The Devil Inside

by Amano, Mia

  “What happened to it?” The question pops into my mind, and I blurt it out without thinking.

  “Happened to what?”

  “Your finger.”

  Kaito raises his eyebrows in surprise, curling his left hand into a fist. It’s an unconscious, self-conscious act. I find it endearing, a sign that under the smooth exterior, he’s all too human. It’s almost as if he’s shy. He hesitates.

  “Go on,” I encourage, softly. Kaito takes a deep breath, and sighs.

  “The first job I ever had was as a debt collector. I was seventeen, and probably the worst fucking debt collector in Tokyo. I used to be soft on the people who owed us money. They were ordinary people; low paid workers, parents, sons and daughters. People like me. Like my mother. People who couldn’t borrow from regular banks. I’d give them extensions, sometimes wipe the slate clean. A few times, I even paid off their debts from my own pocket. After a while, my boss figured it out. He was furious. Makes the organization look bad. He thought I was taking the piss out of him. Said if I wanted to live, I needed to apologize the right way, and never let this kind of thing happen again.”

  “So you gave him your pinky?”

  “That’s how we apologize. It’s supposed to be the honorable thing to do. After that, I never collected debts ever again.”

  “So after that, you left, um, whatever it was you were a part of?”

  Kaito snorts with dark amusement. “If only it were that easy. Nah, I went on to do other work. Things that were better suited to my temperament.”

  “What kind of things?”

  “It’s not important.” Kaito looks up from his tea, shutting me out of his inner world, his face blank. Gone is that little window of vulnerability I glimpsed. It’s as if he’s let me in a little, then shut me out. “I’m going to be busy for a few days, Adele. I won’t be able to see you for a while.”

  I open my mouth to speak, but Kaito gets there first. “It’s work. Don’t worry about it. It’s just a for a few days. I need to see you again. You have no idea what you do to me.” He sets his tea on the gleaming countertop and wraps his arms around my waist, reaching under my jacket, so I feel the warmth of his bare skin. Suddenly, we’re kissing again, and I’m drowning in an ocean of colorful, swirling tattoos, dark eyes and suggestions of hidden violence.

  Adele

  The day after I spend the night at Kaito’s apartment, I don’t turn up to work. There are missed calls on my phone from Rei and Mama-san, but I ignore them.

  He’s deserted me in the early hours of the morning, slipping out of his apartment without a trace. I wake up in an empty bed, and roll over to find a stack of hundred dollar bills on the bedside table. They’re arranged in neat, perfect wads.

  I stuff the cash into my purse and get dressed, taking a cab home. When I arrive, Dio’s sitting in the kitchen, eating a bowl of cereal. He looks at me with raised eyebrows, but says nothing. I greet him as if nothing weird has happened, as if I haven’t spent the night elsewhere. He’s home for the day, programming or coding, or whatever it is that he does.

  I head over to mom and dad’s, stacks of hundred dollar bills in my bag.

  When I arrive, mom is in the kitchen, making a fruit salad. Dad’s out back on the porch. Mina’s in school. Mom looks up and smiles. “We paid off the debt, Adele.” She’s quartering and peeling a pineapple. I inhale its sweet, acidic tang.

  “What?” I steal a grape from a bowl on the counter. It’s sour. I make a face. “Where did you get the money?”

  “I sold it.”

  “Sold what?”

  “The necklace.”

  “Grandma’s diamond necklace?” I almost choke on the grape. “No way.”

  “I figured I’m never going to wear it, anyway.” Mom shrugs, pushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear. Her blond tresses are shot through with grey, her blue eyes calm as a summer sky. I don’t know how mom can stay so composed after all that’s happened to her. “Your grandma wouldn’t have wanted me to keep it in a time of need. She wouldn’t have wanted for me and you and Mina to be unhappy. When I hid it, I was just being sentimental. I was upset.”

  “But-“ I open my mouth, but mom silences me with a look. I read pain and anger and understanding in her eyes. Suddenly, she looks a lot older.

  “Gold and diamonds won’t make me happy, Adele. Your grandma’s memory is what’s important, not some trinket. And when I sold it, I made your dad promise one thing.”

  “What’s that, mom?”

  “That he go to rehab.”

  “He’s not going to go.” Bitterness creeps into my voice. I can’t help it. I’ve heard too many broken promises. “He’s been saying that for years.”

  “Don’t worry, Adele, he’ll go this time.” There’s conviction in the way mom says it. A shadow of a smile appears on her face, just briefly, but there’s sadness in her eyes. “I told him I’m leaving him if he doesn’t do it.”

  “Whoa.” I rock back on the bar stool, surprised. It’s the first time mom’s ever said that, despite everything she’s been through. She’s not one to throw these kinds of things around lightly. “What changed?”

  “He hit you, Adele.”

  I touch a hand to the skin around my eye. It’s mostly healed now, with just a faint trace of shadowing. I don’t need to cover it with makeup anymore.

  “He’s never laid a hand on you girls before, but that night, I knew he’d gone too far. This is his last chance.”

  “You’re a saint, mom,” I murmur, in awe. This is a side to her I haven’t seen in a long time. Now, she’s in control, and there’s a kind of serenity, a self-assurance in the way she’s standing, slicing golden chunks of pineapple as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. I don’t agree with the way she’s too tolerant with dad, but who am I to judge? Love is such a hard thing to understand, to define.

  I should know; I get the feeling I’m falling for someone who’s no good for me.

  I fish the stack of hundred dollar bills from my bag and slap it on the kitchen bench. “I know you’ve already paid, but I got you the money anyway. Make sure he goes to rehab. Make sure Mina finishes school.”

  Mom’s eyes go wide. “Where did you get all this, Adele?”

  “I got a commission, for my art,” I say wryly.

  “That’s wonderful.” Mom looks at me with something like awe. “I”m so proud of you.” Her quiet amazement is touching. She was the one who encouraged me to study art. My father always wanted me to do something where he thought I would get a secure job, like become a cop, or a nurse.

  Mom always told me to do whatever felt natural.

  For the most part, that’s how I’ve lived my life, so far.

  Ignore the fear. Do what feels right. That’s what I do with Kaito. So far, my instincts haven’t been wrong. I push the stack of bills towards mom. She pushes it back. “I can’t take this, Adele.”

  “Yes you can,” I insist. “After everything that’s happened, you need it. I don’t care what you do with it. Take a vacation to the Bahamas. When was the last time you had a vacation?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” My mom snorts. I bet she thinks it’s a wild idea. I don’t think she’s had a vacation since I was in diapers. I shake my head and push the money back.

  “Take it.”

  The back flyscreen door creaks, causing me to turn. Gavin appears, silhouetted in the bright afternoon sun. He looks different. He’s clean shaven, his hair trimmed neatly. But his eyes are tired, and there are deep, dark circles under them. He looks thinner, and when he unclasps his hands, there’s a small tremor there.

  “Adele.” He nods, unsure of himself. For the first time, I see my father as he really is, an old, vulnerable man. Without the drink, he’s empty. He needs to find himself again. He needs to be the father I lost, the proud, easygoing cop who sat me on his lap when I was a kid, who let me play with his handcuffs, who drew pictures with me at the kitchen table.

  He wasn’t always like this.r />
  “Dad.” It’s the first time I’ve called him that in years. I started calling him by his first name when I was fifteen. It was the first of many barriers put up between us. I can’t tear them down, all at once. “Mom says you’re going to rehab.”

  “That’s right.” His hands twitch. It’s almost like he’s uncomfortable without something to hold onto. The ever-present glass of whisky isn’t there.

  We stand in awkward silence, staring at each other. Mom ignores us and continues chopping her fruit, the soft tap of the knife against wood punctuating the quiet. Eventually, she comes between us. “Why don’t you two go sit on the porch? I’ll bring you fruit salad and ice cream.”

  Dad and I stare at each other, then nod, like angsty teenagers. I follow him out the screen door, letting it bang shut behind me, noticing for the first time how there’s a little shuffle in his walk. His back is a bit more hunched than I remember.

  I plant myself on the daybed. It’s a swing seat, attached to ropes that are older than dirt. They look a bit frayed nowadays. I eye them dubiously as I sit. The seat creaks, but holds. Dad lowers himself into a chair. Finally, he opens his mouth, clearing his throat. “Adele, I’m sorry about-“

  “Save it,” I snap. “You should apologize to mom, not me.”

  He looks at me long and hard, before lowering his head. “You’re right.”

  I hide my surprise. It’s the first time he’s ever admitted any wrongdoing to me. If he can learn to apologize, then maybe there’s hope yet.

  “You’ve got a chance now.” I lie back on the swing seat, closing my eyes. “Don’t fuck it up, dad.”

  Adele

  I open my eyes and stretch. It takes a moment for me to figure out my surroundings. I’m on the porch, and it’s dark. There’s a mild chill in the air. I must have fallen asleep on the swing seat.

  Raised voices greet me. I drop to my feet and make my way to the kitchen.

  Mom and dad turn around as I enter, lowering their voices.

  “What’s up?” I look at both of them, in turn. Mom’s eyes are wide with worry. Dad just looks tired.

  “Mina hasn’t come home yet.”

  “What?”

  “She’s not answering her phone. It just goes to voicemail.”

  Dad’s hands are shaking. “You remember that night, when those thugs showed up at our house? They saw your sister. They noticed her.”

  “I was there, dad.” My voice is flat. A feeling of dread worms its way into my stomach. “I remember what they said. You think they have something to do with this? Doesn’t she have friends she hangs out with after school? Maybe she’s just staying out late.”

  “She always lets me know if she stays out.” Mom slides her hand into dad’s. It stops the damn shaking. He seems to stand a bit straighter. It’s strange to see him without a drink in his hand.

  “You’re worried.” I sigh, running my fingers through my hair. That bad feeling in the pit of my stomach hasn’t gone away. I glance at the clock. It’s eight pm. “Gavin,” I say slowly. “Those people you borrowed money from. Who are they connected to?”

  Dad looks away, refusing to meet my eyes. “I don’t know. What’s that got to do with anything? It’s not important who I got the money from.”

  “Dad.” My words are slow and deliberate. I don’t like his reaction. “Who were those people? Trust me, it’s really important.”

  “Gavin.” Mom turns to dad, her expression stiff, her voice pleading. “Who did you borrow the money from?”

  “I told you, I don’t really now. Obviously they’re not a legitimate organization. You think a bank would give someone like me that kind of money? You saw them, Adele. What did they look like to you?”

  “They looked like mob types, dad. They weren’t nice people.” They looked like the kind of men who would take advantage of a situation, who took what they wanted and didn’t follow rules or laws. My thoughts go back to overhearing their conversation with dad. They spoke about Mina as if she were an object, a commodity to be traded.

  They could make her disappear from the face of the earth, if they wanted.

  I have no doubt they’ve gained many ‘workers’ that way. I shudder. Fear and disgust rises in me, along with a worsening sense of panic. I remember the way they looked at me, with ugly, leering stares.

  Not good people at all.

  “Keep trying her phone,” I urge. “We need to notify the police. Do you know where those people do their business? How did you find them, dad?”

  “I know them through a friend of mine.” Gavin’s face twists in self-disgust. “A crooked cop.”

  “Then you call him, find out where these people operate, what businesses they own. We have to find her.” My poor baby sister. I love Mina to bits. She’s innocent in all of this. I would never forgive myself if something happened to her. I’m going to look all over this town, high and low, visiting every strip joint and sleazy bar and neighborhood until I find her.

  I’m hoping she’s just out with friends, that her phone’s out of charge and she’ll be home any moment now. But deep down, I know that’s not the case. I’m not going to sleep until she’s home safe and sound. But there’s a huge task in front of me. This town is a decadent, seething mess. Under the glamorous surface is an ugliness that invades everything. If this place sucks a person in, it’s hard to find a way back out.

  But I have to try. And if I don’t get anywhere, there’s someone I can ask for help. I get the feeling Kaito’s closer to that world than I care to admit.

  Beneath the bright lights is the underworld that we all touch at some point in our lives, even if it’s just for the shortest time. I wonder how deep Kaito swims in that dark, murky ocean.

  Adele

  Two days pass. There’s no sign of Mina. Her phone goes straight to voicemail now; it’s turned off. I’m frantic with worry. I’ve asked Dio to help. We’ve driven all over LA, visiting every single seedy venue, every business that might have underworld ties. I’ve grown sick to the stomach entering bar after bar, strip club after strip club, taking in the rank smell of cigarettes and alcohol and sex.

  I’ve been to Kaito’s apartment. No-one home, according to the surly concierge who greeted me in the lobby.

  I’ve been to Black Rose. Masahiro stared daggers at me but didn’t say a word. Left me the hell alone. Mama-san says she hasn’t seen Kaito. I eventually went to Masa, tail between my legs, and asked him for Kaito’s number. He told me to fuck off.

  We’ve notified the police. They’ve put out a missing persons alert. The woman at the station was blasé about it. Said this kind of thing happened all the time, especially with teenagers. Told us Mina would probably be home in a few days, when she had a change of heart.

  It wasn’t reassuring.

  Mom and dad are both nervous wrecks. Dad hasn’t touched a drop, and he’s wasting away.

  I don’t have the energy to be angry at him anymore. None of us could have predicted this might happen.

  Mina’s disappeared, sucked into the dark, ugly undertow of this city, and I don’t know what to do. I’m getting desperate.

  I need to find Kaito.

  Kaito

  I search for Vincent Lucini for three days. Three days of driving around this sprawling city, through plush neighborhoods with multi million dollar houses, past gated estates with manicured lawns, down to the sunset strip, where tourists crowd the sidewalks. Then to the rough parts, where I witness LA’s hidden side; prostitutes on street corners, once decent houses turned into crack dens, drug deals going on in broad daylight, suspicious looks directed my way as I drive past, suddenly conspicuous in my clean, middle-class car, an outsider. I wonder how much of their supply comes from Kuroda.

  I haven’t seen Adele in that time. I can’t see her when I’m like this. I’m not the same. This frame of mind drives people away. Scares them. Soon, I’m going to kill a man. I can’t let her sense that. I’m focused, alert, ready. I’ve shut away my emotions, and allowed that
familiar, cold numbness to settle over me. Focusing on the job. Not thinking about consequences. Logical. Patient. No fear.

  Even after three years, it comes back too easily.

  Masa was touchy when I caught up with him, acting unusually quiet and reserved. He didn’t bring up the incident at Black Rose. He gave me a list of businesses owned by the Lucini family. So I’ve been staking them out, visiting each address in the hope I’ll come across my target.

  I’ve got a Glock with a silencer in my glove compartment and a tanto, a Japanese knife, hidden beneath my seat. I’d been careless enough to leave it on view in the kitchen when I took Adele home the other night.

  She’d noticed it, a bundle wrapped in cloth, questions dancing in her eyes. She opened her mouth to ask, but then something stopped her.

  To my relief, she let it slide. I don’t know how I was supposed to explain away a thing like that.

  Sloppy of me. But then again, I hadn’t been expecting to bring anyone home. That girl has a way of getting past my defenses. She’s already learnt too much about me. I blabbed like a lonely housewife about my past. Fuck. She says she accepts me, says she understands it all. But what’s she going to do when she figures out how ruined I really am?

  Maybe I should end the misery before it even starts. But I’m not strong enough to do that.

  When it comes to her, I’m helpless.

  Right now, I’m in the parking lot of a strip club. It’s called “Bootyland.” These Lucini people don’t score any points for originality. But in America, stating the obvious works. It’s a far cry from the bizarre excesses of Kuroda’s Tokyo soaplands. If there’s one thing my people sell and package well, it’s sex. And that’s not anything to be proud of.

  It’s midday, but the place is busy. I see men in suits coming in and out of the club. I can tell the difference between the ordinary customers and the mobsters. It’s in the flash of gold from a chain or watch, the shadow of a tattoo here and there, the cigarettes, the swagger.