The Dusk Parlor

by S. A. Stovall

  “Where you goin’?” he asks.

  I shake my head. “I need to sleep.”

  “Then stay here.”

  “Here?”

  “Yeah. There’s enough room for the three of us. C’mon. It’ll be fun.”

  I laugh. How will sleeping in a bed with two others be fun? But I don’t question it further. “I need to piss,” I say. “And then we can sleep.”

  Ren joins in my laughing. “Sure. Makes sense.”

  I’ll deal with everything else when I wake.

  Chapter 8: The Favor

  I WAKE to the warm snuggling of another individual against my chest.

  No nightmares—which is good—and I sigh in contented relief.

  “Sleep well?”

  With a thick grogginess over my mind, I open my eyes. Ren is nuzzled up under my chin, purring into my collarbone. I didn’t notice it before, but he has his hand on my thigh, massaging my flesh and making his way up.

  “Well?” Ren asks.

  “Well what?” I ask with a raspy voice.

  “Did you sleep well?”

  “Yeah,” I croak. “Great.”

  “Good. Because I have bad news.”

  I sit up and glance around. Where am I? Oh. Right. Ren’s room.

  It’s still dark, thanks to the blackout blinds, but I can see the outlines of the room enough to identify my surroundings. I rub my eyes and run a hand through my hair. Ren continues to nuzzle against me, his lips against my neck. I enjoy his touch, but my confusion taints everything.

  “What’s going on?” I ask.

  “Our old associates set fire to the Dusk Parlor,” he says in a blasé manner.

  “What?” I jerk my attention to him, now fully awake. “It burned down?”

  Ren chuckles into my shoulder. He takes longer to answer my question than I would have liked, and I can feel his wide, mischievous smile against my skin. “The front hall got singed,” he says. “Minor damage. We can get it repaired easy.”

  I exhale, allowing my panic to go with my breath. “What the hell?” I ask. “Why would you phrase it like that?”

  “I just wanted to give you a roller coaster of emotions on your first morning with me.”

  Ren squeezes my dick, and I jump, my body flaring with unexpected sensations.

  What the hell? He must sense my incredulous anger, but he answers it with a smile and a laugh.

  “C’mon,” he says. “Lighten up. It was funny.”

  “Yeah. Fuckin’ hilarious.”

  I take a deep breath and relax. Despite the prank, Ren’s proximity and levity does wonders for my mood. Normally I’m pensive when I wake, but it’s hard to dwell on the past when you have someone dragging you through the spectrum of emotions first thing in the morning. I guess I’ll forgive him.

  “Kaito thinks we should see the oyabun,” Ren says, his voice melancholy.

  “You don’t want to?”

  “I think it’s a terrible idea. Once they ask me to do something, I’m not going to be able to refuse it.”

  “And you think he wants you to kill someone?”

  “Or something.”

  Ren gets off his bed and turns on the light. I cringe and shield my eyes, blinking through the irritation. He throws my clothes—clean and folded—onto the bed next to me. I grab them up and pull them on one at a time. I suspect Kaito washed them, but I don’t ask.

  Where is Kaito?

  I glance around. Ren and I are alone in his room. He’s shirtless with nothing else on but a pair of thermal pants. It’s obvious he has nothing else on, and I take a moment to stare. Ren chortles when he catches my gaze at crotch-height.

  “I’d say we should take a break, but we need to make a decision soon.”

  I meet Ren’s gaze. “What do you mean?”

  “The oyabun wants to meet.”

  “Right now?”

  Ren nods. “Soon.”

  I slide out of bed and stretch. Life is remarkably pleasant after sex, that’s for sure. I rotate my arms and exit the room, curious about the time of day. I walk into the kitchen and find Kaito cooking at the stove. He spots me and offers a slight bow of his head.

  “Good morning,” he says in English.

  “You know English?” I ask, practically tripping over my words in my haste to speak.

  Kaito rolls his eyes. “Of course,” he replies in formal Japanese. “English is a standard class in elementary school.”

  “I’m… surprised to hear you speak it.”

  “Think nothing of it.”

  Kaito walks over and hands me a bowl. He’s looking relaxed and well, not the nervous ball of tension he was last night, but I can see there’s a difference between us. He lingers close to me and waits for my approval of the food.

  I glance down and frown.

  Natto.

  Disgusting.

  My mother tried to get me to eat natto when I was younger. It’s fermented soy beans—brown and shiny—coated in a white caramel-looking substance that sticks to everything. Beans in sticky sauce. That’s what I called it as a kid.

  “Do you have cereal?” I ask.

  “No.” Kaito crosses his arms over his chest. “This is healthier for you.”

  He glowers as I take a seat at the table and force myself to down the food without tasting it. Reminds me of my mother. After a few bites, I take note of Ren’s absence.

  I finish my slimy food with a loud swallow. “What’s going on with the oyabun?”

  “We are going to visit him,” Kaito states. “If we do not, he has made it clear he will have the Dusk Parlor destroyed and our identities revealed to the police.”

  “Heh. All right. When are we leaving?”

  “You will not be joining us.”

  “What? Why not? I’m here to protect you, remember?”

  Kaito walks over to the table and runs a gloved hand over the wood. His straightens his glasses before replying, “The oyabun does not admit outsiders to speak with him. It would be best if you met us at the Dusk Parlor. We can talk about what will be done then.”

  “How long will that be?”

  “A few hours at the most.”

  I stare at Kaito. He’s open with me today. I like it. I wish he was more talkative on other days. Kaito meets my gaze with his own and sighs.

  “The oyabun does not care for foreigners either,” he adds.

  I snort. “Of course not.”

  Kaito shifts his weight from one foot to the other. “Do not let his bigotry get to you.”

  I feel awkward having Kaito comfort me, but I realize I’m being crazy, considering what we did last night. I take his hand and squeeze his knuckles, showing my appreciation for the statement through physical means. He flushes and allows the gentle touch. It’s unlike Kaito.

  “Thanks for everything,” I murmur.

  “Thank you very much, Hanamura,” he says, attempting to correct my Japanese.

  There’s the Kaito I know.

  WHILE KAITO and Ren visit their old mobster boss, I head to my apartment and change.

  My tiny home, devoid of life and feeling, is colder than I remember it. I enter, shower, change, and leave without wasting a single second. The warm breeze of the city greets me as I take to the streets. It’s near dusk as I make my way to the nightclub.

  My mind is a hive of white noise throughout my trek. I make it to the Dusk Parlor without incident, but I can’t enter due to the police tape around the door.

  The evidence of a fire is clear. The charred wood and door sit dead in the walls of the building.

  I wait.

  Passersby give me odd looks, but I ignore them. For some reason, now that I’ve made friends here in Kobe, the random mutterings of strangers bother me less than they did before. They might think I’m a hoodlum or somehow lesser, but their opinions don’t matter.

  I don’t know how long I wait, but Ren exits the elevator, pulling me from my musings.

  His harsh expression and purposeful gait throw m
e off. That’s not the fun-loving Ren I know.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask.

  He ignores me and enters the damaged door to the Dusk Parlor. I go to follow, but he stops me and shakes his head. I find myself waiting a second time as Ren goes in and returns minutes later with a large duffel bag.

  He walks up to me, takes me by the arm, and leads me back to the elevator. I go, but I wish he would speak to me. Once the doors shut for the elevator, he exhales.

  “The oyabun wants me to kill his cousin.”

  The statement hits me while I’m off guard. I knew it would be something like this—why else do you need a sharpshooter?—but how could they ask that of a man who’s trying to separate himself?

  “Well,” Ren continues, “that’s not entirely true….”

  I whip my head around and glare. “I swear to God if you’re fucking with me like earlier, I’ll—”

  “I’m not fucking with you,” he says.

  “Then what’s going on?”

  “He wants his cousin out of the picture. His words. Out of the picture.”

  Which basically means kill that guy, but I guess it could mean something else as well. Maybe a different solution can be reached, though I don’t know what.

  “And after this he won’t ask you for any other favors?” I ask.

  “That’s what he said.”

  The elevator hits the bottom floor, but before the doors open, Ren hits the Close Door button, keeping us in the confined space. He holds the button and stares without seeing at the wall. His deep thoughts are as apparent as his neon shirt.

  Ren takes in a ragged breath. “Hey. You should back out now.”

  “You worried about me?”

  “We barely know each other. This isn’t your problem.”

  “I’m deep in it, whether that’s for good or bad.”

  “What’re you saying?”

  “I’m saying I’m not going to leave,” I state. “If I can help, then I’m going to help you.”

  Ren huffs and smiles, flashing his canines. “I didn’t think you’d be such a romantic.”

  “Well, you did go out of your way to bring me to the Dusk Parlor. I don’t think you know how much I needed that.”

  “Heh. Apparently a whole fuck-ton.”

  I step up close and run my hand along his neck, pulling him into a kiss. My body half moves on its own—physical intimacy explains my gratitude and affection more than words can—and Ren reciprocates with a gentle nibble to my lower lip.

  “We can’t stay here forever,” he breathes as he steps away. “Kaito is waiting for us.”

  He releases the button, and we step out of the elevator together. The building fills with people for the night rush to the bars. I assume the Dusk Parlor will be closed for the evening, but I don’t bother asking. Ren leads me down a hall I’ve never seen and out the back door. The alley between buildings is an official walkway and nothing seedy like the movies make them out to be.

  Kaito waits for us next to a white van. I walk over, eyeing the vehicle. The average worker in Kobe takes public transportation. I didn’t think Kaito knew how to drive.

  “Hugh,” Kaito says, addressing me. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m here to help.”

  “Us?”

  “No. The yakuza.”

  He misses my sarcasm—to be fair it doesn’t translate well into Japanese—and stares at me in confusion. I run a hand through my hair.

  “Yeah,” I say. “I’m here to help you.”

  I figure Kaito will disagree and attempt to dissuade me, but he says nothing and motions to the van. I step up to the passenger side and sit in the front while Ren throws his duffel bag into the back with a heavy clunk. The back of the van has a single seat and two large metal lockboxes, so the sounds of metal on metal echo throughout the vehicle.

  Kaito takes the driver’s seat and, with the fumbling of an amateur, he starts the engine and pulls out of the alley. I would take over and drive, but I’ve never driven a car with the steering wheel on the right side, nor do I have a Japanese driver’s license. I let him handle everything.

  NIGHT SETTLES over Kobe like a wet blanket.

  The energy is subdued and the lights dim. Workdays aren’t the best time for nightlife, especially in the residential districts. I have no idea where we are—I’m not familiar with Kobe like I should be—but I know we’re in the wealthiest part of town.

  The houses around us are single-story homes done in English or traditional Japanese architecture. Both styles are expensive and unheard of in normal markets. I assume the price tags of the houses here are in the multimillions of American dollars.

  “What’re we doing?” I ask.

  Ren, in the back, opens his duffel bag and pulls out a .50 caliber sniper rifle, complete with long scope and stand. He fastens the thing together and checks it over with a keen eye.

  I’ve seen rifles before—and used them on a daily basis—but the sight of it here gets me on edge. Is he really going to kill the guy? I might have an affinity for the man, but I don’t know what he’s capable of. The look on his face, however….

  He hasn’t been the same since he left to speak to the oyabun. He’s quiet and reserved, his face set hard and stoic. No frivolous musings, no discussions. Kaito is the same way, though it isn’t much of a deviation from his standard personality.

  “We are here to remove someone from the oyabun’s operations,” Kaito says. “Ren is to carry out this order without being implicated. The oyabun does not want the rest of his family knowing his intentions.”

  “So you’re going to shoot him?”

  “What other plan would you suggest?”

  “Why not have him arrested? Wouldn’t that do the trick?”

  “If we call the police, we will be implicated,” Kaito states in a curt tone. “That is not a possibility.”

  I lean back in my seat. “Why not have someone else call the police?”

  “Reporting on the man will do nothing. There has to be a reason.”

  “We could make a reason.”

  Both Ren and Kaito turn to me with intense gazes. I meet their eyes in return, assured of my statement.

  “People call the police for all sorts of reasons, right?” I ask. “If we start a commotion or get someone random to call the police, you can’t be implicated.”

  “How would we get someone to call the police?” Kaito asks.

  “Maybe we should start a fire, or have one of you flash a gun at some passersby.”

  The idea hangs in the van for a long moment before Kaito warms up to it. He nods, turns back to the steering wheel and smiles. “I had not considered getting the police involved.”

  “He would need to be doing something—or have something—that is incriminating,” I say, worrying about the police. “If he has illegal guns, or drugs, or people, he’ll go to jail, but if he isn’t involved in anything they could let him go.”

  “He’ll do something illegal. It’s only a matter of time.”

  Ren hefts his weapon and stares down the long scope. “All right. I’ll watch the place and once they’re engaged in anything shady, we can get the cops involved.”

  I nod. Kaito nods.

  It’s an agreement. Life isn’t always predictable, and now I’m officially involved in a plot to get someone jailed.

  My life in Japan is anything but dull.

  Chapter 9: The Plan

  THREE DAYS.

  I’ve watched the same house for three days.

  Careful and covert, Kaito and I would drive away, park in different locations, and spy on the property from all angles. Ren, with his tactical equipment—including a scope and night-vision goggles—would disappear for hours at a time to get a closer look at the inhabitants. At times it seemed like I was back in the Army… training for overnight missions and working the long shifts during deployment overseas.

  “Are you okay?” Kaito asks.

  I down a bottle of water and nod. “Yeah. Why?
”

  “You are deep in thought.”

  “Just going over our information.”

  Calling the police isn’t going to cut it. The oyabun’s cousin has his own vehicles. He’s sure to get away the moment a few police officers come calling. How will we ensure that he gets caught?

  The property is surrounded by an eight-foot-tall metal fence. There’s only one gate—the back of the property has no exit—and it’s operated by surveillance and computer systems. No police officer gets inside without notice. The little weasel hole of a house has too many protections, too many speed bumps, and too many goons on the property to ensure that the oyabun’s cousin will be caught. He’ll get away while the police are busy—drive off into the city and disappear into the urban jungle of Kobe.

  How can we ensure this goes off without a hitch?

  I glance over and catch Kaito staring. For a moment I return the gesture, unsure of what he wants.

  Kaito turns away, the blush on his face visible in the twilight.

  “What is it?” I ask.

  Before Kaito answers I hear the crack of our walkie-talkie as it flares to life.

  “Hugh, Kaito, are you guys there?”

  Ren’s voice is distorted by the device, but I can still identify him. I pick up the communicator and press down the button. “We’re here.”

  “It’s happening. Just like last night. More dealings. Lots of guns.”

  I guess this is it. Our target is engaged in illegal activity. If it’s anything like last night, he’ll be at it till dawn. He thinks he’s safe on his property, but if the police make it inside for a legitimate reason, they’ll stumble upon all the reasons they need to lock this guy up for a long time. Which is better than him getting shot.

  It’s now or never. Time to implement some plans….

  “Give us a few minutes,” I say. “We need to make sure our target doesn’t get away.”

  “What’re you going to do?”

  “Just keep your eyes on the property. Once I’m done, I’ll signal you to get the police involved.”