“What?” I wanted to know what was going on.
Joey, still hanging on to his towel, put his hand on his hip, while Louise crossed her arms.
These two were in the know, and I was determined to uncover the scuttlebutt. “Tell me. Hammer doesn’t want to have anything to do with him.”
“That doesn’t surprise me,” Louise said.
Joey reached for his glasses, which he had placed on a chair, and put them on. “Manju’s been on the run from the police.”
“For what?”
“They are still looking for the hold-up man in the Near North. Robbed a jewelry store.”
“You don’t mean . . .”
Roly-poly Manju? He didn’t seem like he could hurt a fly. Hammer was the one who seemed to be full of piss and vinegar, at least before he started to sing in the choir.
“He’s been hanging out at a Japanese club, Blossom, on the South Side. It has ties to the mob. The whole place was raided and the next day, everyone was back at the club as if nothing happened.” According to Joey, the club was located down the street from the Southside Community Hall, the meeting place of the new Buddhist temple.
Even though we were the only ones in the gym, Louise spoke in a low voice that was barely audible. “And Aki, we heard that Manju has been dealing in guns.”
“You can’t be serious.” Upon hearing “guns,” I couldn’t help but think about the gun in the bento box, Rose’s gift to Tomi.
“You better stay away from him,” Louise said. It was as if she had read my mind. I said my goodbyes to the couple, the future Mr. and Mrs. Joey Suzuki, and headed to the exact place that I had been warned not to go.
I sensed a difference between Blossom and Aloha. Aloha had a big picture window showcasing its pool table and the bar in the back. Blossom, on the other hand, was completely underground. I had to walk up and down the street a few times before I observed Japanese men going down some stairs from the street into what looked like a basement apartment.
There was no gatekeeper, guard or voluptuous woman waiting behind the heavy metal door when I cracked it open—simply a dingy hallway lit with a bald light bulb hanging from the ceiling. I heard the rumble of mah-jongg tiles and the clicking of poker chips as I made my way into an open room. The gambling den wasn’t raucous and the men didn’t seem to be as inebriated as the ones in Aloha. Instead, they seemed to nurse their drinks and savor their smokes, keeping their eyes wide open on their cards or mah-jongg tiles. Most of them wore fedoras and they seemed older. They didn’t look lecherously at me as I passed by. In fact, they looked right through me as if I were invisible.
I would not dare to address any of them. I definitely got the message that I, as a woman, should not speak. I had to find Manju solely based on my own powers of detection.
As the customers here seemed like high rollers, Manju was probably part of the staff. There were a few croupiers in vests running the roulette wheels and a black cigarette girl who didn’t look like the glamorous ones in movies. Instead, she, like me, had what Mom called daikon ashi, radish legs that were thick and muscular. She wore a plain denim dress and her hair was styled in two giant braids. Another black woman who looked my mother’s age served drinks, expertly balancing them on a round tray. She kept replenishing her tray with visits to a makeshift bar, two card tables stuck in a corner. Pouring those drinks was a heavy man whose shirt tightened around his belly. Manju.
I walked around the perimeter of the tables and stood in front of the rows of distilled spirits. Manju automatically held out a tray of drinks before he recognized me.
The tray almost took a tumble. “What are you doing here?” he said.
“Shouldn’t I be asking you the same question? What happened to Clark and Division?”
“I work here now.”
“I need to talk to you. About an iceman named Keizo. He also works at the Mark Twain Hotel.”
Manju didn’t verbally respond, but his nostrils flared as if he knew who I was speaking of. He signaled to a twenty-something black man to take over his spot.
We walked outside of the gambling den into the hallway. “Yeah, I know him,” he said, breathing hard. He pulled a cigarette out from behind his ear and lit it with a match. “Why are you asking?”
“What do you know about him?”
Manju gripped his cigarette in a funny way, holding his fingers back as if he was getting ready to claw someone. His fingers were meaty, like overstuffed sausages. He looked like he was sucking on a straw rather than smoking a cigarette. “Not much. Don’t be alone with him.”
The cigarette smoke, having nowhere to vanish, filled the hallway. My body felt cold and clammy. “What are you saying?”
“A girl at Playtime told me that he broke into her apartment about a year ago. He was there when she came home.”
My stomach turned. This information confirmed what Peggy had told me earlier.
“He’s a lock picker. You know, housebreaker. He’s done some jobs for other people, but I guess he likes to work alone.”
“What happened to the girl?”
“You know what happened. Luckily her boyfriend came in, so he didn’t get very far. He chased Keizo away and threatened to kill him. He’s stayed out of Playtime since then.”
I felt the blood pumping through my arms and even my fingertips. My breathing became shallow. “Why didn’t she tell anyone?” I said.
“Who’s she gonna tell? The cops? She’s a prostitute.”
“Well, somebody’s got to do something. He can’t get away with it.”
Manju practically rolled his eyes. “Goody Two-shoes. How are you gonna survive here like that? You have to be more like your sister. Though she didn’t make it, did she?”
Manju’s comment infuriated me. I didn’t care that he was almost a foot taller than me and weighed a hundred pounds more. I pushed his chest, which was more solid than it looked.
He smiled, his eyes becoming thin in his full face. “Sorry, sorry. Maybe you got some of your sister in you.”
“Are you the one who got Rose the gun?”
Manju was at first stunned, dropping his half-smoked cigarette onto the ground. Then the grin returned to his face. “You found it. I’m glad it was you and not your parents.”
“Why did you do that?”
“She asked for it. Paid good money, too. I did her a favor. Wish I could have helped out more. Especially when she came to me for a loan.”
I immediately reacted. “What loan?”
“She came to see me in May. I could tell she was desperate.”
I was bewildered. Based on Chiyo’s memories of the bloody sheets, Rose had had the abortion at the end of April. Why would she need more money in May? “Why do you think that she was desperate?”
“Because she was nice to me.” Manju’s attempt at humor fell flat. “I had no idea why she needed the money—only that it was important for her to get it.”
Had Rose been preparing for our arrival? Was it to secure the apartment? We had wired her some money but perhaps it hadn’t been not enough.
“I was low on money, so I couldn’t give her anything. I wish I could have.”
“You never told Hammer about this?”
“Oh, no. Hammer was so sweet on Rose.” Manju sounded like a jilted lover. “If he knew that she had come to me for help, he’d never get over it.”
For the life of me, I didn’t understand Manju and Hammer’s relationship. I was about to directly ask him about it, but stopped myself. I recalled Roy’s admonishment: some topics were not my business.
The cacophony of voices echoed from behind the closed door. “I better get back inside,” said Manju, leaving me by myself in the dingy hallway.
I couldn’t wait to get out of Blossom. The gambling den left a film on my skin, but it wasn’t only from the smoke of Manju’s ci
garettes. There had been a darkness in that room, a lack of humanity. Life had been portioned into two categories: money and more money. If you had none, you didn’t exist.
When I got out of the subway car at Clark and Division, I headed toward the row of lockers. How could Keizo have hurt and scared so many girls and women without any fear of getting caught and punished? I felt as though we were like the jackrabbits in the fields of Tropico, leaping and enjoying nibbling on the grass, only to be caught and destroyed. I located my locker and fished for a coin in my purse. I had no idea if the locker had been cleaned out. It had been several weeks, after all. I slid the coin into the slot and opened the door. I could see the outline of the pink furoshiki. Standing on my tiptoes, I tugged at the cloth until the parcel slipped into my hands. As I didn’t have a bag to put it in, I held it close to my chest, not caring if anyone saw the package or not. Learning about Keizo’s abuses had emboldened me. I dared anyone to try to hurt me or any other Nisei women.
Chapter 25
Elmer Booth at Booth’s Ice was a man of few words. I found his phone number in the resettlement pamphlet that Harriet had given me five months ago. He answered on the second ring.
“Booth’s Ice.”
“Hello, this is Aki Ito. I live in an apartment on LaSalle and we get ice from you. Well, we had a bit of a mishap and we’ll need another block.”
“When?”
“Uh, the thing is, I understand that you have a Japanese man. We’ve decided that we would feel more comfortable with a Japanese man.”
“When?”
I gave him a time the next day when both Mom and Pop, who was interviewing for a new job, were out of the apartment. I needed to keep them safe.
The next morning, I dressed as if I were going to work because I hadn’t told my parents that I had resigned from the Newberry. I chose one of my old dresses that was frayed at the hem. I had been meaning to get rid of it, anyway. It wouldn’t matter if it was ruined or irreparably stained.
“No coffee?” my mother asked, noticing the cup that I usually used was empty.
I shook my head. I wouldn’t be able to keep down any food or drink. Pop, meanwhile, was finally attempting to fix our leaky faucet with a wrench that he had brought home from Aloha.
“Yamenasai.” Mom told him to stop it. The leak was, in fact, getting worse, with a fine spray spurting out from where the faucet was attached to the basin. My mother was right. Based on Pop’s other home-improvement efforts, we might soon be underwater if he continued.
As both of them left the apartment, my mother said, “Ittekimasu,” as she always did, a sign that they were on their way out. I replied, “Itterasshai,” the Japanese phrase for wishing them well, something that I never said in response. Mom narrowed her eyes, as if she sensed that I might be defying them again.
After they were gone, I went to my dresser and retrieved the bento box from its hiding place in my underwear and dress drawer. I removed the gun from the box. In terms of firearms, I only had experience with Pop’s shotgun, but I knew enough not to accidentally aim the barrel toward me. After practicing how to hold it a couple of times with both hands, I checked the cylinder and counted four bullets. I only had four chances to get this done right.
I choreographed the scene before the iceman’s arrival. I pictured how he would enter, where I should hide the gun underneath a dish towel on the table and what I would do next. Surprisingly I didn’t feel nervous or jittery. I felt calm, almost without feelings, as if my emotions had left my body. I was ready for this. I had been ready from the time I had seen Rose’s dead body.
If nothing else, he was punctual. His knock was like a gun going off at a drag race. This was starting.
“Come in,” I called, maintaining my position by the dining-room table.
He entered wearing loose brown coveralls, carrying the block of ice in a canvas bag. Even though he was young, he was a little out of breath from carrying the ice up three flights of stairs. Perhaps because of his physical exertion or the turn of my head, he didn’t seem to recognize me from the Beauty Box.
He went straight to the Coolerator, put his canvas bag down and opened the ice-block compartment, only to see that our recently delivered ice was still largely intact.
That was when he registered that something was wrong and quickly turned toward me. I was in position and pointing the gun at him.
Keizo didn’t say anything. He watched me with his piercing eyes, while the melting ice block remained on the floor, darkening the canvas bag that held it.
“Put your hands up,” I told him. He slowly complied. His upper body was strong and wide, like the young sumo wrestlers I had seen competing against each other in Little Tokyo. I knew that if he got close enough, he could easily overpower me.
“You killed my sister, Rose Ito,” I said to him.
Finally, an expression came over his face. His eyebrows pinched together into a V. “I haven’t killed anyone,” he said.
“I know all the awful things you did to my sister. And all those other Nisei girls. You’ve gotten away with it. But not anymore.” Now my voice cracked and tears started to rush to my eyes. Darn it, Aki, stop, I told myself.
Keizo didn’t bother to deny the accusations of rape. He raised his chin in defiance. “Who’s going to report me?”
And that was what had protected him all these months. No one was going to the police. There was too much at stake if we did. As a result, we kept quiet. And Keizo freely went from one apartment to another, taking advantage of our silence.
Could I pull the trigger and kill him? That was the plan. I had been convinced that I could do it, but now my arms were shaking. Keizo smirked as if he knew that I was weakening.
He took a few steps toward me. “Shoot me then.”
“I will,” I said. And then softer, “I will.” More tears dropped down my cheeks, some landing on my lips. I was a coward. I hated myself and hated the situation our family was in.
“What’s going on?” A familiar voice roused me. Pop, for some reason, was back in the apartment. I didn’t dare look at him because I wanted to keep my eyes focused on Keizo.
“This man forced himself on Rose and made her pregnant. And then killed her.”
I feared that Pop would take the gun from my hands, but instead he took the wrench that he had left by the sink. He marched over to Keizo, who still had his hands up in the air, and walloped the side of his neck with the wrench. Keizo collapsed in pain and Pop, like a mad dog, was all over him, furiously pounding him with the wrench. As Keizo raised his arms to absorb the blows, I heard the slapping and tearing of flesh. Keizo thrashed violently like a fish on dry land, seeking an escape from the pummeling, occasionally landing punches on my father’s upper body. I felt some sense of vindication to witness Keizo’s victimization, but then I realized that Pop had gone too far.
“Stop, you don’t want to go to jail for killing him,” I called out.
“Gitaro-san, yamenasai!” my mother screamed. I had no idea when Mom had entered the apartment.
I aimed the gun at Keizo’s head as Pop stumbled away with his weapon, grimacing as he clutched at his right shoulder with his free left hand.
Keizo’s face was swollen, a pulpy mess; he almost didn’t look human. His lower arms were battered and torn. “I didn’t kill her,” he said, blood seeping from his gums and staining his teeth red. “But I saw her in the subway station. I saw who she was with.”
“Stop lying!” I shouted, continuing to point the gun at his face.
“It was a cop. It was a cop.”
“Nice story.” I had regained my confidence. I was ready to shoot him right then and there when I absorbed what he was saying. I took a couple of quick breaths. “Wait. Wait. What did he look like?”
I expected to hear tall, dark and burly.
“He was blond. And average height. Thin.”
“Stop!” Pop called out from the floor by the hallway where Mom was trying to tend to his injured shoulder. He attempted to get back on his feet but my mother kept him down.
Leaving the gun by the sink, I ran down all three flights of stairs after him, but it was too late. He had escaped, leaving behind a trail of his own blood.
My whole body felt depleted as I trudged back up the steps, smearing the drops of blood with the heels of my shoes. My boro dress was wet with perspiration. At the top of the second flight of stairs, Douglas stood.
“What happened?” he asked.
“Nothing,” I told him. The WRA was the last agency I wanted to get involved in this.
“Wait,” he commanded, and went back into Harriet’s apartment.
I was too exhausted to defy him and stood still, feeling a breeze coming through the open front door down below and cooling my body.
He returned with an envelope, which he handed to me.
“What’s this?”
“I picked up the bail money for you.”
I gratefully accepted it, not having the energy to actually say “thank you.”
By the time I returned to the apartment, the water in the tub had been turned on, presumably for Pop’s bath, and the bloodstains on the floor had been all mopped away. My mother struggled to push the new ice block into our Coolerator next to the one that was already there. I hurried to help. With much pushing, we were able to complete the task together.
As we stood hip to hip by the sink, washing our hands, my mother asked in Japanese, “That boy killed Rose?”
“I’m not sure,” I said truthfully, wiping my hands on a dish towel. “But he did hurt her. And some other girls, too.” My hands still damp, I removed the gun from the metal counter and went into the bedroom to put it away in the bento box.
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