"Counterfeits?"
"Imports from China," she repeated with a laugh. "He was the first black person to reach out his hand in friendship to my husband and me. He listened to us as we struggled with English. He told us slang words that made our customers laugh. He told us things to order that we would not have known about, like pig's feet."
"That's definitely crucial information," D said, now smiling too.
"The day of the Rodney King verdict Daniel was next door meeting with Mr. Joo, who was a wholesaler. Afterward he came to say hello to us when the footage of the Reginald Denny beating appeared on live TV. It was not very far away from where we were. Daniel asked me, Where is your husband? He had gone downtown to renew our retail license. He said, Do you have a gun? I told him my husband kept one by the cash register. He told me to go get it. He went out to his car and came back with a gun as long as his arm. I said, You think we'll need it? He said yes.
"We closed the shop and shut off the lights. Then it started. I heard shouting. I heard glass shatter and car alarms go off. It wasn't dark yet but the sky turned gray and the sun—the sun was blocked by smoke. He sat on a garbage can in front of the store. He had both guns. Mr. Joo next door also stood outside his store with a gun. Some of the other shop owners climbed onto the roof of the strip mall."
"When night fell the shooting started. I told Daniel to come inside. In the dark, who would know looter from protector? It was a sleepless night. No word from my husband. Was he alive or dead? I told your grandfather to go look after his store and his family. But he would not leave me by myself. He promised he would get me home to my girls. Soon as the sun rose we got in his big car."
"I'm driving it now."
"Oh really?"
"Yeah. It attracts attention—I'm sure it did back then."
Sun Hee laughed. "Yes. Hard car to miss. I was terrified already . . . and to ride in that boat . . ." She shook her head. "It wasn't funny then. But your grandfather—very fearless. At first I was sitting with him but it was too scary. Too much smoke. So many angry faces. I climbed into the backseat and covered myself with a coat. The police stopped us one time and looked inside. I stuck my head out and I believe the officers would have shot Daniel if I hadn't told them I was not being kidnapped. One policeman kept his gun on us and the other went to the car. I told him, People are dying and you're worried about us—he is taking me home! Finally they let us go."
"As bad as that was," D said, "you two are lucky it wasn't one of those rednecks on the National Guard. He wouldn't have even asked. He would have just shot you both."
"Well, Daniel got me home safely. I was so thankful."
"But the drama wasn't over, was it, Mother?" It was the first time Michelle had spoken in a while. "I was a little girl but I remember. Are you going to tell D that part?"
Sun Hee snapped at her daughter in Korean. It was the same tone D had heard between them earlier. Michelle was acting like a petulant adolescent and Sun Hee a scolding mother. Maybe, D thought, it was time to leave. It had been a good story. He loved hearing that Big Danny was a hero. Yet there was a private war going on here between mother and daughter that D wanted no part of. Michelle was a hottie, no doubt, but D didn't like how she'd turned him into an audience.
"My husband was at home," Sun Hee said. She stared at D with sad eyes. Michelle's face went smug. Sun Hee continued: "He'd been attacked. His car had been damaged. His phone stolen. Instead of thanking Daniel, he slapped me."
"Oh."
"And I slapped him back."
"Your grandfather's presence made my father angry—" Michelle started.
"It was mostly embarrassment," Sun Hee cut in. "He was upset he wasn't there for me, and that two little black kids had carjacked him. He never forgot it. How could he? That riot redefined our lives. By that, I mean the whole Korean community. The Koreatown you see now was built up from those ashes."
"Fire forges steel," D observed.
"Every year, when the anniversary comes around, I know it's difficult for him," Michelle said.
"You are driving your grandfather's car?" Sun Hee asked.
"Yeah," D said. "It's in the garage."
"I would like to see it."
* * *
Downstairs, Mrs. Pak stood a few feet away from Big Danny's car, taking it in silently.
"He really kept it well maintained," D said, filling the silence.
Sun Hee took a step forward, bent down, and peered inside.
"I need to wash the windows," D said.
Sun Hee didn't reply. She just straightened back up and turned around, her eyes red and wet.
"Mom, what's wrong?"
"Nothing," Sun Hee replied. "Michelle will make sure we get a good price for your grandfather's home and I will make sure your aunt has a fine house to move into. I promise you that."
"Thank you," D said.
Sun Hee turned and walked toward the elevator.
"What was that about?" Michelle asked quietly.
"Weird, right?" But D knew what was up. He hadn't been sure upstairs. But the way she'd looked at the car and her riot story had nailed it. Sun Hee Pak was the woman in that photo with Big Danny.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
R'KAYDIA HAS GAME
Al had called first and D mumbled an excuse to blow off the meeting. Night called ten minutes later and pleaded with D to show up. One of D's goals in life was to be in Amos Pilgrim's presence as little as possible, but his friends/partners seemed to feel this was a meeting about money, and since they all needed some (and he was now a comanager), D had to be there.
He was on his way to Amos's Sunset Boulevard office when he got a text from Al to instead head over to Westwood and the offices of Future Life Communications. R'Kaydia's office. Oh shit.
When D entered, R'Kaydia had just shown Night and Al the infamous Suge Knight room next to her office, while Amos sat at the desk messing with his smartphone. Amos nodded; D grunted.
R'Kaydia came over and gave him a theatrical hug, like they were the oldest, dearest friends. "So good to see you, D," she said. Amos watched this and smiled, and right then D knew that Amos understood their entire business history.
"You two know each other?" It was Al.
"We've worked together," she said, "albeit briefly. But in this business, worlds always collide."
D sat in the chair farthest from R'Kaydia's desk. He'd seen her magic act before.
Ten minutes later, Dr. Funk was singing on the desk and Night was geeking out. D glanced at R'Kaydia and yawned. In response she pressed a button on her desk and a hologram of young, pre-drug Night popped up next to Dr. Funk, chiming in on the chorus.
R'Kaydia then pushed another button and Dr. Funk's old band the Love Patrol appeared behind Night and Dr. Funk looking freaky, florid, and fantastic. The music flowed from the Dr. Funk classic to a funkified remix of Night's big hit, "Black Sex."
"I got Questlove and the Roots crew to recreate the track and had this LA funkster Dâm-Funk mix it," R'Kaydia explained.
"It's lit," said Night.
"It's the future," said Amos. "It's the visual equivalent of the DJ mash-up. We can create the concerts you always wanted to see. Dead giants collaborating with living stars. All-star jams from all kinds of eras."
"Live, or is it Memorex?" asked Al. "People today don't really know the difference anyway. People will still pay, I guess." The vet wasn't really buying the digital spectacle but he wasn't going to be too negative. Night looked toward D for his input.
At that point Amos spoke the magic words: "In order for this thing to work, R'Kaydia has to make a very generous publishing deal with the copyright owners."
"How much?" D said, turning his head toward R'Kaydia.
"I'm prepared to offer $250,000 for the exclusive use of Night's songs in the hologram space for ten years. The agreement would start from the project's launch date."
Al asked when that would be and was told two years.
D piped up: "I assume ther
e's a bonus if Night signs now. And I assume you'd want him to be a rainmaker to attract other artists to sign on. So it sounds like $500,000 to $750,000 is a better starting point for negotiations."
Everyone turned toward R'Kaydia. "Yes to $500,000, D. Of course we couldn't have a better ambassador than Night. He's got mystique, great music, and is a sex symbol."
"Thank you," Night said.
"You are all welcome," R'Kaydia replied. "Amos and I will sit down and work out all the details."
"So," Night asked, "do you have Dr. Funk under contract?"
R'Kaydia smiled. "He's proven difficult to reach."
"D's got the hookup," Night said. "Right, D?"
"Night wants to work with him, so I've been looking for him," D responded. "But R'Kaydia already knows that."
"Well, now that search is even more important." Amos spoke the words but it was R'Kaydia's eyes that sparkled.
"Night," she said sweetly, "there's more to it than just these holograms. As you may know, my partner Teddy Tapscott was a producer on Straight Outta Compton, and he's got Universal interested in a Dr. Funk biopic. If D can get us in touch with Dr. Funk, this could be a big win for you."
All eyes fell on D, who slumped in his seat and sighed.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
MICHELLE PAK MEETS AUNT SHERYL
At first Aunt Sheryl eyed Michelle Pak suspiciously. Without a word her eyes asked, How come we aren't using a black broker? D didn't want her to know he had a romantic interest in Michelle, so he stuck to the facts: she had just sold the house next door, had a roster of buyers interested in the area, and, since she wasn't black, could probably get a better mortgage from whatever bank we went to. It was logical and sad, but even as Sheryl cursed the racist bankers she acknowledged D had a point.
At the kitchen table, D couldn't help but smile when Michelle ended up sitting in the chair where, with a flick of her finger, she could have access to a Mossberg twelve-gauge shotgun. Aunt Sheryl was clearly not comfortable with this seating arrangement, especially since D sat squarely in front of the shotgun muzzle.
"My family has had a variety of businesses, but real estate is our major focus," Michelle explained. "We offer full service. We can sell this house for you and, if you wish to stay in the Los Angeles area, we can find you a new residence and help relocate you as well."
Aunt Sheryl picked up Michelle's business card. "Your family name is Pak. I know some Koreans named Park, but I've never heard of Pak before."
"There's a weird story with that," Michelle said. "When my father came over from Korea, his name was Park. Park is like Smith or Jones in America—extremely common. But the immigration officer, for whatever reason, put down Pak on the immigration form when he entered the country. My parents didn't realize the mistake until it turned up on all our paperwork. My parents couldn't really speak English, so we started as Pak, not Park, and it became difficult to change, so my mother decided we should own it."
"I bet that lazy immigration officer was Mexican."
"Aunt Sheryl," D scolded.
"I believe the officer was a white male," Michelle said. "It's just bureaucracy at work."
"I guess that's true," Aunt Sheryl conceded. "I have a lot of customers who work for the city. I know they spend as much time on Facebook as business."
"Our business," Michelle said.
"That's right," Aunt Sheryl said.
"You are an independent businesswoman, and I know how hard that can be. My mother runs our real estate business and she doesn't tolerate laziness."
"So you work for your mother?"
"Yes. My father founded the retail business but my mother got us into this."
"Working for your mother—I know that's a bitch. Not saying that she's a bitch, but, you know? I mean, my mother was as good a woman as could be, but she still worked my nerves. Too much advice. Too much I told you so."
Michelle smiled uncomfortably. "It's challenging. She has her way of handling things."
"Set in their ways," Aunt Sheryl said. "Trying to change them is like pouring mouthwash down a sewer. It's gonna smell how it smells."
And that was that. Michelle's practiced, professional demeanor cracked under Aunt Sheryl's honest, kinda country views on life. "You are so right," she finally said, smiling. "Working for your mother is very, very hard."
With that kinship established, Michelle and Aunt Sheryl did a quick walk around the house while D stayed at the table, slipping on his Bose earphones to listen to some of Night's new tracks.
* * *
Fifteen minutes later the women were back, ready to talk business. As D took off his earphones, he heard Michelle ask: "Where are you interested in relocating to?" Her glasses were perched on her nose and her fingers hovered over an iPad.
Aunt Sheryl took a drag from her cigarette and puffed out some smoke. "Hmmm, I have heard Lancaster's nice. Got friends out there."
D asked, "Isn't that in the middle of the desert?"
Michelle didn't even need to click on her little computer. "It's the Inland Empire," she said. "There's been a huge amount of development over the last five to ten years. Many African American families—young families with people in your son's age range."
"A lot of my friends have moved out there," Aunt Sheryl said. "A lot from this neighborhood. Prices are reasonable. They have big houses and condos. It's a little hot, but that's what AC is for."
"Fifteen percent of the population is African American." Michelle was now reading off her iPad. "Which is the fifth-highest concentration of African Americans in Los Angeles County. There are 32,000 African Americans in Lancaster, and 9,500 households are African American. That's a healthy percentage."
"That's a long drive, Aunt Sheryl. What about your business?"
"D, it's been shrinking. Has been for a while. Less heads in the neighborhood. But I could get a chair out there in Lancaster at this salon I know, and then keep my spot here three or four days a week. I could stack the appointments so I'd be working all day as opposed to sitting around and waiting like I do now."
D smiled. "So you've actually been planning this for a while?"
"Hell yeah. I was gonna wait until Walli was in college, but I've had it."
"I will get you a good price for this place," Michelle reassured her. "More than enough to get a bigger place out there. There's so much demand for homes in this part of LA that it'll move quickly."
"I like how you handle yourself, Miss Pak. How soon can you get all this going?"
"I can have potential buyers over to see your house tomorrow, and I will send you a link to Lancaster properties as soon as I get back to the office. Two bedrooms, right?"
"Shit, if we can afford it, look for three. We need a guest room for my nephew here. I can't wait to see if he's crazy enough to wear all black out in the desert."
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
IN THE ANTELOPE VALLEY
Lancaster is about seventy miles north of Downtown Los Angeles and on the edge of LA County. Along with neighboring Palmdale, Lancaster is the anchor city of the Antelope Valley and is noteworthy for an aerospace wall of honor called Boeing Plaza and a patch of highway that plays the William Tell Overture when cars cross it. D was curious about the musical highway but figured he'd try that route on the way back to LA.
First order of business was finding his aunt's new house. He went through the center of town along Sierra Highway and drove for about twenty minutes before he found himself on a street of well-separated two-story homes with large garages and sad bits of shrubbery. Aunt Sheryl's house was bigger than Big Danny's, but it had no porch, no trees, and you had the feeling the whole neighborhood was built five minutes ago. There was no history on this block and no stories in the homes. The land was just desert with cement on top. D figured it would be a serious battle keeping dust out of the living room.
As he pulled up he noticed a young black man in a do-rag driving past in a blue Audi. He was playing something by Future that D didn't recogniz
e, which meant D was old, though the fact that he actually recognized Future's voice worried him.
Aunt Sheryl had given him a key but when D walked in he felt uneasy. The living room was filled with new Ikea and Crate and Barrel furniture. A flat-screen TV was hanging on the wall. The place felt as modern and faceless as the family home back in LA was old and comfy. But his aunt thought character was overrated and that new appliances were God's gift.
She and Walli were in the kitchen stocking the new refrigerator and shelves with groceries, having just completed their first shopping trip as Lancasterites.
"They got some nice malls out here," she said.
"Yeah," Walli said, "we ran into more black people while shopping here than we've seen by us back home in years."
"I even saw two of my old customers. Getting paid out here already," Aunt Sheryl said.
D took a seat at the spanking-new kitchen table, which his aunt pointed out had no gun rack underneath. The purchase of this house had happened lightning-quick, less than two weeks after Aunt Sheryl first met Michelle.
Sheryl reached into her purse and pulled out an envelope, which she tossed onto the table. Inside D found $1,500. "Your girl Michelle helped us find a buyer for most of the furniture. That's your share. You know that Korean girl did us a real solid. If she was black I'd say jump on that."
"But she's not black," D responded.
"Too bad."
"But Ma," Walli said, "you like her though."
"I do. But I know how hard it is to be a black person in this country and so does D and so does any black women he would marry. Michelle don't know and ain't never gonna know. Walli, your cousin is a hardworking man and I can see he's growing. Be good for him to have a partner."
D was taken aback by his aunt's comments and told her so.
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