by Amy Faye
One of the goons' faces twisted up in anger. Apparently he'd used the wrong form of address. Oh, well.
The man at the head of the group gave a barely-perceptible bow.
"And you're Mr. Wesley Park?"
"I am."
The entire environment seemed designed to make him panic into doing something stupid, and he had to admit that the thought had gone through his head. Maybe they'd let him live if he begged for forgiveness.
Wes wasn't above begging, not when it was the only option he had available. But he knew better than to start with that. The minute he let anything slip, he had already lost. He'd be a dead man. So it was important that he didn't make that mistake, not as long as it could be avoided.
"I heard you wanted to see me."
"My daughter told you this?"
Wes looked up at him with the dead-eyed expression he'd learned in prison, and shrugged his shoulders. The jumpy guy looked about ready to take a club to his head, which in Wes's mind meant he was probably doing alright for himself.
"I just heard it through the grapevine. You had your men out looking for me. But you ought to know, all you had to do was ask. For such a great leader like yourself, I'd have to come running, don't you think?"
Wes could see on their faces that they didn't think he was serious about any of that, and they weren't too far wrong. But he wasn't being sarcastic, either. It was more than about what he thought. It was about respect. After all, wasn't that a real big thing with these types?
"So you say."
"I intend to marry your daughter. With your permission, of course."
Minami's eyes shot wide open and he could see that it took a real effort not to shout something out as he said it. Well, that was fine. His intentions weren't a decision she could make for him. If she didn't want to marry, then that would come later. But it wasn't because of his refusal.
If they thought that their association had been disrespectful, then marriage was the only answer Wes could see, and he had to admit that he didn't mind the idea one bit, either.
"I see… So you want to be my heir?" He let out a soft snort, one that was followed by cackling laughs from the men behind him. "It's a hundred years too soon for you, Mr. Wesley Park."
"Not particularly," he answered. The answer wasn't accurate enough. He wouldn't have taken up the mantle if they'd offered him Minami's hand in marriage and a hundred million dollars as a sort of signing bonus.
He wasn't a mobster any more. He wasn't going back to that life. Not in New York, and not in Japan.
"Oh, is that right? Why, then?"
"She's a fine woman. Who wouldn't want to marry her?"
The Shimizu head frowned at that. He was hoping for a provocation. Wes could see that now. It was only a matter of time until he found it.
"You're not in the consideration, Park."
"No?" Wes's gaze slid over to Minami. "Maybe you should ask your daughter's opinion on it."
Minami's father frowned and turned to his daughter. Said something in Japanese that Wes didn't understand. She looked from his face to Wes's, and then said something back to him. He was almost irritated that they'd done it, since he knew that her father spoke Japanese in large part to embarrass Wes and exclude him. He could say whatever he wanted now, and Wes had no way of knowing unless Minami spoke up.
And more and more, Wes was beginning to see the way things were, and they were that Minami wasn't going to stand up to her father any time soon.
The Shimizu chairman frowned at the response, and took a moment to compose himself before turning back to Wes. "You know how women are, Mr. Park. Fickle, and subject to baser whims."
Wes shut his eyes a moment, swallowing the words that had immediately jumped into his mouth.
"Still, don't you think that she should have some say in her husband?"
"And she has a say. But that doesn't mean I'll let her marry a spineless coward."
Wes thought that was a fun thought, given that his face still bore the faint remnants of his broken nose, and his kidneys still bore deep brown and purple bruising that he'd taken from one of Shimizu's own goons.
"Then why would you offer her to Takuya Higa?"
That was the only thing he needed to hear, it seemed. That was insult enough to get things moving. Well, Wes thought, as one of the Yakuza jumped to his feet, it was fun while it lasted.
The guy reached into his jacket and pulled a gun free. Shimizu looked at the guy, and then looked at Wes, and the gun pointed. The chairman didn't specifically tell him to, but Wes knew better than to assume that people like this regularly went off the reservation. If he was pulling out a gun, it was because Shimizu was letting him.
"Are you going to shoot me, then?"
"Yes."
"Then at least do it yourself. I'm spineless, you say—but you can't even dirty your own hands to kill one pitiful, spineless American?"
Wes locked him with the stare that he had gotten plenty of practice with over the years, and Shimizu met his gaze evenly.
"Alright," he said.
The man held out his hand, not bothering to look back, and the lackey handed the gun back. Almost reluctantly, but he did it without complaint. Shimizu's hand tightened around it and pointed, and Wes was fairly sure he was about to die. Only, to his great surprise, Minami started to move.
Thirty-Three
Minami
Minami moved before she knew what she was going to do. All she knew was, if she waited a split second to get her head clear, that would be a split-second too late for Wes. This had always been a bad idea. She'd told him. A terrible idea.
She still didn't know what she was doing until she realized she'd put her body between the gun and Wes. The Yakuza behind her father, the one pointing a gun that now would shoot straight through her belly, turned a bit green, now unsure what to do.
Her father spoke first. "Move!"
"No," she said.
"Move, I said!"
"I refuse."
"Why should I listen to the whims of a girl?"
She hadn't known he would phrase it quite like that, but that was the question she'd been asking herself since she realized the predicament she'd put herself into. Why would they want to listen to what she has to say? Because she really likes him a lot? Because it would hurt her feelings?
Minami was fairly certain that wasn't going to be a winning argument against her father. Not after everything he'd done to prove that he didn't much care what did or didn't hurt her feelings.
"Because you can't." A half-formed idea was better than nothing. A half-remembered image from days ago told her that there were wider ramifications to this than just what would affect her feelings.
"Who are you to tell me what I can't do?"
"The—" she remembered more vividly. "He's working with Higa. He's got a fight, organized by Higa, and you know that they are taking their underground fights very seriously."
Her father didn't move, but something in the air around him relaxed for a moment as he considered that. He spoke English next. "You, Park. You are fighting in one of Higa's matches?"
"Tonight."
The Shimizu head nodded. "Very well. A stay of execution."
"Please, father. Let him be."
"You know I cannot."
"I promise, I won't look his way again, if you only do this for me."
She hadn't told him about the baby, yet. If she did, she knew, Wes was dead no matter what she said, no matter what the Higa family would think about it. Higa was a branch family; nonetheless, they were not one that Shimizu wanted to rile up.
That wouldn't matter much if he found out some foreign boy had knocked her up, regardless of whether or not he intended to make it right by her. She just had to hope that he believed her.
Wes would have to understand why she was doing what she was doing. If he died, what did any of it matter? He had to realize that his life was more important. She didn't understand why it seemed to never occur to him.
&nbs
p; "If I agree, then you never see him again. Is that what you're offering me?"
"Yes, father."
"And you'll seriously consider marriage candidates?"
"Thank you, father."
She bowed deep, taking her eyes off the gun for a moment, half-expecting the blast to fire the minute she dipped her head. None came.
"Very well, then. You'll stop your foolish notions, and in exchange, your pet gets to leave. Fine."
"Thank you so much." She bowed deep again.
Wes would understand. It was all for him, really. All of it was just so that he would be able to live. He had more to think about than just her. What would happen to those girls if he died? If their mother was really as bad as he said.
She already knew the answer. They'd go bad, if things went well. If they didn't go well, then things would go much, much worse. Well, she wasn't going to be responsible for that. Not because he was too proud to leave her behind. Pride had been the entire ruling emotion of her life before meeting Wes, and it never got her anywhere. It never made her father a better father.
But the desire to live, that had given her much, much more.
Minami rose to her feet as the gun slipped back into the man's jacket, back into his shoulder holster. She let one of the men take her arm and guide her out of the room, not daring to turn back and look at Wes. He would figure it out, eventually, even if they didn't bother to explain what she'd done.
It would hurt, she knew. It wasn't fair to him, but that was what it was.
Well, she reasoned, she did what she had to do. Now if only it didn't hurt so much. Minami let out a long breath. She couldn't afford to dwell on the past, on the decisions she'd been forced to make. It would hurt, but it would hurt in the morning, too. If she could let it hurt any less, then she would have to.
For an instant, she hoped that she might get some relief from her phone. If she wasn't going to see him again, then they might let her have it back.
That was a foolish thought, she knew. There was simply no way that they were going to give it back, not when she was just going to turn around and try to make amends with her rambunctious American boyfriend with it.
She couldn't kill the hope inside her, though, in spite of herself. She wanted to scream that Father had taken an American wife, after her birth mother had died. She still spoke Japanese with an accent. Blonde, just like Wes. It felt damned hypocritical, but the chances that she could convince Father to change… well, she couldn't.
He was like a mountain. You don't simply change where it sits, no matter how you work. Wes was stubborn, but he had more than met his match when he tried to stand up to her father. He never accepted anything that he hadn't thought of first.
Well, Minami thought, her heart hurting and her eyes stinging as she watched out the window, watched three separate people carrying Wes outside the gate, unceremoniously dropping him, still kicking and twisting, in the grass.
He screamed, tried to run back through the gate. One of Father's goons caught him and turned him over. From the distance, Minami could see he didn't take the fall well, but even still he was back up an instant later, even as the gate closed in front of him, in the vain hope that he might be able to make it through in the instant before it closed.
He wasn't so lucky. Instead, he crashed headlong into the wrought iron bars of the gate around the house, slumped to the ground. The Yakuza who had stayed out reached down to help him up. From the distance, it almost seemed like an uncharacteristic moment of tenderness.
Wes slunk back into his car, pulled out, and drove away. As he drove, the gate opened, the Yakuza walked back inside the grounds, and the gate closed again. Then, one by one, the yard lights shut off and the world around her was dark once more.
Minami slipped into her bed, trying to pretend that her eyes didn't sting so much, trying to pretend her chest didn't hurt so much, and trying to pretend that the past month hadn't meant half as much to her as she knew it had.
Wes was just another person she'd know, she told herself. She'd try harder to find some sort of compatibility with Father's candidates. Because she had to, for Wes's sake.
Thirty-Four
Wes
Wes took the drive slow. If he didn't keep himself under control, he wasn't sure what he was going to do. So it'd be nice and slow, nice and careful. The last thing Wes was ready to do was get himself back onto the national stage just because of a God damned drive home.
He pulled the Fiero into his usual parking spot, cut the engine, and set his head back against the headrest, too tired to do much else. There wasn't much to look forward to, at this point. He couldn't even take out one of Shimizu's stinking goons to get back inside.
How on earth was he planning on winning a fight, on—what, four or six hours of sleep, maybe? Then he had to cope with the fact that whether he won or not, it marked the first time that he'd ever really felt the clock ticking on his so-called career.
Once that happened, it was only a matter of time until he got beat. Only a matter of time until someone was quicker, someone was stronger, and someone was smarter. If he wanted to keep himself alive, which Minami obviously thought he should do, then fighting was probably about done.
For a long minute he wondered if he even cared. Why should he? Did it matter any more? He'd already given up about everything in his life that had mattered to him, and now the one thing he'd found for himself in the new life he'd built for himself—if it could be called that—was gone. What did it matter any more?
Still, matter or not, he couldn't stay in the car forever, and eventually he had to admit it to himself. He pulled the keys out of the ignition, tossed them unconsciously into his left hand, and pushed the door open.
The elevator wasn't far enough for the fatigue and hopelessness to overcome him before he got to it. He jabbed the button for his floor and leaned against the wall, waiting.
Wes noticed the door wasn't locked. He just hadn't been thinking clearly, hadn't pulled up his keys. He almost stopped himself before he tried the door, but he didn't care enough. He was just going to find the doors locked, after all. But he didn't. Instead, the knob turned, and the door came open easily. From the door, the place looked perfectly normal. Empty bed at the end of the room, the back of the sofa still where he'd left it. A side table with a stack of envelopes he should have gotten rid of a long time ago. Closed door to the lavatory on the left.
Something told him that there was more to it. Wes stepped through the door and heard the sound of a weapon cocking behind him. He didn't stop, just kept moving until he slumped down into the mattress.
"Whatever you do, just do it quietly, okay?"
He took a deep breath and shut his eyes and pressed his face down into the pillow. Her scent wasn't there any more, not after this long. The thought of it made his throat tight.
"Don't go for anything."
Wes rolled over just enough to let one eye peer up at the man who now filled the makeshift 'hallway' behind the sofa, the apartment door shut behind him.
"I don't have anything to go for."
Rubashkin didn't look good. In fact, he looked like hell. Whatever had happened to him in the years since Wes had worked for him, time hadn't been kind.
"No, I didn't suspect you would. But time changes people."
"You look different."
Rubashkin's face stretched and split into a smile. He lowered the gun, but didn't decock it.
"Damned pancreatic cancer. You know why it's one of the deadliest?"
"No."
"Because they don't catch it in time."
"Did they with you?"
Rubashkin coughed hard, sending him back into the couch until he could finally regain his balance and push himself back upright. "Not so lucky, I'm afraid."
"Is this a social call? If so, I'd like to wait until the sun's up at least. I didn't get much sleep yet tonight."
"I'm sorry to hear that. But I'm afraid it isn't. I've been looking for you, Wes. For years. Why i
s it that you've been so hard to find?"
Wes didn't have an answer to that.
"Because I'm not so special?"
The soft chuckle turned into more racking coughs. "Spread to my lungs. You can't imagine. You know, I never smoked? All my brothers. They all smoked like chimneys. I swore to myself, I never smoke, because it killed my Papa. Well, I guess they're having the last laugh aren't they?"
"I'm sorry to hear about that."
"I have to think, you know, there are all sorts of the wrong people looking into my business and my affairs, and now everything starts to become clearer. Where was little Wes Park gone to? 'He's been so hard to get in touch with. I can't even send him a Christmas card, to thank him for taking the fall for my boy!'"
"If you're going to shoot me, just do it."
"You're working for the Feds, aren't you?"
"Feds? They didn't even bother to talk to me. They apparently don't believe I've ever met you before."
"I'm sorry, Wesley, but I don't believe you."
"Then just do it. I'm too tired for this shit."
Rubashkin had trouble with that kind of shit, Wes dimly remembered. If someone begged him, then it was a sign they were guilty. He knew, he always knew. But if they were up-front about not really giving him answers at all…
Then, he's not sure.
It hadn't been a tactic, not really. Wes was tired. He wanted to sleep more than he wanted anything else. More than he wanted to live. But now that had worked in his favor. Rubashkin set the gun down on the table.
"You don't want to sit and talk about the good old times?"
"In the morning."
"'In the morning,' 'in the morning,' you're like a parrot, you know."
The old Russian coughed again. He was many things, Rubashkin. Wes didn't know him well, but he knew enough about the man to know what kind of person he was. He ran one of the biggest gangs in New York, which said something by itself. But in person, he'd never been much but petty. Constant complaints about things that under normal circumstances, to normal people, wouldn't have been worth commenting. In other words, petty.