by Amy Faye
Nobody, that's who.
He smiled at her and took another drink before making an exaggerated face mocking her own. The waitress came by after a second to take their order. Minami followed his advice—which was good, because as far as he was able to tell, the cooks here had never been able to cook worth a God damn unless it was a steak.
Then they were passable at best, but people didn't come here for the food. The waitress left with her pad, and Wes stood up, pressed the chair back.
"If you'll excuse me—" he started, and never finished. He walked in the direction of the lavatory, but fished his phone out of his pocket instead and leaned up against the wall to call Bradley.
The line connected right before Wes gave up and started to call again.
"Wes? Jesus, nobody's heard from you since after that goddamn mess out in the boonies, people were afraid you were dead, man."
"Not yet, anyway," Wes said, keeping his voice extra smooth. He couldn't afford to let the very probably broken nose sound through the phone, or Todd wouldn't give him a fight in a million fucking years.
"I'm looking for a fight, you know where I can find one?"
"Wes, I think you need to slow down."
"I did slow down. I took a good, solid three-day weekend, and now I'm looking for the next payout."
"Wes, I'm being serious. As your friend here, you need to stop this crazy shit."
"I need the money, and you have a big fight coming up, don't you?"
"I have plenty of big fights coming up, and most of them, I already have booked."
"Well, maybe one of your guys cancels."
"They don't."
"Supposing it happened, though—"
"Wes, I know you're not trying to threaten my guys, right? Because you know that wouldn't exactly endear me to you. Right?"
"I don't know what you're talkin' about, man. No threats, I'm just looking out for myself. If something opens up, you call me. I need the money, you know I can win it."
"Look, maybe I can get you something. Come on in, and I'll take a look at you, and if you look like you can fight—"
"I'm busy just now, Todd, or I would. I can come in tomorrow if I have to, if that would make you feel any better."
"Fine. Tomorrow afternoon. Say six."
"Good by me."
"Good. And Wes—I'm serious now. Okay? Don't you come in here with a broken God damn nose and expect me to okay you to fight."
"You worry too much, Todd. You think I'm crazy? If I had a broken nose, I would have to take a while, right? Not just three damn days."
"It's good to hear you talking sense." Bradley paused a second. "Which means you're probably putting me on, but we'll see tomorrow."
"Yes, we will. Have a good night."
Wes slipped the phone back into his pocket and headed back to the table. Minami smiled up at him as he pulled into his feet, a few seconds before the waitress stepped out from behind the partition with their food in hand. She set it down on the table in front of them.
"Anything else?"
They both agreed that, no, they didn't need anything else. Wes ate slow. When he took too much in, or bit down too aggressively, it shot pain straight through him, like he was biting down on a nerve or something, and it was enough to drive him up a god damned wall, but he wasn't about to let it keep him hungry.
The thoughts about the place, about how little it had changed in the years since he'd been in here, only contrasted with how much he had changed, how much he'd had to change in order to survive with the girls in his life. He couldn't live with them, but God damn it all that didn't mean he wasn't responsible for them, and with their mother being… well, who she was, he was about all they had in the world.
So it wasn't like there was any choice about selling the guitar, or about the fights, or even about lying to Bradley. Wes took another bite, realizing after a minute that he hadn't touched his food for a while.
Minami seemed trapped in her own thoughts. Whatever she was thinking about, thought, he could already see in her eyes that it was some heavy shit. The sort of thing Wes was the worst with.
Finally he took the last bite of his food, pushed the plate back, and finished the drink. Minami watched him cautiously, not having said a word since he got back from the call.
"Come on," he said, reaching a hand out across the table.
Wes could feel the beer having gone to his head, leaving his cheeks a little hot and his head a little light. he was out with a pretty girl, what the hell else was he supposed to be doing? He took her to the dance floor.
Minami's eyes were wide as saucers as he pulled her onto the floor, pulled her body in tight. She felt good against him, as good as she ever had, and that feeling was one that he wasn't ready to pass up again. The song wasn't necessarily appropriate, but then Wes wasn't much of a dancer either.
So they swayed together on the floor. Wes looked up, saw someone eyeing him. A face that he recognized from a lifetime ago. He decided to ignore it. He wasn't that guy any more. He wasn't even Wes Park, bare-knuckle boxer, not right now. Right now he was just a guy, out with a girl. The thought was strangely liberating.
He didn't need to be something else, didn't need to think about anything else. Not even the girls, not right now. Eventually, he'd have to think about them. He'd have to go in, see Bradley, and somehow convince him that his obviously-broken nose wasn't broken at all. But those things were for the future.
He pressed his lips into Minami's. Right now, he was just out for drinks and dancing with a girl, and that was all he needed to be.
Nineteen
Minami
The weight of the phone in her purse was more than Minami wanted to deal with. She'd been overly conscious of it ever since she got the text from her father, when Wes went to use the facilities.
She had more sense than to think that there was any chance of it ever ending, but somehow she had held out some glimmer hope that the meeting with Higa had dissuaded her father from continuing to pursue a Yakuza marriage for her. She was dangerously close, in fact, to considering it a relative victory.
The text, telling her to keep her schedule open tomorrow, was enough to let her know that she was being hopelessly optimistic. That was a sign by itself that he'd found another candidate for her, someone else that she was going to have to blow off as best she could.
The cab pulled up and she slipped inside. She should have told Wes. But then again, it would have meant explaining more than she was even remotely ready to discuss. He would have to understand where she'd come from, what sort of man Father was.
He'd have to face the fact that she was who she was, and the kind of risks that he was taking by spending the sort of time with her that he'd been spending. She wasn't remotely ready to accept that, not when she had finally started to get him reeled in.
So she hadn't told him, and she wasn't going to tell him. It wasn't exactly as if it was any of his business, in either case. After all, she was still her own woman, and neither of them had exactly gone out of their way to clarify their relationship.
As far as Minami could tell, and as far as she was concerned, she was a convenience more than anything. A woman who kept the bed warm. He might have some sort of fond feeling for her, but it was the furthest thing imaginable from an exclusive relationship. He probably brought plenty of other women home with him before her, and probably brought others home when she wasn't around.
That she hadn't seen any occurred to her, but it didn't much matter. When he clarified their relationship, then she would assume that it wasn't just catch-as-catch-can. Until then, he was the scoundrel between them. All she was doing was keeping her family from coming down on her hard. It was only because she allowed these little interferences that she had the freedom she had.
She slipped into bed and tried to avoid thinking too much about what was going to happen the next day. Whatever he'd set up, it was just going to be another hassle, and she didn't want to have to deal with it, but that didn't ch
ange anything. That didn't mean that she had to mope over it, though.
She dressed an hour before she was supposed to go downstairs, made sure her hair was straight and attractive, and went down to wait. The other man came alone, which was unusual. He was older than her, as well, but his hair still had all its color. Yakuza had their pride, but they wouldn't have dyed their hair to keep up appearances. The age added something of an air of authority, as far as Minami was able to tell.
He was wearing traditional clothes; if he was going to wear traditional clothes, Minami would have rather known in advance, because now she looked the foolish one in her American clothes, no matter how nice.
"This is Patriarch Kondo Inafune," her father said, gravely. The man in front of her set his hands on his knees and bowed his head. "Patriarch Inafune, this is my daughter, Minami."
Minami bowed, as well. Inafune was more attractive than Higa had been. She couldn't see herself marrying him, no more than she could see herself marrying any Yakuza. But it didn't feel like it was an insult this time, at least. She straightened back up.
"Nice to meet you," she said softly.
"The pleasure is all mine." There was an air of quiet confidence in the man, one that might have been attractive if not for his profession. "Chairman, your daughter is very beautiful."
Minami's father nodded his head solemnly. Minami wanted nothing more than to get this over with, but it continued. She spoke little. She had no special desire to get to know the man, but he seemed to take it better than she might have expected. He must have interpreted it as demure, she thought, rather than trying her best to distance herself. Or perhaps he didn't mind.
Either way, when he left an hour later, it was with a promise of returning the day after next—when he'd take her out for real, to a proper dinner, and they could get to truly know each other before making any sort of promises.
Minami wasn't exactly in a position to say no.
Twenty
Wes
"I need your help." Wes could see from the look in her eyes exactly how strange Minami thought that was, and she wasn't wrong to feel that way.
"Really? You, Wes Park, need my help? With what, exactly?"
"I have to convince my boss I'm good to fight."
"Well, Wes—I hate to tell you this, but you almost certainly aren't okay to fight. Have you looked in a mirror lately? You look like a mess!"
"That's not important. I need the money, so I need to fight. It's that simple."
"You're going to get yourself killed. No."
Wes's teeth ground together. "You're not my mother."
Minami's expression turned from one of amused insistence to annoyance damn fast. "No, I'm not, but that doesn't mean I'm going to let you go out and kill yourself, for what? For money?"
"It's not as if I'm asking your permission. If you don't do it, I'll find someone else."
"And what exactly is it that you wanted me to do, anyways?"
Wes pressed himself deeper into the couch. There was no way that he was going to fool anyone, not even now that his face had lightened to a comfortably warm brownish color from the horrible black it had been.
Minami was probably right. She definitely only wanted what was best for him, but that wasn't exactly an incredible comfort when he needed cash fast. He had told himself that he'd ask her for money, but then the words wouldn't come out. So it was the fight after all.
Maybe, eventually, it would come out why he needed so much money, and then he could try to get her to give him something. But now that he was right there, he couldn't just ask her to pay for his family problems.
"I just need to look good enough. I can do the rest."
"So, what? You need me to put on concealer or something? Is this a makeup thing?"
"There's more, but not right now."
"Oh?"
"Yes, but don't worry about it yet."
"Alright."
That wasn't so hard, was it? He didn't say it out loud. No reason to pick a fight he didn't need to pick right now. Getting into an argument was the last thing he needed to do, particularly with how fucked up his face was already. What might normally only be a little slap in the face might cave his damn cheek in at this rate.
"Alright, well, we're going to have to go buy something from the store."
"Yeah, I know that. But I thought I'd leave it up to you. You're the expert. I entrust my future to you, master."
She closed her eyes. "I should just fuck it up enough that you get caught out. It would serve you right."
Wes thought Bradley would like that. Coming in with the makeup only half-done, so he could try to fuck with Wes as long as possible. He wouldn't like what happened after, when Wes figured out what had happened, but it would be damn funny to him for a few minutes. Then he'd learn why it wasn't that funny after all.
"But you're not going to."
"You won't know until I'm done, will you? And with a face like that, Wes Park, you won't enjoy the makeup going on."
"No, I didn't figure I would. Like I told you, though—"
"I know. You need the money, and they won't let you fight. I can hear."
She pushed herself up and grabbed her purse from the coffee table. Wes stayed sitting for a minute, looking up at her with his tenderized face. "You know the God damnedest thing?"
"What?"
"He doesn't know about those guys your boyfriend sicced on me. He thinks I lost a fight before that. They had me two-to-one, and I'm pretty sure one of them is still in the hospital."
She gave him a look that he could only describe as 'not amused' and turned to go.
"Come on, we have to go to the store."
"You can't do it on your own?"
"I need your face to compare to."
"Oh. Right."
Wes pushed himself up and followed her out the door. He followed her down to his car and unlocked it for her. The nearest place was only on the corner, but it was a little windy to walk almost a half-mile each way.
They should have something, he figured, and when he pulled in, she didn't argue, so he assumed he must have found someplace that would work. She pulled him inside and they headed together straight on back the right-side wall into the makeup section.
Wes had never felt so lost before in his life, and he was only twenty feet from the door. So much crap on the walls he couldn't begin to identify. That was nail polish, he figured, and beyond that, he'd seen it before but couldn't hope to put a name on it, and the differences, if there were any…
The only thing he had to go on was a bag of his sister's stuff, which she'd left completely unpacked on the bathroom counter every day, in spite of his insistence that she put it away. Well, with his insistence, she'd clean it all up, and the next day she'd just leave it out again.
It hadn't been instructive of anything about makeup except that there was a damned lot of it, and that he didn't like or trust the stuff.
Minami picked up a bottle of something that might have been nail polish and a puck-shaped thing, held them both up for him to see.
"Liquid, or powder?"
Wes tried to give her a look that communicated exactly how little he knew about what she'd just said. She might as well have been speaking Japanese, as far as he knew what she meant, or what the differences were.
She seemed to figure it out on her own after a minute. "Right. Okay. Liquid it is."
Minami put the puck of apparently powder-based concealer and then held the bottle up to his face. Her cute little teeth showed a little as she chewed on her lip. She turned and grabbed another, held it up to his face, and then held the first one up again.
Wes let her do her thing. Obviously this was more complicated than he thought, but if she'd agreed to do it, then he'd just wait and she'd get it done. Probably.
Finally she looked around, popped the plastic ring around the cap of one of them, and daubed out a little onto her finger. She wiped across his cheek, the tender skin protesting at the contact—contact she hadn'
t make a special effort to keep gentle, he noted.
She frowned, and then popped the other open and made another swipe across his face. The first went back onto the rack. She seemed to think it wasn't that odd to open the stuff up, but it didn't stop her from smudging away the stripes on his cheek roughly.
Then she handed him the makeup. He was loathe to spend any money he didn't have to, but he could afford a few dollars for concealer, especially if it got him into this damn fight. Not getting in, on the other hand?
Well, he wasn't going to settle on that. If Minami thought he could cover up his nose, then she would get it done. And if she didn't, well… Wes wasn't going to think too much on that possibility either.
Those girls couldn't afford for that to happen.
Twenty-One
Minami
Minami sat back and examined her handiwork. He could do wit ha lot more work than this. Wes was a good-looking man, but with his severe features, they would look even more striking with just a bit of eyeliner, maybe some mascara to help his eyelashes—not that they needed it, the bastard.
But if he wanted to cover up the horrible bruising on his face, then this would do it, at least for a few hours. He'd been surprisingly still through the whole thing. The way he'd acted the day before, she assumed that it hurt like a son of a bitch, but he hadn't flinched or reacted much at all.
Then again that was exactly like him. No way he was going to let her see any sort of real reaction to anything. Everything was macho bullshit with him, and even when she was playing makeover, that was how it was going to keep being.
"How do I look?"
"Like you're going to be a supermodel," Minami answered.
"Perfect." He was half-joking, but she could hear the growl of frustration in his voice, the only sign—if it even was a sign—that he'd suffered one bit of pain from the entire process.
