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Guns are my thing when muscle alone isn’t enough to get the job done. I know just about everything there is to know about guns. I’ve been using them since I was a kid. Papa used to joke that my hair was the same color as a muzzle flash in the dark.
I’ve heard of Sonomi Sagawa, or the Siren, as most people in organized crime call her. There are rumors that she crossed Katana’s Yakuza faction that the Bratva have an agreement with. Since it wasn’t us, the Bratva directly, the Boss will determine what to do. That’s what all this stuff has to be about. Sagawa is also a well-known music producer and the owner of Siren Records. Her production offices and studios are close by in a big complex on the shore of the Delaware River.
Marika Yumiko is a new name to me. I commit to memory the notes for a bunch of the other talent that came with the package, then toss them in my fireplace. The unspoken communication by Alec was to reinforce that all this information is to be destroyed after I memorize it. Ivan runs this outfit more like a spy agency than a criminal organization.
The CD player on the nearby shelf hasn’t gotten much use lately. I insert a few CDs and listen to each one for a few seconds before tossing them into the fire. I put Marika Yumiko’s demo CD in the player and sit down to have a better look at her pictures. The most beautiful voice I’ve ever heard is singing a song about someone missing being with their family in a fishing village. A drop of liquid falls onto the picture sitting on my lap. I’m confused as to where it came from. It was a tear. I haven’t cried since I was a kid.
I get up and quickly continue going through the standard procedure, tossing the pictures and CDs into the fire. Marika’s photos go in the drawer under my table. Coded instructions included with the package tell me to meet with Katana and visit the Siren’s office with him. I toss the instructions into the fire and head out the door, still listening to the song playing on a loop.
3
MARIKA
Siren Sound Music Studio is a big complex on the shore of the Delaware river. The building is designed to look like a grand ship sitting on the water. Large letters spelling out the wordSIRENare mounted on one end of the building, making it look like that’s the ship’s name. I drive through the crowded parking lot full of shiny, expensive-looking cars and head toward the front as instructed.
There looks to be about ten parking spots near the entrance, each with a sign that reads, ‘Up and Coming Talent’. Five cars are parked there with an open spot next to the first. I park, and as I walk toward the main entrance, I see a bridge running across a koi pond situated in the center of the courtyard. While crossing the bridge, I slow down to admire the grand, massive doors framed with ritzy golden lights. They tower over me, making me feel small. I stop to take a few breaths, hoping I’ll calm down once I get inside. As I move closer to the doors, I feel even smaller, like a terrified little mouse. I take one deep breath and head inside.
The inside is not what I expected. It looks more like a shopping mall than the inside of a ship. The elevator lift is all glass and sits across the concourse hall; like in most malls, it’s set back off the walkway to get to the different levels.
As I reach the elevator doors, I get a whiff of strong and floral-sweet perfume. It’s much stronger than the little bit of perfume I’m wearing. A young woman is standing there with long, silver hair and pink highlights dressed in a metallic, silver corset bodysuit. She’s wearing pink and silver high-heel boots. She smirks at me as she lets the door slide closed. Oh well, I can see the elevator is going down anyway.
The lift returns after a few moments. I enter and press the third-floor button. I look out of the glass window-walls to see a beautiful flower garden in the center below. I’m also able to see the levels above with people milling about, dressed in various attire, from suits and fancy dresses to more skimpy outfits like the silver corset bodysuit. I exit onto the concourse hall landing, and I’m surprised to see Uncle Suki sitting on a kiosk stool, sipping coffee. As I walk toward Miss Sagawa’s office, I prepare myself to hear what Uncle Suki has to say.
“You should not be here,” my uncle says as he stands up with his expression of concern betraying the lack of emotion in his tone. I don’t know if he found out about my meeting or if he just happens to be here on other business.
I’m so nervous. But while looking down and around at the size of the Siren Sound Studio complex from the landing we’re on, I just can’t help feeling excited as well. From where we’re standing, I can see over a fancy, white gate that runs around the perimeter of the open area in the center. With the three floors below exposed, it looks even more like a giant shopping mall. I’m reminded of high school when my friends and I wandered around the mall on the weekends. It’s been about three years since I’ve been shopping with my friends. Well, there was more gossiping and checking out hot guys going on than any shopping.
Uncle Suki scowls as he scans our surroundings. The levels below have individual soundproof booths with thick glass walls, where the stores might be in a mall. Each booth has an additional room attached. I assume they are there for the directors, managers, and other crew members working with the singers and other voice artists. The air smells fresh and clean as I breathe in deeply. There seems to be more oxygen in here, like in the casinos where Uncle and I occasionally go to play poker. I know I’m stalling because I don’t want to talk to my uncle right now. I look at him, not knowing what to say.
“Your dad has been through enough. We were going to go back to Japan after your mom died. But you and your sister were born here and have friends here. He knows you are an American like your mom was and that you love it here. So, we stayed. We didn’t tell you everything about what happened to your mother to protect you. This…” He points around at the booths, then the rooms set back on the level above us, finally stopping his finger to point at the offices next to us here on the management level. “This is what killed her.”
“Uncle Suki, I love you, and I love Dad. You know that. But I’m drowning in our single studio. I clean it most mornings, then coach someone else to sing the songs I write, and I’m not even allowed to sing in there.”
“You sing in there every morning. It’s soundproof, but I see you through the door window. Come home. Take it from me. Maybe your dad will change his mind and manage you himself. I hate to say it this way, but your mom went down a dark path. Don’t go down the path your mom did. Please, Mari. I will tell you what happened if you come with me now.”
“We both know Dad’s not going to change his mind. It would eat him alive, seeing my face, hearing my voice. Mom’s face, Mom’s voice. And I’ve watched others singmysongs for too long. I’m sorry, Uncle, but I have a meeting to get to.” I start to turn away but stop to tell him, “ I know how Mom died. I’ve heard the things people say about her, about all the bad stuff she was into, and bad people too. There’s only so much you and Dad can do to protect me, and you can’t hide me from the world. At some point, Dad is going to have to let go and allow me to experience the world for myself. The goodandthe bad.”
Uncle Suki takes a step toward me and gives me a tight hug while letting out a defeated sigh. He and my dad will never stop worrying about me. He walks to the elevator, presses the button, then immediately turns and walks toward the stairway. I walk the short distance to the office suite where my meeting is scheduled to start in five minutes.
The door is open, so I walk in. A good-looking and well-put-together receptionist, with a nameplate that says Kiyoshi on the desk in front of him, is on the phone. He points to a row of upholstered armchairs across from his desk.One seat is occupied. The waiting room is beautiful, with expensive carpeting and photographs on the wall of different singers and voice artists. Under each photo is a label identifying the artist and the years that Sonomi Sagawa managed them. Many of them have a starting year and Presentwritten after the dash.
“Yes, ma’am. I’ll be right in to take care of it, ma’am,” Kiyoshi says into the phone, with a slight Japanese accent, before hanging up, then he looks over at me.
I smile, waiting for what he’s going to tell me.
“Would you like some coffee or sparkling water while you wait?” he asks as he stands up, revealing an expertly tailored suit. “It will be a few minutes. There’s one person ahead of you.” He gestures to the beautiful, dark-complected woman seated there, waiting.
“No, thank you,” I answer as I make my way to sit. Kiyoshi nods his head. He looks down at a mirror sitting on his desk and uses his hand to push back the one piece of hair that’s out of place. He straightens his tie as he walks into the office.
“Hello,” The woman says as I settle in two chairs over from her. I think she is Native American by her features and the jewelry she’s wearing. She has worry lines on her forehead and can’t seem to keep from fidgeting around in her chair.
“Hello,” I reply, doing my best to give a warm smile. Not knowing if I should ask whether she’s alright, I decide to stay quiet instead. I figure she’ll talk if she wants to.
“I should have never left the reservation to come here,” she says. “Are you here to request a reprieve as well?”
“No, this is my first time here,” I hesitate a moment before I continue. “A reprieve from what?”
“I’m sorry,” she says. “ I thought since you’re waiting to see Sonomi close to my scheduled time, you might be here to ask for a reprieve from being sent to the Depths as well. That's why I'm here. I’m Connie, by the way.”
