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“Then whom?”
“A kid did it. A student in my physics class.”
He offers a pensive groan as if pondering my outlandish statement. He arches a brow, followed by snapping his fingers. In a moment, two rows of Japanese men have flanked me—at least a dozen of them.
“It's true,” I say. “Ryoichi, listen to me. You stubborn mule!”
“Umito?” he asks another man. Ryoichi and the other dude engage in a short exchange—I assume is about Umito—as I attempt to gather his attention.
“Ryo, I can prove it to you. The . . .” My voice trails off as Ryoichi smiles at me.
“Ah, you're learning to fend for yourself, Ryann. Perfect.”
“You’re referring to Umito?”
“Precisely,bijin. Now, we must leave. I’ve already used the app on your phone to check out.” Across the lobby, I glimpse lovers floating in and out of the massive open areas. Some sip fruity umbrella drinks while others drink the taste from each other’s mouths. Funny how I never came down here or to any of the hotels in any of the cities I just left. I told Essence that I wanted to live, and I just was waiting for the bruise to fade. Something tells me, though, that my life just started mere moments ago, at the hands of Ryoichi Ziatso . . . a yakuza boss. For the sake of all these people, I’ll go with him willingly, but if he doesn’t believe I have more self-respect for myself. I’ll drop him, one way or another.
Either way, I’m living my life now. Good thing I’m still forty-yearsyoung.
ChapterSix
Ryoichi
Japan
I spared no expense on tradition, building my home around a small river. Elevated wooden walkways fan out from the center of my compound. Each winding bridge extends from one structure to the next. At the center of my property are traditional Japanese gardens, koi ponds, and my prized bonsai tree.
Friends often brag, saying my home is too vast. They say I could be entertaining uninvited guests and never know it, but I’d be fully aware. You cannot come from where I did, a one-room tenement with a mother who spent most of her time on her knees to an ungrateful stepfather, and not know.
Upon returning home, I tended to my mother’s grave for the first time in weeks, showered, and now, I’m glancing at my cellphone.
Three missed calls.
All from an old friend of mine. No, an enemy I’ve tolerated for more than half my life.
I settle on the edge of my bed and return the call of the person who helped me escape my past years ago. Michie of the Yamazaki family had wealth, affluence, and education. He had a father who consumed literature and imparted wisdom to his sons. I could only dream of attending the same school as the Yamazaki children. Michie often tossed his literature to me.
Like a dog.
I didn’t realize it then because I was poor, humbled, and grateful. I thought of him as my friend. One time the bastard flippantly asked if I traded the books for nourishment. I didn’t understand his slight and said the content was sustenance enough for me.
It was then that I would do anything for him. Fight the rich kid’s bullies. Keep him safe and bow to the ground for another volume of prose. I was loyal to Michie. A brother.
When Michie discarded his woman, much like he had a wealth of stories his father gave him, I realized he could not be a friend of mine. He gave her away but still ended up being owned by Tatchan yakuza, all because of his debt. A debt that should have cost a life, his life, though he tried to sell his woman to pay that debt. Had Michie been a mere stranger and not a friend of mine, the ungrateful leech’s actions would have concluded with the demise of his entire family. He never knew that, of course.
I saved his woman and, in a sense, the Yamazaki family line.
So now, because he treated me like a dog, paying me in scraps, and discarded the woman he claimed to love, I’ve taken on the role of taunting him. Taunting him by ensuring that he cleans Tatchan funds in Los Angeles for the rest of his life. Taunting him by withholding the whereabouts of his woman. A woman who will never have to use her body to pay his debt.
Michie answers on the first ring. “You found her?”
I pause for effect. Michie signed the contract, retaining his life, and created the ultimate sacrifice out of his woman. It was about ten years in that I shared how sheescapedOsaka. My boss never desired her for a mistress, and she hadn’t endured a single day as Tatchan property.
“False alarm. The woman I found lived in your backyard.” I grin into the phone. “Similar beautiful hue and hair. Nevertheless, not her. My mistake.”
“Ah, a mistake.” The sour note in his tone fades. “Friend . . .”
Sensing a thread of hope in Michie’s tone, I reply, “Yes?”
