by Toby Neal
She and Dr. Wilson resumed their places. Dr. Wilson cleared her throat. “Is there any chance you could be pregnant?”
Sophie leaned back abruptly to get the support of the couch in remaining upright. “No. I mean…” She and Jake had been using condoms, but there was always a chance something had gone wrong. And that time with Alika? They hadn’t used anything! But it was just one time almost two months ago… Sophie covered her mouth with a hand, her eyes going wide. “No, surely not.”
“Well, I was reviewing your physical symptoms while you were in the bathroom, and while they’re consistent with PTSD, they’re also consistent with pregnancy. When was your last period?”
“I don’t know.” Sophie’s mind had gone completely blank. White noise filled her ears.
Dr. Wilson’s gaze was level. “I can’t recommend any medications for your depression until you rule out pregnancy. You’re a young, healthy woman in her prime who’s sexually active. This is something you need to tackle head-on. Take a test immediately. And if you’re not pregnant, get on some birth control right away.”
“I’m just upset. Traumatized. From everything.” Sophie’s lips felt numb. “I can’t be pregnant. No.”
“You have all the working parts. Just because you’ve got issues with your mother and you’ve never thought of yourself in this category doesn’t mean it doesn’t apply to you,” Dr. Wilson said crisply.
“There’s more to it than that.” Sophie looked down at her clenched hands. “But I can’t believe I was so stupid.”
“Not stupid. Distracted,” Dr. Wilson said. “You must have thought about children.”
“I love children. But I never wanted to have them myself. Because Assan tried to get me pregnant. Over and over.” Sophie felt sick again. She closed her eyes, breathing through it. Another bit of nightmare from her past she hadn’t let herself remember. “Assan wouldn’t let me use birth control. I would sneak and buy contraceptives when I could get out from the apartment, but eventually gave that up when he caught me and beat me for it. Five years of being raped and used, and I never conceived.” She shook her head. “I just eventually assumed I couldn’t get pregnant. It should have occurred to me that he was the problem.”
“And thank God you didn’t, or think how hard it would have been to escape,” Dr. Wilson said. “Children are one of the many reasons women stay with an abuser. They’re used as bargaining chips to get the woman to comply and keep her in the relationship.”
Sophie nodded. “I burned incense in front of Quan Yin at our apartment, telling Assan I was praying to get pregnant…when the opposite was true. Even though he’d beat me when I got my period, I never stopped praying. And then one day I just felt my womb had closed. It would not betray me and open to him.” She looked down to see her hands folded over her abdomen. “And then I just…forgot about it. Strange, I know.”
“Dear girl. The mind does many strange things when trying to survive a terrible situation.” Dr. Wilson glanced at the clock. “We are out of time. I hate to say goodbye with this kind of revelation, but you’d best go to the pharmacy right after this and get a test. Text me when you have the results.”
The women hugged, and Sophie made an appointment for the following week with a request to get in sooner if there were any cancellations.
Out on the walkway at Dr. Wilson’s little cottage office behind the University of Hawaii campus, standing beside torch ginger plantings in the overcast light of a Hilo day threatening rain, Sophie had to grab onto a nearby railing to stay upright as emotional overwhelm crashed in on her.
She might be pregnant.
Chapter Nine
The smell of bleach barely covered an unpleasant ripeness of old blood floating on the air of the cavernous, historic Chang warehouse in downtown Hilo. Terence Chang observed the scene he had set as he waited for the heads of the different Chang business departments to arrive for the gathering he’d called.
He’d laid down a huge square of heavy plastic on the concrete floor. He’d moved a long koa wood table, used for generations of Chang gatherings, out of the conference room to this central spot. A white, waterproof tablecloth covered the expanse of wood and plastic folding chairs surrounded it. A floodlight beamed down on the table from above, casting the rest of the echoing space into shadow. A single water carafe was placed in the center of the table, and each seat was provided with a plastic glass, pen, and a copy of the agenda.
Terence had dressed for the occasion in a fitted charcoal gray suit with a narrow pinstripe and a red power tie. Wearing this level of formalwear, in Hawaii, sent a message. He walked to take his seat at the head of the table, and pressed his hands flat on the agenda and computer tablet to hide any tremble from his pounding pulse.
Terence’s cousin Emma, his closest friend in the family business, stood in the doorway of the warehouse. Twenty-six-year-old Emma had a maturity and composure beyond her years. She too, was dressed formally, wearing a floor-length muumuu in deep purple, the neckline trimmed in velvet. Multiple strands of pearls and kahelelani shells garlanded her slender throat. She met the different department heads at the door in a cheerful, firm manner, wanding them for weapons, collecting their firearms and phones, and directing them to the conference area.
“Looking so fly, cuz.” Ikaika, a cousin in charge of one of the meth factories and Akane’s surviving brother, approached Terence and took a seat next to him.
“Very Chicago gangster,” Elektra, in charge of meth distribution, elaborated. “You always like to dress the part, Terence. I take it this means you’re making a move on Byron’s chair?”
Terence inclined his head, unsmiling, his only answer as the various department heads arrived, each of them assessing the space and members present. Chatter was overloud, a reverberation of nervousness echoing in the vast space.
When all the chairs were filled, Emma exited and shut the door. Terence hoped he was the only one who heard the clunk of a heavy lock on the outside.
Terence waited until everyone was seated, not responding to the occasional greetings, sallies and nervous jokes coming his way.
He waited with every appearance of patience, even as his hands sweated on his copy of the agenda.
He waited until the murmurs, comments, and casual trash talk finally ground to a halt and all eyes turned to him.
“You have all been provided a copy of today’s agenda and a pen and space to make any notes needed.” He gave the group a moment to look down at the agenda, printed with a bold new company name and logo: Terence Chang and Associates. The pen each had been provided was a commemorative Mont Blanc inscribed with the same company name in gold. “I direct your attention to item one on the agenda: new vision statement.”
“This is bullshit!” His uncle Freddie Chang objected. Terence wasn’t surprised that Akane’s father was the first to challenge him, and he’d come prepared for opposition. He lifted a silenced Smith & Wesson 9mm from his lap, and shot his uncle between the eyes.
The loud pop of the pistol and the crash of his uncle’s chair falling backward as the man hit the floor were the only sounds for a long moment—and then chaos erupted. Twenty cousins, uncles, aunts, and managers yelled, screamed, and jumped to their feet, scrambling for nonexistent phones and weapons.
Terence remained in his seat, the Smith & Wesson’s butt resting on the tabletop because his hand was shaking so hard. His heart pounded in his ears. Adrenaline gave him hyper-focused vision that caught the slight, furtive movement of his cousin Ikaika’s hand, as Akane’s brother reached for a concealed weapon at his ankle.
The Smith & Wesson popped again, and Ikaika fell. Blood from the man’s head splattered across Terence’s aunt Mei. His aunt screamed loud and long, collapsing to her knees beside her fallen son, clutching his shoulders as she knelt beside her dead husband.
None of Akane’s family was ever going to support him.
So he shot Mei and his cousin Elektra, too.
The table was short four memb
ers when the horrified group, after discovering that they were locked inside the building, returned to face Terence. “What the fuck, cuz?” one brave soul finally yelled.
Terence picked up his copy of the agenda and gestured with the pistol. “Shall we continue? Or would anyone else like to join them?”
The remaining members reluctantly resumed their seats amid the carnage. He waited until everyone had turned their attention back to him. “I believe we were going to review the new vision statement before that unfortunate, and entirely avoidable, interruption. But I’d just as soon clear the deadwood now than have to hunt people down later—so speak up if you have a problem with my leadership.”
Terence gazed around the table, looking for any signs of disagreement. His determination felt like armor; he was completely committed to this course of action and he meant every word. If he needed to swim through blood to get to the door, then that’s what needed to happen.
No one would meet his eyes. All were dutifully looking at their agendas. Good.
“The Chang operation is going to be cutting some aspects of the business, beginning with cessation of meth production.” He waited for the murmurs to die down and continued. “Read this vision statement with me: ‘Terence Chang and Associates exists to build and enrich the lives of its founding family, the Island of Hawaii, and our state, and to create healthy income streams to enrich our interests in perpetuity.’” He looked out at the silent, shocked faces surrounding him. “I am taking this company in a direction that’s going to benefit not only us, but our island and community.” He tapped his paper. “Note the word ‘healthy.’ Meth is unhealthy, and though it’s easy money, it puts us at odds with those around us. All in favor of adopting the new vision statement, say ‘aye.’” Terence’s hand drifted down to rest on the pistol as his eyes flicked around the table. A chorus of reluctant “ayes” echoed around the room. No accident that the Changs he’d eliminated were those running the meth operation.
Terence wrinkled his nose against the increasingly sharp, coppery tang of blood in the air as the cooling bodies bled out. Sticky puddles formed around divots created by the chair legs on the plastic around their feet.
Looking at the mess had been a mistake.
He breathed through nausea and continued. “Let’s move on to new business. We will be switching to legal marijuana growing, packaging, and distribution, using our former meth lab facilities and locations. Those not able to adapt their skills to the change in product are welcome to tender their resignations now.” His hand had not left the pistol. No one got up or spoke. “I have arranged for a buyout of our current meth inventory and production equipment by Da Boyz on Oahu.”
A groan met this. Da Boyz had been competition and a thorn in the Changs’ side since the eighties, when the gang had moved into the Islands and developed a stranglehold on the construction trade and shipping on Oahu.
Terence ignored the muffled rumble of protest. “Da Boyz have agreed to give us more than fair market value for our product, and a bonus when the distribution and sale is completed. All of you here will be receiving a bonus from that sale. Across the board. Straight into each of your pockets. They are also giving us an ongoing cut for allowing them exclusive license to make meth in Hawaii, and an agreement not to compete with our pakalolo production.”
For the first time, some animation and excitement began to show in the pale faces left around the table. “Just how much is this bonus going to be?” someone piped up.
“Counting heads here at the table? Probably a couple hundred grand apiece. And that is in addition to your usual percentages, which might have to be temporarily adjusted as we switch gears.” He set down the agenda and steepled his fingers, making eye contact with each remaining person. “This has been a bit of a rough transition after Byron, but I assure you that, once we make the move, profits will be plentiful and the presence of cops minimal. Give me six months to turn this company around and head it in the direction of our new mission statement, and I promise you both prosperity and legitimacy in the business marketplace of the Big Island. No more looking over your shoulder for the next police raid.”
“What about the gambling? The bingo, cockfighting, and mahjong?” Terence’s intrepid aunt Suki asked. She was in charge of those illegal home gambling businesses that paid a cut to the Changs.
He smiled. “Okay, we’ll still need to keep looking over our shoulders for some things. We’re keeping the homegrown gambling.”
“And the hookers?” Suki tipped her head. Her shiny dark eyes and demeanor reminded Terence of a mynah bird.
“We’ll be phasing out those operations and replacing them with different businesses. I have some ideas. But not right away, and not today.” Terence stood. “I think you all have enough change to deal with right now. Meeting dismissed.”
The remaining members stood up. A few gasps and sobs were voiced as family members moved carefully around the bodies.
He kept his hand on the pistol, and his voice rang out after their retreating backs. “I’ve heard that Akane has escaped. If you hear from that psycho…tell Akane his family is waiting for him in hell, and I’ll send him and anyone who helps him there too.” Terence’s flat tone carried weight. But he wasn’t finished yet. “And in case you didn’t know…I’m very good with technology and computers. All of you are being monitored. Consequences will be swift and lethal if you cross me. By the same token, rewards will be equally great.”
The group shuffled silently toward the door. Emma unlocked it and opened it from the outside. A square of light seemed to appear at the end of a long dark tunnel.
Their weapons were not returned.
Chapter Ten
Sophie felt the pregnancy test weighing down her backpack as she walked into the Security Solutions office after her session with Dr. Wilson. The little white cardboard box she’d bought at the pharmacy almost seemed to be glowing, radioactive, advertising its presence through the nylon and her terrified conscience like a pulsing beacon.
Ridiculous. More of the depression talking, with its evil twin, anxiety. She didn’t have to listen to the lies; the real situation was challenging enough.
She’d taken the time to freshen up and brush her teeth and change her shirt at the motel after the session, and she’d needed every minute to pull herself together.
Sophie stowed the backpack on a door hook and walked around to her desk to check the schedule, neatly printed out from their shared online calendar by the ever-efficient Felicia.
Out in the reception area, she could hear Jake and Felicia’s voices rising and falling in that bantering, flirtatious cadence she was unable to participate in with any smoothness at all.
As she had remembered, a follow-up videoconference with their client Kim Kauwa was on the agenda. The woman was too busy to come in and meet with them, but Sophie needed to update her on some leads she had uncovered online regarding the money trail, and Jake’s impressions after visiting the physical location of the Festival.
Jake entered, carrying a couple of old-fashioned root beers in glass bottles, their long necks beaded with moisture. “Brought you a little something.”
Sophie had never seen anything look so delicious in her life. “Thanks, Jake.”
She snatched one of the opened bottles out of his hand, tipped back her head, and guzzled.
“Well, now I know what to bring you when you’re thirsty.” Jake sounded amused.
Sophie set the half-empty bottle down on her desk and burped from the carbonation, covering her mouth with a hand. “Therapy is thirsty work.”
Jake sat down in one of the two chairs fronting her desk, leaning it back on two legs as he sipped his root beer. “How did it go?”
“Like I said, therapy is work. Not fun.” She wasn’t about to fill him in any further.
“Last night was fun.” He met her eyes meaningfully, a grin lurking.
Her cheeks went hot, remembering last night’s passion. Clearly, he remembered it, too.
<
br /> Jake would be angry and hurt if he found out that she and Alika had slept together, but the incident had happened before they were exclusive. She didn’t need to feel guilty! And hopefully she wasn’t pregnant and would never have to tell him.
The computer on Sophie’s desk contained a voice audio communication feature in lieu of an antiquated intercom, and Sophie depressed a button on her keyboard to speak to Felicia. “Hey, Felicia. Can you initiate a call with our client, Kim Kauwa? And bill any time incurred to the Hawaii Tourism Authority account, please.”
“Sure, boss.” Felicia’s voice sounded perky and agreeable, as she always did. Sophie wished she had even a fraction of the girl’s positivity.
Felicia seemed like a great fit for Jake. She was smart, energetic, pretty, and probably didn’t want a lot more out of life than a career, a white picket fence, and a couple of children…
Children. Augh! Sophie finished the root beer in a few giant swigs with her eyes on the computer’s screen.
Jake scooted his chair up to her desk and leaned his upper body into her work area. His low, concerned voice cut across her negative reverie. “What’s up? We had such a special time last night. What happened between when you left this morning, and now?”
Sophie shook her head mutely—there was too much to that subject to get into right now. She used her mouse to open up a new window in the client’s file, and the incoming conference call icon pulsed. Sophie picked up a pair of cordless headphones and put them on, handing another pair to Jake, and hit the Accept Call feature. She turned the monitor to take in Jake as well as Kim’s face appeared.
They greeted each other and exchanged social pleasantries.
“How’s it going so far?” Kim’s forehead exhibited a wrinkle between well-kept brows.
