, computerized-alarm dismantlers, and a vault cracker or two.

Partners in crime refer to each other as hikiai (those who pull against each other), tsute (connections), dshi (kindred spirits), gui and guhi (lopped-off versions of tagui, “peer”), hbai (comrade), and more affectionately as kydai (brothers) which, for security, is often inverted to the less comprehensible daiky. Cruder bands of thieves, however, opt for heftier appellations. A favorite is the Korean expression chie, which is often distorted to a more feral chiy or chiy. The general rule with this set of words is: the harsher the expression, the warmer the criminal bond. Busuke (plug ugly), fushiyaburi (joint breaker), hiru (leech), and hine (stale) are often used with great cordiality by one leathery tough to another.

• Nan da yo? Orera no hikiai wa anna chatchii doa mo akeraren'n da ze? What the fuck? Our buddy can't even open a simple door like this?

• Orera wa dshi kamo shiren ga, aitsu wa dmo mushi ga sukan. We might be partners, but somehow I just don't like the guy.

• Oi! Oi k-chan! Chotto soko de chiy to hikkakete kuru wa! Yo! Hey old woman! I'm just going out for a bit with the gang!

• Oi, busuke yo! Katai koto iwazu ni—m ippai tsukiae yo! C'mon butt-face, cut the crap and let's have another drink!

• Oi tanomu ze! Omae ore no fushiyaburi ja n ka? Kane kashite kure yo! C'mon man, you're my partner, man! Lend me the money!

• saka no hine ichiban tayori ni naru ze. Our most reliable men are the guys from Osaka.

Another important part of respectable sneak-thieving gangs are the assistants, usually younger men who do dirty work like terikiri (“burning and cutting,” or blowtorching locks) and kaminari (“thunderbolt,” or making entry holes in roofs). These assistants are called tobakiri (den cutters) and ashi (legs), and are usually studying hard to become full-fledged professionals themselves. The youngest in the group, who is kept busy carrying tool bags and loot, is the hidarisode (left sleeve). He keeps out of the way, trotting behind the experienced elder of the group, the migisode (right sleeve), and drinks in as much technique as circumstances allow.

In a class of his own, the gang's lookout stands inconspicuously at gates, ducking into apartment house entrances or waiting in the getaway car, his hand on the ignition key. The lookouts of old whistled at the first sign of danger and were often masters at imitating tremulous bird calls; today's professionals, however, beep, page, and even ring up the gang on cellular phones. Over the years thousands of thief clans, large and small, have invented throngs of inspired cognomens for their watchmen. The lookouts' job was to keep their eyes peeled, what the Japanese call “stretched.” Gan o haru (he is stretching his eyes) came to mean “he's keeping lookout for us,” as did toibaru (he is stretching far). The men themselves became ganhari (eye stretchers), toibari (far stretchers), and then kenshi (see masters), tmi (far lookers), banmen (watching faces), and higemi (“mustache watchers,” or cop watchers). Some gangs even billed them with the dashing title yariban (spear guard). As the lookout men made it their job to peek over walls, peer through partitions, and spy over fences and railings, they came to be known as takanyd (tall giants). Another favorite has been otenkinagashi (the weather flows). Like a weatherman, the lookout watches for the slightest change in the atmosphere.

The most popular criminal word for watchmen of the sixties and seventies was tachiko (standing child), an expression which, to the plunderers' chagrin, was then swiped by the red-light crowd, to be used as a jocularword for prostitute. The thieves quickly flushed tachiko from their vocabularies.

Breaking into a Tokyo Mansion

A mansion has been chosen, the neighborhood inspected, and the date and time of the break-in set. The final word from the boss is: Yoshi! Mimai ni iku to shiy! “That's it! We'll definitely pay that respectful visit.” Those who will go on this visit gather in a process dubbed by gang jargon as wa ni naru (becoming a ring). A sophisticated group will hold a board meeting to discuss the delicate technicalities of the project. Here each crook has the opportunity to bring his or her expertise to the table in what is defined as ueshita o tsukeru (up and down together). Sipping tea, the group will verbally climb up the mansion's walls, down its drainpipes, across railings, and over roofs. In some clans this is called tanka o tsukusu (trying all the doors).

Then the looters leave the discussion table and begin arranging their tool bags, polishing their jiggers and oiling their widgets. The solemn act of dropping the tools one by one into the bag is called netabai (from neta hai, “the seeds enter”). The careful thief will chose staple instruments like yji (lock picks), rakkupari (lock jiggers), dosu (wrench knives), geri (jaggers), sori (blades, from kamisori, “razor”), and a set of nezumi (“mice,” or master keys). When the bags are ready, the time for fumitsukeru (attaching the steps) has come. Last minute phone calls are made, precautionary guns might be loaded, and, should they run into a domestic animal on the job, pork cutlets laced with cyanide are wrapped up in aluminium foil. These meat packages are wittily known as either shisankin (monetary contributions) or tsukaimono (wrapped gifts).

Arriving on the scene, the thieves hastily do suzume (sparrow), a quick check of surrounding streets and alleys for police patrols. If the coast is clear, the house is approached and the clan does atekomi (aim fulfillment), in which it might peek into the garage to see if the inhabitants' cars are there, or look to see which windows are lit.

A gate that has been carelessly left unlocked is baptized chy, a word of Korean pedigree. If the gate is locked, but so flimsily that a swift prod will unhinge it, the looters will murmur marumage (the traditional knotted hairstyle of a married woman—pull one pin out and ornaments and tresses come tumbling down). A gate that is securely locked is called by all-male gangs maekake onna (aproned woman): a man wishing to enter must first rip her apron off. In this case, the lock will either be picked (koburu), wrenched open (shiburu), or blowtorched in a process known as kamaboko (fish paste) and yakikiri (burn cut). lf the lock proves too formidable, then the gang will go for monbarai (gate disposal) or monbarashi (gate dispelling). Gate butts, metal straps, pins, springs, and hinge shutters are snipped and wrenched, and the gate is lifted off its hinges.

Agile clans, however, might simply go for a quick kaburu (scampering over the wall), also known in more theatrical cliques as maku o koeru (getting beyond the stage curtains). While the group's agile youngsters nimbly hoist themselves over barriers of brick or wire, the more weatherworn professionals rely on either their octopus (tako), a rope ladder with iron hooks on top, or the more portable minjaku (knotted rope). These men and women call wall climbing yama ni noboru (climbing the mountain) or yamagoshi (going over the mountain), a term that is frowned upon by criminal women, as it also means violent rape.

When the robbers are on the premises the macho sexual imagery continues. They have had to fiddle with the locks, tinker with the hinges, twiddle the screws, and putter the latches. The gate and wall, they argue, are as difficult to handle as an unyielding woman. Even the most manful of men has to struggle to perform the crucial maemakuri (“lifting the skirt from the front,” meaning the thieves enter through the front gates), or the even more crucial shirimakuri (“lifting the skirt from behind,” as in the gate or fence is at the rear of the house).

• Maemakuri hotondo ichijikan mo kakechimatta ze! It took almost an hour to get those skirts hitched up (to break through those front gates)!

• Anna inakamon' ga shirimakuri dekiru wake n dar! You expect that village yokel to know how to hitch up a skirt from behind (to break through a back gate)?

• Omae yamagoshi no mae ni wa, maemakuri shina yo n! Man! You don't just rape her straight out—you have to hitch up those skirts first! (Don't just climb the wall—try the gates first!)

When visiting one of the better mansions, a looter has to be prepared for what is known in back alleys as a muzukashii (a difficult), the pedigreed guard dog. A beast that starts barking and snarling ferociously is gabinta, a word of Korean descent, meaning “it has no respect for its superiors.” If a “here doggy doggy!” followed by an attempt to pat the animal does not calm it, most thieves will bring out the deadly pork chop. This is known as inukoro o abuseru (injuring the mutt), or more sardonically shtome o kudoku (silencing one's mother-in-law).

A careful rabble of thieves will now take a final outside look at the house. Are there any hidden computerized alarm systems, cameras, or infra-red contraptions (sekigaisen)? Professionals stress the importance of following strict looting procedures with an eye to Japan's brisk technological advances.

The cautioning proverb often quoted outside the targeted homes is:

• Ushi no kuso demo dandan. Even a cow shits plop by plop.

Younger bandits who storm their mansions without the perpetual checking and rechecking of the premises are branded by their elders as parrari (foolish ones). The youngsters throw back at the streetwise cow proverb the classical rejoinder:

• Yjin ni shiro horobizu. A fortress can not be stormed cautiously.

A looter of substance skulks around the house one last time. This final precaution is called “swimming” (oyogu), “sidling” (oyoru), or “flower listening” (kiku no hana). If there is the slightest sign of danger, there is still time to safely abort the mission.

The burglars will have chosen a house amenable to the method of breaking and entering that they prefer. On the streets all these professionals are akisunerai (empty-nest targeters), but when they finally crawl into a yard with widgets, tweezers, and window jiggers in hand, they acquire more specific names.

Some of the more athletic individuals, for instance, are known as agari (ascenders), nobi (climbers), ete (monkeys), and kumo (spiders). They scamper over hedges and walls and onto balconies, usually entering the house from the top floor and working their way down. The thieves' jargon secretly calls its roofs neya (a simple inversion of the standard word for roof, yane), or ten (heaven) and roof windows are called nekoiri (cat entrances). A wall is beka (an inversion of the regular word for wall, kabe), and the thief's standard word for door is tanka (abusive words). When it comes to locks, Japanese thief jargon can spin out endless reels of inspired metaphors. There is the ebi (shrimp): one has to pluck and pull at the shell to break through into its delicate body; the hana (flower), which one can pick (toru); and the eri (collar), a witty mispronunciation of iri (entry). Locks can be roku (pulley), and lock picking rokutsuri (pulley fishing). Some cliques call locks yakuban (turning part), others tsukimushi (attached insects). Some gangs prefer more sensitive expressions such as momiji (maple leaves) and mimochi musume (pregnant daughter); in her delicate condition she must be handled with the softest of touches. Down south, on Osaka's streets, locks are known as aisu (rammable blowholes), kudarimushi (lower insects) or sagarimushi (low-down insects), and further down, in Wakayama city, thieves call locks sanpira and enko.

The most ingenious way to enter a mansion is to march brashly up the garden path. Debonair thieves who simply walk up to the main door are known as mae (fronts). Once on the porch, each has his own method. The aritsuke (ant attachers), kogatana (daggers), sori (benders), and atetsukai (blade users) stand in full view of the street and swiftly slip their metallic contraptions into the locks to jiggle them open. The shippiki-needle tests the lock's sturdiness and its make, while the takehari (bamboo needle) and the gen (bamboo teakettle handle) are used to press down the tumblers. These quick-fingered lock pickers are not above working in full view of the street. A passerby glancing into the garden would see only a tired individual hunched over, fumbling tipsily with his keys.

Front doors that succumb smoothly to the professional's touch are known as tanka ga moroi (the curse words are fragile).

In tougher mansions, where doors are double-and even triple-locked, the kobuya (gnarlers), and the yaburi (breakers) go to work with a hatchet. Their forceful technique is called akebabarashi (opening-place liquidation) or tankahiraki (Curse-word releasing). If the stalwart door still does not yield, then a small high-powered saw, the menoko (child of the eye), is flicked into action. This machine is used by the shibuita hane (board removers) and the kiji (grain wooders), who will saw their way through the body of the door and leave the locked frame standing.

• Komatta na! Akebabarashi no saich ni ate ga dame ni natchimau to wa! Damn! How could my jigger have broken right as I was working that door!

• Tankahiraki no toki ni wa armu ni ki o tsukero yo! Be careful of the alarm when you break down that door!

• Kono menoko de d yatte shigoto shiro'tte yn da yo? How the hell am I supposed to work with this saw?

Doors that are made of a robust metal, with crowbar and iron cross-beam reinforcements, are called tanka akan' (the curse words won't open). The only door specialists who can handle these formidable barricades are the tsuriage (jack screwers) and the tenbin (weighing scales). They do what is known as karahiku (pulling off the husk), in which they zero in on the hinges with drills, wrenches, and blowtorches, and lift out door and frame as a unit.

Another breed of thief prefers entering through windows. The easiest, many argue, is the bathroom window, dubbed in thief jargon as either hachinosu (nest of the bee) or hachisu (bee's nest). Few of them have locks, and if they are shut from the inside a brisk jolt with a baita, a metal staff whose ends have been chiseled down to a sharp point, will spring the frame open. Brigands who hinge their choice of mansion on the size and approachability of this window are classed by their peers as haiy (hot-water enterers).

Some thieves prefer to target the mansion's larger porch or balcony windows. These thieves travel light, their tool bags sporting a simple rope to climb to the balcony and a small diamond glass cutter to remove window panes. The jargon calls these masters sugarahazushi, sugara being the secretive reversal of garasu (glass), while hazushi means “remover.” More obscurely they are murakumo (cloud masses).

When doors are obstructed and windows barred, the amakiri (heaven cutters) spring into action. Using wrenches, electric saws, or even concrete blasters, they cut, kick, saw, or boost their way through the roof. The police call these thieves yanetsutai (roof enterers) and hai (scramblers),but the men and women who brave the slippery tiles and shaky corrugated roofings give each other more elevated names. The younger ones are the nyanzoku (meow gang), known also more morbidly as the nennen koz (sleep sleep little boy); they hope to tiptoe soundlessly through the children's room upstairs without startling an infant. Older professionals prefer the even more macabre sagarigumo (descending spider). They hook their ropes to the frame of the skylight and silently glide down into the house. The roof robbers define their descent into the upper rooms as ten kara yuku (coming from heaven). The idea of combining the heavens with burglary caught on, and soon roof specialists were inventing one grandiloquent name after another: tenzutai (enterers from heaven), tengaishi (heavenly-canopy masters), tenshi (heaven masters), and tengari and tongari (heaven hunters). Other names that have been passed down from generation to generation are watarikomi (cross-and-enterer), neyahaguri (roof ripper), tatsu (dragon), nezumimekuri (ripping mice), and kamisori (“razorblades,” or looters who cut into the roof). The brand of roof thief who works exclusively at night is the goishita (dark down). Men and women who access roofs by shimmying up telephone poles call themselves denshin (telegrams) and denshinkasegi (telegram breadwinners). Tokyo's Chinese jargon circles donated their own mellifluous word, teiauchintsu.

• Aitsu wa tengaishi dakara, doa no akekata wa shiran yo. He's a roof specialist, so he has no idea about opening doors.

• Ano goishita-tachi wa kanojo no ie de nusumeru mono wa minna nusunjimatta y da. Those night thieves just emptied her house.

• Aitsu watarikomi no kuse ni ochite ashi o otta rashii ze. Although he's a roof specialist, he fell and broke his leg.

• Teiauchintsu ni wa aitsu wa chitto futorisugi da ze. D yatte nobore'tte yn da yo? He's too fat for a telephone pole specialist. How the hell is he gonna climb up there?

Older thieves and those who prefer to keep both feet firmly on the ground specialize in what ethnic Chinese gangsters call ryahiyatan (swatting insects on the wall). They use a pick or sledgehammer to swat their way through the wall. In plain street-Japanese this is known as beka o barashikamaru, “disposing of the wall in order to crawl in” (beka is an inversion of kabe, “wall”). In some circles, wall breaking is also known as beka naseru (doing the wall), beka tsukeru (fixing the wall), and mado ga mieru (“the window is visible,” because a hole has just been blasted into the wall). The racket of the hammering triggered the expression mimibarashi (tearing off the ears). Some gangsters maintain that the burglar's ears are being torn off, others that it is the mansion's, in that the building's main structure is its head, the windows its eyes, and the smashed walls its ears.

In the wild sixties and seventies wall breaking came to be called, dramatically, harakiri. The image was that of modern wall breakers plunging their drills and chainsaws into the soft belly of a home, much as elegant classical heroes and heroines turned noble daggers on themselves. The generation of the eighties, a more internationalized set of thieves, upgraded the harakiri idea with a twist of English. The most fashionable name for wall breaker, they decided, was to be beriishi (belly master).

If doors, locks, windows, and roof tiles prove too formidable for a pack of thieves, they solemnly declare the case to be yawai, ornery (from yabai, “dangerous”), and turn on their heels and march out of the garden. In a more unfortunate scenario, in which a light suddenly goes on in response to the sound of walls being pulverized or glass being shattered, the robbers will gasp the classical jargon term wakatono (young lord, i.e. “drat, someone is in after all”) and make a dash for the gate.

When the robbers are in the mansion the job officially begins. The period stretching from the criminals' arrival to their loot-laden departure is called yama (mountain). This delicate metaphor suggests that the thieves, like pilgrims climbing mountains to reach blessed shrines, have to first drudge their way up the steep slope of breaking and entering before they can snatch the spoils from the peak. A younger synonym for the high-charged stealing period, used by trendy burglar novices in Tokyo and Osaka, is ingu. This strange term that leaves older criminals baffled, is none other than the English gerundive suffix “ing.”

“We lifted it from English words like dingu (doing), suchiiruingu (stealing), robbingu (robbing),” the youngsters explain.

• Yama no saich. ni mono oto o taterun ja n zo! Don't make a sound while we're on the job!

• Oi yab, isoge yo! Yama ni sanjippun ij kakeru mon ja n ze! Shit, man, move it! We shouldn't be on the job more than thirty minutes!

• Shh! Ingu no saich. ni shaberun ja n! Shh! Don't talk on the job!

• Ingu no saich. ni nanka warui yokan ga shiyagaru. I've been having a bad feeling about this job since we started it.

As the burglars move to the “mountain” portion of their crime, they will perform atari, the very last precautionary check before their feet hit the mansion's polished parquet. If all is well, they will plunge like swords into the inner sanctum of the home, the yasa (from saya, “sheath”). With their flashlights they sneak from room to room searching for loot. This is opaquely described as miagari sashite miru (our bodies are moving up in search of). On this initial round nothing is touched. The aim is to “bite the platform” (dai o kamu), to flavor the spoils, mentally balancing their portability against their potential market value. “If we had to choose, should we take the TV-video set, the CD player with remote, or that gigantic Kamakura vase?” the bandits ask themselves. Another burning question is whether the articles being considered are abuiabu (the real thing). When thieves come across prospective bounty that is of contestable value, the connoisseur of the group does a quick atari o tsukeru (attaching a hit). He or she will carefully scratch, bite, lick, or prod the item to test its authenticity. A thief who bumps into an expensive object and sends it crashing to the floor, is accused of buriya, the jargon word for smashing stealable commodities on the job.

• Chikush! Koko ni wa nani hitotsu abuiabu ga ari'ya shin! Shit! Absolutely nothing here's genuine!

• Oi, kore ga honmono ka chitto atari tsukete miru beki da ze. Hey, check this piece to see if it's real.

• Aitsu o tsurete ikun' dattara, burya ni ki o tsuketa h ga ii ze! If you're gonna take him along, make sure he doesn't trash the place!

Some modern looters are only interested in hard yen. Unperturbed, they will march right past rich bibelots and strings of Picassos and make a beeline for the safe, for what they call mamono (the real thing). These looters are the shimabarashi (island breakers), otomodachi (friends), namashi (cash masters), sannokkan (money exchangers), and more recently maniishi (money masters). In money-master jargon the safe is musume, the daughter. A safe, like a cherished daughter, they explain, is a household's most prized and jealously-guarded possession. If the safe turns out not to have been worth cracking, the dispirited specialists mutter musume ga wakai (their daughter is young). If, on the other hand, yen notes come pouring out, the joyous proclamation is musume ga haramu (their daughter is with child).

The exhilarating moment when a looter hits the jackpot is known as makenshi. This argot word describes the rushing of blood to one's head, the gasp of exhilaration, the joyful stagger. When money is found in an unexpected place, the expressions used are morai (receiving) and ogami (prayer—the surprised thief kneels in thankful prayer).

• Y, maitta, maitta! Kongetsu haitta ie wa zenbu musume ga wakakatta ze! Man, this sucks! All the houses we did this month had safes that were slim pickings!

• Aitsu no me ni kakar'ya musume ga haranderu ka dka nante ippatsu de wakatchimau ze. That guy, man! One glance at a safe and he knows if it's full!

• Nijippun-kan sagashite, yatto makenshi to kita! We searched for twenty minutes, and then hull's eye!

• Kono e no ura nijman mo mitsukeru nante tonda morai da ze! Man, the jackpot behind this picture! Two hundred thousand yen!

After the thieves finish exploring the premises the actual thieving begins. The intense phase in which money, jewelry, portable antiques, and objets d'art are raked into sacks is known as hayakoto (the quick thing). After hayakoto, thieves with nerves of steel dart into the kitchen for a quick snack, a habit classified in jargon as hantebiki (food snatching).

Once the plunder sacks are tied shut, the word to hiss is the Korean aruikara (the loot is assembled). If the goods are exceptionally rich, the looters will add kanchira, Japanese Korean for “the catch was good.” In unpolished circles, the bandits will cap the burglary with what some call ki ga fuseru (plopping down the spirit), others higa barasu (rubbing out the misdeed). One of the group hobbles to the door, yanks his trousers down, and crouching, defecates. This tasteless action, burglars explain, is the only surefire method of duping police dogs. One whiff and the animal is totally disoriented.

• Kondo no ki ga fuseru no ban wa dare da? Who's turn is it to shit by the door?

• Mata higa barashita! Mattaku aitsu wa! Don't tell me he took a shit again! I really wish he wouldn't!

• Higa barashi ni itta, om kitan yatsu da na! You took a shit by the door? You're sick!

The final dash for the door is referred to as ketsubaru (stretching one's ass). Thieves leaving the premises with sacks swung over their shoulders are doing sayakaeri (changing the sheath).

The gang scuttles into the yard, over the wall and out the gate, scattering in all directions. This is mochizura (having and running). To leave the scene of the crime in a congenial group would be suicidal; the only safe thing to do is what Tokyo's Koreans call chacha: each member dashes down a different alley. Groups of burglars who only steal money and jewelry will often do chyapabataro; the loot is passed to one person to reduce the danger of the whole group being rounded up by the police. In some of the rougher clans, however, bandits will react gingerly to the idea of entrusting their hard-earned spoils to a colleague. What if he should be zaruo (sieve), a loot carrier who is not above straining small valuables or yen notes out of the sack? This ignoble genre of betrayal is known among gangsters as baiharu (stretching the purchases) and baigiri (cutting the purchases).

• Oi, shitteta ka? Zaruo ga kawa de shitai de mitsukatta ze! Hey, did you know they found that sieve dead in the river?

• Koitsu wa hen da n! Aitsu wa baigiri shiagatta n. Something's fucked up here! I'm sure he skimmed off some of the loot.

• Aitsu baiharu shiagatte, kondo attara bukkuroshite yaru ze! That guy riffled the loot. When I run into him, I'm gonna fuckin' kill him!

In a larger clan, where loot carriers are tried and trusted, the thieves will make their way one by one back to the shima (island), the gang's territory. There they will re-congregate to receive their share of the booty, their kabu (stocks). The emotion-laden distribution of the pillage is dubbed by some gangs kabuwari (stock splitting), kabuwake (stock dividing) and tezuke (depositing), and byothers yamawake (mountain splitting), yamakan (mountain sectioning), and hajiki (springing open). The thieves are on tenterhooks, and eager argotic questions abound:

• Yoroku? (profits) Was this a successful stint?

• Rachi? (picket fence) What are the results?

• Musuko wakakatta? (was the son young) There was no money in the house?

• Yabakatta? or yabakaita? (from yabai, “dangerous”) Has the job been a flop?

• Amerikan! (American) This is worthless! (American coffee, the bandits explain, is ridiculously weak. Like a stolen piece of junk, it does not do anything for one).

The joyful circumstance in which loot turns out to be of much higher value than anticipated is gaily heralded with atsui (it is thick). Another even cheerier occasion occurs when, during the loot dividing, an unexpectedly large wad of bank notes is found stashed in an antique or in the lining of a picture. This circumstance is dubbed atari (hit).

Burglars who work in twos and threes often prefer to split the loot at the scene of the crime. This way, everyone can do an immediate dankon utsu (bullet-hole banging), rushing off home after a successful job. This expression is always good for a raucous laugh, since dankon utsu, if written with the characters “male-root banging” can also mean “banging the penis.” Oi, hayaku dankon ut ze! (Yo man, let's split!) could with a giggle be misinterpreted as “Yo man, let's bang penises!”