Fallen Angel (9781101578810)

by Patrick, Jonelle

  Mrs. Ono’s head lolled against his shoulder and her eyes drooped shut. Finally. He caught the bartender’s eye and nodded toward Masato’s office. He needed help getting Ono-san down to a taxi.

  But when the manager arrived, instead of helping cajole the birthday girl toward the elevator, he crouched down and whispered, “I think we have a problem. I need you to get Ono-san to pay up before she leaves.”

  “What? She always runs a tab. She’s good for it.”

  “The Ono Trading Company was apparently raided today for back taxes.”

  “Where did you hear that?”

  “Inside information. We need to beat the other creditors to whatever cash she’s got on hand. Tonight’s bill alone is a million and a half yen.”

  ¥1,500,000! Plus what he’d shelled out for the cake and flowers and gift. What if she couldn’t pay? Masato wouldn’t expect him to cover her tab, would he? He really couldn’t afford that, especially now.

  “You know she won’t be carrying that much cash,” he whispered, panicked.

  “Then get her to agree to have it for you tomorrow. Tell her you’ll drop by her house to pick it up first thing in the morning.”

  Mrs. Ono’s eyes fluttered open, but she merely shifted to a more contented position and smeared a little more lipstick on Hoshi’s lapel.

  “Customers who can’t pay are no great loss,” Masato reminded him. “Take care of it, okay?” The manager slapped him sympathetically on the shoulder and retreated behind the bar, keeping a watchful eye on the table so he could help when needed.

  Hoshi shook Mrs. Ono’s arm gently. “Ono-san? It’s time to go home.”

  She muttered, “’S my birfday.”

  “And it was a great birthday, but now the party’s over,” Hoshi whispered in her ear. “It’s time to pay, then I’ll take you down to your cab.”

  “Pay?” She frowned and dragged her eyelids open, then dissolved into a smile when she saw his face so close to hers. “Jus’ put it on my tab, Hosh’.”

  “I’m sorry, my manager says I can’t do that tonight,” he whispered apologetically.

  “Can’t?” She frowned, waking up slightly.

  “We…understand your husband had a little trouble at work today.”

  “Husband?” Her voice grew louder. “Trouble?” Her eyes searched his face, trying to focus. Hosts and customers at nearby tables turned curiously, able to hear her even over the insistent pop music.

  “Shh, Ono-san…”

  “Thass ridiculous. He can’t be in trouble. He’s got lotsa money!”

  He had to get her out of there. Leaning close, he whispered in her ear, “Why don’t you just pay what you can tonight, and I’ll stop by your house tomorrow to get the rest. You can do that for me, can’t you?” He hesitated, then handed her the little envelope Masato had left.

  She fumbled it open and tried to focus on the bill, holding it up to her face, then at arm’s length. “A million and a half yen!” she exclaimed loudly.

  Money was never mentioned aloud at host clubs. All conversation stopped. Everyone was staring at her. Crimson mottled her face and neck. She shot Hoshi a look of betrayal, then groped around for her handbag. Someone turned up the music a little louder to distract everyone from the drama, but that wasn’t enough. Her movements became angry and frustrated as she struggled with the clasp on her bulging Louis Vuitton wallet. Face crumpling, she grabbed the sheaf of bills inside and threw it on the table. Some of the bills fluttered to the floor as she tried to stand, and Shō had to leap up from the next table to catch her before she stumbled and upset his customer’s drink. Gingerly he handed her back to Hoshi; Masato solicitously helped support her to the elevator.

  “How much did she give you?” the manager asked after Hoshi paid her cab fare from his own pocket and they watched her taxi disappear up the street.

  “I didn’t have time to count it.” Hoshi sighed. “It was everything she had on her, though.”

  Upstairs, the club had returned to normal, as if nothing had happened. Mrs. Ono’s table had been cleared and wiped, all signs of the recent unpleasantness tidied away.

  The bartender handed Masato a fat envelope. “I think this is all of it.”

  Hoshi followed him into the office, where the manager expertly flicked through the notes.

  “She must be hiding more than her host club habit from her husband,” he said, squaring the bills and snapping a rubber band around them. “There’s nearly half a million yen here.” Masato pulled open the door to the safe under his desk and tossed it inside. Pulling a thick ledger from a shelf, he paged through it until he found Mrs. Ono’s running tab, then did a quick calculation on the back of an envelope. “She still owes us one million, nine hundred fifty-five thousand yen for the month.” Copying her address and the amount onto a notepad, he tore off the sheet and handed it to Hoshi. “Tomorrow, bright and early, okay?”

  Hoshi folded it with a sigh and put it in his breast pocket. “Hai.”

  Chapter 38

  Wednesday, November 13

  10:30 P.M.

  Hoshi

  Hoshi detoured to the locker room to splash water on his face. He hung his head over the sink. Fuck. How was he going to get a pissed-off and hungover Ono-san to cough up over a million yen tomorrow? This was turning out to be the worst night of his life, and it was far from over. Coco would be back around midnight. How was he going to close the deal with her and keep Miho’s loyalty without sleeping with either of them?

  He squeezed a few eyedrops into his itchy eyes, popped a Benadryl, and folded a stick of Black Black gum into his mouth. The caffeine jolt boosted his flagging spirits a bit as he considered the minefield ahead. He spit the gum into a tissue and wadded it up. Tossing it into the wastebasket on his way to the stairs, he decided he’d make sure Miho left before Coco arrived.

  Sauntering across the floor to where Shinya was looking like a boxer who’d been knocked down a few too many times, Hoshi slid into the seat next to Miho. His kohai gratefully made his escape.

  “O-hisashiburi,” she said to Hoshi with more than a little edge to her voice. Long time no see.

  He ignored her attitude and picked up the empty Richard bottle. “I can’t believe you drank this whole thing without me.”

  “If you’d been free…” she chided. Then she gave him a forgiving smile. “But let’s order another. Why not? It looks like you’ve been having a rough night.”

  As he called out, “A bottle of Richard!” her thigh pressed against his.

  Putting on his most professional smile, he opened the cognac with a flourish, then poured for her. Preparing a glass with lots of ice for himself, he dribbled a little over the rocks.

  “That’s not enough for a toast.”

  He poured in a little more and recapped the bottle. “What are we celebrating tonight?”

  She raised her glass to his and leaned toward him to whisper, “Your new club.”

  He stared at her. How did she know about that?

  “Drink,” she commanded.

  They did.

  Miho set down her glass. “Why didn’t you tell me you needed an investor?” She pulled another cigarette from her purse and held it for Hoshi to light.

  “What makes you think I’m looking for an investor?” He flicked his Dunhill.

  She took a drag, blew the smoke toward the ceiling. “Shinya mentioned it.”

  Shinya. Earlier that night, while he was waiting for the elevator to take him down to greet Mrs. Ono, his kohai stopped to ask how the meeting with Coco went. Hoshi didn’t want to jinx anything, so he just said, “Don’t know yet. She’s thinking about it,” not imagining his loyal kohai would get drunk and try to “help” him by hitting up Miho Yamaguchi.

  “Miho-san,” he said, gazing into her eyes. “I’d never ask you for money. But I hope you’ll come with me, no matter where I am. You know you’re my favorite.”

  The ember at the end of her cigarette glowed. “Your favorite is offering to be
come your partner when you open your own club. How much do you need?”

  “Miho-san…” he said uncomfortably.

  “How much?”

  “Forget Shinya said anything. I’ve got it under control.”

  “Really?” Miho smoked for a minute, then said, “I’m sure I can offer you much better terms than that hostess you’re talking to. What’s her name? Coco?”

  He’d rather be partners with almost anyone than Miho Yamaguchi, but what if Coco decided against it? Especially now that he was sure to lose Mrs. Ono.

  He put his arm around her. “I’ve been talking to a few people. I should know pretty soon if everything’s coming together.”

  “When?” she asked, crushing the butt.

  “By tomorrow, I think. If I need a partner, I promise you’ll be the first to know.”

  Her lips brushed his ear. “Promise?”

  Chapter 39

  Thursday, November 14

  12:45 A.M.

  Hoshi

  A few hours later, his eyes felt gritty, his head ached. Hoshi had never felt so drained. He closed his eyes and rested his forehead on the steering wheel. Coco’s handbag slipped to the floor as she gave a soft snore in the passenger seat.

  Miho had refused to leave, still irritated he’d kept her waiting over an hour. She’d made it clear she expected him to make up for it by spending the night with her. When he offered the flattering regrets that had always worked before, she’d pretended to be too drunk to drive and asked for a ride. All the charm he’d put into his refusal failed to head off her fury, and she’d pointedly ignored his good-night wishes and apologetic bow, sweeping into the taxi he’d hailed with an expression that promised she’d make him pay, sooner or later.

  Unfortunately, her cab was still sitting at the curb when Coco sashayed up in her gold stilettos and stretched up to kiss him, exhaling the cognac she’d been obliged to drink with her last customer and swaying against him so unsteadily he had to put his arm around her to keep her from toppling. He glimpsed Miho’s furious face in the back window as the taxi pulled away.

  Although Coco had intended to return and talk business, after working her shift at Queen of Hearts she couldn’t do much more than ramble on about what a great team they were going to make, amorously suggesting they continue their discussion at her place. Usually he’d call a cab, but he’d been careful not to drink more than a few sips tonight. Gambling she’d be out like a light before they reached Komagome, Hoshi had helped her into his car. Sure enough, here they were, in front of her building, and Coco was in no shape to insist they consummate their partnership.

  “Coco-chan?” He shook her arm gently and she opened her eyes.

  “Sorry, Hosh’—I guess I fell asleep.” She yawned deeply, bejeweled nails fluttering up to cover her mouth. Pulling herself upright, she tried to lean over to kiss him, but he drew back, startled, and she missed. Searching his face, a line appeared between her brows. “Aren’t you coming in?”

  Hoshi stretched down and found her purse, handing it over with a smile. “I’m too beat to be much fun tonight. Looks like you are, too.” He leaned over and gave her a chaste peck on the cheek. “I’ll call you,” he promised.

  But Coco made no move to open the door. She looked at him, her face full of hurt. “I thought you wanted to be partners.” Tears welled up. “I thought we understood each other.”

  “Coco-chan, I…”

  Hurt turned to anger as she made the next leap. “There’s someone else, isn’t there? You don’t really care about me at all, do you? You just want my—”

  “No, Coco-chan, you know I—” Burnable Trash’s “Eternal Flame” suddenly blared from the phone he’d tossed on the dashboard. Oh no. It was the one ringtone he had to answer.

  Hoshi reached for it but Coco beat him to it. She stared at the name on the display, then turned to him and asked in an accusing voice, “Who’s Saki?”

  Chapter 40

  Thursday, November 14

  10:00 A.M.

  Hoshi

  The next morning, Hoshi stepped off the monorail at Telecom Center Station, wincing in the glare. He was seldom out this early. A glimpse of his reflection in the station window’s dark glass did nothing to bolster his confidence. In the merciless light of day, his elegant build just looked skinny, and the slightly gapped front teeth his patrons found charming just looked crooked.

  Last night had started out a disaster and just gotten worse. He’d hardly slept, and the bag of frozen soybeans he’d substituted for a proper chilled eye mask hadn’t completely erased the dark crescents beneath his eyes. His life had turned into a giant snowball hurtling down the hill, all because of one night’s impetuous mistake. Everything he did to try and get it back under control just made things worse.

  Mrs. Ono had demanded he come all the way out to Odaiba to collect the rest of the money she owed. She sounded like she had a wicked hangover, peevishly claiming she had a full day of important appointments, such as taking Rex to his swimming lesson and biweekly grooming.

  Hoshi had fretted over what to wear, finally deciding on his plainest black silk jacket, black denim jeans, black-and-white lizard belt, and a white shirt with only the top button left undone. Mrs. Ono wouldn’t want people to know she was meeting a host, but he didn’t want to be unattractive. After two disastrous evenings, there was little chance of salvaging their relationship, but he wanted to stretch her affection as far as possible. Would she blow him off wistfully, or would she make him suffer for last night’s humiliation? He didn’t dare wear the watch she’d given him—if worse came to worst, she might ask for it back.

  On the phone she’d sounded irritated and hurt, but not like someone whose comfy existence had just crashed and burned. He’d searched everywhere for news of the Ono Trading Company tax raid, but found nothing. How had such a big story escaped attention?

  He followed his phone GPS to the Dog Petite Resort Joker and waited while a twenty-something office lady paid her bill at the reception desk, her toy poodle regarding him beadily from an oversized Coach handbag. Designer collars, leashes, and toys were displayed for sale in the lobby, along with a rack of brochures detailing the fees for pet massages, canine aromatherapy, and an hour on the fat-burning doggie treadmill.

  He asked for Mrs. Ono and was shown toward the play area out back, catching a glimpse of a dachshund in a tiny orange flotation vest gamely holding its nose above water while paddling next to a wet-suited trainer in the pool. Half the grassy field was fenced off for the annual gathering of Norfolk terriers and their owners. Dancing between the seventy identical small brown dogs racing around like lemmings, he made his way toward the picnic table where Mrs. Ono was seated.

  A mop-like terrier sat on the bench across from her, red bow in its silky topknot, front paws on the table, gobbling the remains of a scoop of rice and grilled chicken yakitori. Its tiny four-legged Burberry raincoat matched its mistress’s pricey human version. She looked up as Hoshi approached, two of him reflected in her oversize Chanel sunglasses.

  She wasn’t wearing the tiger-charm necklace he’d given her. Bad sign.

  He bowed deeply, holding a position of contrition, and said, “Ono-san, I apologize for last night. I…”

  “Sit down, sit down,” she hissed, glancing around to make sure his arrival hadn’t attracted attention from the other dog owners. Producing a fat envelope from her handbag, she slid it across the table. Hoshi bowed in silent thanks, stowing it in his breast pocket. He was relieved that it felt considerably thicker than the one Masasto had tossed in the safe last night; he didn’t dare count it.

  Mrs. Ono clapped her hands lightly and her dog hopped down from its chair and up onto her lap. She gathered him into her arms and pouted. “You’re my loyal sweetheart, aren’t you little Rexie? You’d never believe silly rumors about your papa’s company, would you?”

  Oh no. She was going to do it the hard way.

  Still fussing over the dog, she remarked, “This morning I
asked my husband about the tax raid and he laughed. He was annoyed with me for even suggesting such a thing. Wondered who had told me that ridiculous story.”

  Time to bow and scrape. “Ono-san, I’m so sorry. I don’t know where Manager-san heard that rumor.” Who had told Masato about the Ono Trading Company tax raid?

  “It was her, wasn’t it?” Mrs. Ono spat. “That spiteful girl sitting next to us at the anniversary event. She spread those lies about my husband’s company, didn’t she?”

  Did she mean Coco? Coco had been at Nova before Mrs. Ono’s party last night, but she’d been in the VIP room with him the whole time, hadn’t even seen Manager-san.

  “Ono-san, all I can do is apologize for this terrible mistake and try to make it up to you.”

  Mrs. Ono pursed her lips, petting the dog as it licked her face.

  Did her silence mean she wanted to be pursued? He allowed himself a little hope. “Why don’t you be my special guest on Friday. We can share a bottle of Hennessy and I’ll show you just how sorry I am.”

  “I’m busy,” she snapped, slamming that door. Removing her sunglasses, she regarded him with distaste, like a pair of last season’s shoes she’d just consigned to the nonburnable trash. “I see you’re not wearing my watch.”

  “I’m sorry, I dropped it off at the jeweler this morning to have it sized. They couldn’t get to it right away and I didn’t want to be late for our meeting.”

  “Don’t lie to me. I’m sure there’s a pawn ticket in your wallet right now, wrapped around a nice wad of cash. It’s a good thing I’ve already written it off as a going-away present.”

  Hoshi bowed his head to hide his shock. She knew all the tricks. She had been a hostess. None of his training had prepared him for a situation like this.

  “You can go now,” she said, putting her sunglasses back on and returning her attention to her dog.