by Amy Faye
Maybe there had been some doubt that they told the whole truth, but when Wes showed up a couple days later. looking fine as frogs' hair… well, nobody would mistake 'completely unhurt' for 'in a bloody mess.' He might decide the guys had lied, but he wouldn't decide that they'd misunderstood. Nobody in their right mind would think it.
Wes slumped back into the couch and took a deep drink of water. He reached for the phone on the table and pressed the button to call Minami. It rang once, and then cut to a machine voice telling him that the call couldn't be completed. Well, that made plenty of sense.
She said she'd call him, but a week was plenty of time to get back in touch with him. He couldn't deny worrying about it, but he couldn't afford the effort to look into it further. Two beatings, less than two weeks out of a fight…
Well, he wasn't exactly looking forward to a third, to put it simply. He was good, but eventually his body wouldn't be able to keep putting out anything like his best effort. No good eyes could overcome a failing body, as many older fighters quickly learned. Instincts and experience could only take you so far, and if Wes still had it in him to win a fight against a guy who knew his face was still like play-doh, then he wouldn't have it after another bad run-in with those guys.
Especially if he ran into them on their home turf. Walking around with weapons brandished in public was a tricky thing. Nobody wanted to do it, and no doubt the Yakuza wanted it least of all, since this was the furthest thing from a country where they had widespread police connections.
If he ran into them in a place where they had time to prepare, though, then there wouldn't be much he could do. They'd be liable to kill him, if they could hide the body or give testimony that he was an intruder. He couldn't put himself in a position to make things any easier for them.
So he'd wait here, in spite of his worries, and he'd wait for Sunday night. Then he'd go, he'd meet Bradley and Higa, they'd have their big fight, and he'd come out on top if he could.
His body sent another random, surprise-inspection shock through his muscles, and for the first time in his life it occurred to Wes that he might not be able to win this one. If he was lucky, maybe he'd win a fair fight.
But it wasn't a fair fight, not really. The other guy knew all about Wes being in bad condition. He'd probably have a few ideas where Wes was hurting, and unless he wanted to apply that makeup again, it wouldn't take him long to figure it out if he didn't.
The other guy, though, would probably be fresh. If Wes was lucky, maybe he'd be able to finish it quickly. He still had that heavy hook, one that had dropped more than its share of perfectly good fighters.
He took another drink of water. If he was lucky, that is. If Wes had learned one thing in the years since he joined up with the family back in New York, it was that luck was fickle. In fact, no—luck was a downright bitch. You get it when you don't need it, but when you need a sure thing, you don't count on luck.
When you need a sure thing, you cheat. Wes had no compunctions against cheating. What he had that stopped him planning right then and there what he was going to do was the trouble of figuring out how to do it without getting caught. If there was one thing that he had learned, it was that he should cheat to win.
If there were two, it was that getting caught cheating was far, far worse than taking a beating.
Twenty-Seven
Minami
Minami took off her coat. It was too warm for such heavy clothing, but it didn't change that she needed it. It was the only thing that she owned with big enough pockets that nobody would notice her on the way home, and after Father had taken her from the library, she was under constant watch.
She could usually get them to leave her alone a little bit at convenience stores, but only so far as waiting outside, and even still they painted an obvious target on the place. Nobody was going to walk by thinking 'those guys look like they belong.'
Usually that ended up meaning that she could at least get a few minutes of real privacy, where nobody came into the store for five or ten minutes. But this time, the only thing she worried about was her father's men coming in to check on her.
She closed the bedroom door, breathing a sigh of relief that they hadn't. She threw the boxes on her bed. Three of them, each with the words 'Early Pregnancy Test' in big letters across them. No way she was going to be able to pretend they were something else. Her father's bodyguards spoke bad enough English, but even they knew 'pregnancy.'
The Yakuza's daughter didn't want to take the tests. Maybe that was how it always was, she didn't know. Taking the tests made it feel real. If she just ignored it, maybe her period was just a few days late. Okay, more like a week late. But eventually, she knew, she had to make sure that her fears were unfounded.
After all, she wasn't totally confident in her menstrual cycle anyways. She had a general feeling, usually, and that feeling was pretty accurate, but it wasn't like she was taking any notes, or keeping a calendar. So maybe her feelings were wrong this time?
Either way, taking the test would make sure that she didn't assume wrong one way, or the other. She pulled the boxes open and palmed the little plastic strips. The instructions on the boxes had all been the same.
Urinate into a cup, dip the strip. Wait a few seconds, check for two pink lines. Any color change at all on the 'test' portion, and you had better start figuring what you're going to do about this kid.
Palming them came easy. She spent most of her life surrounded by pickpockets and petty thieves, after all. It wasn't as if she wasn't going to pick up a few things. She knew she was being too stiff as she moved for the bathroom, but she had to hope that nobody was watching. She slipped inside, closed the door behind her, and let out a breath. Everything was fine. She wasn't caught, which meant she didn't need to explain why she had them.
Peeing into the cup wasn't any trouble. She'd done it before, after all. Yet, this time it felt different, maybe because of what she was going to use it for, or maybe because she was afraid of what was going to come next. There was nothing hard about the test except for the three minutes of uncertainty.
She took the cup, grabbed the first test, and dipped it in, counting down. Five… four… three… two… one… and then she set it aside and started again with the next one. Five… four… three… two… one. Set it aside and pick up the third.
She wasn't going to accept the possibility of a false negative, or worse, a false positive. Three of them would give her the right answer, no matter what. They were 90-percent effective, according to the box, so three of them would be 99.9% accurate, right?
The waiting was the hardest part. She wanted to check them after thirty seconds. The minute hadn't even changed over on the digital clock they kept in the bathroom. She took a deep breath and sat back on the seat of the toilet, forcing herself to wait. Forcing herself not to think about what it would mean if she was.
If she was, then that was fine. If she wasn't, then that was fine. Whatever happened, she'd be able to deal with it. She repeated that to herself a few times. She'd be fine. She could deal with whatever happened, no matter what the results were. She wasn't even hoping for a baby, but imagining herself getting three negatives brought with it a slurry of strange emotions.
Finding out she was, that would be even worse, because as far as she could tell, getting in touch with Wes would be the hardest thing of all. She didn't even know how she could, not with the guards on her twenty-four hours a day, and her driving privileges revoked.
Still, if she was, then she owed him that information somehow. Whatever it took to let him know he was going to be a father.
She looked at the clock. Four minutes. That was more than enough time. She reached for the first strip, but the second she put her hands on it, she froze. Didn't want to find out, either way. This was the last time she could back out. After this, she knew where she stood and she couldn't keep playing the guessing game.
She snatched it off the counter and looked. Two pink stripes. That could be wrong, th
ough, she reminded herself. The second was easier than the first. She'd already gone past the point of no return. Now she had to know what the real truth was.
Two stripes. The third one was the same. Two stripes.
Minami could feel a sob tearing from her throat. What was she supposed to do now? She wasn't—she couldn't go to her father, he still thought she was his perfect princess. She couldn't tell anyone else at her house, either. Mother might understand, but then she'd tell Father, and that was the end of that.
She couldn't tell Wes, either, because there was just no way to reach him. If she tried to run away, he'd just get hurt again. Maybe killed this time, if Father took the news particularly badly. Could she live with herself if she was responsible for that?
She already knew the answer to that question. Which just raised another one.
If she couldn't tell get away, how was she going to tell Wes about his child?
Twenty-Eight
Wes
Wes looked at the stack of bills in front of him. Most everything he owned was in that little stack, and in the things he kept around the house, worth damn near enough to nothing to anyone but him. If he died, they might be able to get ten dollars for the coffee table, if they were lucky. Maybe twenty for the sofa.
The books, what few he owned, were in such bad shape that only a thrift store might take them, and then only the worst sort of place. All put together, it was barely enough to live a month on for anyone who lived a lifestyle that was even a single step above 'spartan.'
Seeing everything all put together at once was upsetting, if only because it served as a stark reminder of how little he had built in his life. Wes Park, low-level gangster, who took the fall for a robbery he hadn't even known about. Wes Park, who had two girls relying on him that he hadn't seen in years. Wes Park, bare-knuckle boxer.
It wasn't the kind of life he'd hoped to lead. But when his sister got into trouble, it had only been natural to do what needed to be done. He hated that phrase. 'What needed to be done' was the excuse that all kinds of people used for making bad decisions. Wes was no exception. In fact, he was the worst offender of all.
How many times had he taken the wrong turn because he thought there were no other options available to him? How many times had time proven him wrong?
How much easier would it have been to take care of those girls if he wasn't in prison? Even if the money wasn't as good, it wasn't worth the trade. Sure, leaving had introduced him to Minami. Probably the only good thing in his life, and it was just to get him mixed up in another gang.
She didn't act like that type, though. It wasn't hard to believe that she probably didn't approve of the business her father was in. The way she had looked at Higa, you could almost see the distaste between them like a brick wall. There was nothing he could do that would tear down one tenth of an inch in that wall.
Wes, on the other hand—he'd been a mystery, and she'd taken quite a shine to him from what anyone could tell. Wes smiled at the thought, as if he were finally going to do something good with his life.
Well, that was gone now, too. No meal ticket from her, and no word in a week. The fight tomorrow loomed large on the horizon. The good news was, the swelling on his face had gone down more than he'd ever hoped he'd be able to claim, a week ago. He almost looked normal, and it didn't hurt to touch his cheeks any more. He didn't have any illusions about that being the case for a good, solid punch, though.
That would be the real test tomorrow, if he could keep fighting after taking a sufficiently bad hit. He knew that it wouldn't be easy, and it certainly wouldn't be fun, but if he had one hits' buffer, he could end the fight.
If he went down, even for an instant, after just one hit in the face… well, there was still more to be done. He couldn't choose to bow out of the fight all of a sudden if it got close. Even if it caved his damn face in, he was going to keep fighting.
But if he couldn't withstand even a single good hit, then that would be a losing fight, no matter what he tried, and Wes was man enough to admit it. Here he was, doing what he needed to do again. He needed the money, so he'd fight, regardless of what happened to him when he was in the ring.
The realization wasn't a new one, but it hit him harder this time. Was this a mistake? He knew it was. Bradley had told him so. Minami had told him it was a mistake. He'd bullied her into fooling Todd for him. Well, maybe it was a mistake, but he was already knee-deep in that mistake, and he didn't have the luxury of changing his mind only thirty-six hours before the fight was scheduled to commence. That ship had sailed when he'd given his word that he'd be there, and neither Wes nor Todd could do anything about it, even if they wanted to.
The betting window had already opened, and though it wouldn't close until the ring girl's hand dropped, there was no way that guys like that would refund the bets. Especially not when Wes had embarrassed Higa so publicly before. He would be in the mood for retribution, no doubt about it, and Wes was going to do his best to deny giving it to him.
Not giving him the opportunity, on the other hand, that wasn't likely to happen. He would be fighting, that much was sure. But getting himself out of trouble, that would be harder.
He laid back a minute before sitting forward. It wasn't official in any way, but the best he could do was to leave some sort of will. The girls needed the money more than he did, and they certainly needed it more than anyone else he knew. Only a few grand, but it would be a lot for a couple ten-year-olds.
Wes picked up the pad of paper and started trying again. He wasn't any good at that legalese crap, but it was easy enough to get his wishes across, and that was about all he could hope for at this point.
All of the money would go to Alexa and Suzanne Park, residents of New York City, ten years old, daughters of Lauren Park. He signed below it and then tossed the pad on the table in front of him and rubbed his temples gently.
They'd need that will, when he was done. Because he'd never been knocked out, and as much as it would be hard to keep getting up as he took a worse and worse beating in the ring, he wasn't going to leave that ring before they killed him.
He had to hope it wasn't going to come to that, but he wasn't arrogant enough to assume that things would go the way he wanted. He had to work with what he had, and right now what he had was a badly bruised kidney, a half-healed broken nose, and a whole body's worth of bruises that were still just present enough to remind him never to take a two-on-one match-up again whenever he was arrogant enough to move his body around.
The girls would be fine. He had to tell himself that, because it wasn't as if their mother was worth anything. If he didn't maintain the trust, she'd have already snorted all of the money he spent each week. The girls were only little, but the lawyers owed him a little favor, and they were instructed to spend the money on the girls' needs.
Would they miss him? The girls hadn't seen him in a long time. They probably didn't even know what he looked like. He was just a voice on a telephone to them. Maybe Lauren had some old photos, but there would be anything since high school, and he'd changed since then. It was more of a bit of a joke to show off pictures like that, just like it was for most people.
One last thing, then, before he went off to get himself clobbered in the name of 'needed to be done.' He held the phone at arm's length, the motion itself totally uncomfortable, and pressed the camera button with his thumb. Then he tapped the buttons to share, and sent it along to the girls, with the message 'Your uncle loves you.'
Twenty-Nine
Minami
She'd been careful, hiding the tests. Nobody could have found them, not the way she'd hidden everything. Even still, Minami couldn't hide the doubt that had grown in her when Father called a 'family meeting.' There hadn't been many in her life, but they had all ended up with something bad happening. It was a sure thing that whatever he was about to announce, she wasn't going to like it, and that was the part that worried her the most.
What if, in spite of her efforts, he'd found out
? Well, he would have to find out eventually, but she hadn't been one little bit ready for him to find out yet, and she was even less ready for him to find out by snooping through her garbage, looking inside of a discarded McDonald's bag to find three used pregnancy tests, all of them positive.
Not being ready, though, was nowhere near the same thing as it not having happened. Still, some part of her didn't want to go to the meeting. It wasn't a choice, but if it was, then she'd have stayed in her room with a book to read and headphones on and the strong hope that nobody came up to make sure that she knew what had been said.
It would be easier that way, no matter what it was. But there was more to it than that, she knew. First was the responsibility. She simply had to go, because it was her duty, and not even Mother could protect her from the fallout of not dealing with her responsibilities, no matter how hard she might try.
Then there was the fact that things could go wrong plenty of ways, and while some of them would just be unpleasant—like the time that they'd announced that poor Ryu had been embezzling—others would have a direct effect on people around her. People who had caused more than enough trouble for the family. People who had been positively identified, she knew, as Wes Park. They had his address, and she already knew that they were just waiting on orders to come down from Father about what was going to be done about him.
If Minami had her choice, they'd do nothing. But that wasn't how Yakuza tended to think. He'd been messing with them far too much for his own good, and when you piss off two families like he'd pissed off the Higa and Shimizu, there was a limited amount of time left.
Though, she thought, he seemed to have smoothed things over with Higa somewhat. She wasn't sure whether that was good or not. Takuya was nothing if he wasn't petty, and the only way he'd swallow the insults that Wes had given him would be if there was something worse on the horizon.