by Carrie Asai
“It’s so peaceful,” Hiro said wistfully. I was pretty sure his reverie didn’t include a star-studded cocktail bash. Screw perception—I wished I could just pry open his head and read his brain.
“Doesn’t it rule?” Cheryl said. “Much better than that dump we were staying at on Dawson Street, huh, Heaven?”
“I liked our place,” I said. My father’s house wasn’t as high-tech and modern as this one (except for his office, of course), but it was beautiful in its classic Japanese way—and just as cold. My room had been an oasis in a house where everything was always in the right place, where the rooms were always clean and the heirlooms were never touched. Moving in with Cheryl had been a blast. I’d loved the clothes on the floor, magazines strewn around the living room, dirty dishes piled up in the sink—and lots of crappy TV whenever I wanted.
“It was cozy,” I said. “I think that’s why I liked it.”
“Cozy?” Cheryl said, snorting a little. “That’s one word for it, I guess. You could also say messy and cramped. Hey, did I tell you there’s maid service here? She comes twice a week, so I don’t have to do a damn thing.”
“Why couldn’t the maid just look after the house while the owners are gone, do you think?” Hiro asked.
“Beats the hell out of me,” she said, laughing. “They probably think she’ll steal some of their precious weird art or something if no one’s around to keep an eye on her.”
Cheryl lit another cigarette with shaky hands. I remembered how she hadn’t really eaten anything that night, and everything she’d been through, and how I’d let her go home by herself the night of the fire. She would never have done that to me. Suddenly I felt terribly guilty for harping on the whole drug thing. It was probably just a phase—she’d snap out of it.
“Who wouldn’t want their very own bird-man-camel sculpture?” I joked, and threw my arm around Cheryl. She stiffened under my touch, and I drew away. Her eyes had hardened, and the air between us suddenly felt sticky with a new emotion—the set of her mouth looked angry. “I think it’s bedtime for us,” I said, trying to smooth over the moment. Maybe the dope or whatever was making her paranoid.
Cheryl stubbed out her cigarette, and her face relaxed. “Shit. I’m sorry. You guys must be totally beat. Let’s go back downstairs.”
Back in the apartment, Cheryl took us up the staircase to the second level. Rooms radiated off a central space with an arched ceiling—sort of a honeycomb effect. After showing us the master suite, where she was staying (bedroom, sitting room, walk-in closet, dressing room, sauna—the works), Cheryl led us to our bedroom.
“Here we go, the honeymoon suite,” Cheryl joked. “This should be just about perfect for you guys.” Cheryl winked at me and my face grew hot. The room had a huge king-size bed in it. There was a square, cream-colored armchair in the corner with a small table next to it and a floor lamp, and that was it. Two large abstract oils painted in camouflage colors hung above the bed. I avoided looking at Hiro. I’d much rather have had my own room, but I didn’t feel like explaining anything to Cheryl. In fact, I was finding it draining having Cheryl around at all.
“Night, kids,” Cheryl said with another wink after throwing some towels on the bed. The door clicked shut, and Hiro dropped his duffel on the floor, then sat on the bed.
“Heaven, about earlier—”
“I can’t,” I said harshly. Hiro lay still, his hand over his eyes. I reached out and pulled his hand away. He turned to look at me. “I’m sorry,” I said, “but I think we should just sleep.”
“Okay,” he said, and kissed the palm of my hand. He rolled over and scooted under the covers. “Good night,” I whispered, but he was already asleep. I’d forgotten that he hadn’t had the benefit of a nap in the car that morning. Had it really only been this morning that we’d been in San Diego?
My eyes snapped open. I could hear breathing in the dark room, and my chest tightened with fear before I realized the breathing was my own. It came back to me in a rush: I was in Cheryl’s sublet. Hiro was sleeping next to me, a warm body under the covers. I closed my eyes and tried to clear my mind. Best to go back to sleep. Who knew what the day would bring?
But sleep wouldn’t come. In the night, with nothing to distract me, there was too much to remember. Teddy, Shigeto, Yoji—and the same strange feeling of “not rightness” I’d had ever since Cheryl had sat down with us in the diner. I rolled out of bed and stretched my legs. I was still in my gi pants and T-shirt, and my body felt stiff and unfamiliar. In the bathroom a small digital clock embedded in the wall flashed the time: 5:20. Soon it would be light. I splashed water on my face and examined my various bruises. No improvement there.
I decided to go downstairs and surprised myself by toying with the idea of bringing the Whisper along. No—that was idiotic. What would Cheryl say if she woke up to find me downstairs, a gigantic sword in my lap? Besides, looking for a glass of milk wouldn’t be dangerous. I shook my caution away. Back on Dawson Street, Cheryl hadn’t been exactly on top of keeping things like milk and eggs in the fridge, but with any luck the maid who came in twice a week was doing the shopping.
The apartment was still as I crept down the stairs, but a glow emanated from the living room. Cheryl hadn’t turned off the fire. I tiptoed into the gleaming metal kitchen. Yes! A carton of milk was nestled in among the bottles of beer. I sniffed it. Seemed okay.
I took my glass of milk back to the sofa and sat down in front of the fireplace. Looking around the room, I realized what had been bothering me so much before—there was nothing in the apartment that said anything about the people who lived there. All you could tell was that they were rich and liked a modern look. No family photos, no little pieces of bric-a-brac. Even my father’s house had pieces that clearly had been in the family for a long time. Everything in this living room looked like it had been bought all at once…but maybe that was what happened when you owned more than one place on more than one continent.
I ran my hands over the creamy leather of the couch. The furniture was much more expensive than I’d previously thought—well-made stuff, Italian. The kind of thing you had to special order. My stepmother, Mieko, had always had design books around, and I’d enjoyed flipping through them out by the pool. I sighed. That had been my life at one point—lessons in the morning, swimming laps in the afternoon, and drinking big glasses of iced green tea.
The fire started to feel too warm, so I wandered over to the inlaid marble table by the balcony doors. Cheryl’s handbag was balanced precariously on the table’s edge, and half the stuff inside was spilling out. I gently nudged the bag back to solid ground. A bunch of scrawled-on receipts, some pens. Tubes of Chap Stick and hand lotion. Before I could stop myself, I gingerly reached out and shifted the pile, curious about what else might be in there. Sticks of gum, a half-empty pack of Camels. I shook the bag a little bit, spilling out more of its contents. My heart was pounding.
A lighter. A compact. A pair of underwear. I had to smile—Cheryl had always said you should carry around an extra pair “just in case.” It was all pretty much what I had expected. I flicked through the scraps of paper.
A thin pink slip caught my eye. At first I thought it was just another credit card receipt. I picked it up and squinted to read it in the firelight. Los Angeles National Bank. It was a deposit slip.
For twenty thousand dollars.
I read it again to be sure I had the amount right. Yep. Twenty grand. I dropped the slip on the table, my heart pounding harder now. I was willing to bet Cheryl’s parents weren’t in the habit of handing out twenty thousand dollars checks, especially when they’d already set her up with a place to live—rent-free. So who’d given her the money? I pushed part of the pile back into the handbag along with the deposit slip and grabbed Cheryl’s car keys, shoving them into my pocket.
Suddenly I knew. Hiro and I had to get out of here. Now.
I dashed to the stairs. Halfway up I stopped. Footsteps. I froze. A door opened, then closed. A
cough. Cheryl’s.
I vaulted back down the stairs, using all my training to keep my footsteps soundless. In the living room I stared around me in dismay. Not only was it just starting to get light out, but the openness of the room meant that there was nowhere to hide. I couldn’t let Cheryl know I was awake.
Her footsteps grew louder. In a minute she’d be downstairs. I leapt into the kitchen and searched for any kind of nook and cranny. I opened one of the lower cabinet doors to wedge myself inside, then noticed they all had glass doors set into the stainless steel frames. Not only would she see me, but she’d think I’d finally gone totally insane.
A beam. Without thinking, I shimmied up the beam and across the ceiling to the darkest part of the room, letting myself dangle horizontally from my arms and legs. You’re an idiot, Heaven, said a voice in my head. Like she’s not going to notice you pulling a Spiderman up on the ceiling. I prayed that she’d looked up at the twenty-foot ceilings enough times not to have to look up now. I concentrated on using my masking technique, shinobiiri, and on keeping my breathing soft and even, in sync with the regular rhythms of the room, like the hum of the mammoth fridge.
I heard Cheryl’s footsteps in the living room, and soon she was in the kitchen, carrying a cordless phone. She was wearing the same clothes she’d had on earlier, and from the looks of them, she’d never been to bed. She punched some numbers into the phone and then tucked it between her ear and neck. She opened the fridge and stared inside.
“They’re here,” she said, slamming the door of the fridge shut. I held my breath. Cheryl listened for a moment to a man’s voice I could just barely hear on the other end of the line. “Karen called me from the dojo. I followed them from there.”
Cheryl paused, listening. “All right,” she said, “I’ll be ready. You be ready with the rest of the money.”
10
Cheryl clicked off the phone, and I heard her toss it onto the sofa. I started breathing again as I listened to her slide open the balcony door and slip outside. I strained my ears—it was just like being a big bat—and when I heard the hiss of a match, I knew she had stepped outside for a smoke. I slid down the beam and, masking myself in the shadows, crept as quickly as I could up to our bedroom.
“Hiro,” I hissed, kneeling by his side of the bed.
His eyes snapped open. “What is it?” he said, instantly awake.
“It’s a setup,” I whispered fiercely. “I heard Cheryl talking to some guy on the phone—she said Karen called her from the dojo and she followed us from there.”
“Do you have any idea who Cheryl was talking to?” Hiro asked, sitting up and running his fingers through his hair, totally alert.
I shook my head.
“Let’s get out of here,” he said, pulling on his sneakers. “Cheryl can’t stop us from leaving, but whoever she called might be able to.”
I pawed through the duffel and grabbed the Whisper. Hiro shouldered the bag and we dashed down the stairs. Just as we reached the living room, Cheryl stepped inside from the balcony.
“Hey!” she shouted. “What are you guys doing?”
At the same moment the front door burst open and four men stepped into the room. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Cheryl scoot into the kitchen, out of harm’s way. Hiro was already flying into the fight, arms spread.
One of the thugs hurtled toward me and I snapped around, pleased at the crunch my roundhouse kick made when it connected with his face. It was only when he went down that I saw he was one of the same guys who’d raided our hotel room in Mexico.
“You again,” I gasped. A jolt of adrenaline flowed through my veins as I unsheathed the Whisper. These were the guys who’d killed Teddy—and they were going to have to pay.
One down. Hiro was holding off two others on the far side of the room. I prepared to engage thug number two—this guy was Japanese, and he knew his stuff. He was carrying a bo—a long stick he wielded like a sword. He didn’t just lumber toward me like the other guy had but skillfully herded me up against the counter, blocking my sword attacks with the bo. Stupid, Heaven, stupid, I said to myself. I knew better than to get backed against the wall. Block, punch, slice, block. Low block. My attacker kicked—dumb. We were too close for that. I grabbed his ankle and torqued it, using my counterweight to throw him off balance, then thwacked him with the side of my sword—I still couldn’t bear the thought of impaling someone. He toppled, knocking over one of the metal statues. It only bought me a second, but it was enough time for me to push away from my tight spot. I vaulted over the counter and into the kitchen.
Cheryl sat cowering in the corner by the fridge.
“Why?” I yelled, watching the thug as he approached for more. Supporting myself between the countertops, I double kicked, driving him back. I jumped forward, and we engaged again, his bo crashing against my katana. If Hiro had had the sword, he would have been able to crack the bo in half with it—I just didn’t have enough strength. I ducked and dodged, trying to find an opening for the blow that would finish him. “Why did you do this?” I repeated, screaming out my rage and frustration as I tried to hold off the thug.
“Because you almost got me killed, you bitch!” Cheryl shrieked. “Besides, how do I know anything you told me is even true? What if they’re the ones telling the truth? You used me!”
Her words echoed in my head as I fought my way back out of the kitchen. Hiro had knocked out one of this attackers, who lay draped in front of the gas fire. Now the room was filled with the soft blue light of dawn, making it harder to use the shadows to slip around and surprise the goons. Mustering all my strength, I moved in for the kill, and with a grunt I swung the katana with all my strength at my opponent’s arm, slicing through the skin. He moaned, then stumbled as the bo dropped from his hands. Then he came back for more. He was unstoppable, and my strength was flagging.
“Hiro!” I shouted, my words followed by a huge crash. Hiro had picked up one of the smaller sculptures and clocked his second guy over the head with it. Crack… the sound of his skull breaking was sickening, yet satisfying. I sensed Hiro jumping over the fallen thug as a mighty kick from my guy doubled me over and the katana went flying out of my hands. It was all I could do to block punch after punch—I was too worn down to get back on the offensive, and soon we were both fighting with my attacker. Hiro spun to the left, following the movement through with a thrust kick. The thug keeled over. Hiro felled him with a snap kick to the solar plexus. Boy, he was good.
“Let’s go,” Hiro said, grabbing my hand. I reached out and picked up the Whisper, wiping its blade quickly on the white throw rug, leaving a swath of dark red blood.
“You’re just going to leave me here?” Cheryl called. “What if they do something to me?” she screamed, stumbling out of the kitchen. She looked so thin and pale, like a ghost—No, I corrected myself. Like a worm.
“You made your decision,” Hiro said coldly, “and now you have to live with it.”
“You’re a liar!” I yelled. Cheryl recoiled as if I’d hit her. “Parents, my ass—I should have known you’d never live in some dump in Hollywood if you didn’t have to. You’re just a moneygrubbing—”
“Come on, Heaven,” Hiro interrupted, gently tugging at my hand.
I pulled away. I was just getting started. “How could you do this?” I said, stepping toward Cheryl, who cringed away from me like a beaten dog. “Don’t you know those people want to kill us? Do you understand that? This is not just some silly game!”
“They told me they wouldn’t hurt you guys…,” Cheryl pleaded, twisting the fabric of her shirt.
“You disgust me,” I spat out, and turned around.
“Screw you!” Cheryl wailed. “You left me to die in that house. And now I have to live with that for the rest of my life. Look at me. Look at me!”
I looked. With one swift movement Cheryl pulled her shirt off over her head and stood in front of us, wearing only a skimpy cotton bandeau.
Her skin was covered in ug
ly red blisters. Her arms had been badly burned, too, and the wounds were covered in Vaseline. They glistened. It wasn’t as bad as it could have been, but it was pretty bad. Well, I thought, that explains her new look, anyway. I felt a twinge of guilt that I quickly shoved away. She’d almost gotten us killed.
“Do you see what you did to me? I’m going to be a freak for the rest of my life because of you!” Cheryl’s eyes were wild. She was clearly losing it. “I can’t even wear a regular bra because it hurts too much!”
“Heaven didn’t set that fire,” Hiro snapped. “The people you’ve been working for did.”
“Let’s just go, Hiro,” I said. I looked at Cheryl one last time. “You’re not worth any kind of explanation,” I seethed. “You deserve whatever happens to you.”
Hiro and I ran to the elevator. I punched the elevator button.
“No,” Hiro shouted, “stairs.”
We hurled ourselves out the front door into the stairway and took the stairs three at a time, jumping down to the landings as fast as we could.
“Now what?” Hiro gasped, about ten flights down. Only fifteen flights to go.
I fished Cheryl’s car keys out of my pocket. “I’m on it.”
We burst into the parking garage and I tossed Hiro the keys as we jumped into the BMW.
“Over there!” I yelled. We’d just been spotted by a group of men wearing black suits and sunglasses. As two of them ran toward us, the others turned around and jumped into a black SUV. Hiro threw the BMW into reverse and we squealed out of the parking lot.
I reached over and grabbed Hiro’s seat belt, pulling it across him and locking it in place. Then my own. Hiro jammed on the horn as we rocketed out of the parking garage without slowing down.
“To your right!” I yelled as a white minivan barreled toward us. Hiro swerved, and we narrowly avoided the car. Through the back windshield I could see the SUV gaining on us. “Go, go!” I screamed.