Angelique, Gabrielle, and Haruna deadpanned instantly. “What?”
Tracy had a smug smile, one that was at best out of place.
“Funny story. I tried explaining everything to my parents—surprisingly enough they believed me, but they couldn’t get over it. They were going to make a big thing with the school until—guess who shows up? Debbie, Arlen, and their mom.”
“No way!” Gabrielle shouted, aghast.
“It’s not what you think,” Tracy said waving a dismissive hand. “Apparently Arlen ratted out Debbie to their mother—who’s actually a nice person—so she came to apologize and made Debbie apologize too. They're going to talk to the school to work out some kind of record sweep. Apparently they do that when you're rich enough.”
“So what was that like? Them just showing up?” Haruna asked.
“A little weird at first. But not bad. They stayed for dinner. They loved the naan.”
The girls listened on, giving their full attention as Tracy spoke, her eyes glittering like stars. In the beginning, Haruna couldn’t understand how Tracy was able to date Arlen in spite of his sister. Or how she was able to forgive Debbie despite her hateful words and actions. Debbie and Arlen’s parents had divorced bitterly, and Debbie was bitter because their mother had remarried. So Debbie took her anger out wherever she could—in this case, on Tracy. People often do terrible things, Tracy had said. Things they don’t always mean. Haruna didn’t understand Tracy’s level of forgiveness, but it helped Haruna resolve to find her own.
"So I take it you and Debbie are friends again?" asked Angelique.
"Oh hell to the never," Tracy decried flippantly. "But I'm not going to let her ruin my life. Ohmygosh—you should see their half-sister. I forgot to mention they brought her too. She’s like, seven months, but she’s so cute—you should just see Arlen with her…” Tracy gushed.
Haruna was in awe. Despite what had happened, Tracy was happy. So happy. And in love. That’s, at least in part, what allowed Tracy to get over everything. Maybe. Could Haruna ever be that strong again? Would she ever be so happy? Haruna put her own woes on the back burner long enough to bask in her friends' presence. But the thoughts made her suddenly aware of the gold chain against her chest. She lowered her eyes. When she had asked about the necklace, Ryu had acted a little strange. There were many unanswered questions. Would she see him at all during their two weeks of holidays? Haruna lifted her head, eyes drawn to the distant hallway where Ryu's locker was. Had he arrived yet?
“I never understood it,” sighed Angelique. “Debbie and Arlen are so different from each other. He’s, like, this weird emo kid, and she’s this classic mean girl—how are they even related, let alone twins?”
Haruna felt her blood run cold.
“First off, he's punk not emo. And Arlen’s not weird—he’s just…” Tracy was arguing back, but Haruna didn’t hear the rest as she twisted around mechanically, the gears whirring in her head.
“Haruna? Are you okay?” Gabrielle asked.
“I just remembered something. I'll be right back!” Haruna took off, leaving the others, speeding down the hall for the exit. The realisation struck her like a mallet. That was it. That must have been it.
Ryu stretched into a yawn, squirming in the driver seat like a lazy feline. Napping there wasn’t the greatest, but it was much better than a hard-as-bricks classroom desk. Ryu wasn't ready for the time off school. As long as there was money to be made, there was no such thing as a "holiday." So he thought he'd stall a little longer before going home and catch up on much-needed rest after his guaranteed-to-be dismal practice exam performance. It didn't help that he hated how his body felt. Even though he was tired, he couldn’t sleep. But he’d made up his mind: no more cigarettes.
He survived twenty-four hours. He could survive another twenty-four.
But could he survive two weeks of Tengoku House full-time? Brothers who hated him. Katsuo's growing expectations. More expectations. The new missions that lay ahead and the burden of knowing he had to make decisions he didn't know how to? Ryu finally understood at least some of Damon's words. Ryu'd accepted his feelings, stopped fighting the truth long enough to be open with her. He no longer had to want to be with her, because he was with her. And Haruna was perfect. Everything about her, so flawed yet so perfect. How could he not fall in love with her? And how could he forget the feeling of her in his arms, her satiny, flower-scented hair between his fingers, kissing her after wanting to for way, way too long. Tim—creepy Tim was right. Her skin was soft. And the way she glowed, the way her entire face lit up… her show-stealing, heart-stopping smile. He'd seen it for real. He'd seen it, and he made it happen.
It was the longing that made his idle thoughts and murky dreams pleasant for a change.
Until he thought about their matching necklaces.
Ryu eyed the empty carton on the passenger seat, its cautionary black lung graphic glaring back at him. With a growl he gave it a smack. It tumbled off the seat and onto the floor. What a stupid habit. Why did he even start in the first place?
Suddenly there was a dull tap against the glass.
He jolted upright. Like a desert mirage, Haruna’s light eyes bore back at him from the passenger window. Ryu unlocked the doors, and she let herself in.
“What are you—?”
“It’s about the necklace,” she said, eying the cigarette box. She’d inadvertently crushed it under her foot.
“You came about that?”
“Aren’t you wondering about it?” Haruna said, her brows pressed together.
“Huh? No—of course not—it’s just a necklace.”
“You’re lying. You’re smart. I know you don’t think it’s just a coincidence.”
Ryu pushed wandering thoughts to the back of his mind, assuming a blank face as she loosened her tie and several buttons atop her blouse to retrieve it. “This is custom-made. If yours is identical, then they must have been purchased at the same time…”
Ryu stared at her outstretched hand.
“I looked it up. These come from one shop in Tokyo. The shop is still there, in the Shibuya area. Until 1995, they were known for making one-of-a-kind custom pendants.”
Ryu sighed. “So? There could be knock-offs.”
“One-of-a-kind means they're made to order to a customer's specifications," Haruna continued matter-of-factly, little by little destroying Ryu's counterpoint, "And one unique thing about all of their designs is the name of the jeweller engraved in English on the back. Below that bit of Japanese you say you don’t understand.”
Ryu slowly reached under his shirt, his hand on the string as he drew it out. He twirled the pendant to its other side, and felt his stomach churn. There it was, just underneath like she said. The small, ultra-fine script was written in italics: Rin-chan Cute Jewellery. He looked up. Her cheeks were wet.
“It says it, right? Rin-chan?”
Ryu watched her bottom lip as it began to quiver. He couldn’t move his head to nod. “Maybe it was a popular design—”
“Why are you making excuses?” Now Haruna‘s tone hinted at hysteria. “Isn’t it obvious what this means? Both of us have this weird necklace that none of us know the meaning of—we’re both half-Japanese—”
“Yeah, so?"
“We lost our parents there when we were really young. What if we’re related?” Her voice broke, “What if we’re brother and sister?”
The words cut.
All that she had said?
It had crossed his mind yesterday at the church. For a split-second, he'd considered it. It wasn't possible. It couldn't be. Yet for her to think it too? For her to actually say it?
“Don’t be stupid. Brother and sister? We don’t even have the same last name. And look at how dark my skin is—there’s no way that blonde person—your mother, could be my mother.”
“Oh come on! Don’t you know how genetics work?” Haruna cried. “Arlen and Debbie Caige ar
e twins, but look at them!”
"Who the hell is Debbie?"
Naturally, Haruna had little patience for his sarcasm, ignoring him as she continued her rambling, her mind running amok with theories. “Who’s to say your name is even your real name? You live in an orphanage, for goodness sake—and you don't even know who your mother is!” She let out a long gasp. Her eyes grew large. "My grandmother always said my father was no good—what if he had an affair? What if we have the same father but different mothers?"
"I know who my dad was so it was our—your mother who—ugh, no. This is stupid! And that doesn't make sense either since we're both the same age."
“Month?”
“November, but that doesn’t—”
"I'm older than you… by eight months. What if you were born early? Or like, what if your age isn't your real age?"
There she went again. Justifying. Finding reasons.
“What are you trying to say? Do you actually want us to be…?”
“I’m not saying anything! But it’s possible, isn’t it? Anything is—when we both know absolutely nothing!”
“But…"
“What if everything we've ever been told is a lie?”
Boom. She'd hurled that grenade. The unspoken, unsavoury reality that emerged if one read between the lines, only considered all that their little "discovery" implied. Ryu thought of the familiar look of Haruna’s mother. It felt like he knew her when he'd seen her photo. He’d assumed pretty quickly that that was because Haruna looked so much like her. But what if that wasn’t the reason? What if he really did know that woman? What if that bright feeling that he felt when he saw that woman’s face in that moment was because that woman was his mother, a mother that without him realising it reminded him of home and happier times?
And if that woman was his mother…
Something wasn’t adding up.
How? How did they end up here? Like this?
Ryu willed himself to look at Haruna, again transfixed, but this time, the racing of his heart was coupled with pain, as though his intestines were actually being ripped out. Acid rose from his stomach to his throat and he fought his urge to puke. Ryu didn’t know what love was. But just as he was beginning to find out, to have everything crudely brought to an end? Like this?
Ryu swallowed hard, and spoke evenly, refusing to let the queasiness set in. “Even if it’s true that we’ve been lied to, we’re not related.”
“How do you—”
“I just know, okay!” Ryu had shouted, snapped. He faltered, once aware of a silence loud enough to shame a cemetery.
Brows high, Haruna faced away, downcast. Not more than several seconds passed before she exited the car.
Ryu didn't want her to go.
He couldn't make himself call her back.
Did it help that even after baring his soul, his scars, the cigarette burns and inked back, he'd gone and lied again? He knew exactly what the Japanese on her necklace said, or at least, he was fairly certain the word meant "moon" or something. But when hers said "moon" while his said "day" or "sun" or whatever, making no sense at all, Ryu was left feeling sicker and more confused than he cared to admit. She didn't remember her parents. She didn't remember her past. He didn't fully remember his either. There was no doubt in his mind that the two of them were connected in some way, at least the matching necklaces suggested that much. But what? What was that connection?
Ryu didn't want to accept it, but Haruna was right.
Anything was possible when they knew nothing.
Marie waited at the doorstep, fidgeting, not from the threat of cold but from consternation. The residence. It was lovely, immaculate in fact. Even that fact did not offset her unease. She absolutely hated that it had come to this.
A silhouette appeared in the window as the blinds drew back. The lock snapped, and the door eased open. She was greeted by the stern grimace of Amrit Singh.
"Humph. This is a surprise," he muttered dryly.
Marie rolled her eyes.
"I imagine it is, Mr. Singh. Now do you mind letting me in?"
Singh gave a gruff snort. It was all for show. She had called hours prior, and he knew she was coming—why, he'd given her the address. To pretend he didn't welcome her attempts to reach him was an act. He'd been arrested and charged on allegations of fraud, and through the grace of good fortune he'd managed to secure release on bail. In a number of days, he'd be due in court. All this was known, not just to Marie but to the entire country.
And sure enough, there was a pot of tea waiting at the table along with two white tea cups.
"I've been framed."
He'd come right out and said it.
"A wonderful alibi, Mr. Singh, but is it true?" Marie asked. She took a careful sip.
"You're calling me a liar? Not very professional for a lawyer," he replied, stirring some sugar into his own brew. "It’s the truth. It's a character assassination to destroy my company and reputation—"
"Excellent tea, Mr. Singh," Marie said, steam wafting about her face. "Chai, is it? It's quite good."
Singh dropped his spoon in a saucer and fell back into his recliner with crossed arms. "Forgive my impatience, madam. Did you come here to talk about tea, or to talk about my case?"
Marie puckered her lips, eyeing the man coolly. She rested her cup in its saucer.
"Fine. You were framed. By whom?"
Singh scoffed. "Who else?"
“Frankly, sir, the reason why I can't take you seriously is because it's obvious you know more than you let on. You talk about corruption and the Vangelis family… but what do you know about their connection to Shin Matsumoto?”
Marie watched the colour drain from Singh's face. He jostled to the edge of his seat.
“What?”
Marie simpered. Check-mate.
“Everything you've implied links back to one man, but you haven’t named him. I can tell from the look on your face that the name strikes a chord.”
“The businessman? What would I know about…?” Singh paused as though rendered mute. His brows knotted as he clumsily reached for his tea cup and brought it unsteadily to his lips.
“I am fully aware that the so-called businessman is a con. Presumably a mob boss.” She nodded once. “Mr. Singh… their connection. What is it? I know you know it."
He gulped thickly, then placed the cup down with a rattle.
"Both of them, even the cop… at first were taking bribes…" he said.
Marie frowned. "From Matsumoto? How much?"
"That's the wrong question you're asking. It's not about the amount. It's about the method." Singh eased back again, bracing against the chair cushion, gesturing as he spoke. "It's like an art. Matsumoto doesn't just give money. He'd swear it was of mutual benefit to you. He'd fund your campaigns or give 'advice.' Matsumoto's well-connected. He would make the police force look good by feeding them information about the crimes of the petty criminals. In exchange, some of the cops turn a blind-eye on what's happening on Main Street so long as he’s subtle about it. That's how Lacroix gained credibility as a detective—he was the one ‘solving’ difficult cases. He had to prove he wasn’t simply there calling the shots because of his rich family. But Matsumoto is smart, you see. He couldn’t let them have the upper-hand. Eventually, the councillor started taking a little more than advice and bribes. "
“Drugs?”
Singh gave a slow nod, his bearded face forming a weak grin.“Maybe even a ‘massage’ or two…"
So that explained it. Both of them had serious collateral on each other.
Marie stole another sip of tea, her brows knit. “So what they have now is either a partnership… or a hostage situation.”
Singh shrugged. Marie squinted. She set the cup down for the second time.
“Now hold on. How do you know all this?”
Singh sighed deeply.
“You guessed right the first time. A gangster t
old me some things. You understand that I have to keep his identity a secret."
“Mr. Singh. I can't help you if you won't be forthcoming. For one you failed to mention Matsumoto when you brought up Councillor Vangelis. If you really must withhold this ‘source,’ I can't be sure it is at all true, what you’ve told me.”
“You’re wrong. The source is just one person, but I also know first-hand. I didn’t mention Matsumoto because it is quite embarrassing. You know… maybe a ‘grey area’.”
“If you have information—any information that can help bring down Matsumoto, I will do anything to keep you out of prison. Anything.”
“How can I trust you?”
“You can try. The truth is we are… more alike than you think.”
Singh gave pause, eyeing her, wondering, it looked like, whether or not she meant it. Seeming either satisfied or simply backed into a corner, he continued, “Around the time of my wife's death… I was having a hard time. My business was struggling. I evaded taxes. I made bad deals. I played with some numbers. Lots of others do this, I'm not alone. But it wasn't enough. I had debts. I was desperate. No one would approve the kind of loans I needed… no one except…”
“Except who?”
“The White Flower Syndicate.”
Marie no longer had questions. Singh had spelled it out, loud and clear. The former yakuza boss was still acting the part and had done to Singh what he had done to countless others. He'd given them money, done favours for them—through questionable means. But once they'd taken the bait and gone down this path, there was no turning back. Matsumoto had dirt on them, and, in addition, they were implicated in criminal activity themselves. They had no choice but to maintain ties with Matsumoto, either to assist him or remain silent lest their dirty laundry be aired for all to see. The consequence would be at best angry shareholders. At worst, jail time and bankruptcy. Or perhaps a swift execution courtesy of this so-called “syndicate.”
Yakuza-style extortion had reared its head in Campbelton after all.
Marie didn't welcome it, but Singh's information confirmed what she had long realised must be true. She thought of Annette Lacroix, thought of their history of friendship together, thought of Annette’s grandson Emmanuel who had once fancied her own granddaughter. She thought of the church. Marie felt the bad feelings rise from the pit of her stomach. Not everyone was a victim. Some people were a part of the problem. Some people were enablers.
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