Mr Onuki’s money-bag

Press, 30 August 1980, Page 15

Mr Onuki’s money-bag

From

BRUCE ROSCOE

in Tokyo

The literal meaning of the name of Tokyo’s famous Ginza district is “silver mint.” For Mr Hisao Onuki, almost literally, it may also mean a mint of money — or possibly the loss of his life. He picked up what he thought to be a bundle of old newspapers (his daughter was collecting them for the local children’s association) off a guardrail post in Showa Street. A New Zealand tourist, or any bleary-eyed wob-bly-legged businessman coming across a similar item in the future, should leave it exactly where it isMr Hisao Onuki. aged 42, a truck driver, took the bundle of newspapers back to his apartment, opened it up and found himself staring at 100 bundles of 10,000 yen notes, amounting to nearly half a million dollars. The newspapers were wrapped in a “furoshiki.” the traditional wrapping cloth which Japanese businessmen sometimes use as a briefcase. But the furoshiki is mostly used for carrying gifts to parties, receptions or weddings. Like Kimonos, they bear an emblem or crest, usually that of a family or organisation. Not knowing quite what to do, or even whether the money was real, Mr Onuki visited his neighbourhood bathhouse to think things over. Surmising that the money was genuine, he telephoned the police. For ordinary Tokyo citizens, this episode proffers a glimpse of the underworld. There are three main possibilities. Mafialike crime syndicates or “Yakuza” are among those who follow the practice of presenting gift-laden “furoshikis” to their colleagues, As this year’s

Upper House elections were approaching at the time, the possibility of a clandestine political donation was not ruled out. Stock market speculators or “Sokaiya” — professional extortionists who help companies run their shareholder meetings — also follow the practice. The police afforded Mr

Onuki the protection of allowing television crews to film the counting of the money at a Tokyo bank. Fie was present as a witness in the best disguise he could muster — a newly grown moustache, sunglasses, and one of those white masks the Japanese wear when thev catch cold. Police not so surreptiously assigned plainclothesmen to watch his apartment. It was on television. After three months, the owner, whoever he is, has done nothing to claim the money. In this case, the “furoshiki” bore the crest of a family, suggesting that the aborted delivery of the money may have been the work of the “Yakuza.” Stock market speculators, too, are particularly suspect. They are known to keep anonymously large sums in secret bank accounts and make cash settlements of transactions involving several billions of yen. After three months, police say they have not got a clue. They investigated money brokers operating in the nearby Kabutocho area — Tokyo’s Wall Street — and directed inquiries at “furoshiki” wholesalers in the heart of Tokyo to trace receipts of bulk orders for cloth matching that used to wrap the

money. But they turned up nothing. Mr Onuki knows that he is in trouble. He is being continually harassed by letters — one of which arrived written in blood, another a pasted patchwork of different letters — and telephone calls, despite having changed his telephone number once.

What will he do with the money? He may never be able to spend it. He foolishly told a Japanese newspaper last week that

he was contemplating wearing a bullet-proof vest (his assailants will know where not to hit) and that he plans to change his telephone number again. Police still patrol his neighbourhood. After November 8, when the six-month period in which claims can be filed expires, the owner of the money will want it back and Mr Onuki’s identity and location were never kept secret. Police included his name in their reports and journalists included it in the articles they wrote from the reports.