Dirty Laundry

by Rhys Ford

  Would it be so horrible to have another brother? Would it be so bad to have someone else to turn to when life got too tight around me? There was only one way to find out. The ultimate test of family, a few spoken words whispered over the space between us and I’d know if Ichiro was someone I could have in my life.

  “Did Mike… Mikio… tell you I’m gay?” My breath was caught between my throat and my lungs. A trail of fears burnt down through my stomach. I took my gaze off of the pillow and met my brother’s gaze full on, watching him process what I’d said.

  He ran his hands through his hair, another one of my own habits, oddly familiar but strangely freaky to see someone else’s hands… hands too much like my own. Everything about him was too much of me, too much of Mike. I was having difficulties sifting through the similarities to find the Ichiro bits amid the chaff.

  “How much do you know about Japan, oniisan?” Ichiro slid forward until he was at the edge of the sofa cushion and reached out to touch my knee. I jumped at the contact, startled by his fingers on my leg.

  “I know that not all sushi is raw and rice shouldn’t be instant,” I said, shrugging. “Other than history, a total pissed-off fucking hell feeling about atomic bombs being used, and what seems to be a weird obsession with a big-headed cat with a bow on its head, not much.”

  Ichiro laughed, a husky sound rolled with mirth. “Sanrio owns Japan’s soul. I’m sure of it.”

  “That’s who makes the cat?” I snorted when he nodded. “Thing gives me the creeps. All of them. Their heads are fricking huge.”

  “I think it’s an acquired taste, or maybe you have to be a little insane. Japanese women love her,” he agreed. Ichiro’s laughter soon dissipated from his mouth, leaving his face somber. Skimming his hands over his arms, he said. “What I’ve done to myself… how I wear my life on my skin… isn’t welcome in Japan. Too many people associate tattoos with violence… with criminals. I cannot go into a public bath, and if I ride the subway with my arms exposed, people recoil from me. Even as tightly packed as the trains are, they skirt around me and avoid touching me. To them, I wear violence on my skin, and most Japanese are very troubled by that. I disturb their lives by having my art on my skin.”

  “That’s insane.” I bit my lip, suddenly hearing my words from Jae’s point of view. “Sorry, I’m too… American sometimes. It’s hard to take a step back sometimes. What about your family there? They know you’re not like that, right?”

  “My own father is….” He paused, taking a breath. “My family is very traditional. They pride themselves on being traditional. From my great-grandfather on down, they all believe the bloodline should be pure Japanese, clean of any influence or heritage that is not Japanese. To them, I’m an abomination… an aberration of culture. Who I am… what I have on my skin… what I choose to do with my life… distances me from them. Their doors are closed to me. I am barely tolerated in my father’s house, and if he is able to have another son with his new wife, I’m certain he would turn his back on me as soon as the cord is cut. So I understand how you feel about being shoved out for being who you are… what you need to be.”

  “But you chose this,” I pointed out, gesturing toward the tattoos. “You didn’t have to do that to yourself.”

  “Life is not always a choice. Your loving men isn’t a choice, not inside of you,” he replied softly. “Could you have lived a life without men in your bed? Yes. You could have buried your want of men deep inside of you and sought out women. Would you have been happy? Probably not. Your true self would eat you up from inside, poisoning your blood with self-hatred until you could no longer breathe through the stink of your rotting soul.”

  I nodded, lost in his words. “So, you feel like you didn’t have a choice. You couldn’t be anything but… this… you.”

  “No, I couldn’t be… won’t be anyone else but me.” He softened the bitterness of our conversation with an engaging smile. “Tokugawa Ichiro, inker of tattoos and reviled son of his family.”

  It was confusing. He’d purposely stepped outside of what’d been expected of him… of who he was supposed to be. There’d been a small part of me that still wished I’d been born straight, a part of me that denied the normality of my homosexuality. It’d been a malevolence inside of me, a cancerous longing bred up from society pressuring me… from my parents’ rejecting me… and an innate need to just be… normal. Because being gay… even loving as deeply as I’d been loved and have loved… still wasn’t normal yet. I hated feeling that way… hated having that whispering need to be like everyone else slicing up my happiness. Life would have been easier if I’d just been… straight.

  But then I wouldn’t be me.

  I wouldn’t trade the touch of Jae’s mouth on my skin for the world, and my heart thrummed with the thought of touching him again. The normal I’d been judged against had never been mine. Never would be mine. It was as much of a normal as anything else, and fuck anyone who couldn’t see that, couldn’t embrace that as a truth.

  Maybe Ichiro really didn’t have as much of a choice as I’d thought.

  “Why did you do it, then? Why did you choose… this?” It seemed such a trivial thing. Tattoos were common here, meant next to nothing, and in some places like the hipster-hippie coffee shop across the street, I’d expect the barista to have them, almost as if to validate who they were. In essence, Ichiro’d chosen to be his own kind of gay, pushing himself out of his family. “If you knew they were going to be assholes about it, why did you do it?”

  “I chose to ink myself… to ink others, because it speaks to me. I crave bringing a piece of another person up out to their skin with my art. To me, tattooing means I touch someone’s heart and find who they are, leaving it behind after I am done.” His shrug was elegant, a bird sweeping through the air toward the horizon. “So in this, oniisan, you and I are the same. You love men and I love ink. We made the choice to live as we are… not as others want us to be. So the question is, Cole Kenjiro, can you accept me as I am while I learn to accept you as you are?”

  WE BOTH agreed we’d need time to get to know each other. First thing we’d work on was what to call one another. He went by Ichi, and I’d never been Kenjiro. Mike was on his own. He’d be Mikio the Horse until the end of time if he didn’t speak up. I’d asked if a jackass counted as a horse. Ichi said he’d look into it but didn’t think it would fly. At least not for Mike.

  He was so similar to me in so many ways, but in others, so different. Mike was going to have a hell of a time bossing Ichi around like he did me. Maddy was going to love him. Walking him out to his rental car, I gave him better directions to the double Ms’ house than his GPS did. Avoiding the 405 during its reconstruction was key. No mapping program ever took into account the asshattery of Los Angeles’s roadwork.

  Bobby was driving up just as Ichi was getting into his rental car. My supposed best friend eyed my younger brother’s ass as he climbed into the sedan. His eyes sparkled with sexual awareness at Ichi’s long legs, and he even bent forward to catch a last glimpse of my brother’s face.

  “Nice.” He whistled under his breath as Ichi drove away. “Decided to toss aside your—”

  “Shut the fuck up. That’s my brother.” I elbowed him and pushed him up the walk. “And no, Jae’s not going anywhere, you fucking asshole.”

  “Just saying, damn.” Another whistle and he strolled up the walk toward my front door, his meaty fists in his jeans pockets. “Your mother grew some pretty boys.”

  “Thought you weren’t into Asians.”

  “I can make exceptions.” Bobby winked and smirked. “I did for you.”

  I’d already put away the rest of the pie and wasn’t planning on offering any to Bobby, especially after he ogled Ichi. More concerned about finding a cold beer in my fridge, he shoved aside Claudia’s pastry for a couple of Guinness Black Lagers. After popping one open, he took a sip and swished the brew in his mouth.

  “Kind of… coffee-ish,” he declared, passing m
e the other. “I like it.”

  “Thanks. I’ll sleep better tonight knowing you like my beer.” I cracked open the Guinness, padded back to the living room, and took back my place on the couch. “What’d you drop by for?”

  “To check up on you.” He slumped down on the other end of the larger sofa, dislodging Neko from her bath. She gave him a foul look and stomped down the cushions to knead at my lap. “See where you are on this stupid case you’re determined to break your fucking head on. Unless you want to talk about your hot brother—”

  “No, not talking about Ichi.” I shut Bobby down. “He’s not gay. Or even if he is, quit being a perv.”

  “Never know till he tries,” He took a sip of beer and nearly choked on it when I shot him a foul look. “Okay, Princess. I’ll back off. Just joking.”

  “Shit’s turned around in my head right now, dude,” I explained softly. “I don’t need more crap to deal with, okay?”

  “Yeah, I know.” Bobby’s voice softened, and he leaned forward and pulled me into a one-armed hug. It felt good to be touched. Even as rough as he usually was, Bobby gave good hugs. I didn’t know I needed one until his arm was around my shoulder. He took my beer and placed it on the chest with his, then tugged me nearly into his lap so he could get a better grip on me. “There’s been a lot of shit on your plate, kid. You sure you want to take on this thing with the fortune-teller?”

  Lying against Bobby’s chest, I could feel his heartbeat through my shoulder blades, and the sound throbbed through to my chest. Hooking a leg up over the arm of the sofa, I contemplated dropping the investigation.

  “Heh, I can see that look on your face.” His chuckle rumbled into my spine. “You can’t walk away from this, can you?”

  “No, not really,” I admitted. “It’s not just that I am pissed off someone killed that girl in front of me… because I am… really fucking angry that she died. Someone took her away from her mother. And for what? Nobody knows. This is all fucked-up to hell, Bobby. I can’t just let it go. It’s not fair to Vivian or to Madame Sun.”

  “So what now?” He grabbed his beer and handed me mine, trailing drops of cold condensation down my face. I wiped at it and glared. All that got me was a patented cocky Bobby grin.

  “I don’t know. This thing is so screwed up. Everyone’s tied into each other. Eun Joon Lee and May Choi were Madame Sun’s clients but also have a connection to Gyong-Si. Lee was his client, and Choi’s last name is the same as Gyong-Si’s. I didn’t like how he looked nervous when I poked him about her. Vivian Na is Madame Sun’s daughter but not her husband’s, so there’s shit between them there. Vivian’d been seeing a guy named Park Hong Chul, who’s the grandson of Madame Sun’s other dead client, Bhak Bong Chol.”

  “But that guy wasn’t murdered,” Bobby pointed out.

  “No, but who the hell knows what really happened. They might have just called it cardiac arrest and not looked for anything on tox. I was going to ping Wong to see if he could ask about the autopsy, but, well, shit happened.” The lager was cool and potent, especially when I realized I hadn’t really eaten anything that day, other than a few bites of Claudia’s pie.

  “I can see what Dell’s got on the dead guy from today. If he’s connected to Gyong-Si or that Park guy, it’ll help you out a bit.”

  “Thanks. I need to connect the dots here, Bobby. There’s too many stray lines. We know Lee was pregnant but don’t know if it was her husband’s. Gyong-Si’s known for screwing his clients, saying that it’s therapy, so the baby could have been his. But the biggest question in this fucking mess is… why? Why are all these people dying? That’s what really doesn’t make sense.”

  “Money or sex, isn’t that the first place to look?” He cocked his head, staring down at me from an angle. “Only part of this with sex is that fake gay guy, Gyong-Si. Suppose Choi wasn’t his niece but someone he fucked too? Maybe even Vivian?”

  “That’s kind of sick,” I countered. “Okay, mostly because her dying is just too… close to me, you know? But why would they die because they’re sleeping with Gyong-Si? Someone who wants him all to themselves? I’ve seen the guy. He’s not someone to kill for.”

  “Not everyone wants the same thing, kid. You like Korean boys….”

  “One… one Korean boy,” I corrected. “I can’t find a money angle in this. No one seems to gain anything from the deaths. Not like Gyong-Si or Madame Sun took out million-dollar life insurance policies on these people. That would have popped up on the cops’ radar. No, this hasn’t anything to do with money.”

  “Or at least not that you can see. Does Gyong-Si really need to snipe Sun’s clients? It sounds like they’ve been in a death match for years.”

  “Yeah, they trained with the same master fortune-teller guy back in Korea.” I sat up, nearly hitting Bobby’s chin with the back of my head. “Fuck, Madame Sun said Vivian wasn’t her husband’s. Suppose she was Gyong-Si’s? Maybe someone’s trying to get Gyong-Si’s relatives out of the way for some reason. What do you think?”

  “Not what I think,” Bobby murmured. “It’s what you think, kiddo. You’re the one chasing the smoke monster.”

  “I’ve got too much to chase down. That’s what I think.” My stomach rumbled, reminding me that blueberries and lager did not make for a good dinner. “Come on. Let’s go grab something to eat. Then I’ll get rid of you and see what my Korean boy’s up to tonight. Push comes to shove, I’ll take phone sex over your company any day of the week.”

  Chapter 14

  I DIDN’T get my phone sex. Tiff and Jae were having a deep discussion, and he’d snapped off a quick text to me when she ducked out to go to the bathroom. A short promise of a future dinner and a saranghae was all I got. It was enough. I was more than primed to go upstairs and jack off in the shower using Jae’s soap.

  I would have done it in bed, but the cat watches me, and that would have been too weird. She already had a toe fetish when I moved my foot. I wasn’t going to give her any chance at my dick.

  Still, despite the lengthy time imagining my hand was Jae’s mouth stretched over my cock, I woke up feeling like my skin was on too tight, and I badly needed to be buried deep inside of his body before the week was out. Or at least get another kiss. I’d have killed for the smallest of kisses right after brushing my teeth.

  By the time I unlocked the office and made coffee, my itch for Jae’d become a disgruntled annoyance I could live with for a few hours. After my first cup of ink-black java, I was almost ready to take on the day. Tuning up the enormous laptop Jae’d convinced me to buy, I tapped into the office network to stare at the flowchart I’d made of Madame Sun’s case.

  To tell the truth, it looked like the Flying Spaghetti Monster having a three-way with a couple of krakens. I got myself more coffee, even making an extra espresso shot to boost up the power, and settled myself in to a long morning of picking through the threads of a seriously fucked-up cat’s cradle of a case.

  Or at least I was until Detective Dexter Wong walked in, ready to kick my ass nine ways from Sunday.

  “What the fuck were you doing at the Sun scene with O’Byrne?”

  It wasn’t the most pleasant of greetings. In fact, by anyone’s standards, mine or Ichi’s, it was pretty fricking rude.

  “Hey, Dex.” I held up my coffee cup. “Glad you could drop by. Want some, or are you happy with chewing on your own bile?”

  “Don’t fuck with me, McGinnis. She chewed my ass through like it was a couple of char siu bao at a Sunday breakfast,” he grumbled at me but stomped over to the coffeepot. “O’Byrne wants to know what the hell you’re doing in the middle of our cases and why I haven’t shot you in the knee or something.”

  “Because the LAPD frowns on shooting innocent citizens?” I offered, smirking when he glared at me over his shoulder. “I was there because I was giving my condolences to Sun. I didn’t know Vivian was her daughter until yesterday. Looks like you or O’Byrne didn’t either.”

  “I don’t care
what you did. You pissed her off. She wasn’t really getting a damned thing out of Sun until you waltzed in, and suddenly, there’s a Korean gang and maybe some sort of serial killer. Her open-and-shut self-defense case was blown to bits. O’Byrne doesn’t like messy, and you, my friend, are one hot mess looking for a place to happen. She thinks you’re a menace.”

  “Look, she’s just pissed off because I got info she didn’t have. Na being Madame Sun’s daughter complicates things, but you’ve got to admit, it’s looking like she’s not crazy and someone’s really trying to kill off people around her.”

  “If it’d been anyone but O’Byrne, I wouldn’t have gotten chewed out,” Dex said, sitting down in Claudia’s chair. He squeaked it back and forth while he sipped at his coffee. “She’s a good cop but a fucking hardass. Captain’s got his boxers in a happy twist ’cause she’s assigned to us now. She’s got a solve rate that’s through the roof.”

  “Dude, anyone after Jenkins would drive your solve rate up.” Pointing out the obvious only seemed to make Dex cross his eyes at me.

  “In the immortal words of Sun Tzu, fuck you.”

  “Don’t think Sun Tzu’s ever been quoted as saying fuck you.”

  “I paraphrased,” Dex sneered at me. “Pretty much everything he said boiled down to fuck you or fuck them. It’s all in the translation.”

  “So you came all the way down here to tell me Sun Tzu pretty much told the world to fuck off?” I’d been making a list of things I wanted Mo and Sissy to take care of when they came in because I’d made plans to hunt down Vivian Na’s boyfriend, but that wasn’t anything I’d planned on sharing with Wong. He’d just make some noise about how I was interfering, and I’d have to pointedly ignore his pleas to get out of his business.