The Gatekeeper's Son

by C. R. Fladmark

  Lin was smiling again. “You were a hippie!” Then she poked Grandpa’s arm. “So who’s this Tomi girl with the big butt?”

  Grandpa looked sheepish. “I’m sorry I said that, I truly am.” He let out a long sigh. “I’m sure the whole thing was a delirious dream, a hallucination caused by sunstroke. There was no girl out there … couldn’t be, not in the middle of the Mojave Desert.”

  “It was a good enough dream to name your yacht after her.” Lin sounded sarcastic.

  “And what about the gold?” I said. “You didn’t dream that.”

  “No, you’re right.” He glanced at me and then back at Lin. “I knew I was in trouble, I wasn’t used to the desert … At some point I passed out, and when I woke up … there was a girl—a woman. She said her name was Tomi. I told her about the map and she led me to the gold.”

  I glanced at Lin. I got the feeling Grandpa was leaving a lot of things out.

  “Anyway,” he said, “I ended up back at my truck with a stack of these strange gold disks. But once I got home, I didn’t have a clue how to sell them. I couldn’t just walk into a pawnshop. At the time, I was working at an exclusive businessmen’s club, so I started asking around, real casual, pretending I was an aspiring novelist, and I learned two things. First, Geneva was the place to go, especially if it was gold of a questionable source. And time and time again, one man was referred to, but no one would say his name.”

  “Bartholomew?”

  He shot me a look. “Do you want to tell the story?”

  “Sorry.”

  He cleared his throat. “There was a man who visited the club once or twice a year. The managers treated him better than they treated anyone else. He had a certain … commanding presence. One night he got incredibly drunk and the manager assigned me to keep him hydrated and off the floor. When he mumbled that he was from Geneva, I started asking questions. He didn’t have much to say at first, but when he sobered up he asked more about the gold. The next day he took me to Geneva to see Bartholomew, all expenses paid.”

  “Wow!” Lin said.

  “He didn’t want the gold, not at first, but he offered me a lot of financing. He became a mentor or sorts and encouraged me to start my Committee.”

  “Your investment club?”

  “It’s far more than that,” Lin said. “True power comes from the production of intended effects.”

  I blinked. “What?”

  “We create the market, James, and we control it.” I’m sure I heard a hint of pride in Grandpa’s voice. “Everyone else has to ride the currents we create.”

  “Isn’t that … a little like cheating?” It sounded a little like illegal.

  “Anyhow,” he said with a dismissive wave, “Bartholomew never gave up asking about the gold. He became obsessed. I wouldn’t sell it to him and he started putting financial pressure on me, so I paid him back, every cent with interest, and I cut off all ties—and that was the end of it.”

  “Until now,” Lin said.

  I looked from one to the other. “You had to know that Bartholomew was bad news from the beginning, right?”

  Grandpa gazed at me in silence. When he finally spoke, his voice was low and cold.

  “Your dad knows all this, but he still takes my money. I don’t give a damn if you approve of my methods.” Then he forced a smile. “It’s just gold, James, bought and sold. Don’t worry about it.”

  And so I sat staring out the window at the darkening sky as Lin snuggled beside Grandpa, trying to calm him. The more I learned, the less sense it made. The only thing I knew for sure was that the days of sandwiches and stories on Saturday afternoons were over.

  CHAPTER

  10

  I sat slouched in the back of Grandpa’s Bentley, half-asleep, gliding toward my house. The driver had the stereo on, something classical and vaguely familiar.

  Lin had persuaded me to let Grandpa’s driver take me home, and I’d agreed once I realized how late it was. If I took the bus, I’d have to walk four blocks from the stop to my house. I hated being out alone at night.

  Suddenly I sat up and looked out the side window. We’d stopped at a light, and across the intersection I saw three guys under the green awning of a coffee shop, just outside the reach of the street lamps. My face, reflected in the glass window, seemed more real than they did.

  They were in their twenties, and the way they were pushing and staggering, I assumed they were drunk. My first reaction was to sink back into my seat. I was safe in the car and they weren’t my problem. But something out there, maybe Okaasan’s stream, demanded my attention.

  The car lurched forward after the light turned green. As we passed through the intersection, I saw someone walking alone, almost at the end of the block.

  “Stop!”

  The driver slammed on the brakes. I flew forward and hit the back of his seat—my seat belt was already off.

  “What is it?” he yelled over his shoulder as the car jerked to a stop in front of a narrow yellow building. He looked around, searching for the threat.

  “I’m getting out here.”

  He spun in his seat. “Close the door! I’m taking you home!”

  Our eyes met. My door was open wide now, and I had one foot on the sidewalk. I glanced outside. Across the wide sidewalk, a staircase rose into the yellow building, the steps disappearing into the darkness above. A shudder passed though me.

  I heard the driver’s seat belt click open.

  “The Chairman’s gonna kick my ass if I don’t get you home,” he said. “Now get back in!”

  I shook my head, still staring into the darkness at the top of the stairs. Something awakened deep inside me, something urgent.

  “Forget about me!” My voice was firm, clear, commanding. “You go home. Now!”

  My other foot had barely hit the sidewalk when the car peeled away. I jumped back and tried to close the door but couldn’t. The car door hit a tree and slammed shut. The driver kept going.

  I stared down the street until the car disappeared into the distance. Then I turned and ran back the way we’d come.

  Spruce Street was as bare and bright as a dry lakebed. There were no cars, no trees, nothing to hide me. But it didn’t matter. The guys I’d seen were oblivious to me, staggering through the open parking lot behind the coffee shop, toward a back street.

  I hesitated. Now that I was here, all alone on the street, I started to question my sanity. I glanced toward the apartments. I wondered if anyone was there, watching and willing to help, but the windows were dark and empty.

  A light wind rustled my hair and blew past me, urging me forward. I moved with it, up the block and around the corner where the drunks had disappeared. The street was narrow, lined with cars on one side and a row of low apartments on the other. At first I didn’t see them, but I felt something. That tingling in my neck, the whisper of the breeze—then I saw them.

  They were hidden in the shadows under a tree, their gaze focused farther up the block, where a girl sauntered along the sidewalk, running her right hand along a hedge, unaware of the danger behind her. Even without the light of the street lamps, there was no mistaking those long white socks and short plaid skirt. It was Shoko.

  I glanced around again, let out a sigh, and started up the street. I tried to stay behind the row of trees as I crept toward them. It didn’t matter—they were too busy watching Shoko. As she turned the next corner, the men moved from their hiding spot and stepped out between the parked cars ahead of me. I bolted past them, running flat out.

  “Shoko, run!” I yelled in Japanese.

  As she spun around, the drunks saw me and started running. Shoko’s eyes widened. I grabbed her hand as I went by, jerking her into motion. The tingling in my neck was overwhelming.

  Something smashed into my back and I went down hard in someone’s driveway. A shoe drove into my ribs, and then a hand grabbed my hair and hauled me up. I covered my head, trying to squirm away and escape the blows. Where was Shoko? What was t
he other guy doing to her?

  As if in reply, I heard a girl’s yell, followed by an ugly high-pitched sound.

  I’d had enough.

  The men fell back in surprise as I straightened up and started hitting them, hard and fast, dodging their flailing fists. I drove my knee into a stomach and turned. The other guy backed away, but I went in tight—elbow to chin. He fell, but now the first guy was back up, cursing, grabbing at me—or trying to. He aimed a fist at my face, but my elbow met it and I heard knuckles crack. I jumped and drove my head into his face. I spun away, fell to the ground and rolled, waiting for the other guy to get back up and attack me.

  I looked around. Both my attackers were sprawled facedown on the sidewalk. Had I done that? My neck still tingled, but something felt different.

  Shoko stood in a pool of light near the middle of the street, her face emotionless—a blank mask lined with loose hair and a streak of blood. Her blouse hung open, the buttons ripped to her waist. My chest tightened as I moved toward her.

  “Shoko …”

  The third man pulled himself off the ground and cursed at Shoko. He didn’t notice me, or his friends sprawled on the sidewalk.

  “So you took a self-defense class.” He pulled a knife. “Get over here, bitch!”

  I picked up a board—maybe the one they’d hit me with—and glanced at Shoko again. She stood like a statue, her head lowered, so small compared with the man. I started to move, but when our eyes met through the strands of hair that fell across her face, I froze. She wiped a hand across her cheek and started slowly forward.

  “Don’t.” Though my heart sank, I couldn’t get my feet to move.

  The man laughed, but his face changed as Shoko broke into a run. She closed the gap to about five feet before she exploded into action, her hands and feet a blur as she smashed into him. He staggered backward as her small feet and hands battered him, each impact like the crack of a home run. Then she jumped so high I couldn’t believe it and smashed her foot into his head.

  He fell sideways into a parked car. Shoko settled back to the ground, sure and steady as a cat as he slid down the car door.

  She turned back to me, her dark eyes wild and dangerous. A smile curled the corners of her mouth. Light flashed off steel as a blade twirled in her hand, spinning from thumb to pinky and back again—she had his knife.

  “I should take your head!” She screamed in Japanese.

  The man’s eyes went wide as she threw the knife so fast that I couldn’t see it. I only heard the impact when it slammed into the center of his hand, pinning it to the car door. He was still swearing and screaming when Shoko kicked him in the head.

  There was silence.

  Shoko stood near the car, poised for more action, with one sock drooping, her blouse still open and her blazer askew. She glanced up and down the street, frowning.

  “Are … are you OK?”

  She nodded. Lights came on in windows above us. Curtains opened and faceless silhouettes appeared.

  “I called the police!” a lady yelled, fear in her voice, in her energy.

  Shoko pulled her blazer closed. “What are ‘police’?”

  “Keikan—policemen. They’ll take these guys to jail.” Then I looked at the scene around us—three men down, unconscious, one with a knife wound. They weren’t just hurt, they were a bloody mess. I looked at the guy I’d head-butted, his face a mask of blood. I remembered what Lin had said at dinner about making Grandpa look bad. How would we explain this?

  “This is bad,” I said. “The police will take us, too.”

  She glanced around. “I will not go with these police.”

  “You can’t fight them.”

  She shook her head. “I will not go.”

  “Then we need to get out of here!”

  We ran, staying in the shadows, until we reached California Street, back where I’d started. Once there, I stopped to catch my breath and check for pursuers. I caught my reflection in the pharmacy window and was shocked by what I saw. My face was bruised and bloody, already beginning to swell, and blood splattered the front of my shirt—not all of it mine.

  There were sirens in the distance now. Shoko looked at me.

  “Police cars.”

  She pushed past me and bolted toward the street. Without thinking, I lunged forward and grabbed her sleeve. She spun, rage in her eyes. I blocked her fist and yanked her back onto the sidewalk as a horn blared, so loud and close that I let out a yell. We both fell, her on top of me, as a trolley bus roared past, air brakes hissing.

  Shoko rolled off me and onto her knees, but my clenched fist still held her sleeve. She tried to pull away but without much force, like a child tugging at an adult’s pant leg. Then she sat back on the sidewalk as a low cry escaped her. She squeezed her eyes shut.

  “This place is too much for me.” She sounded more frustrated than scared.

  The sirens were getting closer. I pulled her up and we ran across the street and dived into the shadows as two police cars roared up the street. They turned the corner where we’d just been, tires screeching, the reflection of their red and blue lights dancing on the buildings. A moment later the sirens fell silent.

  I looked at Shoko crouched beside me. She looked small, vulnerable. I had a hard time picturing her throwing a knife into a man’s hand even though I’d just watched her do exactly that.

  I squeezed my eyes shut and focused on the moment. In the distance I heard another siren, probably an ambulance.

  I stood up. “We have to get off the street.”

  As we jogged past the yellow building with its dark staircase, my body began to shake—leftover adrenaline—and it got worse as it reached my hands. I tried to hide it, but I was beyond scared. Maybe running away was a mistake. Maybe we should have waited. Instead, I turned toward my house.

  Shoko looked to me. “I have caused you trouble?”

  I let out a short laugh. “You could say that. A lot of people are gonna be pissed about this—my grandpa and my mom for starters—but that doesn’t matter. They were going to—” I swallowed.

  “When he ripped my blouse, I saw it in his eyes.” She looked up at me, her eyes wide. “His grip was so strong and I froze.” Another pause. “There is much wickedness here. More than I expected.”

  I nodded. I’d always thought so, too. “He didn’t … hurt you, did he?”

  She shook her head. “He had no time. By then I was fighting.” She grinned. “I knocked that man down and kicked one of the men hitting you.”

  I sighed and felt a bit deflated. I’d beaten only one, after all. My gaze went toward the ground but stopped at her knees. I pointed at them.

  “You’re bleeding, a lot.”

  She bent to look, pulling her hair from her face. She looked embarrassed. “It is nothing. My mother says I am a clumsy girl.”

  “You’re definitely not clumsy! My God, can you fight! But that knife throw was a little, um …”

  She nodded. “Too weak, I agree. I should have put it through his eye, but”—she gave me a shy smile—“I do not know the rules here.”

  I stared at her. “What are you, an assassin or something?”

  She looked confused. “Assassins kill a target with stealth, without warning. I only defended myself.” Then she glanced around the empty street. Her apprehension reappeared. “They attacked me.”

  “What are you doing down here at night anyway?”

  “I saw a movie,” she said. “Then I went for a walk.” She looked rather proud of herself.

  “Tourists don’t come to this neighborhood to see a movie. And not even a tourist would be stupid enough to walk alone at night.”

  “Stupid?” She crossed her arms, her eyes defiant. “I go where I want, when I want.”

  “And look where that got us.”

  She scowled at me. “If it is stupid to be here at night, then why were you here?”

  “Because of you!” I felt that energy rising inside me again. “If I hadn’t been th
ere—”

  She put fingers to her temples. “Did I ask you to come?”

  I threw up my hands. “You didn’t even know those guys were behind you!”

  “So you came to rescue me?” Her words dripped sarcasm, but I sensed something else in her.

  I hesitated. “I was getting a ride home.”

  Her hands went to her hips and she stopped walking. “How did you know I was there?”

  I stopped, too. “I … I sensed something was wrong when I saw those men. Then I saw a girl—I didn’t know it was you—but I knew I had to do something.”

  Shoko looked surprised. “Do you often have intuitive feelings and rescue girls?”

  I felt myself flush. “Never before, but a lot of weird things have happened since I first saw you.” I looked at the sidewalk. “Been getting these feelings, like premonitions.”

  “You felt my energy, or danger, from that far away?”

  I nodded.

  “Then you are very strong.” She looked confused as she pushed a few strands of hair from her face. “There is something strange about you. And when you get angry … something is not right.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “Inside your grandfather’s house, your energy was … unpleasant.”

  “You lied to me and stole the journal!”

  Her eyes narrowed. “I did not steal the journal!”

  “Yes, you did!”

  “I wanted to read it. I did what I had to do—I will not have any regrets in my life.”

  Pent-up frustration blasted out of me. “You can’t just do whatever you want to other people!”

  She stepped back, her face turned to the side, her hands on her head as if she had a bad headache. “I said I would return it.”

  Her little-girl act made my anger rise up like a wave. It was almost tangible, like I could ball it up and throw it right at her—

  I saw her move, every detail in slow motion, felt the blows shake my torso and noticed my feet leave the earth. I became weightless as the world twirled around me. I saw the clouds against the dark sky, the street lamps, the trees, then the grainy surface of the sidewalk.