HELEN FELT the muzzle of the gun and jerked. The bullet went into the macadam and she rolled under the truck. She heard Nakazono curse, his breath rasping in his throat. His shoes scraped across the pavement and he groaned as he leaned down, peering under the truck. Helen scurried back into the darkness, away from the wavering muzzle of the revolver. His eyes would adjust any second and that would be the end.
A shout turned her head. And then another. First Sam, then May. Feet running toward her, feet running away. When she looked back the gun was gone.
First light, with May, once again, peaceful in her bed.
Six stories below, a seventy-year-old cook emptied his slop outside the Chinese restaurant and kicked at a dog. It snarled and backed away.
The temple gate had just opened across the street. An old woman rang the offering bell. It rattled dull and tired, as if bored with her tedious prayers for the dead. The bell pleaded for the sun to warm its copper and for a supplicant of greater originality.
The cook wiped his hands on his whites and grinned at Helen. Traffic noise from Kokusaidori drowned out his greeting. Afraid to step away from the safety of the sidewalk, he waved. She nodded and gave him a weak smile.
It would have been good to talk to Helen, to tell her he was sorry, but there were too many cops. Cops made his head ache and upset his stomach. He retreated into the restaurant, let the door swing shut and counted the uniforms. He lost track at nine and started again. They crawled over the street, measuring and drawing arcane symbols on the macadam. One circled shattered bricks on the building in yellow chalk, another photographed skid marks from half a dozen angles.
So many cops. The cook grimaced. He wondered if it was because he was old and naturally more timid. It seemed like there were more cops these days. Certainly they were taller and stronger. Everywhere he went, everywhere he looked, he saw them. They saw him, too, staring as he walked by, fingering their radios and guns and clubs. They watched everybody, peering in innocent windows, knocking on blameless doors.
The macadam was rapidly filling with chalk and beginning to look like a child’s drawing. The cook laughed. If they weren’t so dangerous, the cops would be funny. Scurrying, whispering, trying so hard to look busy. Only the dumbest crooks had ever tripped over their chalk, none had been lassoed by their measuring tapes.
If real detective work was an alien concept, oppression was well understood. People toed the line in a city with a cop under every bed. The cook watched Helen standing in the middle of the street talking to Nakazono’s sergeant. The cop stood close, glaring at her. He couldn’t hear through the window glass but he knew the voice would be rough and angry.
“I already told you,” Helen said. “I didn’t see his face. He was wearing a mask.”
“Then what makes you think it was Lt. Nakazono? It could have been anybody. You shouldn’t make accusations without proof. This is Japan. You gaijins think you can do anything.” He took a step forward, forcing Helen to back up. “Unless you’ve got some real evidence you’d better shut up and mind your own business.”
Helen turned her back and walked away. The cop was an idiot but he was right about one thing. She’d better shut up. One more word and there was a good chance he’d drag her down to the station.
Ten feet away her temper flared. This asshole wasn’t taking her seriously. Twice she’d almost been killed. First by Jiro and then by Nakazono. Sam was wrong. She hadn’t been brave. She’d been stupid, absolutely crazy to chase after him. But it had happened so fast and she’d been so angry.
She whirled and shouted, resorting to English. “Look it, you jerk, I know it was Nakazono. I could smell him, I looked him right in the eye. He shot at me for Christ’s sake. Everybody in the neighborhood heard it.” She waved at the patrolmen. “Instead of scribbling all over the street, why don’t you check his gun? Why don’t you at least see if he was hurt last night, you dumb motherfucker?”
Helen took a step toward the sergeant. He shouted and his hand went to his club. Sam jumped between them. She bit her tongue and crossed the street, watching angrily as Sam tried to mollify the cop. He bowed, he scraped. He humiliated himself to keep her safe. The sergeant shouted until he regained his face. Sam took the abuse meant for Helen.
She couldn’t watch anymore. Clouds caught her eye. Impetuous, early morning risers, they wouldn’t last. They didn’t have the strength to face the sun. The cop turned, yelled orders at his men, jumped in his patrol car and drove off. Helen felt as weak as the clouds. Sam walked into the temple and sat on a stone bench. He put his head in his hands and closed his eyes. She watched and wanted to cry. The night had been too long, the morning too painful.
An hour later, the last of the police had disappeared and the cook finally relaxed. He stepped across the empty street and rang the temple bell. It sounded loud and clear, happy with the hot sun and cook’s prayer for the living.
Sam watched as Helen poured out two cups of coffee. “You didn’t tell them about the guy that attacked you at the station.”
She shook her head. “There wasn’t any reason. He’s dead. It’d only get those bums in trouble. It wasn’t their fault. If they’d let him live he would have come back and hurt them.”
“Are you sure it was one of the kids that attacked me and Manny?”
“Absolutely. He was as close to me as I am to you right now.” Her hands shook as she picked up the cup. She carefully set it back down as a tear slid down her cheek. “God, Sam, the way he died...”
Helen lowered her hands to the counter, resting her cheek on her arms. Her blonde hair flowed over the counter, hiding her eyes. Sam watched her cry, reached out and hesitantly touched her shoulder. Helen leaned back and stroked his cheek. “I’m sorry I yelled at that cop,” she whispered. “You’re the brave one, not me. I know how much that cost you. I won’t forget, I promise.”
He pulled her close and held on tight. “And I’m sorry for just about everything. I was scared and stupid. I really do need a friend. Please don’t leave.”
“Please tell me how to say hanabi in English.”
“Fireworks,” Manny translated, his mouth full of toast. “How come?”
His landlady smiled. “Are you going to enjoy the fireworks, Manny-san?”
He chased the toast with hot green tea. “What fireworks?”
Composing her sentence had exhausted Nobuyo Kojima and she switched to Japanese. “The Sumidagawa fireworks. It’s the best in Tokyo. Millions of people come to Asakusa to watch every year. You should go.”
Manny nodded. “Maybe I will. When is it?”
“In a few weeks.”
“Are you going?”
“Of course. I always go. Maybe we can go together?”
A sharp knock on the door brought a frown to the old lady’s face. “Too early in the morning to be so noisy and rude.” She started to get to her feet.
“I’ll get it,” Manny said, padding across the tatami in his socks. “You finish your breakfast Kojima-san. It’s probably one of those newspaper subscription guys. I’ll get rid of him.”
Nobuyo munched on a piece of seaweed, happy she’d chosen her boarder so wisely. Her warm thoughts were brought to an abrupt halt by shouts from the entryway.
Thin wooden slats splintered and paper shredded. Manny’s body flew through the delicate shoji screen separating the living room from the hallway. He landed face down on the tatami and slid across the floor.
Nakazono jumped through the shoji and kicked Manny in the side as he tried to get to his feet. He ignored the old woman’s screams and slapped on a pair of handcuffs.
“Get out, get out,” Nobuyo cried, crawling across the tatami to help. “What are you doing? Leave us alone. We haven’t done anything.” She flailed at Nakazono, trying to make him stop.
The cop slapped her down, shouting that Manny was under arrest for robbery. She didn’t listen and charged again. He hit her harder, driving her head into the low breakfast table. She collapsed on the floor and lay stunned. Nakazono dragged Manny from the room. Green tea ran off the edge of the table and poured down the front of her purple kimono. Helpless tears filled her eyes.
May paced across the floor and shouted for the tenth time. “We’ve got to do something.”
Helen held an ice pack to a bruise on Nobuyo’s forehead and asked, “Are you sure you don’t want to see a doctor, Kojima-san? It wouldn’t hurt to have it checked.”
Nobuyo pushed her hand away and shook her head. “I’m OK.” She looked at May. “Sit down, young lady. You’re making me nervous and you’re not helping Manny at all.”
May started to object. “But we can’t just—”
Sam set down the phone, picked up his sister and plunked her down in the booth across from Helen and Nobuyo. “She’s right, May. You’ve got to try and be calm. We’ll get Manny out, I promise.”
“What did Nakazono say?”
“I couldn’t get through to him. The desk sergeant said Manny’s being held for questioning. That Seven-Eleven on the next block was robbed last night. They said he did it.”
“Bullshit. It’s just another one of Nakazono’s—”
May leaped out of the booth and raced for the door. “No way!”
The door slammed and Sam raised his hands in frustration. “God knows what she might do. I’d better go after her.”
Helen shook her head. “She’ll be all right. She isn’t going to do anything to crazy. Maybe we should call the Philippine Embassy. They might be able to help.”
“I’ve already called them. They said they’d look into it but they didn’t sound very hopeful. The cops can hold anybody without bail or arraignment for twenty-three days. No records are kept.”
“Why three weeks?”
“I guess it gives the prisoner enough time to confess. If he doesn’t, the cops think they haven’t done their job. The conviction rate is ninety-nine percent. Only guilty people are tried or so it would seem.”
“What about your lawyer.”
“I’ll call her but don’t get your hopes up. Lawyers are barred from interrogations. The prisoners are on their own.”
May rushed back into the club just as Sam hung up the phone. “I knew it,” she yelled. “I talked to the owner of the store. Maejima-san said she doesn’t know who the robber was. The guy was wearing one of those big motorcycle helmets. She told the cops that he sounded gaijin but she wasn’t even sure of that. She was real mad at the police. They kept trying to get her to swear the robber was Filipino and when she wouldn’t do it, they were really rude.”
Sam pulled May into the booth. “Well, kid, I think it may be time to give Nakazono what he wants. What do you think?”
May looked confused. “You mean he arrested Manny just to get you to sell the building? Can he really do that?”
Sam nodded. “Cops can do almost anything. Look how many times we’ve reported him and nothing has happened. Helen is sure he was driving the truck last night, but it doesn’t matter. We don’t have any proof. Nobody is going to take our word for anything.”
“So he wins?”
“Yes.”
“Where would we live?”
“Anywhere you want. We could buy another house somewhere in the neighborhood or move across town.”
May closed her eyes and leaned against Sam. She didn’t understand what had gone wrong. They’d taken her mother away, they’d hurt all her friends. Bad things happened every day. If she stayed they’d take it all away, they’d never stop.
Sam knew he’d failed his sister. He couldn’t protect her. It was as simple as that. He looked at Helen. She read his thoughts and shook her head. “It’s not your fault. You did the best you could. She’s getting older. She see things now. It would have happened even if your mother was here.”
May opened her eyes and sat up straight. She announced her decision. “We can’t live here anymore. We don’t fit in and they’ll hurt us.”
Helen asked, “Where do you want to live.”
May wiped away a tear. “California?”
Sam and Helen groaned.
“But it’s negotiable,” May offered quickly. “Anywhere is OK as long as you come, too.”
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Helen smiled, looking at Sam. “Is that all right with you?”
Nobuyo interrupted before he could answer. “What’s going on? Speak Japanese. I don’t understand.”
May explained and the old lady frowned. “So I won’t see you again.”
“Sure you will. Flying is fun. You can come and visit all the time. My brother will pay for your ticket. It’ll be great.”
“But what about Manny? How are you going to get him out of jail?”
“I’m going to sell the building to Nakazono. There’s nothing else we can do. He’ll let Manny go as soon as I sign the papers.”
“Wait a minute,” Helen said. “I’ve got an idea. I think there’s a way to get Manny released without giving in to that asshole.” She quickly laid out her plan, making much of it up as she went along.
“I love it!” May yelled before she could finish. She crawled over Sam and ran to the phone. “Hey, what are you guys waiting for? Let’s get to work. Nakazono is going to be totally surprised!”
Manny’s cell was nine feet deep and four feet wide. There was no window, toilet, sink or bed. There was nothing but a rotting tatami floor, a rusty vent high in the ceiling and a naked light bulb. Manny sat cross-legged in the center of the tatami. He didn’t move. Prisoners were required to sit motionless for sixteen hours a day and reflect on their crimes.
This was all new to Manny. He’d learned the hard way. A jailer had kicked him in the head when he’d found Manny stretched out on his back. After two hours he’d asked to be taken to the toilet. His request had been refused and an hour later he’d asked for a sip of water. This, too, had been denied.
A bug crawled out of the tatami, over his naked foot and started to meander up his calf. He flicked it off and watched another take its place. A pair of young cops had taken him from Nakazono, roughed him up, and thrown him in the cell. They’d laughed when he’d asked what he was charged with.
The light overhead was so bright it hurt his eyes. He knew without asking that it would be left on twenty-four-hours a day. Food was out of the question as was the use of a telephone. His bladder hurt and it was terribly hot in the cell. He could feel sweat run down the back of his shirt and soak into his trousers. It would get worse as the summer sun rose higher in the sky. For the first time, he thought of dying. There were many ways they could kill him but the easiest would be to let him die of thirst.
Think positively, he told himself. He wouldn’t be much use to Nakazono dead. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that he was just being used by the cop to get to Sam.
Patrolman Takahashi opened the cell door. Middle-aged, bespectacled and bald, he was mildly retarded. Due to his handicap he had never been promoted and was rarely allowed into contact with the public. He kept the station clean, assisted in interrogations and never asked questions.
Takahashi shoved Manny out the door and pushed him down a corridor at the back of the Asakusa police station. Prisoners, many of them held without trial for months, were kept well out of sight of the public.
The interrogation room was larger than the cells but not much. There was a metal desk and two chairs. The walls were beige and the linoleum on the floor a scuffed and dirty gray. The only window was tarred with years of cigarette smoke and nearly opaque. It looked out on an alley and a gray wall made of cement blocks. The window was covered with steel mesh. A poster next to the window featured a pretty teenage girl exhorting citizens to donate blood.
Takahashi pushed Manny into a straight-backed chair bolted to the floor. He pulled lengths of rope from the desk and tied his wrists to the arms of the chair, his ankles to the chair legs.
Nakazono entered and locked the door behind him. He didn’t look at Manny or the jailer as he sat down behind the desk. Takahashi coughed discretely, tightened Manny’s restraints and stood in a corner at parade rest.
If Manny felt like a dead man, Nakazono looked like one. He watched as the cop rooted around in the desk, muttering to himself. He pulled out a first-aid kit and a woman’s silver make-up mirror. His impact with the dump truck’s steering wheel had left a deep gash over his left eye. Dried blood stained an insufficient gauze bandage. The surrounding socket was yellow going on purple. His lips were bruised crimson, split and swollen. The skin on the rest of his face was loose and greasy white beneath a week’s black beard stubble. He looked like a dead clown prettied up by a drunken undertaker.
Takahashi’s eyes rolled back in his head. It was a sign that he was nervous and worried. Something in the room smelled bad. It wasn’t shit or piss, smells he was used to during interrogations. He leaned forward and sniffed at the Filipino. Nothing there, just an average fear-smell, an odor Takahashi was accustomed to and liked. Intrigued, he forgot what little he knew and crept up on his boss. He had his nose buried in Nakazono’s collar and was closing in on the source of the scent before the lieutenant noticed.
Nakazono dropped a pair of tweezers and shouted, “What are you doing, you idiot?”
Takahashi muttered an apology and retreated to the corner. Manny twisted in his seat, looked back and shuddered. All he could see were the whites of the jailer's eyes.
Nakazono stared at Manny. His voice was low and weak. “Do you believe in ghosts?” He repeated the question, almost pathetically.
Manny kept his face neutral. What kind of an interrogation was this? The cop was serious and seemed to expect an answer. No, I don’t, he thought, but it looks like you do.
“Yes,” he answered gravely. When Nakazono winced, he added, “I saw one a few days ago. It was, uhh, a terrible experience...”
Takahashi couldn’t stand it any longer. The boss had always been such a tiger. Now he was acting like a rabbit. He tried to get the interrogation back on track. He pointed at Manny and asked, “The usual?”
Nakazono nodded absently and slumped back in his chair. It didn't matter, nothing did anymore. He was convinced Elena was going to kill him. He’d been nearly hysterical when he’d dragged the Filipino down to the station. It had seemed like a good idea at the time. He’d figured Elena would leave him alone. The guy wasn’t a relative or anything. After last night, he didn’t dare go anywhere near the Crazy Noise or her kids.
A bubble of sanity floated behind his eyes; he jerked, trying to catch it. Stop this. That wasn’t a ghost. You got a good look at her. It was that Canadian bitch. Calm down and think. You’ve still got a chance; you’re still alive. If the Sumiyoshi-kai wanted you dead they would have already done you. Don’t fuck this up.
Takahashi moaned. “Please boss. What do you want me to do first? The ears or the head?”
Nakazono already had a headache. He didn’t think he could stand the noise the ear treatment required. It involved screaming in a prisoner’s ears until they bled. It was terribly painful but didn’t leave any marks.
He opened a drawer and removed a Tokyo phone book. It was at least six-inches thick. “The head,” he ordered. “Work on the head first.”
Takahashi nearly leaped across the room in eagerness. He snatched the phone book off the desk and brought it down on Manny’s head with all his strength.
After the third blow Manny wondered how much damage his spine could take. By the fifth he remembered he still didn’t know what crime he’d committed. He would have been happy to confess if someone had only filled him in on the details. No one did and the seventh blow knocked him unconscious.
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