by Amy Tasukada
“My mother would tell me all the time that she knew she’d marry my father because they ran into each other three times in one day. Do you believe it?”
Minwoo shrugged. “It never happened to me. Did you find someone when you were away?”
“Worry about cooking lunch. Lee gets mad when he’s not fed.”
“Oh, that’s right! Lee wanted to see you. I knew there was another reason why I came down here.”
Saehyun laughed. Even if Minwoo was stupid, he had a sweet innocence about him.
“Figured Lee would. Surprised it took him this long to realize I was here. Hey, add more seasoning when you cook the rice this time. Last time it was too bland. And don’t touch my pot.”
Only five bedrooms were in the Double Moon safe house, and all of them were upstairs. Since Lee was the main leader, he decided for everyone that he needed his own room and got his own. It left Saehyun, the second-in-command, to share the remaining dilapidated rooms with the forty members who didn’t still live with their parents. It wasn’t so bad, but in Osaka, he’d been paid enough to rent his own apartment. Even if he had a better position in Kyoto, most of the funds had to go into getting the Double Moon off the ground.
Saehyun opened the door to Lee’s small room. Floral wallpaper peeled away, leaving the walls a discolored yellow. A pair of samurai swords hung on wooden hooks. A build-it-yourself desk took up the majority of the tiny room, and behind the furniture lay a mattress on the floor. Saehyun might have had to share a room, but at least the futon didn’t have mysterious stains deep enough to show through the sheets.
Lee stood up from behind his desk. His cheetah-print robe opened, revealing the tattoo of a snake on his chest and the double moons under his collarbone. His bleached-white hair was cut close to his head, but a tail of dreadlocks was tied and thrown over one shoulder.
“I tried to reach you all yesterday morning,” he said.
“My phone was destroyed.” Saehyun couldn’t help but smile at the turn of phrase. He was starting to sound like the yukata-wearing fool. “It got wet, but I got a new one yesterday afternoon. That’s how Hiro contacted me.”
“But I needed to talk to you in the morning.”
“Look, I followed our plan. I stabbed the jjokbari, and the other guys were able to bring him in after I got the shit kicked out of me. Do you want to see my bruises or the cut on my arm?”
Lee laughed. “That was your fault for being showy.”
“I have to be showy to send a message to the Matsukawa.”
“If you keep on being so showy, there’ll be nothing left of you.”
“Don’t worry. I can cut down all the Japanese.”
“See? That’s what I’m talking about. That’s why I convinced Taejin you were too valuable to let you take the blame. You know how to fuck shit up.”
Lee laughed, putting up his fist to fake-punch Saehyun, who backed out of reach. He didn’t know what was worse: the leash around his neck because of the debt he owed Lee, or the noose the Japanese government would put him in if he was ever caught. Today, Lee was the worse option. Saehyun hated when Lee acted like the muscle of the operation. The last time Lee had held a weapon was when Saehyun tossed him one after killing the cop who stumbled on their visa-fraud scam two months ago.
“Seriously, man, we’re in this together,” Lee continued. “You still have ten ward leaders to capture and the top tier of the Matsukawa. We don’t have time for days off. I even took care of their underboss for you.”
Saehyun rolled his eyes. Tossing a gun on some woman and then calling the police for the illegal weapon wasn’t the same as taking her life. It would be easy for the desk jockey Lee to never take a day off.
Saehyun could use more days off. The only time he’d gotten a good night’s sleep was in Nao’s bed. Maybe it wasn’t such a bad thing running into the Japanese man. They could screw, and he’d get a nice bed as long as that cat didn’t jump on him.
“So what happened to that ward leader anyway?” Saehyun asked.
“I got Minwoo to chop off his finger yesterday.”
“Minwoo!” Saehyun coughed. “Did you check your food before you ate it? I wouldn’t put it past him thinking finger sandwiches mean putting in literal fingers.”
Lee propped his feet up on the desk and grinned. “No, I sent it to the Matsukawa. Wanted to make sure they started to take us seriously.”
Well, that was a new trick for Lee. Maybe the coward’s time with Saehyun was brushing off on him and making him want to fight. Saehyun doubted a finger would be big enough to be taken seriously, but if the Matsukawa didn’t think much of them, it only made it easier for them to take over more of Kyoto’s wards.
Lee laughed. “Godfather Taejin really liked it when I told him about it. He’ll be thrilled if we do something bigger.”
Saehyun inwardly cringed at the name. If there was one good thing about Kyoto, it was that he was away from Taejin.
“What? You rather I cut off his head?”
Lee took the sword off the wall and handed it to Saehyun.
Saehyun shook his head. “I should’ve known. Why didn’t you kill him the other day?”
“Bringing the pain is your department.”
Saehyun fought the urge to mention that the sword was a Japanese weapon.
“Only if I can take the afternoon off. Hiro’s team could use some solo practice.”
“We talked about this.”
“I don’t see you training new recruits and getting into fights.” Saehyun lifted up his sleeve. “I need to get this looked at. It might get infected if I don’t get some antibiotics.”
“Fuck him up—and keep your phone on in case I need you.”
Saehyun made his way downstairs and into the utility room by the back entry. The room was about the size of a large closet and held a number of items in storage. Plastic tarps, ropes, and even a rigged pachinko machine. He whistled at the Japanese man tied to a chair there, blindfolded and gagged. The man let out a muffled scream. A large amount of gauze taped to the side of his body dripped blood. His hand was bandaged somewhat better, with no red stains there.
Saehyun placed the sword down on the table off to the side.
“Look, your boss hasn’t surrendered Kyoto yet, and you’re in charge of the ward we spent the last two weeks gaining control over. Why do you Japanese have to be so high-and-mighty and never listen?”
Saehyun grabbed the plastic tarp in the corner of the room. He moved and looked around for something to help him keep the blood off himself. He’d already ruined one shirt with blood. No reason to mess up two.
“Do we seriously not have a bodysuit?” He looked around. “Damn, this is going to be messy.”
He took the sword in his hand and pulled the man’s hair forward. The man was sobbing with snot dripping down from his nose.
“Yori? It was Yori, yeah? You want a last smoke?” Saehyun asked. Normally, he wouldn’t be so generous. He was probably excited he was getting the day off even if Lee didn’t realize he was.
The guy mumbled a bit, nodding his head yes.
“Here. I know I would like a last smoke.”
He reached into his back pocket, took out the pack, and knocked it until one of the cigarettes popped out. Then he pulled out a lighter, put the cigarette in his mouth, and lit it, getting it going with a few puffs. He took off Yori’s gag and then shoved the cigarette in the guy’s mouth. He left it there for a few minutes before pulling it out.
“Let me go.”
“Sorry, pal. I can’t.”
“You beat me up, stabbed me. Cut off my finger.”
“Hey, I was doing you a favor giving you a last cigarette, and now you want to cry like a bitch. You sliced up my arm too, but you don’t see me complaining.”
“The Matsukawa have been around for ages. There’s no way you
can take over Kyoto.”
Saehyun shrugged. “You were kind of easy to take down, and that woman underboss was easy to frame and get out of our way. For me, this is life or death. You Japanese conduct yourselves like this whole thing is about honor. Fuck that. You are a coward like everyone else when faced with death.”
Yori sniffled but added nothing, and Saehyun forced the cigarette back into his mouth.
“Be happy that you don’t have to live to see the final downfall.”
Saehyun allowed one last puff of the cigarette and put it into his own mouth. The ash fell on the plastic-covered floor.
He pulled Yori’s hair, put the gag back into his mouth, and pushed his head forward. Yori was moaning again through the gag, and Saehyun mentally blocked the sound and grabbed the sword. In one quick motion, he drew the blade above Yori’s head and down. The head fell to the floor with a thud, blood spilling everywhere and onto Saehyun’s shirt, soaking his slippers. Saehyun was used to blood. His first job with the Korean mob was cleaning up after higher-ups when he was fifteen. A decapitated head was nothing. It wasn’t as if he had much of a choice in the life he lived. It was kill or be killed.
“Shit,” he said to the headless body in front of him. “I knew this was going to be a mess.”
He grabbed the head by the hair and held it up, letting the majority of the blood drain out before wrapping it in plastic. He opened the door, leaving the soiled slippers there.
“Hey, you.” With bloody hands, Saehyun gestured to the underling. Who was he again? Cho? It didn’t matter. “Go clean that mess up. Take the body to the incinerator. It’s outside of the city. You know where, yeah?”
“What? Why do I have to do everything?”
Saehyun slammed his fist against the wall, leaving a bloody patch on the cracked surface “Do as I say, or else you’ll always be stuck scrubbing toilets.”
Cho gave a nod. “Fine, fine. Want me to take the head too?”
“Knowing how Lee likes sending presents to the Matsukawa, he’s going to want this one gift-wrapped to them in a few days. I’ll stick it in the freezer.”
Saehyun walked back to the kitchen and washed the blood off his hands. He moved aside the package of frozen dumplings and put the head inside. Minwoo was still in the kitchen, cutting up mushrooms. Saehyun checked on the porridge. He’d get in a good meal and repay his debt for getting Nao sick.
“You didn’t touch the lid, did you?” Saehyun said. “I was making that for someone.”
“Ouch.”
Nao opened his eyes, meeting Kuma’s yellow orbs before swatting her paw away from his nose. The cat meowed from her napping place beside Nao’s pillow, clearly not happy with his movement. She stretched her paw, touching Nao’s nose before flexing her claws. He turned only to have her knead his back with both paws. Nao shut his eyes, but the room still spun, like the shuffling of mahjong tiles on a busy night. A damp washcloth covered his forehead, which helped with the fever but did little to dull his headache. The sneeze last night was the start of many more, and his fever broke out somewhere around three in the morning followed by not wanting to leave his bed ever again.
“Here’s the tea you wanted,” Takeo said, walking into the bedroom, boredom written all over his large forehead.
“Thank you.”
Nao took the washcloth off his head and placed it onto Kuma’s for revenge. She only purred louder. Being sick was bad enough, but being sick with Takeo staying in his home was even worse. Grabbing the blue ceramic teacup from Takeo’s grasp, Nao’s hand grazed the stub of Takeo’s missing finger. Nao bit his lip, wishing he hadn’t seen the crippled hand, but wishing more that he wasn’t even there. Nao didn’t like the memories that surfaced every time he saw Takeo.
Closing his eyes, Nao let the warmth of the tea take his memories. His thoughts turned blank, drifting away. Tea was the only thing existing in that moment. The deep richness of the oolong filled his nose. After positioning his hands, he tilted the cup. His lips warmed against the brim and the first sting of the heated water. Nao took a sip and let the tea linger in his mouth. All oolongs produced a note of astringency. The sip, however, left a lingering bitterness on his tongue. He scrunched his nose. Takeo must’ve oversteeped it.
Nao put the tea down on the nightstand.
“You’re not going to drink it?”
“I’m kind of getting tired.” He didn’t want to appear rude, but there was no way he would drink oversteeped tea.
Takeo snatched the cup. Half the liquid sloshed over the brim onto Takeo’s hand and then onto the bedsheet.
Nao pressed his lips together. “I’m sorry that you’re here. I know you’d rather not—”
“Sleep on a futon while you cough all night?”
“I’ll make myself a new cup. Don’t feel obligated to play nurse.”
Nao stood, and the room tilted with him. He wobbled and held on to the bed for support, but Takeo grabbed his arm, shoving him back to bed.
“Rest. I’ll make you tea.”
“I can do it.”
“The last thing I want is Father Murata angry at me for not caring for you. Even if you only have yourself to blame for this cold.”
“I only did the noble thing.”
“Bringing a member of the Double Moon into your home was stupid,” Takeo said.
“I had no way of knowing he was a member, let alone that they were trying to get a stranglehold over the Matsukawa.”
“Why would anyone tell you?”
Silence flooded the room.
“Did you think you could do something with that gun you kept?” Takeo asked. “Father realized you never returned it. Where is it?”
Nao’s eyes darted to the nightstand.
“You keep it out in the open?”
“I like knowing it’s close.”
“You should find a better hiding place. Besides, if you were going to end it, you should hang yourself. It’s less of a mess for the people dealing with your corpse.”
Nao looked away. His fingernails bit into the palms of his hand. The words stung worse than his headache.
“That’s the only logical explanation for keeping something illegal like that in your home when you say you’re a tea merchant. When you finally realize the severity of what you did.”
“I have nothing to be ashamed of.”
“You keep telling yourself that, but you’re the one who became a shut-in when you’re not filling teapots.”
Takeo had been there less than a day, and Nao was ready to throw the rest of the bitter tea in his face. Nao’s voice deepened. “I did not have to lose a finger.”
“But you left the Matsukawa. So there’s no reason to tell you what’s happening in Kyoto’s underworld. All you have to do is serve tea when we come to your shop.”
A knock on the door echoed throughout the apartment, shutting down the argument. Takeo put the teacup on the nightstand and pulled his gun from the back of his waistband. He stood between the opening of the bedroom and the living room.
“What did the Korean look like?”
Nao shook his head. He didn’t tell Takeo that Park had shown up at the teahouse yesterday. Nao didn’t want his shop tainted by the conflict between the Matsukawa and Double Moon. Besides, Park wasn’t smart enough to be anything but a lackey, and if he knew who Nao was, Park had already had every opportunity to kill him.
“I don’t know. Average.”
“Would any of your neighbors be the type to stop by?”
“I don’t talk to them.”
“Do any of your friends know you’re sick?”
Nao had no friends, only memories and Kuma to keep him company. He smiled bitterly while petting his cat’s paw.
The knock came again.
“Just open the door.”
Takeo tucked the gun back into his wais
tband and opened the door.
“What do you want?” Takeo asked.
“I’ve come to bring Nao some juk. What’s it to you?”
A sharp prick hit Nao’s heart like a stab into a tea cake. He recognized the voice, that unmistakable accent mixed with attitude. Nao wobbled up from his bed in half-falling steps until he could clutch onto the bedroom opening.
“Let him in!” Nao shouted.
“See, Nao,” Park said. “I told you that you’d get sick if you didn’t take it easy.”
Takeo glared at Nao, and he felt his cheeks flush as Park used his first name, a sudden affection from someone who was little more than a stranger. But was he a stranger? They had already been intimate, and deep inside, Nao wanted that connection again.
“Thanks for visiting, Takeo. You can leave now,” Nao said. “I know how much you dislike my social visits.”
Nao smiled, hoping Takeo would recall enough of their past to leave, while keeping his words vague enough that Park wouldn’t ask questions. Takeo stayed for a moment longer before shutting the door.
“Who’s the acorn head?” Park asked.
Nao laughed. Takeo did look like an acorn. “He was a neighbor stopping by.”
Nao’s feet slid underneath him, and the world spun again. He stumbled to grab hold of the wall.
“I told you to take care of yourself. You should’ve gone home the moment you sneezed, Nao.”
Nao’s heart thumped in his ears upon hearing his name. Park grabbed Nao, lifting him up and taking him to the bed.
“Stop calling me by my first name. It’s so informal, and we met yesterday.”
“Informal? That? Get over it. Most everyone has the same four last names in Korea, so we go by first.”
“We’re not in Korea.”
“So?”
“I have a last name.”
“What is it, then?”
“Mur—” Nao stopped, realizing that even though Park didn’t know who he was, saying his last name would probably make the connection to the Matsukawa. The fever had to be messing with his mind. “Here. If you let me call you by your first name, then I’ll let you call me by my first.”
