Hashimoto Blues

by Sarah Dupeyron

  “You can’t leave it there.”

  “I don’t intend to. And I know it caused some damage to the grass. I’ll pay for it.”

  “You better pay for it. It takes a lot of work to maintain these grounds, and we can’t have people landing airplanes on them.”

  “I crashed. I didn’t mean to land there. And, yes, we’re okay. Thank you for asking.”

  “Are you going to come get it?” she asked, ignoring my sarcasm.

  “That’s the problem. I can’t get a tow truck for a few days.”

  “You need to get it off our green. Now. People need to play golf.”

  I was getting annoyed with her. “Nobody needs to play golf. Just tell them it’s a new feature,” I said and hung up. I rolled my eyes and sarcastically thought, that went well.

  I picked up the mail and checked the messages. Nothing important. There was a post card from Raphael. He was having a blast in L.A. I hung it on the fridge and went upstairs to take my own shower. Max was already in bed with his eyes closed.

  The hot water felt great as it washed away all of the mud. I couldn’t believe how it had seeped in everywhere and pervaded even the most intimate areas. When I was done, I toweled off and crept into the bedroom. I slid into bed, careful not to wake Max, and sunk down into the soft mattress, pulling the thick comforter up around my ears. Sleep came within seconds, and I was out for the day.

  When I woke up, I was alone, and it was dark out. I glanced at the bedside clock. It read 6:43. I got up and put some clothes on, the smell of frying onions leading me to the kitchen. Max was standing in front of the stove, cooking dinner.

  “I thought we’d eat, then take the Caddy and dump it at a rest stop on 89. We can’t leave it behind the barn,” he said as I came up behind him and wrapped my arms around his waist. I could feel the muscles in his back as he stirred the contents of the pan. I was so sleepy still that I closed my eyes and listened to his breathing through his shirt. I didn’t want to let go.

  “Dinner’s ready.” He made chicken in some kind of exotic peanut sauce over rice. It always amazed me how he could produce a gourmet meal out of whatever he found in the pantry. I could cook if I had to, but it took a lot of planning and a trip to the grocery store.

  We ate and talked about regular things, avoiding the conversation about Frank and what we needed to do. When we finished, I cleaned up the dishes. I didn’t feel like going out and dumping the car. All I wanted to do was curl up on the couch and watch TV from the comfort of my living room. But Max was right. We couldn’t leave it there.

  We put our coats on and walked across the yard to the barn. My car was parked inside where we always kept it, its silver flank shiny in the dim light. I took good care of that car, washing it when it got dirty, vacuuming the inside to keep it clean, making sure it had all of its routine check ups. I handed Max the keys and walked out back to the stolen Caddy. It had a powerful engine but was big and heavy. It felt like driving a tank. I couldn’t wait to get back in my own zippy little WRX.

  We drove to a rest stop about thirty minutes away. There weren’t any travelers stopping for a quick pee before heading on to their destination so we had the place to ourselves. It was perfect. I left the Caddy unobserved and walked over to the other side of the parking lot where Max had parked the Subaru. I slid in the passenger side, relieved that our task was done.

  Max stared at me, a frisky look in his eye. I knew what he wanted.

  “Don’t you want to wait until we’re home and settled?” I asked. It seemed like it would be more comfortable, that it would be a reward for getting home and having this ordeal over.

  He just looked at me, his smile growing even bigger. I knew what he was thinking. What if we got hit by a truck on the way home?

  I gave it a second thought, then decided, why not? That smile once again proved irresistible to me. I knelt on the seat, leaned over, and kissed him slowly. The next thing I knew I was in his lap, facing him with the steering wheel jammed in my back, our hands on each other’s bodies, touching, feeling, connecting. I wanted him badly.

  I reached down for the lever to pull the seat into the reclined position, but, just as my fingers touched it, an abrupt tapping on the window interrupted us. My heart leapt into my throat as I looked up to a flashlight shining in my eyes. I cranked the window down and came face to face with a State Trooper.

  What do I do? Shit! My thoughts whipped around like a lawn mower blade. We’re going to get arrested for grand theft auto. I was sure of it. My heart was beating so hard I was afraid he could hear it and would take it as an admission of our guilt.

  “This is a public rest stop, ma’am,” he said.

  “Yes, sir.” I didn’t know how to explain our situation so I didn’t elaborate.

  “That’s not appropriate here,” he added. He knew what we’d been about to do, but he hadn’t connected us with the Cadillac. My face was burning with a flush so deep red it looked like I had been boiled. However, being embarrassed was preferable to being arrested.

  “Yes, sir. I’m sorry. We just got carried away.” My lies started to take on a life of their own. “The babysitter’s home with the baby. It’s the first time we’ve gotten out of the house since she was born.”

  “I understand. I have kids of my own. Just take it somewhere private.” He started to walk away, and I felt relief wash over me. Then he turned back.

  “Anyone else here when you got here?”

  “No, sir.”

  He pointed the flashlight at the Cadillac. “Was that here when you got here?”

  “Yes, sir, it was.” I was doing all the talking. Max sat back quietly in the seat, mortified at being caught and worried that the cop would find some reason to question us further.

  “Okay. You have a good night then. Good luck,” he said and winked. He walked back to his car. I could see him talking on the radio, probably calling in the Caddy’s number plate.

  I let out a deep breath, relief washing over me, and giggled.

  “Do you want to drive?” Max asked me, knowing my answer. He looked disappointed. I nodded, and he slid underneath me, across the console to the passenger seat. He shifted his jeans uncomfortably to adjust himself then buckled his seatbelt.

  “I guess we have to wait until we’re home and settled,” I said and turned the engine over.

  25.

  We pulled into the driveway, and I parked the car in the barn. Max touched my leg, his hand gliding down the length of my thigh and back up again. He kissed me. As he pressed his lips to mine, his tongue slipped between them, tasting me. We couldn’t wait to get into the house, both of us yearning to feel the other. I pushed him back and opened the car door, almost falling out in my haste.

  “I’ll race you!” I said as I slammed the door and started to run. Max sat for a moment, surprised, then took off after me, closing the gap on my head start. He caught up to me and, instead of passing me to win, grabbed me from behind, picking me off the ground. He nibbled my neck, and I screamed with delight. He turned me around to face him, holding me like I weighed nothing, his hands supporting me like a seat. I wrapped my legs around his waist and bit his chest. It was all we could to do get the door open.

  I threw my bag on the kitchen table where it landed with a thunk. Max dropped his coat. We groped each other, kissing deeply, hands feeling every inch of the other’s body. I ran my fingers through his hair as he licked my neck, sending chills of excitement through me. We moved together like a single organism into the living room. I unlocked my legs and jumped down, my hands desperate to unbuckle his belt.

  With a click, a small flame pierced the darkness, spotlighting the handsome Asian man observing us from the easy chair. He held the lighter up to shine on his stony mask of calm. Slowly, he lit his cigar, the light glinting off the gold ring around his middle finger, the heavy setting holding a polished black onyx. After the cigar was smoldering, he left the lighter aglow, letting it be the only source of illumination.

 
“I was hoping you would get home soon,” Hashimoto said. He took a drag off the cigar. There was movement around the perimeter of the room as his henchmen, all clad in black, emerged from the dark corners.

  “How did you find us?” Max asked. He protectively pushed me to stand behind him, shielding me with his body. I clung to his shirt, terrified of the intruders in my home. I had seen what they did to Laurent, and I wasn’t eager to find out what they had in store for us.

  “You know, Mr. Cameron, it would be wise to choose your friends carefully. Laurent St. Pierre told me everything.”

  My jaw dropped open in shock. Laurent was the snitch? I couldn’t believe it.

  “Did you know he was regularly fucking one of my girls? That can make a man blind to his loyalties. He gave her a message telling me to put extra security on my painting. When asked why, he wouldn’t tell. Of course, I have ways of getting information. Everyone talks in the end.” He blew smoke out in little puffs, then smirked, delighted to let us know the pleasure he felt at his own power. “Besides, someone like that, a tattle tale, needs to be put down like a rabid dog.”

  Max took a deep breath and held his hands up in a gesture of surrender. “I know I fucked up and you can’t just let that go. Do whatever you want with me --”

  “Yes, I plan on it.” Hashimoto interrupted.

  “But please, leave Ellie out of it,” Max begged. “She shouldn’t have to pay for what I did.”

  “Max! No!” I protested. I couldn’t just let him give himself over like that.

  “How sentimental of you. However, you are not in any position to ask anything of me, and I do not negotiate.” He took his thumb off the lighter, and the flame went out, leaving us in inky blackness. Complete chaos erupted around us.

  “Ellie, run!” Max yelled. I darted for the rear of the house, hoping to get out through the door in the formal dining room. A pair of hands reached out for me, getting a flimsy hold on the sleeve of my coat. I was able to wrench free and continued across the living room. It was dark, but I knew my way around.

  I dodged a footstool and ran into the dining room, hearing footsteps close behind. My assailant tripped over the stool and went crashing to the floor in a flurry of Japanese curses. I thought I could get to the rear door and was only a few feet from it when another of Hashimoto’s men stepped directly in my way. I skidded to halt and turned back the direction I came. Making a quick left turn, I ran up the stairs. If I could get to the bathroom, I could lock the door, go out the window, and climb down the trellis.

  There was a huge crash from the kitchen as pots and pans went flying. The scuffle escalated with shouts and grunts, breaking glass, more crashing. There was a moment of silence then a blood curdling scream pierced the air. It was Max. I couldn’t just leave him. My mind started searching, trying to think of something, anything, to help.

  Maybe I can find his gun and bluff our way out of it, like he did with Karl. Of course, that wasn’t a realistic plan. Max had literally scared the piss out of Karl without even taking the gun out. I wouldn’t project a very imposing image to this gang. They’d probably just laugh and shoot me with their own guns.

  That didn’t mean I wasn’t going to try.

  Adrenaline pumping, I turned around and dashed back toward the stairs, intending to go to the kitchen. I ran smack into one of Hashimoto’s men who had pursued me up to the second floor. He grabbed my wrists, squeezing hard. I tried to kick him, but I couldn’t see and only lashed my foot out in the air, sending myself off balance. With an enormous amount of force, he flung my body against the banister. It cracked, the ancient wood unable to withstand the impact, and splintered, spilling me over the side.

  I flailed my arms, trying to grab on to the broken teeth of the railing, but only felt the sharp edges of wood as they slipped through my fingers. I plummeted towards the floor, aware of every moment of it, as if in slow motion. The piano was just under me, and my leg hit it hard with a crack. The impact flipped me, and I landed face first on the wooden floor as blackness enclosed over me.

  26.

  I woke up on the living room floor and rolled over on to my back. Pain shot up through my right leg. It was definitely broken. From the stabbing sensation in my side that came with every breath, I was pretty sure my ribs were, too. I lay still, trying to slow my breathing to ease the pain.

  It was quiet. Too quiet. I didn’t know how long I had been out but it was long enough for our assailants to have left. That had to be a good thing, right?

  “Max,” I said, my voice just above a whisper.

  Nothing.

  “Max!”

  Again, no answer. I tried to clear my thoughts. My head ached, and I reached up to touch my forehead. There was a large goose egg developing there, but fortunately no blood.

  I took a careful breath and let it out slowly. There was something in the air, an acrid scent that assaulted my nostrils. I pushed myself painfully up and sniffed. Gasoline.

  And smoke.

  A faint crackle sizzled and popped from the front of the house. Then I saw the glow. Fire.

  “MAX!” I screamed. I couldn’t see where he was and imagined the worst.

  I couldn’t get up and run. I started to drag myself across the floor, blind panic coursing through my veins. In my confusion, I didn’t know which way to go and smashed face-first into an end table, hitting the same spot on my forehead that I had hit when I landed on the ground. Lights danced in front of my eyes, and I rolled back on the floor, clutching the injured spot and swearing under my breath.

  The fire was quickly spreading, the flames surrounding the outside of the house already, eating the ancient dried-out wood of the structure. My terror was mounting as I lay helplessly on the floor, waiting for death to overtake me, my heart thumping against my ribs in extreme fright.

  I was trapped and would be burned alive. Unless the smoke got me first. This must be how mom and dad felt, I thought, giving up to my fate. I deserve it. What goes around comes around.

  Then I heard Max.

  “Ellie!” His voice, a desperate whisper, came from the kitchen. “Ellie, where are you?”

  “I’m next to the piano! Max, hurry!” There was a crash in the dark then the floorboards creaked as he moved over them. I could see his silhouette against the window as he crawled toward me.

  “Ellie?” He patted his palms along the ground, searching. I reached out and grabbed his hand, guiding him to me.

  “I fell over the railing. My leg’s broken.”

  “I’ll carry you. We need to get to the basement.”

  “Why are we going to the basement?” It seemed like a terrible idea. I wanted to get outside, not be crushed underground when the beams let loose.

  “We can get out though the smuggler’s passage to the barn,” he answered calmly. My mind wasn’t thinking clearly. I had forgotten about that neat little feature of our old farmhouse. He reached under me and gingerly lifted me off the ground. I screamed in pain and squeezed my face against his shoulders.

  “Hold on tight. I can only carry you with one hand until I find the door.” Due to the dark and smoke, it was impossible to see anything. He held his arm out in front as he moved to the wall, tracing the doorway until his hand grasped the black latch. He opened it and I clutched my arms around his neck as we descended the creaky staircase. His balance seemed a bit off, but he moved quickly, not wasting a second of air.

  He managed to find his way easily to the bookcase where he tapped the frame with his booted toe, springing the door open. I felt the difference in air as he stepped inside. It was cold and musty, stale like a crypt, but clear from smoke. He pulled the secret door shut behind us and walked through the dark to the small staircase on the other end. Max pushed the trap door open and lifted me through, placing me gently on the floor against the wall. He crawled out himself and sat next to me. He wrapped his arms around me and kissed the top of my head. We sat quietly waiting, hoping that Hashimoto and his men wouldn’t find any reason to torc
h the barn as well.

  We heard an enormous crash as the roof of the house caved in, followed by a cheer from the driveway. I wanted to scream, but buried my face in Max’s chest instead. Frank was dead, I crashed his plane, and now Frank’s house was burnt to cinders. I felt like someone had ripped a hole in my center.

  A car engine roared to life in the yard, the tires crunching down the gravel driveway as it drove away. How could I have not seen their car? Of course, when we got home, we were both too horny to notice anything but each other.

  “They left.” I couldn’t keep the relief out of my voice. That, at least, seemed like a bit of good luck.

  “They think we’re dead,” Max whispered.

  “Why didn’t they just kill us when we were unconscious?”

  “If we were already dead when the fire started, we wouldn’t have any smoke in our lungs.”

  “So?”

  “It would be obvious to the coroner that we’d been murdered.”

  Did Hashimoto really care about appearances to the law? Maybe, but I didn’t think so and pointed out the flaw in his reasoning. “Except the gasoline around the house would point to arson.”

  “I don’t know.” He sighed. “Maybe they made it looked like we tried to burn it ourselves for the insurance.”

  “We don’t have any,” I said. Then a strange thought struck me. It felt like too much of a coincidence not to have some connection but I couldn’t see how they could know. “You don’t think Hashimoto knows anything about my parents, does he?”

  “No. Don’t think that. He couldn’t know that.” Max dismissed my theory, but my mind couldn’t help but wander in those dangerous directions. Hashimoto seemed like he did things in a theatrical way, showing off his superiority. If he somehow knew about the role I had in my parents’ death, he’d want to rub it in my face before I died.

  That thought turned the bit of relief I had previously felt into pure paranoia, a distraction I didn’t need at the moment. I felt my breath start to catch, my mind spinning faster than the prop on my plane.