The Book of the Flame

by Carrie Asai

  It was news to me that Mieko had been handling my father’s business. I’d never imagined my frivolous, subservient stepmother being capable of that—she could administer her shoe rack, and that was about it. I assumed that Masato must be pretty much handling everything, but that was a little odd, too—after all, my father had several close advisers who had to be more familiar with the day-today operations of Kogo Industries in Japan than Masato could be after twenty years out of the country.

  “How is my father?” I asked quietly.

  “Konishi is much the same. Some of the doctors think he will wake up any day, others say the prospects are grim. You know these physicians, with their fancy degrees”—Masato waved one manicured hand dismissively—“nobody knows anything. They poke and prod with their instruments, but at the end of the day their guess is only as good as anybody else’s.” Masato sighed. He was quite a character. And I sensed that he was in no hurry to have my father wake up. The question was, how was Masato going to protect me from Mieko? I wanted to ask him, but I decided to wait until I had a better idea of exactly how close he and Mieko were at this point.

  “Do you know who sent the ninja to the wedding?” I asked.

  “Mieko and I have put the best men on it. Or rather, I myself have been leading an investigation that I believe is almost complete. You know your stepmother can be, shall we say, something of a hindrance in these matters.”

  I smiled. Did I ever. Mieko was a chronic naysayer—no matter what was suggested, she always acted like you’d asked her to do something totally inconceivable—like wear black with navy blue or something tragic like that.

  “I’m almost positive we’ve discovered the culprit, Heaven,” Masato said, pushing his small glasses up on his nose. “A traitor—someone who is very close to the Kogo family. Someone with enough knowledge to make it look as if Konishi himself was responsible.”

  “Who?” I asked, flipping through a mental Rolodex of my father’s closest advisers and friends.

  “Ah, ah, ah,” Masato said, wagging his finger at me. “All in good time. When we return to Japan, I will let you read the evidence we have amassed. Then you will see the face of the man who planned these attacks…and you can have your revenge.”

  “How long do you think it will be before you can act?” I asked, clenching my fists. Just thinking about the people who had killed my brother made my arms and legs tingle the way they always did just before a fight.

  “A month, maybe less.” Masato shrugged, then leaned forward. “That is why you must come with me back to Japan. You’ll be much safer there than here in the U.S. Plus you’ll be there when your father wakes up. Right at his bedside.”

  “If he wakes up,” I said dully. With each day that passed, I was losing hope that he ever would.

  “He’s going to wake up—you have to believe it. Your father is a strong man. Imagine that he’s simply conserving his impressive strength right now, coiling it around him like the cobra before it strikes!” Masato raised his fist, eyes blazing, and I shrank back in my chair a little bit. There was definitely a fury inside him—and that might make him the perfect ally. On the other hand…I had no idea how deep Masato’s own yakuza connection went. He could be as twisted as the rest of them—and there was no guarantee that if my father didn’t wake up, Masato would end the Kogo-Yukemura feud.

  “With all due respect, Uncle,” I said tentatively, rubbing my tired eyes, “in the last few months I’ve learned all about Kogo Industries—all about it. Maybe I was naive, but learning about what our family does has been a shock to me.” I knew I was walking a fine line—I wanted him to feel he could tell me the truth about our family, let me know if he, too, disapproved, but I didn’t want to scare him away from letting me know how things really stood.

  Masato studied me for a moment, his eyes hard and steely behind the shiny lenses of his glasses. “Do you know why I became head of the Kogo operations in Central America?” he asked.

  I shook my head. “I have no idea. No one ever spoke of it.”

  “No, they wouldn’t have,” Masato said thoughtfully, staring off into the distance. “The truth is that I learned what your father was up to only after I started working for him. By that time he was engaged to my sister—the match had been announced, the ceremonial clothing was being made…. I begged her not to marry him when I found out about his…”

  “Yakuza connection?” I offered.

  “Tsk, tsk,” Masato clicked, “such a nasty word. Shall we say, his particular ‘brand of business’? Things were much different back then. None of this running around that young people do today. Back in our day, once the engagement was announced, that was the end of it. To break the engagement would have brought great shame to our family. Mieko would never have found another suitable match. She would have appeared to be ‘damaged goods,’ as they say.”

  In spite of myself, I made a face. Maybe that explained why Mieko had been so unsympathetic when Konishi had announced that I would marry Teddy. She probably figured if she’d had to do her duty, then I could do it, too.

  “Distasteful, I know, but sadly, the truth,” Masato continued. “I vowed to continue working for ‘the business’ in hopes that I could ultimately convince Konishi to follow the, as they say, ‘straight and narrow.’ I thought that once Mieko knew she was going to have a child—your poor brother, Ohiko—that Konishi would change his ways. But he was in too deep. He brushed me off like a fly whenever I spoke to him about it. Yes, just like a fly, swatting me away with no more thought than if I had been a tiny, buzzing insect.”

  I stared at Masato. There was no malice in his voice. It was as if he was telling a story that had happened to someone else, that he had heard once long, long, ago, and one that now made no difference to him whatsoever. His lack of bitterness surprised me—I knew how it felt to fight against something and feel like no one was listening. I spent a lot of time feeling like that.

  “But you know,” Masato continued, “Kogo Industries owns a great number of legitimate business operations. The farther one gets from Japan, the looser the hold of those disturbing elements you mentioned earlier. In fact, that is how I ended up in Central America—your father was tired of hearing my complaints. He didn’t want to be reminded that once he was the type of man who would have scorned any association with such bottom-feeders. So he shipped me off to handle the Central American operations, and after a time I learned to love Costa Rica, Guatemala, Nicaragua. I was traveling constantly, and before I knew it, the years had passed and I’d built a life for myself.”

  “Didn’t you miss Japan?” I asked, trying to imagine how I would feel if I knew I had to stay in the States for the rest of my life.

  “At first,” Masato answered slowly, “of course. I found the Central Americans barbaric and their food appalling. But regardless of all else, your father is a generous man. I was being paid handsomely. I had a house built in the Japanese style, and a chef was sent over from Tokyo to prepare my meals. Handled correctly, the seafood in Costa Rica is stupendous. I learned to appreciate the beauty of my surroundings—so wild and carefree. I knew if I returned, it would only cause problems for your mother, so I stayed away. Our parents were dead, I had no wife…. On vacations I would go to New York City, or Tuscany, or skiing in Switzerland. Yes, a very nice life, all things considered. I have no regrets.”

  I rubbed my eyes again, trying to keep my thinking straight. “Do you think my father could be convinced to break with the yak—the ‘bad elements’?” I asked, remembering at the last minute my uncle’s distaste for the word.

  “Why not? I’m sure his brush with death will cause him to rearrange his priorities. It is always so. And from what I understand, he dotes on you.”

  “I don’t know about that,” I said, forgetting for a second that I was trying to be polite. Doting was not really up Konishi Kogo’s alley.

  Masato ignored me. “Perhaps if you come back to Japan and are with him during his recovery, he will agree to, shall
we say, ‘go straight.’ Especially after all that’s happened—it might just be enough to make him see reason after all these years.”

  “Do you really think so?” I asked, cringing at the childish, hopeful sound of my own voice. I wanted nothing more than to have my father back, and to have him back the way he was before I knew about his real business. Back when he was just a very wealthy businessman and a strict, sometimes even harsh, father. That was better than having him be a crime lord.

  “Who knows?” Masato said, gently shrugging again, in what I was realizing was a trademark gesture of his, almost a tic. “He is growing old now, and with Ohiko gone, he has far less to lose by cutting ties. They’ve already struck at the roots of his tree—why not shake off a few more leaves?”

  “Why not?” I echoed Masato’s words. I wanted to believe that such a future was possible.

  “So…,” Masato said, his silky-smooth voice lulling me deeper into my fatigue, “will you accompany me back to Japan?”

  I stared down at the table. I was feeling groggy and confused, and Masato’s words seemed to float in my head in a big, disconnected mass. I couldn’t really make sense of what he had told me, although I understood it. It was like my brain had stopped being able to process how his story fit in with everything else I knew. I tried to concentrate—now it seemed clear that the Yukemuras had been responsible for everything. But back in Yoji’s hotel suite, I’d been equally convinced that there were other, unknown forces eager to destroy the Kogos and the Yukemuras.

  Then again, I’d been wrong a lot more than I’d been right over the past few days. Maybe it was time to accept that whoever it was I was running from, my family was the safest place to run to.

  And then there was Masato, my newfound uncle—what to make of him? I peeked across the table. He was thin and somewhat frail looking, and as I watched, he picked a piece of lint calmly off his pants and flicked it toward the corner, his nostrils flaring slightly. I got the impression he was finicky—certainly not imposing in the way my father was—a bit weak, perhaps. He didn’t seem particularly kind, but he wasn’t cruel. Maybe a little sad and lonely, affected, kind of professorial…

  Aaaaagh—my mind was wandering. I stopped looking at him and focused again on the table, trying to let the web of perception I’d gained access to do the work for me. But I was drawing a blank. My nerves were frayed. The reception was foggy. I was operating on not nearly enough sleep. Come to think of it, how long had I slept? Five hours? Less?

  “What time is it?” I asked, realizing all at once that I was dangling out of time again and wondering suddenly about Hiro.

  Masato looked at his watch. “Eight o’clock. Time for dinner. If you leave with me now, I’ll have something delicious brought to your hotel room. The finest sushi and an excellent sake. We’ll celebrate the end of this little adventure of yours. And you can take care of police business tomorrow.”

  “And when we get back to Japan?” I asked. “Will I be free to do whatever I choose?”

  Masato raised his eyebrows. “What do you mean?”

  I plucked up my courage. “Will I be able to go to university? Keep my own schedule? See who I please?”

  “Ah.” Masato adjusted his suit coat. “I think I can assure you that your stepmother wants nothing so much as your happiness. I see no reason why you should not be able to continue your education. As for the other freedoms…certainly you can go shopping, visit restaurants. With bodyguards, of course. At least until we have this, ahem, unfortunate situation under control.”

  For the first time I thought about what it would actually mean for me to be going back to Japan—it meant going back to all the luxuries I’d done without all this time. A chef, good food on demand. A change of clothes every day and more than that if I wanted it. What’s more, I could live the life I’d always wished Konishi would let me have. I could apply to university and get my degree—art history, maybe. And in the meantime there’d be leisure. Swimming and reading magazines and…and…

  Not much else. Ohiko was gone. Katie was in Vegas. I had no friends. Mieko didn’t like me, even if she wasn’t trying to kill me. And Hiro.

  “What about—” I started, then caught myself.

  “Yes?” Masato said, raising his eyebrows expectantly.

  I’d been about to ask where Hiro was. But suddenly I didn’t want to know. Time enough to ask about that tomorrow. I felt like I had to make this decision on my own. Whatever happened between Hiro and me, it would have to fit into the choices I was making for myself. For my own life.

  “With all respect, Uncle, I need some time to think about this decision,” I said, speaking as formally as I could—the way I used to talk to my father. “I appreciate your offer, and I know you want the best for me. Could you possibly come back tomorrow? I’ll give you my decision then.”

  “Do you really want to spend any more time in this wretched place?” Masato asked, his face faintly disgusted. “Why not come with me and think about it later?”

  “I need to be alone now to sleep and meditate,” I said.

  “Very well,” Masato said, pushing his chair back from the table. I could tell all the talk about dinner had made him eager to get on with his own. “You decide whether you want to accompany me back to Japan. If you do, I will return the day after tomorrow on my way to the airport. A ticket will be ready for you should you decide to use it. If you prefer to come with me earlier and leave the police to their own little shenanigans with Takeda, just tell that detective—I’ll send a chauffeur to pick you up whenever you call, day or night.” He stood up. “Which I highly recommend you do.”

  I stood. “Domo arigato—thank you, Uncle,” I said, bowing. “I enjoyed our talk, and I appreciate you being so honest with me.”

  “I trust I will see you soon, niece.” Masato rapped on the door and the guard came in. With another bow Masato was gone, and I was taken back down the long hallway to my cell.

  Dude, I could not believe it when Heaven called me! That’s insane! I mean, I was sure I’d really screwed the pooch on that last one. Yeah, it sucked that I left her in Tijuana or whatever, but I figured they wouldn’t hurt her. They wanted her alive—I knew that, or else I would have gone down fighting. I mean, when all’s said and done, I still love the lady, you know?

  But man, I was just so pissed about that stupid Hiro thing! What is she thinking? The guy’s a loser with a capital L-O-S-E-R. He’s all, like, Mr. Silent Tough Guy Jet Li. Whatever. Kiss my badass butt, G. I mean, come on. That shit’s so old school, it’s not even cool. And she totally bought it just because the cat looks good in a pair of motorcycle pants. Big friggin’ deal. Where I come from, he’d get his ass housed in about ten seconds.

  She said one of my peeps called her with my number. I wonder who it was? I mean, I know I talk about her a lot, but still. Seems weird that Max or Rico would do something like that. Anyway, sounds like this Hiro’s out of the picture now, and she’s ready for some Teddy-style lovin’. I told her we could still leave the country like we planned and get married. I just need to finish this one last deal, and then we’ll have such mad bank we won’t need jack from no -body. We’ll set up house in Switzerland or something and I’ll treat her like a queen. Just me ’n’ her. It’ll be awesome.

  I think she was pretty into it. She was so cute, all, like, ‘Teddy, you scared me to death! I thought you were dead!’ It was nice to know she cared ’cause honestly, when I crawled my sorry butt off that dusty patch of Mexico, I thought she’d never want to see me again.

  I did kind of leave them in a spot there….

  But whatever. No harm done. Teddy Yo Yo YO is back in action! We’re going to meet up tomorrow out at the planetarium—I’ll give her a wad of cash so she can get pretty and a ticket—and the passport. I took those with me when I ran. We’ll meet up in Paris, first, I think, and get married there.

  It’ll be like a music video. We’ll get married on the Eiffel Tower or in Notre Dame or somethin’. Real blingy, with
fine wine and lots of partyin’. I’ll be so loaded, I won’t be able to see straight. With cash, I mean, not the liquor. I don’t think she’s a big boozer, but that’s okay. She’s not some useless party ho—I’m done with those.

  She’s mine. My piece of Heaven. And I’ll get to see her tomorrow night.

  Can’t wait.

  Teddy

  13

  The control room was packed. Plainclothes detectives and cops in uniform ran back and forth among the tightly crammed desks, and up on the wall hung a huge map of the planetarium grounds stuck with pushpins. (I only knew it was the planetarium because someone had written PLANETARIUM at the top in big, sprawling, Magic Marker letters.) After an afternoon and night of tossing, turning, and thinking on my cot, the activity was something of a shock. I was grateful when Detective Wachter loomed up out of the chaos.

  “Heaven, come this way,” he said gently, taking my arm and leading me through the crowd. As we walked through the room, the people we passed stopped talking and stared.

  “Why are they staring at us?” I whispered.

  “They all know who you are,” Detective Wachter said. “You’re something of a legend around here, you know. We’ve been looking for you for months.”

  It was a strange feeling—almost nostalgic. Back in Japan, I’d been something of a celebrity. Not only had I been the sole survivor of that plane crash, but I was Konishi Kogo’s daughter—and my father was a household name. In Tokyo, at least. But I’d had no idea that so much effort had been put into finding me here in the U.S. If I had known, I would have given up a long time ago.

  And now all these people were searching for Teddy. And I was going to help them.

  “This is Detective Martin—she’s going to be explaining all the details of the sting to you.” Detective Wachter led me to a desk behind which sat a woman with short, dark brown hair and wide eyes. She stood up and held out her hand, and when I took it, she gripped my hand in a power grip. Detective Martin was hot—about three inches taller than me—and I instinctively looked from her to Detective Wachter and back again. Was something going on there?