by Carrie Asai
I’d always hoped we’d travel back there together.
Oh God, it drives me mad when I think of the things he said! How dare he chastise me for criticizing Heaven? As if he didn’t always complain about how immature and uncommitted to her training she was? As if he didn’t tell me a hundred times that he wasn’t sure if he could help her and didn’t know if he even ought to? Was it all just a ruse so that I wouldn’t suspect anything? And if he could lie to me like that, then why should I believe the other things he told me about Heaven’s situation? Not that he told me much. That’s what I keep coming back to, what makes me think those men were telling the truth—and that Hiro and Heaven are dangerous and headed for trouble. If I don’t do something, somebody else is going to get hurt—badly.
The truth is, I don’t owe him anything. I need to do what I can to protect myself. No one else is going to. It feels like L.A. is over for me. So I’ll make the call, do the right thing, take the money, and head back to San Francisco. I just want to put all this behind me—and I should get out of this nightmare with something for myself.
Right?
Right.
Karen
6
The Hotel Bel-Air was nothing like the Beverly Wilshire.
“Is this it?” I asked Hiro as he pulled the car into a parking lot nestled among the trees. “This looks like a park.”
“Come on, Heaven,” Hiro chided. “I thought you’d know all about this place from your celebrity addiction—this is where big stars like Brad Pitt go for privacy.”
“Why, Hiro,” I said, feigning shock, “you know who Brad Pitt is?” I slammed my car door shut and we walked toward the reception house, which looked more like some super-star’s private villa than a hotel. But I guess that was the point. “This is so different from the Beverly Wilshire,” I said as we stepped into the lobby. “But I think I remember this place now. Isn’t this where they have all those little individual bungalows for people? And wasn’t there that movie where—?”
“Later, Heaven,” Hiro said, cautioning me. I snapped my mouth shut. “Concentrate on feeling out your surroundings.”
“Feels pretty swanky,” I muttered.
“What?”
“Never mind.” I scanned the lobby. A high ceiling soared above the room, and one whole wall was actually constructed of two huge glass doors that opened up onto a patio. Candles flickered on small tables throughout the lobby and out on the Spanish tiles of the patio, and comfortable-looking love seats and chaises littered the place, which was empty except for two men at the reception desk. I grabbed Hiro’s arm.
“We’re not going to get anywhere with those two.”
“I agree,” Hiro said, and we ducked quietly out onto the patio and into the darkness of the trees. The smell of flowers was sweet and heavy.
“How are we going to find Yoji’s suite?” I asked, taking in the vast gardens. You could see pinpoints of light from the various guest bungalows, but not much more. “This place looks like it goes on forever.”
“Well, the presidential suite is probably the biggest.”
“Right. And the best guarded.”
“We’re just going to have to sleuth it out,” Hiro said, slipping into the darkness. I followed him in and out of the shadows, letting him lead the way. In between focusing as hard as I could on which paths we were taking and committing them to memory, I imagined running into Colin Farrell or Nicole Kidman and scaring the hell out of them. I could see the cover of the Enquirer now: HOLLYWOOD HOTTIES’ HOT DATE CRASHED BY ROGUE SAMURAI!
“That’s it,” Hiro whispered, stopping short. I bumped into his back and out of my reverie. Rubbing my nose, I stared through the leaves and saw two dark shapes patrolling back and forth on the patio of a bungalow slightly larger than the others.
“Do you think Yoji’s here?” I asked. The windows of the bungalow were dark.
Hiro shrugged. “We have to try.” He stepped out onto the path, and I followed.
“We’re here to see Yoji Yukemura,” he said, holding up his hands to show he was unarmed.
The two shapes froze, and I saw the dark outline of two hands reaching for two hips—I prayed that Hiro had the right idea about our entrance.
“How did you get up here?”
The shapes came into the light, and I saw that neither of the guards was Japanese, which was out of the ordinary—normally someone as high-level yakuza as Yoji would use only the most trusted family retainers for his personal safety detail.
“I want to see Yoji Yukemura,” I said simply, stepping in front of Hiro.
The bodyguard stared at me for a second, then burst into laughter. “She wants to see Mr. Yukemura, Joe,” he called over his shoulder to his cohort. Joe walked up, all six foot six inches of him, it looked like, and chuckled.
“Well, no problem, Stevenson,” he said sarcastically. “Why don’t you just let the lady and her friend right in?” They cracked up, but I didn’t move. Stevenson wiped his eyes and crossed his humongous arms in front of him. He wore an electric blue suit and a heavy silver bracelet, and I could see a tattoo peeking out from under the collar of his shirt. I wondered if these two had been indoctrinated into the yakuza or if they were just a couple of Hells Angels or something. Was Yoji that desperate for security?
“Take that little path right back where you came from, girlie. And take your boyfriend with you. Mr. Yukemura’s busy.”
“Tell him it’s Heaven Kogo who wants to see him,” I said.
Instantly the smiles disappeared. Joe and Stevenson moved forward as if to grab me, but Hiro stepped between us.
“Stop,” he said, his voice cold and menacing. “We’re here, we’re unarmed, and we want to see Yoji Yukemura. Go let him know.”
Joe cleared his throat. “Better frisk them, Stevenson. I’ll go tell Mr. Yukemura.” Joe slipped behind the door and Stevenson ran his hands over us, looking for weapons.
“Watch it,” Hiro cautioned as Stevenson’s hands lingered a moment too long on my thigh. I sighed. I’d become ridiculously used to such things while I was working as a shot girl at Vibe—another short-lived stint.
Joe reemerged. He nodded and the two bodyguards led us into the suite. The rooms were dark, and it was hard to get a handle on where the exits were. The air smelled damp, as though someone had just taken a shower. As my eyes adjusted, I saw oversized furniture and a set of glass doors just like in the lobby, except smaller—and these were locked, a steel bar lowered across them. Just beyond the glass, a blue pool lit from within glittered like a giant aqua-marine. I still didn’t sense any danger, although logic told me I ought to. We were in the dragon’s lair—but it felt like any other fancy hotel room, placid and sumptuous.
Stevenson gestured to the couch and Hiro and I sat down next to each other. A shadow emerged from the room next door, and with a shock I realized that the hunched-over figure was Yoji Yukemura. He had aged years since the wedding.
“Thank you, Joe, thank you, Stevenson, that will be all,” he said, his voice rusty and broken. The bodyguards stepped back out into the hallway and Yoji sat down across from us in a heavy leather armchair. His posture telegraphed frustration and sadness—it wasn’t hard to sense, but at least I was finally gathering some information I could use.
“I’ve lost two of my men trying to get ahold of you,” Yoji said raspily, “and now you’ve walked right into my hands.” He paused, selecting a cigar from a cedar box and clipping the end off neatly. “Why are you here?”
“We were with Teddy when he was killed,” I said.
“Do you think I’m not aware of that?” he asked, lighting his cigar with a long wooden match. His voice was even, expressionless. “That can’t be all you came to tell me.”
“No,” I said, surprised to find that I felt sorry for a man I’d considered my enemy for so long. “I came here with questions to ask. But I wanted you to know that I cared about Teddy. I know you might not believe it,” I pressed on as Yoji puffed on his cigar, “but a
t times over the past few months he’s been the only person I could count on who understood exactly what I was going through.”
“What about your young friend?” Yoji asked, gesturing toward Hiro.
“It’s different,” I said. “Teddy and I were both stuck—our families used us to get what they wanted. We had nothing to do with what was happening to us.” Yoji raised his eyebrows and stared at Hiro, his eyes narrowing. He opened his mouth as if to say something, then closed it again and contemplated his cigar instead.
“With Takeda gone, you are useless to me. You knew that when you decided to come here.”
“So why have you put a price on my head? Why are your men out looking for me?” I asked, more confused than ever.
“Street talk,” Yoji said huskily, waving my words away. “As soon as I heard about the disaster in Mexico, I called my men off. You’ve been followed since you both entered the city, it’s true, but just as a precaution. As I said, with Takeda missing, how can I join our families when there is nothing to join? I, alas, remain married to Takeda’s mother, a formidable woman. So you see, I am unavailable for the task. Takeda was our only son—is our only son, I should say, since my men have not yet been able to recover a body.”
“I’m sorry, Yoji-san,” I said, “but I believe Teddy is dead. I saw them shoot him.” My voice trembled, but I pressed on. Yoji had to understand what was at stake. “He fell to the ground. If your men are telling you otherwise—they’re lying.”
Yoji’s eyes twitched for a moment, but he remained unmoved. “We each create our own reality,” he said. “Time will tell.” His voice was hollow, and I could tell he didn’t really believe Teddy was dead. I decided not to press it—I knew what coming to terms with the fact that someone you loved was gone was like. Hadn’t I refused to believe that Ohiko was dead for weeks afterward, even though I had seen the ninja slay him right in front of me, held him in my arms while he breathed his last?
“The question is, how to proceed?” Yoji said. “You must convince your father that my people were not responsible for what happened at the wedding.” Yoji’s cigar had gone out, and when he lit another match, I saw that the skin around his eyes was sagging and tired. In a flash, I understood that Yoji wanted to save the dying Yukemura empire. He believed he didn’t have very much longer to live, and he wanted to ensure the continuation of his family before he died. It was all written on his face, on the slope of his shoulders, in the careful, resigned way he relit his cigar.
“Why should I believe that?” I asked, shifting a little on the couch, trying to push down the flood of memories that threatened to overwhelm my ability to deal with the here and now. “It was certainly your men who tried to kidnap me. And your men who chased me down that night near Vibe.”
“Yes, I orchestrated the kidnapping. But we did not want you harmed. We were eager for the wedding to take place as planned. I’m sure Takeda explained to you about the money, and—”
“But what about the thugs who attacked me on the subway platform? Or the ones who followed me to Vegas and tried to kill me there?” I interrupted, forgetting myself for a moment. “You admitted you’ve been following me this whole time. And Teddy told me you were angry with him for failing in his duties.”
Yoji shifted nervously in his seat and sat up, seeming to engage in the conversation fully for the first time. “That wasn’t me,” Yoji said emphatically. “I heard about those attacks from my men. If you hadn’t been able to take care of yourself, they would have intervened. As it was, I believe Takeda got rid of the ninja who attacked you in Las Vegas. And as for Takeda—he was a disappointment.” Yoji sighed. “But is it not a father’s lot to be disappointed in his son?”
I gazed at him, and he looked back at me, his eyes clear and unblinking. I believed he was telling the truth.
“So who were they?” I asked.
Yoji shrugged. “I don’t know. If our families were joined, we could find them and crush them.”
“But don’t you see?” I asked. “If you help me find out who’s responsible for trying to destroy the Kogos, my father will have no choice but to agree to a union between our families. Honor will require it. You will have done him a great service.” Yoji sat quietly, his tired face unmoved. “And besides,” I continued, speaking quickly now, afraid that if I stopped talking, Yoji would tell us to leave, “I know you want to know who killed Teddy. And I believe that the people who killed him are the same people who put my father in a coma and murdered my brother.”
Yoji turned the long box of cigar matches over and over in his hand. The jostling matchsticks clicked rhythmically with every turn, sounding unnaturally loud in the oppressive silence of the suite.
“Don’t you want justice for Teddy?” I pleaded, refusing to give up. More than ever, I realized that Hiro and I were going to need Yoji’s resources (and protection) if we wanted to end this thing once and for all.
“What’s done is done,” Yoji said, shifting slightly in his wingback chair. “As I’ve said, if your father will agree to a union between the families, then I’m sure all this will be taken care of in time. If I were you, I would return to Japan and seek the protection of your family.” Yoji puffed on his cigar. I watched his shadowed face closely, and it was then that I knew—Yoji was actually scared of whoever it was that wanted me dead. I instinctively looked over at Hiro, wondering if he sensed it, too, but his face was blank. Goose bumps came out on my skin. If Yoji Yukemura was too terrified to confront these people, then how could there be any hope for Hiro and me?
“My father’s in a coma,” I whispered. “You know there’s nothing I can do.”
“Someone will soon be appointed head of the family if he doesn’t awaken,” Yoji said, impatience creeping into his voice. “But we can hope for the best.”
The fear and distrust in the room were becoming stifling. Something had been released into the air, and I didn’t have the strength to argue with Yoji anymore. I rose to leave.
“Thank you for your time,” I said. I heard Hiro rise and then felt the warm weight of his hand on my shoulder as he followed me to the door.
“Little Hiro Uyemoto, I see that you’ve become a man,” Yoji called after us. I stopped in my tracks. How did he know Hiro’s name? I looked at Hiro, whose hand slipped slowly from my shoulder. A muscle worked in his jaw.
“Your father works for me now,” Yoji said, his voice still tired but suddenly a bit more menacing. I had a feeling that this was the Yoji Yukemura whose name inspired fear in the streets of Tokyo and L.A., the man Shigeto pictured as he sat in his self-made prison. “Did you know that?” Yoji asked.
I gasped. Hiro said nothing and reached for the doorknob.
“Yes, he’d fallen on hard times—but he’s an invaluable addition to our organization. I’m sure he’d be pleasantly surprised if his son followed suit. What do you say, Hiro? How about coming to work for the Yukemuras? Then you can put this ridiculous American vacation behind you. It’s time to grow up, don’t you think?”
Hiro slowly lowered his hand from the doorknob. I stared at his face, searching desperately for answers. Was this really happening? Hiro, my ideal of honor and all that was right—was he, too, tainted by the yakuza’s long reach? You lied to me, I thought with dawning horror.
“If it’s our feud with the Kogos you’re worried about,” Yoji pressed on, “then clearly this conversation should assure you that we want nothing more than an end to that unpleasantness. If you do well for our family, we will adopt you as our own—and perhaps the families can be joined through you and Heaven.”
My head was spinning. I reached out to a nearby table for support and resisted the urge to look at Hiro. I was scared of what I might read on his face. Cigar smoke hung in the air, and the room seemed to revolve, as though I were looking at it from the back of a merry-go-round horse. This isn’t happening, chanted a voice in my head. Not happening, not happening.
Yoji stood up. “I know you’ve been living a life of poverty her
e in the U.S. Such self-denial is unnecessary. If you come work for me, you will have everything you desire. And I’ll be more than happy to allow you to train your own men. From what I understand, you’ve worked miracles with Heaven.” Yoji took a step forward. I forced myself to look at Hiro. Why was he listening to this? Was he actually considering Yoji’s offer? “So,” Yoji wheedled, “will you join us?”
The room was silent.
“No,” Hiro said, and opened the door. Joe and Stevenson appeared instantly to block the way.
“Everything all right, sir?” Joe asked.
“Let them go,” Yoji said. “Hiro, my offer still stands.” Yoji turned to look at me. “If you care about your friend here, then you’ll convince him to join us. Anything less would be suicide.” Yoji’s voice was threatening.
Hiro strode out of the room, pushing past the bodyguards. After a moment I followed him. His walk was stilted and awkward, nothing like Hiro’s graceful, loping stride.
I felt like I was following a stranger.
As soon as the door shuts behind them, the memories rush in. Staring out at the glowing pool I’ll never swim in, I feel transported to the time when my Takeda was a child and he and Hiro used to play together. They were very young…I doubt if either of them remembers it. Back then, Konishi used to keep his precious son, Ohiko, away from the other children, as if he were too good to mix with the likes of us. That was before the Yukemuras gained the power they had sought, before the feud started with an unfortunate killing of one of Konishi’s top men. A poor decision—one made by my father just before he died and one that changed the course of my whole life.
But Hiro has turned into the kind of man I always hoped Takeda would become: thoughtful, serious, committed. None of that hip-hop gangster nonsense, none of the dabbling in drugs and parties that clouded Takeda’s every decision, not to mention his sense of duty and honor. Unfortunately, Hiro has the same self-righteous streak his father used to have—before I broke him. I wonder if the boy realizes that his father would never have come to work for me if Hiro hadn’t left. That was what finished him. When Hiro turned his back on his family, there was nothing to prevent his father from fully embracing the yakuza lifestyle he’d flirted with throughout his career. When a man’s son turns against him, what is left for him to strive for?