by Toby Neal
That reminded her to call Aunty Rosario, whose exclamations and machine-gun questions took up the whole walk home. Love and family. Sometimes it was just a pain in the ass.
“Hey Lei!” Tom Watanabe came up his driveway toward her, his brow furrowed.
“Hey, Tom.”
“What happened to your arm?”
“Tangled with a perp.” She was beginning to like her brush-off line.
“I’m worried about you. Can you come in for a minute and talk?”
“Okay. Just for a minute.” It was time to get this over with anyway, she thought with an inward sigh.
“I’m sorry, maybe I forgot to mention it, but I have a cat. She’ll freak if Keiki comes in.”
“Okay,” Lei said, and made the big Rottweiler sit. She tied the leash around the railing of the porch. She went in through the minimalist gloss of his front room, following him into the kitchen. He ran a glass of water from the refrigerator filter and handed it to her.
“It seems like there’s a lot of drama going on. You sure you’re okay?”
She set the water down on the granite island without drinking it.
“The stalker thing is over, so yeah, I’m okay. Just need to recover. Listen, I don’t think I’ve been fair to you.”
He smiled, a baring of teeth.
“Oh, here it comes. The part where you tell me, ‘let’s just be friends.’”
“I guess. I like you, just not . . . that way.”
She reached for the glass of water.
“Sure I can’t change your mind?”
“I’m sorry. I’m just not interested.” Lei set the glass down with finality.
“It’s too bad, you know,” he said conversationally.
“What do you mean?”
“That you won’t give me another chance. I could’ve helped you.”
“Helped me? I don’t need help.”
“Really? The way you lock yourself in, like that’ll keep you safe? The way you run like you could get away? The way you carry a gun just to go for a walk?” He gestured to the bulge under the thin windbreaker. “It’s pathetic. All your efforts, and you couldn’t catch someone who might be just trying to show you how vulnerable you are, that you need somebody.”
Lei pushed away from the counter. He was blocking the door of the kitchen.
“I don’t have to listen to this.” Her heart thudded as she put her hand on the Glock. “Let me out. Now.”
“Your loss,” he said. He took one step to the side. She edged past him, backing out through the house, but he didn’t follow as she went down the steps and untied the dog. Her cell rang, a jarring vibration as she jogged toward her house. She transferred the leash to the hand with the cast and dug it out of her pocket.
“Hello?”
“You sound out of breath.” Stevens.
“Running,” she huffed.
“Sure you should be doing that with your bruised ribs and all?” His voice was sharp. The question made her realize there was indeed a stabbing pain in her side, one she had been ignoring since she’d left her house. She slowed to a walk.
“Probably not.”
“Thought we could go on a real date tonight.”
“Okay.”
“Such enthusiasm. I’ll pick you up at seven. Wear something nice.”
“I’ll see what I’ve got.” She closed the phone and concentrated on getting home and locking the door behind her.
Chapter 42
They sat at a corner table of the Banyan Tree, Hilo’s finest dining restaurant. The oceanfront view reflected gleaming torches on the water. Stevens raised his glass of expensive chardonnay.
“To new beginnings and a real date.”
Lei clinked her glass against his. She sipped the crisp wine. It still hurt to smile, and her ribs ached from running. Her thoughts spun like confetti.
“You look beautiful.”
“That’s what you said when you picked me up.” She’d anchored her hair on top of her head, leaving curls dangling. Her ears were heavy with the unfamiliar weight of glowing Tahitian pearls, Aunty’s graduation present. She wore her only dress, a tropical print wrap that hugged her lean curves and managed to cover the bandage on her collarbone.
He reached for her good hand, stroked the back of it.
“Something’s wrong.”
“No.” She pulled her hand away. “Everything’s wonderful. Thanks for doing this.”
“Cut the crap, Texeira. What’s up?”
“I’m sorry. I don’t want to ruin our first date.” He watched as she took a fortifying gulp of wine. “Some stuff happened today,” she said.
“Like what?”
“Had the ‘let’s be friends’ talk with Tom Watanabe, and he didn’t like it.”
“Nobody ever does.”
“No, but he said some things that made me think . . . maybe he’s been up to something. I’m probably just being paranoid.” She fiddled with her napkin, smoothing it, avoiding his eyes.
The waiter came and gave them a pause as they ordered. The minute he left, Stevens turned to her again.
“What did he say?”
“He said maybe someone was just trying to show me I needed help, needed someone to look out for me.”
“Asshole.”
Lei sneaked a glance over at Stevens’ bunched jaw and tight fingers on the stem of his wineglass.
“I also met a guy from class at the gun range. He was a little off too.” She pulled on a curl and it wrapped around her finger. “I’m sure Dr. Wilson would say I’ve got some post trauma stress or something.”
“You went for a run and to the gun range two days after an attack that should have put you in the hospital? I thought you’d be home in bed like any sane human.”
A long silence.
Lei looked out at the ocean. The sunset had faded and the moon trailed silver footprints over the ruffled water.
“This is going to be hard, if you won’t take a little bit of care of yourself,” he said.
“I’m fine. I need to get back on the horse, get back to work.”
“What you need to do is chill out. If you’re going to keep doing whatever you think of without caring about your safety . . . it’s going to be hard.” He sat back, picked up his wineglass. “It already is hard.”
“I am who I am,” Lei said, in a small voice.
“Do you have any idea what it was like for me to ride in that ambulance with you, to see what he did to you, how close you came to being raped, even murdered? Disappear on me, fly to see your dad in prison . . . God knows what kind of characters he associates with . . . Run around town with all these injuries . . .”
Lei looked at her hands. She felt herself detaching, flying away, her vision dimming to a pinprick. She grabbed her arm above the cast, digging her nails in, trying to stay present.
He’s not going to hurt me, she told herself. No matter how angry he is, he won’t hurt me.
Her vision expanded. She breathed, slow breaths in and out. He was still saying something.
“It’s because I care. I know you’ve got issues, and just getting through this situation has taken all you’ve got—let alone worrying about how I’m dealing with it. I know that. But . . . I can’t help it. I want you to remember me, too, and include me. I need you to, or this thing,” he said, gesturing between them, “isn’t going to last.”
“I’m just not used to having to include someone else.” Lei firmed her chin. “I don’t like you being mad at me, but sometimes I’m gonna do what I need to do—and I’m sure you’re going to be pissed off. But I’ll try to be more careful and keep you in the loop.”
“Okay, I said my piece.” He sighed, sat back. “Can’t help my caveman instincts, I want to kick the crap out of anyone who threatens my woman. Gotta remember she can do her own ass-kicking.” He raised his glass. “To you, Lei.”
Lei sipped uneasily, but he didn’t seem to be making fun of her. She reached across with her good hand to touch his.
As usual the right words wouldn’t come.
“You know what?” His mouth turned up on one side, a rueful smile. “Can’t say I wasn’t warned.”
This time she was the one to take his hand.
“I’ll try to make it up to you.”
Stevens kissed her goodnight at the door when he dropped her off, insisting she go to bed early. She watched him drive away and remembered she’d forgotten the mail. She took the letters out, rifled through them—a few bills and the now-familiar plain white envelope with LEI TEXIERA on it.
“Impossible,” she said aloud, going up the dark stairs. “He’s dead.”
She ripped the envelope open. Her eyes scanning the street, she looked briefly down at the sheet of computer paper she’d unfolded.
This note was different.
She went up the porch and into the house, relocking and rearming the door. Keiki greeted her, whuffling and bumping with her head, but Lei ignored the dog. She flicked on the light, sat down at the little kitchen table and opened the folded paper.
Her own childhood face looked up at her—a photocopy of the school snapshot from third grade, the year she was nine. An aureole of curly hair framed an olive-skinned, lightly freckled face with tilted almond eyes and a too-wide smile. The note, all in caps, glared up at her from beneath.
YOU ARE DAMAGED GOODS AND ALWAYS WILL BE. SEE YOU SOON.
Lei barely made it to the bathroom before throwing up. She clung to the toilet, heaving well past when anything was left, and then sat back, her head resting on the cool porcelain of the tub. She crawled over and locked the door, then curled up on the bath mat, clutching her abused ribs, rubbing her aching stomach, a keening in her throat echoed by Keiki’s whining outside the door.
Damaged Goods. That’s what he’d called her. D.G. for short. He had even called her that in front of her mother, telling Maylene it meant Dear Girl.
Memories roiled up, images that she had stuffed down past knowing. She’d remembered that first time, the struggle even though he’d doped her with cold medicine, and the pain of things never meant for someone so small. That blank space in her memory had kept her from knowing anything more until now. It all crashed back on her with the simple phrase he’d used as he used her.
She longed to escape to that other place, but this time it didn’t work. Like a broken film clip the memories ran. When she realized there was no way to stop him, she’d cooperated—and on some level she’d secretly liked the attention he gave her, the little presents, the protection from her mother . . . and when he left, she’d cried and missed him.
He’d said he loved her, and she believed it.
Damaged Goods. That was what she was. Shame and self-loathing swamped her and Lei retched some more, and went to bed.
Keiki barking, the deep bellow she reserved for intruders, penetrated the darkness of her dreams. She got out of bed and padded to the bathroom yelling, “Just a minute!”
Pale morning light did bad things to her complexion in the mirror and she couldn’t meet her own eyes as she splashed water on her face and rinsed out her mouth. She went to the front door, put her eye to the peephole.
Michael Stevens stood there. He was holding a bouquet of flowers.
She turned and ran back to the bathroom, stomach heaving as she fell to her knees. Keiki ran back and forth, confused and whimpering.
“Lei! What’s wrong?” She heard Stevens pounding on the door. She raised her head, yelled.
“Go away! I’m sick!”
The pounding stopped. She rested her head on the tub again, tears welling as she thought about Stevens, about the feelings she’d had before she knew what she really was.
Damaged Goods. That’s my name. My destiny.
“Lei? You sure you’re okay? Can I come in, help you or something?”
“No! Seriously, I’m just really sick. Please go away.”
Keiki was staring at the front door, her ears cocked in anticipation. She gave a little greeting bark, recognizing his voice. First time she’s ever done that, Lei thought, and it’ll be the last.
She heard his footsteps walk back and forth on the porch, and then her cell rang, buzzing on the side table where she’d dropped it.
“Lei pick up!” he called. “Let me talk to you.”
“No. Goddamn it, just go away, and let me be sick in peace!”
This heart-cry took the last of her strength, and she slammed the bathroom door and curled up on the mat, sobbing into a towel until no more tears came. It was just all too damn much.
She eventually got up, brushed her teeth, opened the bathroom door. The silence told her Stevens was gone. She knelt, gave Keiki a chest rub.She fed the dog and looked at the table. The unfolded paper seemed alive, a burning, pulsing wound. She put it in a Ziploc bag and stuck it in the freezer. She opened the front door to make sure Stevens was gone. The bouquet of flowers lay wilting on the welcome mat. She slammed the door, armed the house, and went to bed with a handful of Vicodin.
They’d been so sure Jeremy was the stalker! They’d found pictures of her on his phone—and her house at all hours of the day and night, as he tracked her routine. How he’d known about the bath thing she’d still wondered, and now she knew.
He wasn’t the only guy stalking her.
Chapter 43
Pono finally got her to open the door a day later. He held up the browning flowers.
“These yours?”
She snatched them out of his hand.
“You look like shit,” he said, following her into the kitchen.
“Thanks. I feel like shit.”
“So what’s up? Flu? Food poisoning?”
She stuffed the flowers into the overflowing trash can.
“I can’t see Stevens anymore.”
“That’s some flu you got.” Pono sat down, rubbed his lips thoughtfully with his finger. “Want to tell me what’s really going on?”
“Only if you swear not to tell Stevens and you promise to keep this confidential. It’s my case and I don’t want him on it anymore.”
“That’s going to be tough. Man deserves an explanation. He can tell something’s up, something worse than the flu.”
“I’ll deal with him—but you need to keep this confidential.” She dug in the freezer, pulled out the Ziploc bag. Took the letter out, unfolded it.
“Nice smile.” Pono sat forward. He touched the photo. “Who is this sick bastard? This the reason you have an alarm on your house and a Glock under your pillow?”
“The Glock’s where it should be—in the holster hanging on the headboard.” She took a deep breath, tapped the letter. “This sick bastard is Charlie Kwon. He was my mother’s boyfriend when I was nine. He raped and molested me for 6 months. He broke up with my mom and she overdosed. That’s when I went to live with Aunty Rosario.”
“He calls you damaged goods. Bullshit—if you were damaged it’s because he did it to you. No little kid signs on for that.”
“It’s complicated.” Lei picked at her cast. “What this has done is made me realize I’m not fit to be in a relationship. That and I’m probably gonna meet up with this guy and kill him sometime soon. It’s what I do. And frankly at this point I don’t care if I go to jail for it.”
“So do you think he’s the one who’s been stalking you?”
“I think there was Jeremy Ito. The notes, the panties—have been Charlie Kwon.”
“So you were being stalked by two guys at the same time.” Pono whistled. “Popular, you.”
“Yeah, popular. What’s wrong with me that I get all the sickos?”
“Stevens likes you.”
“He’s as sick as the others if he does. I’m fucked up, damaged goods. Always have been.”
“Shut up. All I know is, you been a good partner.” He patted her shoulder.
Lei got a paper towel off the roll and honked her nose. “Thanks.”
“We got to tell the Lieutenant about this. We thought your case was closed when you took Ito down.�
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Lei just shook her head, closing her eyes. Her brain didn’t seem to be functioning.
“Got a beer?” Pono asked. “It’s five o’clock somewhere.” She got up and uncapped two, set one in front of him and took a long pull off the other. He put the letter away in the bag and now he tucked it inside his jacket.
“Going to sign this into evidence,” he said, patting his pocket. “Need to lay the foundation for your defense in a future murder case.”
She wished she could smile at his ironic tone but couldn’t.
“I wish you didn’t have to—that I could just burn the damn thing,” Lei said.
“I’ll also put out a BOLO on him. Bet he’s using another name. Got a physical description?”
“I remember him as medium tall, wiry build, a good-looking mixed Chinese Filipino in his thirties. He had dark hair. Used to wear a goatee. He’d be fifteen years older now.”
“Do you want to work with a sketch artist?”
His pupils seemed to loom up in front of her, expanding into darkness as she tried to picture his face.
“No. Not now. See what you can find on him in the computer first.”
“Going to do a Temporary Restraining Order?”
“Would that keep me from assaulting him?”
“Works both ways,” Pono smiled a bit. “But it would establish the stalking as pre-existing harassment when we do catch him. Then you can press charges for the sexual abuse.”
“I don’t plan to do that. Too hard to prove and it would ruin my rep in the department. But I guess I better do the TRO.”
“I think you should press charges on the old stuff too. Think about it anyway. I’ll start the paperwork when I get back to the station.”
She nodded, sighed. “Do you miss me down there?”
“God, yes. That Jenkins is so ‘Fresh Off The Plane’ I can hardly stand being seen with him. Guy gets sunburned riding in the Crown Vic. I didn’t know that was possible.”
She laughed, more of a watery snort, took a sip of beer.
“You need to get back on the job,” Pono said, leaning forward. “Chase some taggers, bang some heads. You’ll feel better for it.”
“You’re probably right. Think the Lieutenant will let me come back early?”
