toro,
a stone lantern shaped like a mini-pagoda, sat in between the hedges.
Rumi Katos unit was on the first floor, smack in the middle. Mas rapped on the door, which was decorated with a dried flower wreath. No answer. Mini-blinds in the window were half-open, so Mas snuck a look. The unit was pretty much empty. Either Rumi Kato was immaculate, or else she was on the run.
Mas sat on the steps. He pulled out a pack of Marlboros and waited. After his third cigarette, a woman in the front unit poked her head out. Cant you read? she said. Her voice was rough and high-pitched at the same time, like feedback from a cheap audio system. She was small and chubby, with heavy arms that bulged from her polka-dotted blouse.
She then pointed at a row of signs that Mas had somehow missed. NO SMOKING, they said five times over.
Mas doused his cigarette on the stoop, which made the woman even angrier. She pulled out a hose that was rolled up near the
toro,
and nearly soaked Mas as she aimed a stream of water toward the cigarette ash.
This was some
urusai
mama, thought Mas as he leapt to his feet. He wanted to tell her off, but then thought better of it. A nosy landlady meant someone who knew what was going on. With everybody.
Before Mas could come up with something to say, the landlady approached him. You got some business here with somebody? she said after turning off the water.
Mas nodded. Kato. Rumi. Gotsu delivery for her.
Hah, the landlady said almost triumphantly. That girl is finally out of here, and Im telling you that I couldnt be happier. She had her loud parties I called them orgies, only with women. Never listened to me. Was a disrespectful girl, typical of the young ones today. Used to be you could rent to a Japanese and expect no problems. Now Im going to discriminate against the Japanese, and I dont care if the Fair Housing Authority tries to get me or not. I can tell them Im Japanese, and I know.
Mas didnt react, which apparently fired up the woman even more.
If you dont believe me, look. The landlady, with her strong arms, virtually pushed Mas into the empty apartment. There was no furniture, but on the living room wall was a large X painted in red. The paint had dripped down in areas, looking like spilt blood. Can you believe she did this? Just to spite me, I think.
Mas pressed down on the red paint. It left a faint mark on his finger. Looked like it had happened at least a day earlier. You knowsu where I can find her?
I would forget about it, if I were you.
I really needsu to give sumptin to her.
Well, shes probably out of the state by now. But she used to spend a lot of time at the bowling alley. The coffeehouse. The landlady then tore the wreath off the door and crunched it up in her powerful hands. If you find her, you can give her this, she said, handing Mas a ball of broken dried twigs.
The Gardena Bowl coffeehouse was an old-time Japanese hangout that still served Portuguese sausage, eggs, and rice all day, as well as greasy chow mein and, if you were lucky, egg foo young swimming in gravy. Mari had once told Mas that real Chinese didnt eat such things, but Mas brushed her comments aside. He wasnt Chinese, and besides, it tasted good.
The waitresses were mostly middle-aged or older and had the menu memorized so you barely had to say two words before they took your order down. One greeted Mas as he walked in. Counter? she asked, but Mas ignored her. He could hear bowling pins crash against one another in the distance. Usually, it was a comforting sound, but now it seemed suffocating.
After walking down the worn carpet alongside the couple of dozen lanes, Mas went back into the coffee shop and ordered some green tea. It came in a plastic coffee cup and was hot enough to burn his tongue and cold sores. He sat at a table for at least an hour when he finally saw who he was looking for. She came through the doorway and settled down in a booth by the womens bathroom. Mas got up, getting the girls attention. She immediately picked up her purse and jacket to leave.
Im not with Nakane, he said, but apparently the mere mention of the name terrified Rumi Kato.
Dis yours? Mas had brought the pink bag. The girl tried to grab it away, but Mas held on tight. First talk. Five minutes.
Rumi relented. Sitting across from her at the table, Mas noticed that her eyes were constantly in motion. Next to her on the floor was a small tan suitcase.
You goin somewheres? he asked.
Rumi nudged the suitcase with the edge of her foot. What do you want? she said in Japanese. And who are you?
Mas, for a second, was stumped. Yes, who was he? He was no friend to the dead mistress, and definitely did not represent the interests of Riki Kimura. I Arai, he said. Masao Arai. Dat boysu Kimura, my friend.
I remember you from Chochins. And Keikos Ramen House, too.
Mas took out the Polaroid photo of Yuki and Rumi. Just young kid. Straight from Hiroshima.
Rumi nodded.
Hai,
that is what he said.
Youzu there,
desho
? When Junko all beat up?
Rumis eyes continued to dart back and forth.
Youzu went straight to ramen house afterward. Told Keiko sumptin, but not whole thing.
She took two quick breaths. Two guys, she finally said. One Japanese and a
hakujin
. And Nakane and a Japanese old man waiting outside. I was in the bedroom. They didnt know I was there.
Whatsu they want?
They were going to give her big money. A hundred thousand dollars to keep quiet about that Joji Haneda. But she refused it. Said that she wasnt going to keep some secret. So the two began to hit her. I was so scared. I called the police, and when they heard the sirens in the distance, they ran away. The girl folded the edges of her napkin. I went to her. She was trying to tell me something. What, Junko-
chan,
what? I asked, but blood came out of her mouth. I heard footsteps from below, so I slipped out before they could find me. I just left her there to die.
That must have been when Yuki came in, thought Mas.
In the hospital, I told her that I was sorry. That I should have never left her. But she said, Rumi-
chan,
dont worry. You still young. You make a life for yourself. She wanted me to go back to Japan. Like she was planning to.
You should, thought Mas. Go back home to your parents before its too late.
Then that Nakane and his men came after me. Told me that I had to tell the police that the young guy had killed Junko. Or else.
Mas could guess what or else meant. And now Rumi Kato was obviously going to take off to another American city. Maybe Las Vegas, Chicago, New York who knows? There was a Chochins in every big town. You needsu to talk to police.
And tell them what? Ill deny everything. Ill tell them that youre an old
sukebe
just coming after a young girl.
So the boy go to jail for sumptin he didnt do.
Rumi had folded the napkin into the shape of a samurai helmet. She propped it up in between the Tabasco and soy sauce containers. Theyll deport me back to Japan. If they do that, theyll take away my passport. I wont be able to leave for years, she said. Or else Nakane. Who knows what that bunch will do.
The red X had frightened the girl; there was no doubt about that.
They closed Chochins down, did you know? she said. Someone called the INS. Theres nothing in Los Angeles for me now. Im sorry about your friend, but he seems smart. With me gone, he wont be in jail long. She gathered up her things and waited for the pink bag. It was no use. Like in gambling, Mas knew when to stop. And the time had come.
You didnt look in here, did you? she asked as Mas handed over the bag.
No, Mas lied. In fact, he had searched the contents shortly after he had left Chochins. Underwear, contraceptives, and a faded color photo of the girl, much younger, with her parents back in Japan.
Mas watched as Rumi headed for the glass door. You wont get away, he called out.
What?
It come back to youzu.
What? What are you talking about?
Bachi?
Mas felt his breathing grow deeper, from the pit of his stomach through his sore lungs. It wasnt
bachi
or even a threat of
bachi
that was ruining him, he realized. It was something else entirely, a spirit he couldnt describe. Your insides. Mas thumped his rib cage. Your
kokoro
will neva be the same.
The girl, for the first time, smiled. Then Ill just have to take my chances.
It was late, past eight oclock, but Mas drove past Tanakas anyway. The lights were all on; the outline of a few heads, including someone in a pith helmet, could be seen through the dusty window. Mas parked the Jeep and went in. Thats when he heard the news. Just like the mistress, the man called Haneda was dead.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
In Hiroshima, gossip buzzed altogether like the nasty cicadas that bleated incessantly throughout the summer nights. You couldnt figure out where one of those pests was, but you heard them, all in unison. In L.A., it was different. Gossip moved around in small circles, mini-tornadoes whipping the landscape. The fake Haneda had had a mistress, had shamed his entire family. Shame, shame, shame. The same mistress was now dead, a victim of a suspicious beating. The twister of news multiplied, traveling down from Ventura to Sawtelle to Crenshaw to Gardena to Pasadena.
