“Okay. Whatever you say.”
I toss the walkie-talkie into the glove compartment and jump to the back of the van. The metal lockboxes—once shut tight with three padlocks each—hold enough firepower and weapons to start a small war. I grab a long knife, another tool illegal in Japan, and tuck it into my belt. I don’t bother with a firearm. Hopefully I won’t regret the decision.
“Where are you going?” Kaito asks.
I hop back to the front seat and open the van door. “I’m going to ensure nobody leaves once the police arrive.”
“Oh? And how do you plan on doing that?”
“Disabling some cars and fucking with the gate.”
Kaito glares. “I will accompany you.”
“What?” I balk. “No. You stay here. I can handle this.”
“I know my way around the property. I have been inside several times.”
Well, I guess that could be useful… but still. Kaito isn’t what I would call a “physical guy.” I turn my attention to the property and take note of the “residents.” The place has the liveliness of a ghost town—everyone of importance is deep within, most likely conducting their illicit activities far from prying eyes. Sure, there are a few men walking the perimeter, but nothing too conspicuous.
“All right,” I say with a sigh. “Let’s go.”
Kaito and I exit the vehicle. We shuffle across the narrow street and hide behind the foliage of topiary a house over. Kaito sticks close and, much to my surprise, he’s not bad at keeping himself hidden.
We creep over to the fence surrounding the house, and I wait until the circling guards are out of view before hopping over. There are cameras, but they’re pointed at key locations—the driveway, the street, the front door. They can’t cover every inch of the yard without a hundred more, and I take advantage of that weakness.
I turn around to help Kaito over, even leaning against the bars so he can use my shoulder as leverage, but he huffs and pulls himself over the bars without aid. He lands next to me with a heavy thump before standing and rubbing at his knees.
“You okay?” I whisper.
“Yes. Of course.”
His curt tone and anger seem misplaced, but we don’t have time to talk about it. We slink across the yard and get our backs to the wall of the house.
The traditional Japanese architecture gives the place an Old-World feel. It’s nice, and I swear I smell incense, but I push it from my mind. The dark and light brown of the building’s facade is perfect for hiding in the shadows.
We make our way to the garage and stop only when we come to the door. I grab the handle and turn, but the thing is locked. Damn. How else will we get inside?
“Step aside,” Kaito whispers.
I lift an eyebrow and chuckle. “What’re you going to do? Kick it down? I think a screen door would give you a run for your money.”
Kaito narrows his eyes into a cutting glare. “I intend to pick the lock.”
Oh. That’s a good idea.
I step aside.
Kaito can pick locks? Well, I guess he was part of the yakuza… he could have all sorts of skills I’m unaware of.
He withdraws a handful of small metal tools from the pocket of his vest—tools akin to an Allen wrench and a sewing needle. He kneels down in front of the door, bringing his eyes to the doorknob’s level. I’m not sure what he’s doing, but I watch with keen interest and fascination, scooting closer and also kneeling down. Kaito fiddles with the tools, inserting two at a time, and stares at the lock, but I doubt he can see anything. It seems as though he relies on the feel of his movements.
Kaito stops halfway through. “I am quite capable of handling this without your supervision.”
For a moment I don’t know what he’s talking about. I blink and scoot back. “I’ve… never seen this before. I just wanted to watch.”
“Heh.”
He returns to his work, his jaw clenched and his glare back in full force.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
“You think I am incapable of handling this.”
“What?” Where is this coming from? “No, I don’t.”
Kaito jams the lockpicks around and frowns. “I am not weak.”
“I never said you were.”
“Just because….” He stops his motions altogether. I wait, but he’s locked in his own emotions and thoughts. We don’t have all night. We could get caught at any second….
I grab Kaito by the arm and shake. He jerks his attention to me, and I pull him close. “What’s going on?” I ask in a demanding tone. “We don’t have the time to do this right now. Spit it out or keep it to yourself until we’re done.”
“You have treated me differently since the other night,” he says, his voice unsteady. “Just because you… did that… with me… does not mean I am somehow weaker or… less of a man… I can handle myself.”
The words come out in jerked spurts, like he’s a cracked floodgate, barely restraining the water of emotions trapped inside.
Damn. This isn’t the time to be discussing this, but I know how he feels.
Some men, especially those from strict families and harsh upbringings, hate themselves for things they never should. I’ve seen how Kaito grapples with his lust, preferences, and self-image…. Even now, ducking down in the moonlight shadows, he trembles with uncertainty over his actions that night—doubting himself as a man and assuming I’m questioning his masculinity because of his submission.
“Of course I’ve treated you differently,” I state.
Kaito stares, unable to form words, pain and indignation clear in his eyes.
I continue, “It’s different between us now. We’re closer. I care about you. I’m sorry if I make you feel weaker, but… that’s not my intention. I just want to protect you, okay? It’s in my nature. I… I can’t help it.”
I wish I had been able to protect you—the words I said to my father’s grave not but a year ago. I meant it then, and I mean it now. I want to protect the people I love… and it hurts me to think I can’t, or that I won’t be able to.
“Protect me?” he repeats.
I tighten my grip on his arm. “We don’t have time to talk about this,” I say, urgency in my tone. “Please know I don’t think less of you. I think the world of you. That’s why I want to protect you.”
Again he stares without forming words, his expression a mess of emotions without interpretation.
“Pick the damn lock,” I command, shaking him from his daze.
Kaito takes in a deep breath, turns back to the doorknob, and fidgets with his tools one last time. The door clicks open, and we slither in without making a noise. We stop once inside and get a good look at the three vehicles parked within the garage. Two four-door cars and an SUV. I’d slash some tires, but I know that’ll cause some noise. Instead I slide under the first vehicle and pull loose a few vital parts, preventing the motor from functioning properly.
All it would take is to reattach everything, but in the heat of an escape attempt, I doubt they’ll be able to put everything together in time. This is just to slow them down.
“Are you a mechanic?” Kaito asks as I make my way to the second car.
“No. And shh. We need to keep this quiet.”
In a reversal of roles, Kaito scoots closer to me as I unhinge things under the car. He watches with fascination, and I wonder how often he’s around cars to begin with. In California I had to fix my POS Dodge Neon every couple of weeks… we didn’t have a fancy subway system to get around. If my car failed, I went nowhere.
I’ve slid under the SUV when I hear the door to the garage open. Kaito doesn’t miss a beat—he slides under one of the four-doors, and I huddle under the middle of the SUV, avoiding the harsh rays of light cast from the open door. A man in metal-toed boots walks around the garage. Did he hear us talking? Maybe.
Each steps rings louder than the last. I hold my breath. Kaito grips his vest and stares up at the vehicle inches above him.
> When the man nears the SUV, I move a hand down to my waistline and finger the knife. Getting into a fight while prone would be the worst possible outcome, especially if the man has a gun….
Each tense second takes an hour off my life.
An eternity later the man grabs something off a shelf and walks out of the garage. I let out a long exhale. I guess he wasn’t looking for people after all.
I finish my work and shove out from under the SUV. Kaito does the same, but his attention fades as he stares down at his clothing.
“Tsk,” he mutters, attempting to rub oil out of his shirt. He knows it won’t help, but I assume some rudimentary form of OCD won’t let him look away.
Our task complete, we sneak out of the garage the way we came. Once outside, I set my sights for the gate. It’s the last obstacle I can control—if I jam the gate they won’t be able to make a quick escape no matter what they do.
Kaito notices my stare and places a gloved hand on my shoulder. “What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to fuck with the gate. You should—” wait here, is what I have on the tip of my tongue, but the look on his face and his previous worries tell me that’s not what he wants to hear. “—come with me,” I say, awkwardly finishing the sentence.
Kaito surveys the area and shakes his head. “No, Hugh. Only one of us should go. Two would make it difficult, and we should not get caught. I will wait here.”
Heh. Mature of him. Of course—Kaito is an old soul—he’s not one to dwell on weakness. I nod and crouch-run along the shadows that line the driveway, not stopping until I reach the gate’s motor. I’m sure some sort of camera is nearby, which is why I speed through everything and keep my head low.
The machine parts and wires are embedded in the fence itself, no doubt to keep people like me from fucking with the system. Doesn’t matter. I grab a rock and jam it good between the moving parts, wedging it deep enough that it won’t come out unless someone physically moves it. I’m a strong guy, and it will take some elbow grease to dislodge.
I run back to Kaito, and the two of us sprint for the side of the house we entered on. I leap over the fence and Kaito joins me, his athletic nature shining through his stiff and restrictive clothing.
The harsh siren of police vehicles gets me on edge.
Already? How?
Kaito’s shock mirrors my own. We run to the van and throw ourselves into the passenger and driver’s seat, not muttering a word as we pull out of our hiding spot.
The walkie-talkie crackles, and I jerk my attention to it.
“Are you guys back yet?” Ren asks.
I pick up the device and reply, “We’re here. What’s going on?”
“I summoned the police. What do you mean ‘what’s going on?’ That was our plan, wasn’t it?”
“Already?”
“I watched you two clowns the entire time. I knew when to get this party started.”
Kaito and I share a laugh as our panic leaves us.
“Come and get me,” Ren says. “We should blow this joint before we get caught up in the bullshit.”
I want to keep my eyes on the house—to make sure everyone is caught—but I know we can’t stick around and watch. We have a van full of illegal contraband, after all. It would be a disaster to get wrapped up in everything.
Kaito takes the van around the block. Ren, perched up in a towering tree, shimmies down the trunk with his duffel bag slung across his chest and shoulder. He lands on his feet and tumbles toward us. Kaito slows, Ren jumps in, and the van moves again without ever fully coming to a stop.
“Ren, are you all right?” Kaito asks.
Ruffling his own spiked hair, Ren smiles wide. “This is the best I’ve been in years.”
“Be serious.”
“I am serious. We can finally put this oyabun business behind us. We’re free.”
Ren slaps a hand down on my shoulder and grips me tight. I glance over my shoulder and nod to him.
“I knew you’d be interesting the moment I saw you,” Ren says.
I smirk. “Why is that?”
“Everyone else… they’re plain and boring, you know? Homogeneous. Blending with the crowd. Heads down. You look different because you are different. I like it.”
The words hit me hard, and I turn away. I had never thought of myself that way. That’s why I like Ren—he’s pretty different too.
The police sirens drown out my thoughts.
Chapter 10: Epilogue
“THANK YOU, Hugh.”
I set my mother’s nightstand down in her room and wipe the sweat from my brow. “No problem.” Moving from the US to Japan is no easy feat, especially for someone in my mother’s position, but whatever strength I have I’ll lend her.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to set up a room for you? It could save you a lot of money.”
“I’m fine now. I have a job. Everything is looking up.”
My mother scoots into the room with a few well-timed shoves on her wheelchair’s tires. The wood and tatami floors make it easy for her to get around, and ever since the accident, she needs as much ease of movement as possible. She holds herself with a dignified posture as I approach her—her hands clasped together in her lap and her fine black hair tied back in a tight ponytail.
“I’m glad you made friends,” she says, her eyes on mine. “I was afraid you wouldn’t… well… I was afraid you wouldn’t find a place here.”
I cross my arms over my chest and shrug. “You always said I played nice with the other children.”
She can’t hold back her laughter. I chuckle, but it only lasts a moment before I hear something land hard in the living room. My mother wheels herself around, and we head out together.
Ren is helping my relatives move in the last of the furniture. He’s all smiles and jokes, even when one of the boxes they were holding fell to the floor and busted open. Nothing looks broken, but I can tell everyone is solemn about it except Ren.
“It’s all good,” he says, his casual speech grating on a few of the older men. “I’ll pick this all up.”
“Is he from America?” my mother whispers to me.
I nod. “Yeah. How could you tell?”
“He reminds me of your father.”
I hold back any further comment. I guess I never thought of it like that. My father was military, but he also epitomized the easygoing American whenever he was off duty.
“Mrs. Harris,” I hear Kaito say.
My mother and I turn to face him. He’s holding paperwork up and glaring at it all through his glasses. My relatives love Kaito. He’s everything prim and proper about Japanese culture, right down to his gloves.
“Mrs. Harris, I believe you could save yourself a considerable amount of money if you allow me to speak to your landlord,” he says. “Some of these options are not needed for your simple lifestyle.”
I give Kaito a “you better not be using shady dealings to help my mother” kind of look, and he replies by straightening his glasses and continuing to glare. Okay. Good. He’s not going to use anything underhanded.
“I would like that very much,” my mother says, her “country informal” speech cropping up into her Japanese.
Kaito smiles. “I will get to it right away.”
I appreciate the fact Kaito would never try and correct my mother’s grammar. He gives her a formal bow at the waist and disappears out the front door with a few purposeful steps.
“You’ll come and visit me and the family?” my mother asks.
“Of course.”
“And you’ll bring your friends?”
“Definitely.”
I know in my gut I won’t be separating from my “friends” anytime soon. Kaito already asked me to stay with him and Ren in a more long-term fashion. I know we’ve only known one another for a short while, but the impression we’ve left on one another will last a lifetime. I get a feeling from the both of them they don’t want me to slip away—like they need to watch me to ma
ke sure I’m actually staying in Kobe. I don’t mind. I don’t want them to slip away either.
My mother glances up at me, and we share a knowing smile.
Coming to Japan had been the best decision of my life.
S.A. STOVALL grew up in California’s central valley with a single mother and little brother. Despite no one in her family having a degree higher than a GED, she put herself through college (earning a BA in History), and then continued on to law school where she obtained her Juris Doctorate.
As a child, Stovall’s favorite novel was Island of the Blue Dolphins by Scott O’Dell. The adventure on a deserted island opened her mind to ideas and realities she had never given thought before—and it was the moment Stovall realized that storytelling (specifically fiction) became her passion. Anything that told a story, be it a movie, book, video game, or comic, she had to experience. Now as a professor and author, Stovall wants to add her voice to the myriad of stories in the world, and she hopes you enjoy.
You can contact her at the following addresses:
Twitter: @GameOverStation
E-mail: [email protected]
By S.A. Stovall
The Dusk Parlor
Ranger Station Haven
Published by DREAMSPINNER PRESS
www.dreamspinnerpress.com
Published by
DREAMSPINNER PRESS
5032 Capital Circle SW, Suite 2, PMB# 279, Tallahassee, FL 32305-7886 USA
www.dreamspinnerpress.com
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of author imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
The Dusk Parlor
© 2017 S.A. Stovall.
Cover Art
© 2017 Brooke Albrecht.
http://brookealbrechtstudio.com
Cover content is for illustrative purposes only and any person depicted on the cover is a model.
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