by Rhys Ford
After taking a few latex gloves out of his jacket, Kel separated them into pairs, then handed Kane a set. “Well, Quinn knows.”
“You sure about that?” Kane lifted an eyebrow.
“It’s Quinn,” Kel asserted, snapping on a glove. “I’m pretty sure he already knows the date you and Miki are going to get hitched.”
“I don’t know if Miki will ever be ready to wear my last name, much less a wedding ring,” he admitted quietly. “But none of that really matters to me. I just want to wake up next to him every morning for the rest of my life. I don’t need anything besides that. Okay, maybe I need a little bit of patience when dealing with Damien, but he comes with the package. That’s something I signed up for the moment I fell in love.”
Kane stopped short, caught with one hand gloved and the other only partially encased in latex. He stared down the alleyway where Miki had found his soul mate years before. He couldn’t pass by the side street between the buildings without immediately thinking of Miki, and to some extent, Damien. It was one of the first places Miki opened up about, an elusive glimpse of the love kindled by a man they’d thought dead, one Kane used to wonder if he was going to have to compete with for the rest of his life. When Damien surfaced alive and well, the alleyway turned from a shrine to a tribute, no longer a memorial of a dead brotherhood but more a place of remembrance.
He’d walked through the alleyway with Miki before, strolling hand in hand toward one of the businesses at the far end. The unassuming cream-painted security door led to Dino’s Bar and Grill, an old-school blues club the band played at every once in a while to get the feel of the stage beneath their feet.
The profanity of a murder played out beneath Miki’s fire escape turned Kane’s stomach.
Death was rarely pretty. Since the day he’d first pinned on his badge, Kane had a front row seat to humanity’s depravity. He would’ve liked to have said Rodney Chin’s murder shocked him, but sadly, he was one in a long line of corpses. Still, his death stung just like every other Kane had attended. It was a senseless ending of a life and extinguishing of a soul and consciousness gifted to a creature by God and the Universe. Murder sickened him, and Kane felt the anger tightening his gut at how little a person’s life meant to some people.
“Are we sure that’s Chin?” Kel asked Horan, letting one of the uniforms get past him. “And I’m not saying anything about—look, there’s not much left of his face—I’m just asking.”
“The body has distinctive markers that lead me to believe it is him, but we’ve made plans to take fingerprints to verify. One of the restaurant workers recognized the pair of tattoos on his arm and made a tentative ID.” Horan consulted her notes. “He has Wong’s sigil, and the task force sent over their file on him so I could compare the other tattoos to the photographs taken at his last booking. So unless he has a twin with identical tattoos and a missing pinky finger, I’m going to say this is Chin until proven otherwise.”
Kane took the printouts Horan offered him. They were a bit pixelated, having been run off the thermal printer that was standard issue in most medical and patrol vehicles, but the photos were clear enough to match the body’s markings to Chin’s intake photos. It was a shock to see the tattoo he kissed nearly every night on Miki’s arm displayed on someone else’s body. The juxtaposition of his realities jarred Kane, and he took a step back, needing a moment to adjust his thoughts.
“Where’s the restaurant worker now?” Kane glanced about. The alley was clear of anyone but uniforms and medical technicians.
“Inside the restaurant with one of the officers first on the scene. I was a few blocks away when I got the call, so that’s why I beat you here.” The examiner took back the papers. “I’ve got a set of these for you with my assistant. Nothing’s been moved, so you can document for your report, but if you guys can double-team it, I’ll be able to get him out of here quicker.”
“How about if I work out here and you go inside to do the questioning?” Kel offered. The detective glanced over the carnage. “I’m on a diet anyway.”
Whoever killed Chin meant business. There was a rage fueling his death, the evidence of its fury smeared all over the alley’s walk and surrounding walls. At first glance, Chin’s body looked more like a pile of rags than a human being, and Kane couldn’t even begin to guess if the man had been dead or alive before what was done to him had begun.
For Chin’s sake, he really hoped all of the damage was done postmortem, but from the blood spray arcing the wall, reaching up past the fire escape, Kane wasn’t convinced.
It was obvious Chin was beaten, but there wasn’t any evidence of a weapon, or at least not a visible one. A couple of open dumpsters next to the restaurant’s back door were marked with yellow tape, cordoning them off to be rifled through. The lids were down, but they were made of heavy, thick plastic rather than the industrial metal found in the outer city. They were light enough that Chin’s killers could’ve easily lifted the lid, disposed of any weapon, then lowered it back down without creating a clang loud enough to alert anyone.
Still, Kane studied the beating victim. There was no way in hell Chin died silently.
“With this much blood, they had to have done him here.” Kel circled the kill scene, cautiously skirting its edge. A photographer worked inward around them, his camera whirring away. “Jesus, there are parts of his legs that are beaten almost flat.”
“Whoever did this was angry,” Kane surmised. “But notice we can still see Wong’s mark. If I’m going to jump to conclusions, I’m good to say Chin’s boss wasn’t too happy he didn’t kill Miki. Everything we’ve got on the guy says he likes to hand out lessons so people don’t fail him. Chin was loyal but not that high up in the hierarchy. He’d be somebody Wong would be willing to sacrifice.”
“See, I’ve got to wonder how many people Wong actually has if he’s willing to lose one just to teach the rest a lesson about doing the job right.” Kel’s attention drifted to the crowd gathering near the street. “So far, he’s only moved against Miki and Chaiprasit with—we’re alleging—Chin being tapped for both jobs. Does that mean he has more people he can use, and if so, does he also have more targets?”
“I was wondering that myself.” Kane turned his back to the people milling on the sidewalk. “My gut says Wong did this, but I cannot rule out that Chin maybe crossed the wrong person and the reason the tattoo was intact was to send a message to Wong himself. He wasn’t even on the task force’s radar because he lacks support.”
“So you’re saying that he might have stepped on a few toes and someone offed Chin to remind the old man of his place?” His partner chewed on the corner of his lip. “If that were the case, then why the alleyway? We connected it with Miki. How is it connected to Wong?”
“That is something I’m going to ask the restaurant guys inside.” Kane grinned. “Have a good time with Horan. Be sure to take a lot of notes, and whatever you do, don’t get in her way. She’ll eat you for lunch and spit your bones out picked clean.”
“HEY,” DAMIEN called as he came through the front door. “You hungry? I got Sionn to stop by Finnegan’s for some grub after I was done with the dentist. My teeth are all perfect, but my stomach is empty.”
The aromas coming from the plastic bags Damien carried made Miki’s belly rumble in anticipation. He nodded, setting his notebooks aside, and waited while his brother took his shoes off. Dude tried to crowd in closer, readying himself for any tidbits Miki and Damie might drop, but Damien nudged the dog off the couch before he sat down.
“That dog is such a beggar,” Damien drawled. “Reminds me of you back before we made it big. We’d get the food all divvied up evenly and somehow you’d end up with at least half of everybody else’s. Dave was the biggest sucker.”
“Dave’s mother made the best cookies.” A wash of sadness overtook Miki. He’d never been close to the other band members’ families, and after their deaths, the distance only grew between them with firm walls erected by teams
of lawyers and official documents protecting everyone’s already broken hearts. “I tried calling her the other day, but she never calls back.”
“That’s not on you, Sinjun,” Damien said. “They don’t respond to me either. But then, we’re probably reminders of what they lost.”
“Do you think they’re pissed off at us because we went back on the road with Forest and Rafe?” He leaned his head against Damien’s shoulder, debating how hungry he truly was. “That was hard for me to get my head around, you know?”
“Are you okay with it now?” Damien stroked Miki’s hair.
“Yeah. Now when I turn around, it doesn’t shock me to see them there.” He shrugged, amending his words. “Most of the time, anyway. Some of the old songs Forest plays exactly like Dave, and it takes me a moment. But I’m okay.”
The notebook at the end of the couch might as well have had a beacon over it because Damien’s attention kept drifting to where it lay. Miki knew his brother would grab it before Damien’s hand even moved. They had a tight intimacy, but for the first time in his life, Miki felt a territorial twinge about the notebook and Damien, probably sensing Miki’s disquiet when he picked up the notebook, glanced back at Miki, then said something Miki never imagined Damien would say.
“Can I look?” his brother asked. “Will you let me?”
Miki nodded, and the moment was broken, a salt crust shattered beneath the thrust of trust and mutual love. The words he’d written on those pages weren’t in any way, shape, or form malleable around a melody yet, but they were a start.
“I can see where you’re going with this,” Damien said softly, turning the page. “I never thought I would see this from you. It’s good. Even as raw as it is right now, it’s good.”
“Do you think?” He didn’t realize he was holding his breath until Damien spoke, and he had to pull in air in order to answer. “I don’t know. I can’t find the right words to say what I want to say.”
“You’ll find them,” he murmured, kissing Miki on the corner of his mouth. “You always do. Get off of me so we can grab some food and I can tell you the good news.”
“I need all the good news I can get. I’m not too sure what to do with the bits Kane gave me.” Miki filled Damien in as they divided up the containers. He absorbed the information about Miki’s mother and possible father with a slight frown.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Damien stopped dishing food out. “That’s a lot of shit to dump on you in one day, dude.”
The dog looked up, and Miki chuckled despite the heaviness weighing him down. “Nah, I’ve got to process, you know? Maybe I’ll call Donal later. He can always screw my head back on straight.”
“Yeah, your dad’s good that way. I’m here if you need me, okay? Maybe we can talk about it after Donal and you connect.” Scraping the contents out of one take-out tray into Miki’s Styrofoam bowl of wings, Damien grinned at Miki’s horrified grunt. “Too bad. Eat them.”
Screwing his face up into a grimace, Miki complained, “I don’t want any Brussels sprouts. You take them.”
“Pretend you’re an adult for five minutes.” Damien stabbed one with a fork, then waved the offensive mini cabbage under Miki’s nose. “Eat at least eight of them and I’ll split the chocolate cake in the fridge with you.”
“Fuck your cake,” he grumbled back, but he bit into one of the sprouts, focusing on the bacon wrapped around its leafy body rather than the acrid taste of cabbage on his tongue. “What’s your good news?”
“The contractor said Sionn and I can probably move into our side of the warehouses in a couple of days. We’ll be out of your hair, so you and Kane can run around naked like the wild animals you are.”
Of all of the things Damien could have said, he and Sionn moving out hit Miki like a ton of bricks. His world was already sliding from under him, and the idea of not being able to reach out—to find his own brother within the safe confines of the brick warehouse he’d made his home—pierced Miki, gutting him more than the possible discovery of his mother’s name and a maybe father lurking out in the shadows.
“Okay, I like that look on your face even less than I liked the disgust you gave me about the Brussels sprouts.” Damie nudged him, then took Miki’s container away, setting everything on the chest. “Now I really do need you to talk to me, Sinjun. You’ve gone pale.”
Miki tried to wrap his tongue around his thoughts, but nothing came out. It was all too much—and he didn’t know how many times he could experience that feeling without breaking—but it was all just too fucking much. The back of his throat burned, and his teeth began to ache, his gums tightening and his saliva going thick. The burst of heat he tasted from a mouthful of chicken went to ash on the roof of his mouth, and it took him a moment to hear through the rush of blood pounding through his ears.
“I don’t want you to go,” he finally uttered. Damie’s look of concern turned solemn, and he sat back to study him. The expectation stiffening Damien’s expression goaded Miki on. “You want me to be honest with how I feel. I mean, that’s the whole point of therapy and trying to get the shit out of my brain, right?”
“That’s part of it,” Damie concurred. “Mostly I just want you to stop being angry inside. Because you’re hurting yourself, and I hate to see someone I love in as much pain as you are.”
“I’m not gonna say that you’re wrong.” Miki stalled, unscrambling his thoughts and emotions until he could find what he needed to say. “I just—”
“What do you want from me, Sinjun?” The gap between them was slight, but it seemed like a chasm to Miki, and when Damie turned to face him, it grew into even more a veritable canyon Miki hated as soon as Damien’s leg drew away from his thigh. “Are you upset about Sionn and I moving out? I thought you’d be kind of happy about it because you and Kane need your own space. We’ve talked about that.”
“I know,” he mumbled. “I just can’t….”
To someone as fearless as Damie, Miki knew he would sound weak, but he didn’t care. He needed something in his world to remain solid, something firm for him to stand on as everything else turned into chaos and unraveled. He had Kane. He would always have Kane. But some part of his brain—some part of his heart—needed more, and he couldn’t explain why, but there had to be more than one anchor for him to hold on to until he could sort out the mess he’d created in his head.
“I don’t want you to leave just yet,” he confessed. “I mean, not that I want you to feel like you can’t move into your own place with Sionn, but for right now—until all of the shit is done—I kinda wish you’d stay. No, I really need you to stay. I don’t think I am going to be able to make it without you and Kane near me. And yeah, you’re right next door, but in my head, you’re not. In my head, you’re just someplace I can’t get to, and that takes me to places I’ve already been. Places I don’t want to go again.”
“Okay,” Damie murmured, nodding slowly. “I understand—I do. But at the same time, I’ve got to ask you if you’ll talk to Kane about it as well. Because he and I… we do this dance around you, and I can’t step on his toes, Sinjun. We work really hard to share you and not push on you. If you’re asking me to stay—asking Sionn and I to stay—then Kane has to be okay with it too.”
“He loves me,” Miki chuckled. “He’ll understand. Probably more than I do. My gut just says I can’t let you go right now, and I don’t know why. It’s not like you’re going to be that far away, but I can’t right now.”
“Is it just too much to deal with? I mean, I know Edie getting shot kicked you in the balls, but is it this thing with your mom that’s messing with your head too?”
“I don’t know. I mean, Kane just dropped it on me that they’re going to give over what that woman was going to give Edie, and suddenly I’ve got to deal with finding out something I thought I never would discover. I was okay not knowing because it meant that everything I am is what I made. Even as fucked-up as that is, it’s still me… I’m still me.” Miki stretched h
is leg, scratching Dude’s back with his toes. The terrier crooned, a little contented growl, and Miki glanced up at Damien, worn out from the day pounding at him. “I feel like I’ve talked this thing to death and I still haven’t come up with how I feel about her, about me. Now we’re going to throw a father into it and that fucks me up more. It’s like, couldn’t he have done something for her? Or does he even know I happened? Or does he care? I didn’t give a shit about any of those things when I woke up this morning, and now they dominate my brain.”
“Maybe you should eat some dinner, then ring Donal up,” Damien said gently, passing Miki’s food back to him. “I can’t give you any insight on what it is to be a son because, well, my own father, you know how that is. I kind of wish I had the relationship with Donal that you do, but I know me, I would fight him more than I would accept him. You, Sinjun, for as wild as you are, you just want to be loved. And as someone who loves you, I can tell you that you deserve it, even though you think you don’t. So eat your fucking Brussels sprouts, then go call your dad. Your real dad.”
DONAL’S VOICE over the phone was a rich roll of Ireland and paternal love. Miki could feel everything in the man’s heart from the moment Donal said hello. He’d passed Damien off to Sionn, took a shower, then dragged Dude into the bedroom so he could swaddle himself in a heavy quilt. The lights were left on, washing the unpainted brick of the front wall with a golden stain and lifting the shadows around the bed to a soft dove gray. He’d put on sweatpants so he wouldn’t pick at the corner of the Salonpas patch he’d stretched over his scarred knee, and one of Kane’s T-shirts he’d dug out of the pile on the chair next to the bedroom door. His arm itched where he’d been shot, but the soft fabric soothed the faint sting, much like hearing Donal did his nerves.