by John Moralee
Cade hoped the meth dealers would not shoot them when the girls ran out of the exit. He half-expected it – but it didn’t happen.
That left Cade and Gail alone.
Cade looked at the Glock in his hands. He sighed. He knew what he had to do.
He had to kill himself.
Gail raised her own gun to her head, saying, “We should do it together at the same time. I don’t want us to leave each other behind.”
“I know this is definitely the wrong time – but I want you know know something, Gail. I love you.”
“That’s funny. I love you, too. I wish we’d done something about it. I’m sorry.”
“So am I,” Cade said.
They kissed. Cade wanted it to last forever, but he could feel the air getting hotter as the stairs started to burn. In a minute or two it would cook the skin off their bones. They ended the kiss with tears in their eyes.
“Okay,” he said. “On the count of three?”
“Okay,” she said, pressing her gun to her temple.
“One,” he said.
His hand was slick on the trigger.
“Two.”
Gail closed her eyes and trembled.
It was then he heard gunfire outside.
He recognised the sound.
It was the distinctive sound of Army-issued M16s.
*
Cade lowered his gun and stopped the count. Gail looked confused. “What’s going on?”
The gunfire ended in about thirty seconds. Another voice called out: “You can come out now. The enemy has been neutralised.”
It was Colonel Ryker.
*
They exited the burning house to see several men wearing balaclavas and combat gear standing over the dead bodies of the meth dealers. The girls were unharmed, but confused and tearful.
Colonel Ryker was hugging his daughter. He looked at Cade and Gail.
“I had my unit following you,” he said. “Just in case you needed assistance.”
“We much appreciate it, Colonel.”
“Here’s a cell phone. I’ll give you the GPS coordinates of this place to call in – but I won’t be here when your friends arrive, Detectives. I’m afraid that would lead to too many awkward questions. I’m going to take my daughter somewhere she can get the help she needs. My unit was never here, understand?”
Cade nodded. “I don’t know who helped us. Never saw their faces.”
They shook hands. By the time Cade made the call the colonel and his unit had driven away. Cade looked around at the devastation, shaking his head. He counted over a dozen dead.
“This is going to take some explaining,” he said to Gail.
“I think we just survived a war between two gangs of drug dealers, don’t you?”
He grinned. “Yeah. Lucky us.”
“Lucky us,” she said.
My Cousin Shunsuke
We were not expecting my cousin’s arrival. Shunsuke showed up at our door late one night drenched by heavy rain. My mother opened the door and let him inside, while I stood at the top of the stairs, dressed only in my underwear, struggling to hear what was being said.
I would have died of embarrassment if he had looked up and seen me almost naked and without make-up, but Shunsuke spoke softly to my mother without raising his eyes from the floor. His long black hair dripped cold water onto the shoulders of his brown-leather flying jacket. Slowly, like an old man, he removed the jacket, revealing an equally wet T-shirt underneath. He hung the jacket up before following my mother into the living room.
I hurried to my bedroom and dressed. When I went down, my mother was waiting in the hall, her usually placid face marked by worry lines.
“Shunsuke is here,” she said in a hushed voice.
“Yes, I saw him. What’s going on?”
“I don’t know. He’s very upset. I am hoping he will explain why once he’s had my special tea.”
Tea was my mother’s solution for everything. It was so very English. She was an Anglophile in every way, but particularly after my dad died. It was as though her obsession with tea was a way of remembering him. Our kitchen had a shelf containing teas from different countries, teas for different moods, teas for different days. Sometimes her tea worked miracles, but I doubted it would work on Shunsuke.
“Reiko, keep him company,” she said, before disappearing into the kitchen to work her magic.
I nervously walked into the living room, where I saw Shunsuke sitting slumped on the sofa in front of the electric fire, his only luggage, a sports bag, dropped on the carpet. He looked so dejected and worn out, a ghost of the boy I had known. I had been twelve the last time I had seen him in person. He had been sixteen. It had been five years since we had been in the same room. I would have loved to see him more often, but family problems had prevented it. His father Noburu had always disapproved of his youngest sister, my mother, marrying a gaijin, an Englishman. They were no longer on speaking terms after he refused to attend my dad’s funeral. Shunsuke and I had stayed friends by sending regular e-mails. Despite the distance separating us, I considered him my best male friend. It hurt to see him looking so sad. He sat staring at nothing, his body and head wrapped in a large towel. His skin looked too pale.
“Hey,” I said, but if he heard me, he showed no signs. I sat down anyway. “Should I put the TV on?”
He turned to look in my direction. “No.”
“Okay ...” The silence was uncomfortable. I wanted to hug him and tell him I’d missed him, but he clearly wanted to be left alone. “It’s ... good to see you.”
My mother brought in the tea, which he accepted with a mumbled thank-you. Shunsuke sipped the tea through his pale lips until some colour returned to his face. “I’m sorry for waking you. I didn’t know where else I could go.”
“You’re always welcome here,” my mother said. I nodded in agreement. My mother sat down opposite him. “By the way, how did you get here?”
“I took a taxi from Heathrow. Unfortunately, the taxi driver dropped me at the wrong street. He drove away before I realised. He charged me £50. I had no money for another taxi, so I walked a long way.”
“Why didn’t you tell us you were coming?”
“It was a sudden decision.” He rubbed his eyes with his hands, lowering his voice to a whisper. “I had a big fight with my father. He threw me out. I had nowhere else to go. I am sorry if I am imposing. I can leave -”
“No,” we both said at once. My mother added: “You’re welcome to stay as long as you like. You’re family.”
“We have a spare room,” I told him. “I’ll take your bag upstairs.”
He tried smiling. “Thank you, Reiko.”
*
In the morning Shunsuke came down after my mother had gone to work. I suspected he had waited upstairs until he heard her leave. I was in the kitchen waiting for him. He looked surprised to see me.
“Reiko! I thought you’d be at school.”
“No. I’m supposed to be revising for exams.”
“I hate exams. Too much pressure. Is it okay if I make myself some breakfast?”
I nodded. “Can I ask you something?”
“What?”
“Did you really have a fight with your father?”
“Of course.”
“In your e-mails you’ve said you were living on the university campus. You don’t live at home these days. You hardly ever see your father.”
“Okay,” he said. “I lied last night.”
“I know, but why?”
“I just needed a reason for staying here.”
“Why?”
Shunsuke would not look into my eyes.
“Shunsuke?”
He looked into my eyes, the intensity of his gaze frightening. Though his face was a rigid mask, I could feel the emotions under the surface, held in control by an enormous act of will. “Reiko, can you help me find this place?”
He held out a piece of paper.
“Yes,” I
said. “But you’ll have to tell me what’s going on.”
“I will - later,” he promised. “Now, can you just take me there?”
*
“Come on – we’re late!”
He grabbed my hand and pulled me towards the arched doorway. Inside, the church was dark, cold and filled with three hundred strangers. Shunsuke found two seats near the back, and we sat down just as the priest started talking in a solemn tone about someone called Laura. I looked at Shunsuke and saw tears running down his cheeks. Many other people were also grieving. I felt weirdly out of place. I could see a coffin, and several people I assumed were Laura’s family. Most mourners (who were not looking down into their own laps) focused on the priest – but my cousin’s eyes were upon a white man in his early twenties. The man was tall and well-dressed, with floppy brown hair hiding his eyes. Shunsuke’s face suddenly twisted into an ugly, hate-filled expression, but the terrifying look disappeared a moment later, replaced by a dead, blank expression that was perhaps more disturbing, for I knew it was a mask.
I did not listen to much of the eulogy, which seemed to last hours. I mouthed the words of the hymns that followed, wishing it would be over soon. I hated funerals. It reminded me of my dad’s funeral. When it was finally over, the funeral ended with the dead girl’s close friends and family walking out first. Shunsuke’s eyes followed the tall man, who passed us without even looking our way. There were tears on his face, too. After they had left, everyone else filed out along the aisles, back out into the bright but grey morning. Several long black limousines spirited the family away.
Shunsuke clenched his fists. “Let’s go.”
“Wait a minute,” I said. He stopped. He looked impatient. “What was all that about?”
“Nothing,” he lied. “It was just the funeral of a friend I met at university.”
“A friend? Don’t lie to me! She meant more. Tell me the truth, please!”
“Her name was Laura Wilde. She was my girlfriend.”
“You never mentioned her to me.”
“I know,” he said. “She didn’t want anyone to know.”
“Why not?”
“Because she was engaged to another guy.”
“The man you were glaring at?”
“Yes,” he said. “Our relationship was a secret. We met in Kyoto during her holiday. She had a boyfriend at home - a bond dealer in The City - but she fell in love with me. She was going to break up with him when she returned to London. But then ...”
“She died?”
“Yes,” he said. “She died. Her family has no idea I exist. They think she was in love with him. Michael Coleman. The fiancé.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “You must be devastated. I can’t imagine how you feel.”
“I feel like screaming,” he said. “But it won’t bring her back. It won’t stop the pain.” He looked up at the clouds, shaking his head, raking his hands through his hair so violently I was afraid he would tear clumps out. I wanted to comfort him, but he was too angry. He swivelled to face me. “I’m sick of standing here. I’d like to go somewhere else now.”
“Not the cemetery?” I hoped.
“Definitely not. Her so-called fiancé will there. I couldn’t stand seeing her being buried with Coleman present. It would make me sick.”
We headed back to the street where I had parked my car.
Our next stop was a muddy embankment of the Thames downriver from a footbridge. Under a steel grey sky the river looked black and dangerous. Ugly warehouses faced us across the water. We were surrounded by waste ground littered with broken bottles, old newspapers and plastic bags. It also looked like several drug users had left behind dirty syringes. Without caring where he stepped, Shunsuke walked up and down the water’s edge smoking a cigarette, a Japanese brand called, in English, Happy Smoker. He did not look happy, though. He stopped and squatted, touching the wet soil where even weeds refused to grow. I stayed back, sickened by the smell of rotting vegetables, a smell so powerful it made me cough. I wanted to get back in my car before it was stolen. “Why are we here?”
“This is it,” he answered. “She was found here after a day in the water. Her body washed up. Apparently, there wasn’t much to identify. Rats had ...” He did not finish. He stood up and wiped his hands on a tissue until they were clean. He tossed the tissue into the river and looked into the distance, talking in a dead voice. “A man walking his dog found her handbag on that bridge. The police believe she jumped – committed suicide – but why would she do that?”
He was not asking me the question. He was asking himself. He set off towards the bridge. Reluctantly, I followed. The bridge seemed a mile away, but we reached it after ten minutes. It was a large stone bridge, crossing the river where it was deep and wide. Shunsuke stopped at the middle and leant over the rail. There was a long way to the murky water below.
“Laura told me of an incident when she was seven-years-old. Her brother pushed her into a lake for a joke. She couldn’t swim and almost drowned. Since then, she’s been afraid of drowning. She would never have chosen this bridge to jump off. Never.”
*
We went home. During the journey, we did not talk about the funeral. His girlfriend’s suicide had become a taboo subject without anyone saying it. Given time, I hoped, he would feel like talking. He looked too tired now. Shunsuke went back to bed for a few hours. I spent the time worrying about him.
Hours later, he came down looking considerably better, like the sleep had done him good. Instead of his casual clothes, he was wearing a freshly-ironed white shirt and black trousers, his hair combed back into a ponytail.
“Please don’t tell your mother about today,” he said. “She doesn’t need to know about Laura.”
I promised him I would not. When my mother returned at five, she did not even suspect we had been out. I was on the sofa with revision notes on my lap, pretending to study.
“How is he?”
“He’s fine,” I said. “He’s in the kitchen, making dinner for us.”
We both went in to find him frying chicken and vegetables in our wok. We hardly used the wok ourselves. It usually remained hanging on its hook for weeks between uses. My mother made perfect tea, but she made terrible dinners. We preferred take-out pizza to traditional Japanese cooking. Shunsuke looked like he was enjoying cooking, though I knew it was all pretence – for my mother’s sake. He was grinning a little too much for me to be fooled, but my mother seemed delighted to see such a radical change in his mood.
“Have you spoken to your father?” she asked Shunsuke. Last night she had urged him to call home, to at least tell his parents where he had gone. He had promised he would in the morning.
“Yes,” he said. “We resolved our differences after a long talk.” He grinned. “He says its fine if I stay a little longer. I would really like to see London before I fly home.”
“I can show him around,” I said. “It’ll be fun.”
“I like fun,” Shunsuke said.
My mother agreed to let him stay as our guest. I felt bad about deceiving her, but I did not want her to worry that she had a depressed houseguest. She definitely did not need to know Shunsuke’s girlfriend had died. That would lead to awkward questions. In front of my mother, Shunsuke appeared cheerful, more like his old self. He cracked jokes at the dinner table, telling tales of student life in Kyoto. He said he would love staying a few more days before going home.
We drank a lot of tea, which made my mother very happy.
Shunsuke seemed like his old self.
His act did not fool me.
*
The next morning Shunsuke cooked breakfast and behaved as though he was our host. He waved my mother goodbye as she drove off to work.
“So what do you want to do?” I asked him.
“I’ll probably take one of those bus tours,” he said. “You don’t have to show me the city yourself.”
“Don’t be silly. I want to.”
“What
about revising?”
“What about it?”
“Your exams.”
“I’ve got weeks.”
“Okay then.”
I drove around London showing him the best tourist attractions, hoping they would distract him from his thoughts, but he hardly registered the places. Outside Buckingham Palace he bought a guidebook and some ice cream, which he licked with approval, though his heart did not seem in it. One look at the queue for the London Eye put us both off waiting. We ended up in Soho, where he showed a brief interest in the window display of a martial arts shop, where a dummy was wearing a full samurai costume. But once we walked on, his interest waned until he saw a traditional English pub. It was warm and dark inside, the air thick with cigarette smoke. He approached the bar. There he ordered an outrageously overpriced beer while I ordered an equally expensive Diet Coke. We sat in a corner booth watching a big television screen showing Sky Sports. He grimaced when he tasted the beer, but it didn’t stop him ordering another. Shunsuke wasn’t used to English-strength beer and soon became drunk. I dragged him out before he embarrassed himself. His eyes were half-closed as I led him to the car. He fell asleep on the way home. He looked so peaceful I didn’t want to wake him up. I kept driving until he opened his eyes. “I feel sick. Stop the car.”
I pulled over. He fumbled open his door and staggered out. He bent over the low brick wall of someone’s front garden. I could hear him retching. I stayed in the car. It sounded like he was emptying his whole stomach. “Are you okay?”
“Just a second,” he muttered. He spat out a few times before coming back to the car. “I really need to urinate now. There’s an alley over there. I’ll be back in a minute.”
I waited a minute, then two, but he did not come back. I started the engine and drove to the alley’s entrance - but there was no sign of him. The alley continued onto another street. I got out and ran down the alley, reaching the other side. Looking left and right, I could not see him. I shouted his name. He did not appear.
