Two Halves Whole

by Melissa Abigail

  The Vangelis' were enablers.

  CHAPTER nine

  all falls down

  December was the kind of month Ryu hated, its sky a permanent grey with just the faintest spot of light, the sun calling it quits by 4 PM and if one was lucky, it didn’t rain. It didn’t help that there was always so much pressure to do everything in too short a time because of a holiday season that cut the month in half. It didn’t help that energy was on short supply.

  This week was the epitome of everything wrong with December.

  “Ay, Ryu,” muttered Seth, grinning from ear to ear. He came up the hall and clapped Ryu on the back. “We made it, dude! It’s over!”

  “What’s over?” Ryu grunted. “Don’t we still have to come back here in January?”

  Seth rolled his eyes and pocketed his hands.

  “Whatever, man. These last few weeks have been absolutely insane. I so need this.”

  Ryu sighed. It was the last day of classes before their winter break. Every year around this time, Seth’s family would head down south, just across the border, to visit relatives. This year, for Hanukkah. But even though it was a break, both of them still had homework by the truck-loads to sort through. The timing was "extra special" given that their entire grade was losing their minds over university applications. For Seth, scholarship applications also. Ryu didn't have such problems, but he still felt himself sleepwalking through the week. As he’d dreaded, Katsuo had already started assigning him small jobs—collecting dues, delivering “goods and services”—the basics. It was no sweat, but the apprehension ate away at him. It wouldn't be long before something major would come his way.

  Ryu closed his locker door before turning back to Seth, shoulders and eyelids weighed down with fatigue.

  “How’s Day Five going?” Seth mused.

  “It’s killing me,” Ryu admitted. “I need a smoke. Bad. Real bad.”

  Yeah. Cause he had quit. For the second time.

  They treaded down the hall, and turned the corner, entering into the main atrium. As expected, the girls were already there along with Pete Wentz knock-off, Arlen Caige. Seth hobbled over, calling out to them, and Gabrielle rushed to meet him halfway with her arms wide. Ryu slouched behind, coming to a halt once his eyes met Haruna’s. They exchanged tight-lipped smiles. Neither of them spoke.

  This was how it had been for the entire week.

  These four girls had become part of his and Seth's clique… if you could even call it a clique. After all this time, hanging with them took getting used to—still. People had noticed. They even treated him differently, like, well, a person instead of some sort of rare oddity more suited to a freak show than a high school. Just yesterday, Ryu had bumped into Kevin Tsang between classes, one of the guys he used to kill time with at the Academy. How did the conversation go, again? Something like…

  “I heard you guys hooked up. Is it true?”

  “Yeah. I guess,” Ryu had fibbed with a shrug, feeling slightly put-off by Kevin’s nosey, way-too-curious attitude, the way his eyes bulged, the way his mouth hung open…

  "You’re bluffing," Kevin said. "You'd actually date a girl who wouldn't put out?"

  "Who says she doesn't?" Ryu said, a little too quickly and without thinking.

  "No way! How did that even happen?"

  "What can I say? I'm hard to resist." Ryu added a smirk. "You think she came to my place just to talk about homework?"

  "Whoa. You know the guys would give anything to be in your spot. Even Jackson.”

  “My spot? They couldn’t handle being in it on a good day,” Ryu said bluntly. “Send Jackson my regards.”

  “Ha. Ya right,” Kevin said with a nod before muttering his good-bye and continuing on his way.

  Kevin had been talking about Haruna and those must have been the questions on everyone's mind. Ryu, Haruna, the others. They sat together every day at lunch now. Sure, Haruna would speak to him, but only in short sentences. She'd direct most of her attention to her friends. Ryu, on the other hand, couldn’t stop himself from gawking at her like a kid with his face pressed against the window of a candy store. To outsiders, they looked official. Everyone could see the tension between them. But what they didn’t know was how drastically things had changed and changed some more.

  “Remember to keep in touch, okay?” Gabrielle said, finally pulling away from Seth’s arms.

  “I’ll call you everyday—or text,” Seth said.

  “We’ll be in Whistler from the twenty-first…”

  Ryu glanced at Angelique, who ended her conversation with Haruna to bid her own farewell. Tracy and Arlen followed suit, hands joined and arms swinging, fluttering off like turtle doves. Haruna was left with no choice but to turn back to Ryu, and once again they stared wordlessly at each other. Seth and Gabrielle had begun to whisper amongst themselves, not-so-subtly flirting again, and it only made Ryu's angst intensify. He couldn’t—didn’t want to hold back anymore. He took Haruna by the hand. They side-stepped until out of earshot of the others.

  Before she could ask, Ryu rushed to explain, “I meant what I said. I don’t want anything to change because of some stupid necklace.”

  Haruna was quiet for several seconds that felt like ages. She shook her head. “That’s not your choice to make. It’s not about what we want anymore.”

  “Hey, what’s going on over there?”

  Ryu crooked his head towards Seth and Gabrielle. It looked like he and Haruna would have to have this conversation another time.

  “I’ll call you,” Ryu said.

  Haruna gave a sigh. She turned and her voice drifted over her shoulder:

  "Hope you enjoy the holidays. See you in the new year."

  Huh? That's it? Ryu blinked back his surprise. "Yeah… see you."

  With a wave, she and Gabrielle left, leaving Seth and Ryu behind. The boys back-tracked through the school and walked out towards the parking lot for their cars. Just as they’d finally come to their respective lines in the pavement, Seth stopped him.

  “Hey, I forgot to ask. What’re you getting Haruna for Christmas?”

  Ryu's face fell. “Uh, I haven’t decided yet. You?” Actually, he hadn’t thought about it.

  “‘Dunno. Me and Damon are meeting up on Sunday to look around. He’s getting something for Angelique. You should join us. I mean, it’s in less than ten days.”

  Ryu shrugged. “I’ll let you know what’s up.”

  Seth returned a slow nod, then hopped into his car, a seven-year-old Ford Focus.

  Ryu clambered into his brand-new Mazda 6.

  The drive home only exasperated Ryu’s frustrations. What could he give a girl like her? He made a ton of cash for the Syndicate, but none of it was his. His unofficial “side-hustle”—stealing stuff, selling stuff he’d stolen, using that revenue to buy things he’d also sell—occasionally paid off. Then he’d waste the money on food, gas, cigarettes, or some other junk…so he was broke. Wondering what to buy for Christmas and deciding where and how to spend the money were normal people struggles. Why couldn’t that be his problem right now? Instead of, on top of the usual, having to entertain the possibility that the girl that should be his girlfriend might actually be his sister?

  Oh! And what was with that send-off? ‘See you in the new year?’ The hell?

  The Mazda came to 983 Wood Valley Crescent at a slow crawl, and Ryu’s brows folded together as he caught sight of the other car waiting in the driveway: a Cadillac Escalade. Ryu pulled the gear into park and climbed out. He hadn’t yet closed the door when a man stepped out. A second man exited from the passenger side. Both were dressed really well, in suits, ties, vests even. Older brothers. The men faced Ryu, giving pause to nod at him. Ryu returned the greeting with a cautious tilt, raising his head to see their cold eyes boring back at him. The first man muttered a gruff “dozo,” a polite request, and gestured towards the Cadillac’s rear.

  “Get in.”

  T
he oyabun retired the cigarette, crushing it into a gold ashtray. He peered down at a pack of Seven Stars at the edge of the table, mulling over lighting another. He resisted temptation and folded his arms. He waited, his eyes alternating between the clock and one of his many men stationed by the door. He held his focus, expression blank and uncompromising, and yet beneath the surface—he was tense. That Dr. Yap knew too much was one predicament by itself. That old hag, Smith, was sure to be another obstacle; it was only a matter of time. And now, trying to ruin Singh in the eyes of the public hadn’t been enough to keep him quiet. It was bad enough that the man’s son had been murdered by one of their own wayward boys. The oyabun knew it was time he made his own move. He'd have to send an unmistakable, clear message.

  At quarter to seven, he heard the sound he had been patiently waiting for. The knock at the door.

  “Boss?”

  The voice of a subordinate. The one that guarded the door from the outside.

  The guest had arrived.

  “Hai,” the oyabun shouted back, weary but okaying their entry.

  The door opened and the boy stepped in, dressed in his school uniform, a black-suited subordinate on either side of him. The oyabun waved a hand, insisting they and everyone else leave the room at once. They bowed and retreated, and the boy stepped towards him. The oyabun had to blink twice to make certain he wasn't reliving a scene from the past, as though he were staring at Akuma himself. The boy was as he often was: cool, collected, with a certain callousness in his attitude and cockiness in his step. He was an interesting kid. Not at all Japanese, the way he held his head high and looked one dead-straight in the eye. The way he moved. They way he failed to blend in. Surely the boy would have been an outsider had he remained in Japan, a nail that couldn't be hammered down. Perhaps he really was destined for this way of life. Then again, he was much like his father. He was much like the oyabun himself.

  Once seated, the oyabun offered the boy a non-alcoholic drink and started with small talk. About school. About whether or not he was well fed. There came a small intermission. Quiet.

  “Ryu-kun,” the oyabun said, speaking with a smile. “How is your foot?”

  “Better,” the boy said.

  “Good,” the oyabun replied. He took a sip from his glass. “You are aware that your last assignment was not a success—no fault of your own, of course. Even so, mistakes like that—we really can’t afford.”

  The boy swallowed and lowered his head, showing he understood. “Hai.”

  “I’m giving you another chance, Ryu-kun. I have a personal mission tailored for you, and you will reap great returns if successful. You must be very careful. You must make it look self-inflicted. I believe this is within your range of ability.”

  The boy gave another nod, and again he answered, “Hai.”

  Satisfied, the oyabun slid the photograph across the table, backside up. The boy took it. He flipped it in his hand and fell into a lingering stare. The oyabun adjusted his glasses, then folded his hands at the table. “Mitsukai Haruna.”

  The boy lifted his head, his eyes round. "Why her?"

  The oyabun raised a brow. "You know her?"

  "She goes to my school."

  The oyabun reached for his glass and took another deep sip, but when he put it down again it hit the table with a clunk. "Ah. I hope that doesn't pose a problem for you."

  "She's just some girl. What did she do? Why do you want her dead?"

  "Your job isn't to ask questions. Or… could it be that you're hesitating?"

  The boy‘s mouth shuddered open, but no words came, like he intended to speak but never put thought into what to say. The boy lowered his head, probably only then realising he'd been staring.

  “You once said you would never turn down a mission. I hold you to your word, Ryu-kun.” The oyabun narrowed his eyes. “You have one week to get the job done.”

  “One week?”

  “The sooner the better. The Christmas season is quite… bothersome.” The oyabun paused, his lip pursed. He shook his head. “Now, I suppose that really gives you four days, then? Ah, yes. Forget a week. You have four days. That’s it.”

  After several minutes, the boy was dismissed. The oyabun couldn’t help but notice that the boy’s gait, his bold swagger seemed subdued, a shadow of itself. Remarkable. Was there something going on that the oyabun had failed to notice? Some grand oversight? He wondered. That back that turned, that seemed so distant as the boy moved further and further away—was that retreating back, Akuma's back?

  “Ryu-kun,” the oyabun called after him. The boy turned, his head down. The oyabun forced a grin. “Do your best.”

  The boy gave a weak nod, and then he was escorted out.

  The oyabun reached for another cigarette.

  He had been the one to enrol the boy at the Academy, a place where no one asked questions if they were paid well enough. A place where the boy would be insulated from retaliation. Nonetheless, the oyabun had always known; it was inevitable those two teenagers would cross paths. One might even say, it was anticipated. And the boy served as a tool, his inside-man if and when this particular “situation” was to ever arise. But the oyabun hadn’t time to dwell on this puzzle, over the teenage mind or speculations; he certainly hadn’t patience for a subordinate’s indecision. It wasn't about himself any longer. The stakes had intensified, and he wasn't looking forward to a visit from the city councillor or his irritating cop brother-in-law, Michel Lacroix. The oyabun reached under his suit jacket, removing the phone from an inner pocket. He tapped the screen and pressed it to his ear, waiting through the dial tone. The deep voice of one of his enforcers, his most loyal son, rasped a greeting on the other end.

  “It’s about the hafu,” the oyabun muttered. “Make sure he follows through.”

  The topmost part of the Christmas tree had begun to tilt over, gaudy, burdened down by a mass of mismatched ornaments. Haruna watched with cautious ambivalence as Marie suspended yet another crystal angel from its branches. How odd. Borderline obsessive, even. It was almost like the old woman was going senile, though Haruna was willing to wager that there was something else going on.

  It’s enough. Haruna wanted to say. That’s way too many decorations.

  Instead she held her peace. Heaving a small sigh, she continued to sweep the corridor, bristles scraping against smooth tiles with a rhythmic swoosh.

  “Ahem. Haven’t you done enough sweeping?”

  Haruna regarded her grandmother dully, pushing up her glasses as they slid down her nose. The irony of her grandmother's question was rich. “What do I do next, then?”

  “Oh for goodness sake, love—I don’t know—just find something. Try the pantry.”

  The pantry? Haruna had already cleaned the pantry. In fact, she had cleaned everywhere even though the cleaning lady came biweekly and had come three days ago. The house was, as it often was, spotless. But this was how the last three days had been. Filled non-stop with holiday preparations, which would be fine if it were needed. Besides, visitors weren’t coming. Haruna had made the mistake of asking Marie if Annette would be dropping by on Christmas Eve, as she often did. Marie had responded with a sordid, “No.”

  Haruna had never seen her grandmother quite like this, perpetually on edge. So Haruna did what she thought could fix things. Playing the piano, the grand piano that had at one time been her mother’s, seemed to calm Marie down for a moment. Until Marie snapped, demanded Haruna stop immediately, then sent her to her room. The strangest incident of all, when Haruna mentioned she’d have to leave sharply at 5 PM for another church recital.

  Marie's response: “I don't think you should be going back to that church anymore.”

  Haruna could recall with some effort the year she had come to Canada. She'd been four going on five. That year wasn't one she remembered clearly, but if there was something she did remember, it was that her grandmother loved a mean bottle of liquor. A year or two of “retreats,�
�� counselling, and AA meetings was what it took for Marie to put the bottle down and pick a Bible up instead. Since then, Marie had been the one who always insisted they attend Mass regularly. Now the woman was returning to her old, destructive habits. It couldn’t be that Marie had found out that Ryu had met Haruna there. Twice. If so, wouldn’t she have said something by now? Then what had changed? Haruna couldn’t understand it.

  Giving up, Haruna turned and started down the halls, searching to see if there was anywhere she could have missed. It didn’t take too long for her to take notice of her grandmother’s study and the way the door remained partially opened instead of closed as it usually was.

  “Children can’t play in here. This room is for business,” Marie used to say.

  But Haruna supposed being drunk absolved Marie of her usual vigilance in keeping the room locked. Peering in, Haruna saw right away that the desk was a mess. The entire room, actually. This untidiness was so unlike Marie. Could it be work for the firm? But it was not like she was taking on cases anymore. She was practically retired.

  Giving into curiosity Haruna let herself in and headed for the desk. She figured she might as well tidy it. Perhaps an organized room was just the therapy her grandmother needed.

  So Haruna started through the stacks, organizing them into neat piles, careful not to disturb whatever strange system Marie had going. But after fifteen minutes, Haruna was already frustrated, and found herself grabbing heaps at a time and boxes to move away. That was when she noticed something. A folder with the name “David Singh” written in big bold ink.

  “Grandmother is working on this case?”

  Haruna leaned in for a closer look, awkwardly balancing the stacks in one arm to sneak a peek inside. She carefully opened it. Two men beamed back at her from a newspaper cut-out placed at the very top. She squinted. Wasn’t that Mani’s dad? But why would Mani’s dad be in this folder?