by Carrie Asai
“He must have been pretending in order to escape. I don’t know if you know about this, Heaven, but Teddy’s wanted here on drug charges. We have evidence that he’s been financing several big deals with Colombians from the Perezosa family.”
So it was true. Teddy had lied to me. Something hot and bitter rose in the back of my throat, and I gripped the table hard to steady myself. He didn’t really care about me—he was just a big, stinking drug dealer who was on the verge of getting his sorry ass busted. Maybe he’d hoped that once we all got to Paris, he’d be the new dealer in town. I felt sick to my stomach.
“I should have just come to you guys right after the wedding,” I said, despair washing over me. “All I’ve done is to make a gigantic mess. No matter what I try to do, I always screw up—and all I’ve learned is that nobody tells the truth. Nobody.” I looked up at Detective Wachter. “But you have to realize,” I pleaded, wanting so much for one person, at least, to understand how all this had happened, “I was a different person then. I didn’t know anything. All I knew was my father’s house. I didn’t even know he was yakuza!”
“We’re going to try to help you, Heaven. But we’d like you to do something for us.” He cleared his throat. “We need you to help us bring Teddy in.”
“Like wear a wire or something?” I asked. The thought was appealing. Teddy was nothing more than a manipulative coward. I could see that now.
“Not exactly. We don’t need any more evidence about the dealing. We just need to physically get our hands on him. Our agents lost track of him after he left Autovox last night. Teddy just—disappeared. We were hoping you’d be able to help us locate him.”
“I have no idea where he is.” I wish I did so I could go find him and rip his head off, I thought.
Detective Wachter frowned. “His cell phone number?”
I nodded. “That,” I said, “I do have. But what good will it do?”
“Well,” Detective Wachter said, “that’s where you come in—you’ll call him and set up a meeting, and then we’ll arrest him.”
So I was the bait. “And if I don’t?” I said.
“Honestly?” Detective Wachter smiled a little sadly. “There’s nothing we can do. The only thing we could charge you with is car theft, and even that wouldn’t keep you here for long—and no one’s registered the car as stolen yet. But you do need our protection. And frankly, I think you’ve underestimated how dangerous the Yukemuras are. What makes you so sure that they haven’t orchestrated this whole thing? That Teddy wasn’t just playing you back there in Vegas?”
I sighed. How did I know? All I had to go on was what I’d been told. But as pissed as I was at Teddy, I couldn’t make myself believe he was totally evil and not just a goofball guy who secretly watched too many WB shows and felt like he could never live up to what his father wanted him to be. For goodness sake—he’d even cried when Ephram couldn’t get anyone to believe that Colin was seriously messed up from his coma on Everwood. And in our hotel room at Joshua Tree he’d nearly peed in his pants when he saw the America’s Funniest Home Videos clip of a tiny lizard in a party hat licking an ice-cream cone. Was that how a ruthless drug dealer behaved?
No. Teddy was spineless. A big, pathetic loser. And he deserved to get caught for saving his own ass and letting me think he’d been killed. But I knew he wasn’t responsible for what had happened to Ohiko and my father. Thinking up a plan, much less a successful one, wasn’t his thing.
“Does anything else happen to me if I don’t want to do it?” Every last bit of me wanted to help—but I wanted to make sure I had all my options straight—it felt like the first time in ages I’d actually had options.
Detective Wachter looked serious. “I have superiors who are eager to get Teddy in custody—and we’ve been looking at him for a long time. If you decide not to help us, they could make things more difficult for you. Notify the INS—who might decide to involve the Japanese authorities.” The detective raised his eyebrows. “And I think we both agree that that would be a bad thing.”
“Definitely,” I said, trying to process everything he was telling me. If the Japanese police became involved, the situation might blow up, and as soon as any of the yakuza families found out I was helping the police—it would be all over. There really would be a price on my head. Maybe more than one.
Time for me to cover my own butt for once.
“I’ll do it,” I said firmly.
“I’m glad to hear that,” Detective Wachter said. He clicked the tape recorder back on. “How about telling me how you and Hiro ended up in the speeding BMW?”
I sketched out the rest of the story distractedly. Now that I knew Teddy was alive, everything was different. When Hiro and I got out of here, what would we do? Had Yoji really known that Teddy was alive all along? It certainly seemed that way, looking back on it. And if he’d lied about that…maybe he’d lied about everything.
“Great, Heaven,” Detective Wachter said, looking at his watch. “I think it’s time to wrap up.”
“What time is it?” I asked.
“Noon,” he said. I blinked in amazement. We’d been talking for almost four hours.
“Now what?” I asked.
“Well, the most important thing is to keep you safe—and this is the safest place there is. How do you feel about staying in a jail cell? It won’t be the Beverly Wilshire, but I’ll make sure you get a decent lunch and some extra blankets.”
“As long as I don’t have a roommate,” I said. “But what about Hiro?”
“I’ll find out,” Detective Wachter said. He pressed a buzzer under the table, and the same woman cop came in and cuffed me again. “Sorry,” she said apologetically. “Them’s the rules.”
We walked back through the lobby of the precinct, which had cleared out since earlier that morning. “Wow—it’s so different,” I said.
“Yeah, Sunday mornings are always the worst—we get a lot of business on Saturday nights,” she said.
I hadn’t even realized it was the weekend. When you had no job and nowhere to be, the days just kind of flowed together.
We walked into another wing of the station house, and she led me through a series of doors into what I realized was a cell block. I peeked into the cells as we walked by and saw groups of women sleeping on cots and benches behind the bars. Miss Thing was there, considerably less than seven feet tall now that she’d taken off her platforms. A lot of the girls were wearing short skirts or hot pants and push-up bras and were lolling on the wooden benches that lined the walls of the holding cell. With last night’s makeup smudged and running, every single hooker looked like she had a pair of black eyes. And the banger chicks in their baggy jeans and bandannas seemed to actually have been beat up.
“Tell me I’m not going into a group cell,” I said, edging away from the bars.
“Don’t worry, honey,” the cop said. “We’re taking you to the maximum security unit.”
“What?” I said, shocked. “Why?”
“Because it’s empty,” she said, looking amused. “You’ll have your own room there. Nice and cozy.”
“Hey, pretty girlie,” yelled a girl about my age, huge boobs spilling out of her halter top. “Why don’t you come in here with us?”
“Yeah, Officer,” piped up another, “why’s she so special?”
“Can it!” yelled the cop. “Behave yourselves.”
Whistles and catcalls bounced off the walls around us as we went through another door that was slammed and locked behind us. The guard slid open the bars and I stepped inside. The woman cop took off my handcuffs and then the bars slammed shut. It was just me, a toilet, a sink, and a cot. In a few minutes another guard came and opened a drawer in the bars, put a stack of blankets and a pillow inside it, then pushed it through to my side.
“This should make things a little easier,” he said. I grabbed the pile of bedding, feeling like Hannibal Lecter or something. Couldn’t I just have crashed on a couch in the break room or somethin
g? I shook out the first blanket and draped it over the cot. Then another. I threw the pillow on the bed and was just about to lie down when I heard the sound of bars sliding open somewhere down the hallway. A moment later Hiro walked by, led by another officer.
“Hiro!” I shouted, and ran over to the bars of the cell. I reached my arms through, but his hands were cuffed and he couldn’t touch me. I gripped the bars instead, searching his face for clues about what he might have said to them.
“They’re releasing me, Heaven,” he said, his face pale. “You told them everything.” It was a statement, not a question.
“Yes,” I said. “It was the only thing to do.”
“Are you okay?” he asked. It occurred to me that Hiro was the only person in the world right then who cared. I nodded. Part of me wanted to reach out and touch Hiro’s sad face to comfort him, but something else held me back. I stepped away from the bars. Couldn’t he see that there was no other option? Why was that so hard for him to understand? After all, he could walk right on out of the police station and never look back if he wanted to—wash his hands of me once and for all.
“Heaven—are you sure it was the right thing to do?”
“Teddy’s alive,” I said flatly.
Hiro’s eyes widened. “Are you sure? How do you—”
“I just know,” I said sharply, cutting him off. “Take my word for it.”
Hiro shook his head. “It doesn’t change anything. Who cares what he does?”
I’d never heard Hiro talk like that about another person. I’d just told him that Teddy was alive, but I might as well have told him my nose itched for all it affected him.
“The main thing is, we don’t know what the police will do with the information, Heaven,” he continued. “Heaven?” he asked as I moved farther away from the bars. When I looked into his eyes, I couldn’t stop thinking about how he’d lied to me about his family’s yakuza history, and it seemed to me he’d done it because he just loved playing the good guy too much. Hadn’t I thought he was selfish when I’d first begun training with him? Maybe I’d been right. At least Teddy hadn’t pretended to be what he wasn’t.
“It’s over, Hiro,” I said, tiredness washing over me. I realized that when I looked at him, I felt—nothing. Just empty. “I can’t do this anymore,” I said, not exactly sure what that meant, only knowing that it was true.
Hiro’s eyes glistened, but he stepped back and allowed the guard to lead him down the hallway.
I hurled myself onto the bed and sobbed.
They’re taking me to a motel. The last place I want to be right now. I asked them why I couldn’t just go home—now that the place has been ransacked, I don’t think they’ll be coming back for more. Besides, I’m sure the guys in the SUV that was trailing us spread the word that we were taken into police custody. But no, they said, it wouldn’t be safe. As if it were my safety I cared about.
It’s Heaven they need to worry about. I could see the pain in her eyes. It was a mistake not to tell her my story—a big mistake. But when was there time? First there was Karen, and Heaven’s training, and then the madness that started in Joshua Tree that hasn’t let up since. We always had so many other things to discuss—there wasn’t time to talk about the past.
When they’ve given me my room key and stationed the guard outside, I step into the shower and wash the pain of our last battle off me. It’s deep. Watching the droplets of water bounce off the tiles, a moment of clarity opens up before me—there was time. There was plenty of time to tell her. I could have said something when we were driving back from San Diego. I could have whispered it to her over our meal at the diner before Cheryl showed up—even in the hotel room back in Mexico. The truth was that by then, I didn’t want her to know. I allowed my pride to take over—the way she looked at me was intoxicating. I’d never felt that bond with anyone, knowing how much she loved me and how much I loved her back—it was like a drug.
The truth is, I was afraid. Afraid she would hate me if I told her. Think less of me.
And she does. But not because my father is yakuza.
No. It’s because I lied to her, just like everybody else did.
I lean my head against the wall. How could I have been so stupid?
All I want to do now is sleep, to escape. The motel room is gray and shabby; I can feel the residue of the lives that have passed through this room, which is a prison in its own right. Across town Heaven’s sitting on that cot in that cold cell, all alone.
I left Japan so that I’d never have to feel this kind of despair again. And even though it was lonely and difficult when I arrived in California, there was always hope. I can’t seem to muster any of that just now. I keep thinking back to Kyoto, and how I was so lost then. But at least I knew I was looking for answers. In the Shinto religion, fire is sacred. It has the power to destroy evil, and this sacred power is celebrated yearly in the hi matsuri, or fire festival. Fire also signals the ascent of the deity, the god or goddess. Flame destroys so that new life can be born. The dual nature of the flame instructs us on the dual nature of our own paths. Back then, I still believed there was one path for me. But now I think I might have lost my way.
I draw the curtains closed, blocking out the early afternoon light. If only I could go to her, fly across town and into her cell, tell her how sorry I am. How weak it was of me to deny where and what I came from and to hide a part of my soul from her. But I can’t. I’m stuck. I have to stay here and sleep. Clear my thoughts, find the path that will lead me out of this maze.
Tomorrow, tomorrow…
Hiro
12
The smell of damp brick. Scratchy wool under my cheek. Voices murmuring in fear. I reached out to touch Hiro’s warm, sleeping body.
My eyes snapped open. No Hiro. No nothing. Gunmetal gray ceiling. Where was I?
“Heaven?” A warm voice called to me in Japanese. I must have been dreaming. “Nagai aida o-me ni kakari-masen deshita. It’s been a long time.”
I sat up quickly, the heavy, rough blankets puddling around my waist. My hair and T-shirt were damp with sweat. Jail. I was in an L.A. jail. A thin, weathered-looking Japanese man stood at the bars of the cell. He was dressed in an expensive suit and wore small wire-framed glasses. He looked vaguely familiar…. I closed my eyes. Was he some sort of spirit sent to comfort me in my sleep?
But when I opened them again, he was still there. Suddenly it all came rushing back to me. Masato. Mieko’s brother. My uncle. I’d met him for the first time the night of the wedding—well, not met, really. But I remembered staring at him curiously as my father walked me up the aisle. Growing up, I’d always heard about Uncle Masato, knew that he ran the Kogo interests in Central America. But he’d never come to Japan to visit for as long as I’d been around.
“Masato-san,” I said, bowing, my voice cracking a little. It was partly my sleepiness, partly emotion—it was unexpectedly comforting to see someone from my family after all this time, even a family member who was a stranger to me—and Mieko’s brother, no less.
“The police called your stepmother to notify her that you had been found,” Masato said. He spoke formally and stood so straight that he looked like he was about to deliver a speech to a board of directors, not hunker down for a chat in a prison cell. “She asked me to come see you.” Footsteps echoed in the hallway and soon a guard appeared to unlock the door. We were led to an interview room (a different one, this time), and I sat down across from my uncle.
“I’ve spoken with Detective Wachter. I’ve assured him that every measure will be taken to ensure your safety if you decide to place yourself under my protection.”
“Thank you, Uncle,” I said, bowing again. I was trying to make a good impression, but I wasn’t quite sure what Masato was suggesting. “Did the detective tell you about Teddy Yukemura?”
“Ah, yes…young Takeda. It’s really a shame about that boy. He’s made quite a mess of his life. The detective told me you wish to help the police get their h
ands on him?”
I nodded.
Masato sighed. “I can’t say I approve of them having you do their dirty work for them, but on the other hand, they could make it much smoother for you to get out of the country in—I believe they say, ‘one piece’?”
“So you think it’s the right thing to do?” I asked, studying my uncle’s face. I could definitely see his resemblance to Mieko—similar eyes and that surprisingly delicate nose…and he had a dose of her coldness and reserve. But there was a spark to Masato that I’d never seen in Mieko—some deeper fire that burned inside him that powered him. Both were outwardly still people, but where Mieko was languid, Masato looked wound up tight.
“Right, wrong—who can say? But the Yukemura boy has it coming to him anyway…and by leaving you, shall we say, ‘in the lurch,’ he’s proved himself nothing more than a selfish coward. Perhaps finally being caught will even help him—Yoji Yukemura and his silly wife always did spoil that boy. From what your stepmother has told me, they absolutely ruined him with their attentions.”
I listened, fascinated. None of the adults in my family, or in my family’s circle, had ever spoken to me of things like that. I sensed that my uncle Masato was the kind of person who liked to gossip—so at least we had one thing in common. But why was Masato still in the U.S.?
“And after that unpleasant business,” Masato continued, “I’ll take you back to Japan. You can stay in my villa until we get this situation under control. You’ll be perfectly safe.”
“Forgive me Masato-san,” I said, “I know you attended my wedding, but have you remained in the U.S. all this time?”
“No, no, of course not.” Masato spread his hands flat on the table and inspected his nails thoughtfully. “I flew back to Costa Rica immediately after the ceremony. I was of no use to anyone here. But as soon as I heard that your father had been attacked and was in a coma, I boarded a plane to Japan to help my sister—your stepmother, of course—proceed with the appropriate administration of the Kogo interests.”