by B K Johnson
Loke laughed hysterically while she ran around the chair, waving the gun in the air. She was losing it, right now, and in front of Dave, but she didn’t care. All of her planning was now finally coming to fruition. She could just feel it. Any day now she’d have Tommy under her power, and then, by God, she would avenge her son. She moved to Tommy’s chair, and ritually danced around it chanting, “Kekoa. Kekoa, Kekoa, you will be avenged. Kekoa, Kekoa, Kekoa, your reputation will be restored to you. Kekoa, Kekoa, Kekoa, see how much your mother loves you.”
Dave could only witness a portion of Loke’s dance. The chain around his neck was loose enough that he could move his head side to side, but with his entire length chained to the cement floor, he had little other movement. He could hear the maniacal timbre of Loke’s voice, and closed his eyes, castigating himself for not seeing through her previous come hither demeanor to the demon inside. “What have I done,” he chided himself. ‘How will I ever get out of this mess alive? It is obvious she is demented beyond reasoning, but I must try,” he cautioned himself.
“Loke, I thought Kekoa was your nephew, and that he was your sister’s son. Why are you so worked up over the young man?”
“Idiot,” she spit at him from across the room. She practically flew up to him, screaming, “Kekoa was my son. MY SON! And he was killed because of your precious Tommy and others like her. He was innocent, I tell you, and I will avenge his name if it is the last thing I do. Now I don’t care what I do to you at all, or how much you suffer. You can’t even honor a mother’s love.”
“I’m so sorry,” pleaded Dave, trying to rein in Loke’s frightening display. “I meant no harm. I just didn’t know. Why don’t you tell me what happened. If you’d just let me sit up, and take off these chains, I know I could help you avenge your son.”
“Oh, no, devious one,” Loke chided. “I can tell you’re just trying to work me now, and that isn’t going to happen. I might let you sit up a little, and I will certainly try to make you more comfortable for the time being. As long as I’m here and have this gun in my hand, I’m absolutely positive you aren’t going to thwart my plans.”
She hastily drew another diaper over his loins, and then loosened the chain around his neck and waist just enough so he could sit up. Loke wanted him to be able to look around the garage and see everything surrounding him. She watched his eyes as he took in the chairs and their accoutrements, the hangings of maile leaves stringing around both chairs and wending their way to a picture of Loke with Kekoa as a little baby in her arms. A smell of incense permeated the air, and he located its source.
“What is that?” he asked, pointing to the sticks of incense.
“That is my shrine to Loke’s father, who died. I put senko there every day I am here. And I fondly remember killing him as a result of what he did.”
“Look all you want, but don’t even think of trying to escaping your bonds,” admonished Loke. She again left the room, but returned so quickly Dave had barely had time to try to stretch his limbs, much less untangle them. She carried a recorder and placed it near Dave’s head, turning it on to record. In an apron pocket around her waist little metal things pointed up. She didn’t even explain what they were, or what she was going to do. She just intoned, “Did you know that the toes are extremely sensitive?”
With that she sat straddling Dave’s legs, and began to torture him, repeatedly stabbing deeply into the flesh into and between each toe with sharpened meat skewers. She purposely aimed for that tender skin beneath the toenail. Dave’s screams were music to her ears. She just knew this was going to work. Not even Tommy could refuse to respond to those cries for help.
CHAPTER FORTY
Tommy backed her Jetta into a small parking spot on the street, just two blocks down from Maria Luisa’s home in Daly City. Once again, she prided herself for having bought a smaller car, so much easier to finagle into the tight spots available in and around the city. She really would have liked one of the bigger, American-made cars, partly out of loyalty to her country, but mostly because her long legs demanded comfort. The Jetta had been a compromise, and she found she could easily fold herself into the driver’s seat without her legs complaining.
And ever since the Berlin wall had fallen, Germany presented itself as a much more reliable ally to the
U. S., just like Japan had become. Only die-hard veterans still alive after the Second World War still eschewed German or Japanese-made vehicles. Her father knew one Filipino man who stubbornly refused to go to his own daughter’s wedding three times, each time when his son came to pick him up in a Nissan, a Toyota, and a Mazda. Finally, he rode to the ceremony, proudly ensconced in Ford 250 Truck. Tommy chuckled to herself as she remembered this story, and then just as swiftly chided herself for having felt any amusement at it.
While attending law school in Hawaii, she learned so much about the history of World War II and how it impacted the islands. Even in today’s society, Filipinos who had family that died during the Bataan march refused to have dealings with the Japanese. Hawaiian and/or American born Japanese (Isei or Nisei generations), had whole families turned in by the Filipinos during the blackouts for keeping lights on. They’d been suspected of communicating with Japanese military forces. Some of their family members were taken off to a concentration camp on Oahu. Their offspring had heard the stories many times. They, in turn, shunned Filipinos.
Native Hawaiians, although smiling and gracious in public or at work, actually resented many of the Haoles, Filipinos and Japanese, who’d gradually taken over their land and politics. They would never forget that the Japanese had bombed Pearl Harbor, and that the American’s had forced poor Liliuokalani to abdicate her throne while U. S. warships sat in her harbor. The US threatened to blow up the Iolani Palace, with her in it, and anyone or anything else standing in the way of the American concept of “manifest destiny.” What else could Liliuokalani do to protect her citizenry but to cave in?
The Chinese in Hawaii had family in Mainland China who held firm to their antipathy for Japanese, since Japan was the only country who had successfully invaded it. They visited the memorial in Nanjing, where many died at the hands of the Japanese. These Chinese subtly swore vengeance. They also had an ax to grind with Taiwanese, who’d fled to Formosa with Chiang Kai-shek and built a stronger economy than they had, choosing capitalism over communism. Often, the “made in China” denotations on products purchased by the millions from big companies like WalMart had actually been made in Taiwan. Once Nixon opened up trade with Mainland China, the larger country began exporting its own products and little by little was accepting some of the benefits of capitalism, at the same time as it embraced Communism.
All of this made for very confusing dynamics in Hawaii. It was a melting pot like no other, in a land of warm trade winds, and a striking and gentle Pacific Oceans that still created humongous waves for surfers at the same time as the marine life pleased the many snorkelers and deep sea divers. Its economy had been dependent upon pineapple and sugar cane for many years, and then suddenly, in the 50’s, it became a destination for the wealthy. By the 70’s, almost every American had either been to one of the Hawaiian Islands on vacation or dreamed of going there. Japanese visited the Islands by the hordes, always bringing cameras hung around their necks. Australians and New Zealanders came to surf, while Samoans, Tahitians, Koreans, and Viet Namese came to live.
Still, with all the political intrigue, what Tommy most remembered about Hawaii was the numerous white sand beaches, the glorious sea, the year-round profusion of flowers of every color and scent, the lilikoi, pineapple and guava growing untended. Beyond this, its primal pulse of an indigenous people spoke to Tommy’s first people heritage, and she had reveled in all of the sensual sounds and sights of the islands.
Tommy found herself so deep in her reverie of her time in Hawaii that she barely noticed that she’d walked the two blocks to Maria Luisa’s home and already found herself knocking on the door. She shook herself quickly to
shed the paralysis that comes with such mental journeys just as a strikingly handsome, tall Mexican male opened the door. “I’d like to speak with Maria Luisa, please,” Tommy requested of him.
“No hablo ingles,” he droned.
“Tu hablas ingles y yo puedo entenderte en espanol si tu prefieres hablar. Tu madre es Maria Luisa, Miguel, y ella demande que tu atendes a la Universidad de San Francisco. Tu tienes una diploma en ingles de esta universidad, no?”
All of this Tommy spoke in her halting, but university-learned Spanish. She had looked up all the information she could find on Maria Luisa, and learned that Miguel had a degree in English from USF, and was employed as an English as a second language (ESL) teacher in Daly City. Like many Mexicans who lived in California, when they preferred not to deal with strangers, Miguel simply pretended not to speak English. It was a very effective tool, at least with most folks since they refused to learn Spanish. Tommy was a linguist however, and she had an excellent command of Spanish and German, and spoke some French, Chinese, Japanese, and most certainly, Hawaiian pigeon English.
Miguel stared at her with his huge, bedroom brown eyes, and finally shrugged his shoulders. “You must be Tommy, am I right?”
“Yes,” she replied. “How did you know?”
“My mother knew you would figure everything out, and she has been expecting you for several days now. I’m just trying to protect her. She doesn’t want to lose her job, since her income is so important to our family, but at the same time, she wants the truth to be known “En mucho gusto, senorita, y entre en nuestra casa.”
At his invitation, Tommy entered the simple but warm Dominguez home. Miguel took her straight to Maria Luisa, who was in the kitchen making homemade tortillas, frijoles, tamales, and rice. Maria Luisa acknowledged Tommy’s presence with a nod, gestured to her to sit at the large, comfortable kitchen table, and handed the tortillas to Miguel to fry. While Miguel completed fixing the family meal, Tommy and Maria Luisa sat and spoke, occasionally glancing at his expert culinary skill.
“I knew you would come,” Maria Luisa stated simply. “I respect you, senorita, but I am so sad to have to be the one to lead you to the truth. I had hoped Daniella would confess to save her mother this pain, but I can see that she has no intention of owning up to the murder of Samantha Gage.”
“What,” shrieked Tommy, leaping up from her chair. “For the past few days I have been convincing myself that Michaela murdered Samantha, in spite of certain character analyses that cautioned otherwise.”
“I’m well aware of that fact,” responded Maria Luisa, her English so perfected that if you didn’t listen for her slight Mexican lilt, you would think she’d been born in the U.S.A. “Michaela has been subtly trying to lead you in that direction, to save her daughter. She can’t confess, because she has no idea how Daniella killed Samantha, so she was hoping she could make you suspicious enough of her that you would come to that conclusion and fill all of the blanks in for her.”
“How do you know that Daniella did it?” questioned Tommy point blank.
“I heard her tell her mother she did,” responded Maria Luisa. “Plus,” she continued, “I know she borrowed her mother’s car to implicate her, had already stolen Geoff Gage’s gun, and was mad as hell at Samantha Gage for the few days before the murder.”
“Why was she so mad?” Tommy asked. “And how do you know the other facts?” she continued, breathlessly awaiting the solution to a mystery that had plagued her for weeks.
“I have basically raised Daniella for the last 3 years since she killed her father. I have shielded her from that murder for several reasons. One, I desperately needed my job. Two, he was already terminally ill, and would have died soon enough even without Daniella’s assistance. Three, he probably would have taken his own life since the cancer was so painful. Four, I couldn’t prove it conclusively. And Five, I really love that child, even though I know she should be committed or locked up. I thought I could teach her to love and respect life, but she rebelled against both her mother’s and father’s lifestyles and wanted to punish them equally. Compassion is a foreign word to her.”
“Please continue,” Tommy encouraged the now weeping domestic. Miguel stopped the meal preparations long enough to come and hold his mother, consoling her at the same time he proffered her a handkerchief from his jeans pocket. Maria Luisa wiped her eyes and face, while Miguel went to the kitchen sink and brought her a glass of water.
She drank it slowly, and stroked her son’s hand, repeating, “Mi hijo es un buen hijo, no? Sin la ayuda de mi hijo Miguel, yo no puedo continuar.” Tommy nodded, understanding that the young man who so competently fixed dinner for his siblings, protected and comforted his mother, and worked diligently to earn a second wage for his family’s needs, was, indeed, a very good son.
“What are you saying. Maria Luisa?” Tommy questioned. “That Daniella not only killed Samantha, she murdered her own father as well as somehow convincing her mother to take the fall for Samantha’s murder?” Tommy sat stunned in her chair, still peppering Maria Luisa with questions.
“I will give you all of the information you need,” responded Maria Luisa. “I am so tired of trying to save this child, and I can’t. It is time to turn it over to a system that can contain her, if not cure her.” Maria Luisa agreed to be recorded, and Tommy listened to her story while the tape documented the shattering evidence.
Tommy’s shoulders drooped on her walk back to her car 3 hours later. She had zero energy and her head was spinning with all of the knowledge she had just absorbed. Her first order of business as she slumped down in her driver’s seat was to pick up her car phone to call Clay Cox with the news. She had one message she chose to listen to. It was from Dave’s cell phone, and all she heard was a series of shrieks of pain. Still, she recognized those shrieks as coming from Dave. Her intent to call Clay Cox fled by the wayside as she furiously dialed Rod in Hawaii and implored him to find out all he could about Dave’s whereabouts, and now.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
“Wake up,” demanded Loke as she held the smelling salts under Dave’s nose. “This isn’t going to serve my purposes at all if you stay passed out.” She was straddling Dave’s chest and as he started to cough and come to, he felt her diminutive weight crushing his lungs. Every part of his body ached from being chained to the floor, and the cement was cold and hard against his back. Besides the intense physical discomfort, and agonizing pain that still throbbed in his toes, Dave was totally demoralized. He had never found himself in a situation where a woman had ever overpowered him, or abused him. And the fact that she continued to change his diapers each time he had to urinate, or worse yet, defecate, left him completely humiliated and in no position to defend himself.
Loke lifted herself up gracefully from his chest, and he still couldn’t help but marvel how her every move was invested with such languor and fluidity. It was almost as if she had not been constructed with hard bone, but rather had stretchy sinews holding her entire frame together, allowing it to contort seamlessly at will. She handed him a bottle of water with a straw and encouraged him to drink. “You must get your strength up, sweetheart. There are more fun and games to come and I need you to be at your best.”
“What more can you do to me?” lamented Dave. “I’m a complete and utter wreck, and I haven’t the faintest idea why you’ve chosen to torment me. What did I ever do to you, Loke, except adore you and treat you respectfully? Who the hell are you, really?”
“I am the planner, and the watcher and the doer, Dave. I’m sorry, I really am for having to torture you this way. You just don’t understand that you are just a pawn in my revenge. I have nothing against you personally. In fact, I was really rather growing to like you, and would have enjoyed having you as my lover or boyfriend were circumstances any different,” Loke mused.
“For God’s sakes, then, woman,” spluttered Dave. “Unchain me and we’ll forget all about this little episode and pick up where we left off.”
&n
bsp; “That’s just not possible,” refuted Loke. And don’t call me woman,” she fumed. “My name is Loke, in case you’ve forgotten. You are making me mad again.”
“I don’t want to make you mad, Loke” Dave apologized. “I just want you to love me and stop hurting me. I don’t deserve this. No one does.”
She checked his diaper and found it dry. Then she poured peroxide on his swollen toes, and smoothed Neosporin over their gaping wounds. “Well, since you’re being such a good boy for now, I’ll tell you why this is happening to you. Loke moved to the chair with Dave’s belongings and placed them on top of Tommy’s chair. She sat down and folded her hands and began the story that was culminating in this house.
Dave listened intently, partly because he truly wanted to know why Loke was treating him this way, but mostly because he was trying to figure out a way to get her to change her course of action. Anything she said might be helpful, he though. Dave was a very smart man, and logic was his strong point. If he could just put his finger on the trigger that would diffuse Loke’s diabolical anger, he might be able to extricate himself from this dire situation. And stop the excruciating pain Loke made him endure.
He heard the whole story of Kekoa Cabotaje’s 16 years, how Loke had given birth to him when she was only 17, and how hard she had tried to get his natural father, Kei Yamaguchi, to acknowledge paternity and raise Kekoa in Japan. She really thought he’d loved her and that they could have a life together and raise a family. She’d become so disappointed and disenchanted with Kei, who threw some money at her and told her to get rid of the kid. He already had a family in Tokyo. And his position with the Yakuza could not be undermined by some pussy, no matter how young and good it was. Raising another child and leaving his wife for a non-native 17-year-old was ridiculous.