He Wanted Her: The Gangster's Daughter

by Amy Faye

  Either way, taking the test would make sure that she didn't assume wrong one way, or the other. She pulled the boxes open and palmed the little plastic strips. The instructions on the boxes had all been the same.

  Urinate into a cup, dip the strip. Wait a few seconds, check for two pink lines. Any color change at all on the 'test' portion, and you had better start figuring what you're going to do about this kid.

  Palming them came easy. She spent most of her life surrounded by pickpockets and petty thieves, after all. It wasn't as if she wasn't going to pick up a few things. She knew she was being too stiff as she moved for the bathroom, but she had to hope that nobody was watching. She slipped inside, closed the door behind her, and let out a breath. Everything was fine. She wasn't caught, which meant she didn't need to explain why she had them.

  Peeing into the cup wasn't any trouble. She'd done it before, after all. Yet, this time it felt different, maybe because of what she was going to use it for, or maybe because she was afraid of what was going to come next. There was nothing hard about the test except for the three minutes of uncertainty.

  She took the cup, grabbed the first test, and dipped it in, counting down. Five… four… three… two… one… and then she set it aside and started again with the next one. Five… four… three… two… one. Set it aside and pick up the third.

  She wasn't going to accept the possibility of a false negative, or worse, a false positive. Three of them would give her the right answer, no matter what. They were 90-percent effective, according to the box, so three of them would be 99.9% accurate, right?

  The waiting was the hardest part. She wanted to check them after thirty seconds. The minute hadn't even changed over on the digital clock they kept in the bathroom. She took a deep breath and sat back on the seat of the toilet, forcing herself to wait. Forcing herself not to think about what it would mean if she was.

  If she was, then that was fine. If she wasn't, then that was fine. Whatever happened, she'd be able to deal with it. She repeated that to herself a few times. She'd be fine. She could deal with whatever happened, no matter what the results were. She wasn't even hoping for a baby, but imagining herself getting three negatives brought with it a slurry of strange emotions.

  Finding out she was, that would be even worse, because as far as she could tell, getting in touch with Wes would be the hardest thing of all. She didn't even know how she could, not with the guards on her twenty-four hours a day, and her driving privileges revoked.

  Still, if she was, then she owed him that information somehow. Whatever it took to let him know he was going to be a father.

  She looked at the clock. Four minutes. That was more than enough time. She reached for the first strip, but the second she put her hands on it, she froze. Didn't want to find out, either way. This was the last time she could back out. After this, she knew where she stood and she couldn't keep playing the guessing game.

  She snatched it off the counter and looked. Two pink stripes. That could be wrong, though, she reminded herself. The second was easier than the first. She'd already gone past the point of no return. Now she had to know what the real truth was.

  Two stripes. The third one was the same. Two stripes.

  Minami could feel a sob tearing from her throat. What was she supposed to do now? She wasn't—she couldn't go to her father, he still thought she was his perfect princess. She couldn't tell anyone else at her house, either. Mother might understand, but then she'd tell Father, and that was the end of that.

  She couldn't tell Wes, either, because there was just no way to reach him. If she tried to run away, he'd just get hurt again. Maybe killed this time, if Father took the news particularly badly. Could she live with herself if she was responsible for that?

  She already knew the answer to that question. Which just raised another one.

  If she couldn't tell get away, how was she going to tell Wes about his child?

  Twenty-Eight

  Wes

  Wes looked at the stack of bills in front of him. Most everything he owned was in that little stack, and in the things he kept around the house, worth damn near enough to nothing to anyone but him. If he died, they might be able to get ten dollars for the coffee table, if they were lucky. Maybe twenty for the sofa.

  The books, what few he owned, were in such bad shape that only a thrift store might take them, and then only the worst sort of place. All put together, it was barely enough to live a month on for anyone who lived a lifestyle that was even a single step above 'spartan.'

  Seeing everything all put together at once was upsetting, if only because it served as a stark reminder of how little he had built in his life. Wes Park, low-level gangster, who took the fall for a robbery he hadn't even known about. Wes Park, who had two girls relying on him that he hadn't seen in years. Wes Park, bare-knuckle boxer.

  It wasn't the kind of life he'd hoped to lead. But when his sister got into trouble, it had only been natural to do what needed to be done. He hated that phrase. 'What needed to be done' was the excuse that all kinds of people used for making bad decisions. Wes was no exception. In fact, he was the worst offender of all.

  How many times had he taken the wrong turn because he thought there were no other options available to him? How many times had time proven him wrong?

  How much easier would it have been to take care of those girls if he wasn't in prison? Even if the money wasn't as good, it wasn't worth the trade. Sure, leaving had introduced him to Minami. Probably the only good thing in his life, and it was just to get him mixed up in another gang.

  She didn't act like that type, though. It wasn't hard to believe that she probably didn't approve of the business her father was in. The way she had looked at Higa, you could almost see the distaste between them like a brick wall. There was nothing he could do that would tear down one tenth of an inch in that wall.

  Wes, on the other hand—he'd been a mystery, and she'd taken quite a shine to him from what anyone could tell. Wes smiled at the thought, as if he were finally going to do something good with his life.

  Well, that was gone now, too. No meal ticket from her, and no word in a week. The fight tomorrow loomed large on the horizon. The good news was, the swelling on his face had gone down more than he'd ever hoped he'd be able to claim, a week ago. He almost looked normal, and it didn't hurt to touch his cheeks any more. He didn't have any illusions about that being the case for a good, solid punch, though.

  That would be the real test tomorrow, if he could keep fighting after taking a sufficiently bad hit. He knew that it wouldn't be easy, and it certainly wouldn't be fun, but if he had one hits' buffer, he could end the fight.

  If he went down, even for an instant, after just one hit in the face… well, there was still more to be done. He couldn't choose to bow out of the fight all of a sudden if it got close. Even if it caved his damn face in, he was going to keep fighting.

  But if he couldn't withstand even a single good hit, then that would be a losing fight, no matter what he tried, and Wes was man enough to admit it. Here he was, doing what he needed to do again. He needed the money, so he'd fight, regardless of what happened to him when he was in the ring.

  The realization wasn't a new one, but it hit him harder this time. Was this a mistake? He knew it was. Bradley had told him so. Minami had told him it was a mistake. He'd bullied her into fooling Todd for him. Well, maybe it was a mistake, but he was already knee-deep in that mistake, and he didn't have the luxury of changing his mind only thirty-six hours before the fight was scheduled to commence. That ship had sailed when he'd given his word that he'd be there, and neither Wes nor Todd could do anything about it, even if they wanted to.

  The betting window had already opened, and though it wouldn't close until the ring girl's hand dropped, there was no way that guys like that would refund the bets. Especially not when Wes had embarrassed Higa so publicly before. He would be in the mood for retribution, no doubt about it, and Wes was going to do his best to deny giving
it to him.

  Not giving him the opportunity, on the other hand, that wasn't likely to happen. He would be fighting, that much was sure. But getting himself out of trouble, that would be harder.

  He laid back a minute before sitting forward. It wasn't official in any way, but the best he could do was to leave some sort of will. The girls needed the money more than he did, and they certainly needed it more than anyone else he knew. Only a few grand, but it would be a lot for a couple ten-year-olds.

  Wes picked up the pad of paper and started trying again. He wasn't any good at that legalese crap, but it was easy enough to get his wishes across, and that was about all he could hope for at this point.

  All of the money would go to Alexa and Suzanne Park, residents of New York City, ten years old, daughters of Lauren Park. He signed below it and then tossed the pad on the table in front of him and rubbed his temples gently.

  They'd need that will, when he was done. Because he'd never been knocked out, and as much as it would be hard to keep getting up as he took a worse and worse beating in the ring, he wasn't going to leave that ring before they killed him.

  He had to hope it wasn't going to come to that, but he wasn't arrogant enough to assume that things would go the way he wanted. He had to work with what he had, and right now what he had was a badly bruised kidney, a half-healed broken nose, and a whole body's worth of bruises that were still just present enough to remind him never to take a two-on-one match-up again whenever he was arrogant enough to move his body around.

  The girls would be fine. He had to tell himself that, because it wasn't as if their mother was worth anything. If he didn't maintain the trust, she'd have already snorted all of the money he spent each week. The girls were only little, but the lawyers owed him a little favor, and they were instructed to spend the money on the girls' needs.

  Would they miss him? The girls hadn't seen him in a long time. They probably didn't even know what he looked like. He was just a voice on a telephone to them. Maybe Lauren had some old photos, but there would be anything since high school, and he'd changed since then. It was more of a bit of a joke to show off pictures like that, just like it was for most people.

  One last thing, then, before he went off to get himself clobbered in the name of 'needed to be done.' He held the phone at arm's length, the motion itself totally uncomfortable, and pressed the camera button with his thumb. Then he tapped the buttons to share, and sent it along to the girls, with the message 'Your uncle loves you.'

  Twenty-Nine

  Minami

  She'd been careful, hiding the tests. Nobody could have found them, not the way she'd hidden everything. Even still, Minami couldn't hide the doubt that had grown in her when Father called a 'family meeting.' There hadn't been many in her life, but they had all ended up with something bad happening. It was a sure thing that whatever he was about to announce, she wasn't going to like it, and that was the part that worried her the most.

  What if, in spite of her efforts, he'd found out? Well, he would have to find out eventually, but she hadn't been one little bit ready for him to find out yet, and she was even less ready for him to find out by snooping through her garbage, looking inside of a discarded McDonald's bag to find three used pregnancy tests, all of them positive.

  Not being ready, though, was nowhere near the same thing as it not having happened. Still, some part of her didn't want to go to the meeting. It wasn't a choice, but if it was, then she'd have stayed in her room with a book to read and headphones on and the strong hope that nobody came up to make sure that she knew what had been said.

  It would be easier that way, no matter what it was. But there was more to it than that, she knew. First was the responsibility. She simply had to go, because it was her duty, and not even Mother could protect her from the fallout of not dealing with her responsibilities, no matter how hard she might try.

  Then there was the fact that things could go wrong plenty of ways, and while some of them would just be unpleasant—like the time that they'd announced that poor Ryu had been embezzling—others would have a direct effect on people around her. People who had caused more than enough trouble for the family. People who had been positively identified, she knew, as Wes Park. They had his address, and she already knew that they were just waiting on orders to come down from Father about what was going to be done about him.

  If Minami had her choice, they'd do nothing. But that wasn't how Yakuza tended to think. He'd been messing with them far too much for his own good, and when you piss off two families like he'd pissed off the Higa and Shimizu, there was a limited amount of time left.

  Though, she thought, he seemed to have smoothed things over with Higa somewhat. She wasn't sure whether that was good or not. Takuya was nothing if he wasn't petty, and the only way he'd swallow the insults that Wes had given him would be if there was something worse on the horizon.

  She pulled on proper clothes finally, unable to delay any longer. She was buttoning her blouse as a knock came at the door, and Mother's soft voice spoke from the other side of the door.

  "Minami? Are you almost ready? Your father's about to begin his meeting. Everyone's gathered, and they're just waiting on you."

  Minami didn't answer, just finished buttoning up, and then stepped out. She knew better than to keep anyone waiting any longer than she already had. They'd punished her about as much as they could punish her, or so she thought, but that didn't mean that they couldn't get creative. She'd seen Father do it many times in the past, and though it had never been targeted at her, that didn't mean he couldn't start now and make up for lost time.

  Mother turned and started down the hall without a word, and Minami followed behind. They both bowed low, one after the other, as they stepped through and into the large tatami-floored room, the one indulgence that Father had allowed himself as a reminder of home.

  The room still had the smell of new Tatami, a smell that reminded her of a farm. Minami pushed herself back up from her bow and moved to her place beside her father, and he began.

  "I know that many of you are concerned about what we're going to do about the man who Minami has been… seeing."

  Minami knew better than to protest. She wasn't in any position to get herself caught up in a lie, and it would have been a grave insult to cut her father off, even as he paused for emphasis. Not the sort of insult that he would brush off. So she clutched a fist-full of her skirt and kept her mouth shut.

  "It's true that two of our number, Mr. Nishida and Mr. Kobayashi, engaged in some fighting with him. They should have been punished for fighting with a civilian, but I feel that under the circumstances, they can be forgiven for their sins. After all, he began the fight. Mr. Kobayashi merely responded to that."

  Kobayashi bowed at the acknowledgment.

  "Mr. Nishida could not be here with us, today, as a result of the injuries he took during that fight."

  Minami recalled the bad limp he'd had as he carried her out of the library. About anyone could have stopped them, if they put in the effort, which meant Wes had taken a worse beating than she'd hoped. If he was still unable to rejoin them, then he'd broken something, without a doubt. Well, falling down even half-a-flight of stairs, particularly with your leg caught between the steps, would do that.

  They had a moment of silence, everyone's heads bowed in respect at Nishida's sacrifice, if it could be called that. Some roughness was to be assumed with Yakuza. There was no confusion about what could happen when you were dealing with people who wanted a fight, and Yakuza dealt mostly with people who wanted a fight.

  "With all of this in mind, as well as the insult he dealt to Higa when he stole Minami away—We can't simply let that go unpunished."

  Minami wanted to protest again, wanted to say something would convince them of exactly how crazy this all sounded, but she knew better than to try to reason with her father. When it became an issue of honor, he was not a reasonable man. None of them were, and the Shimizu head had less wiggle room than most
to be forgiving.

  "We're always very careful to discuss the ramifications of our actions, as you know. We don't generally deal harshly with civilians, and that goes double for foreigners. That said, there have been too many slights to be ignored, or dealt with by simply beating him. Wesley Park has repeatedly flaunted our authority and disrespected the Shimizu family, as well as the Higa family."

  There were soft murmurs of general agreement from around the room.

  "In that light, I cannot recommend any fate any less harsh than death. I don't suppose these Americans to have enough honor to try to pay for their own sins, so we will be forcing his hand."

  Nobody looked remotely surprised at the pronouncement. As if it were already known, and the whole meeting was a show put on for Minami's sake. Her fistful of skirt tightened harder, until it ached with pain, but she couldn't loosen her grip, regardless.

  "That is all. I'll speak to the individuals who will deal the killing blow privately."

  The entire household bowed deep toward Minami and her father, and then started to go away. There was one thing, though, that Minami couldn't get out of her head. She couldn't possibly let this happen, not to Wes. Not when he hadn't done anything, not really. He didn't know how hard the Yakuza could come down. Nobody had warned him about her father. The secret she had kept from him was going to be his undoing.

  Thirty

  Wes

  The night before a fight wasn't when Wes wanted someone knocking on his door. He looked at the alarm clock that he'd bought at a thrift store for five dollars. 2 in the morning was definitely not a time he should be getting up. He laid back down and closed his eyes.

  The knock came again, more insistent. Wes finally pushed himself up off the mattress and walked, half-naked, to the door.