Glass Houses (26 page)

forty-seven

Thom twisted around, utterly
lost, looking for a familiar sign.
Great cop work
, Thom thought. Chinatown wasn't that tricky if one kept to the main streets, the storefronts, the gold shops, the restaurants with the hanging lanterns and pictures of menu items. But Noa's directions took him between stalls of cheap tchotchkes, down narrow walkways covered in slimy filth, and past stinking dumpsters. He was seeking unmarked concrete stairs that lead to a basement. He had just given up hope and began to think he'd been taken for a ride when he caught the smell of something resembling barbeque. He followed his nose and found the industrial vents that led him to the location. The descent was slick and steep, and something algae-like grew on the wall. Above the door at the bottom was a wood sign carved with one simple word.
Aloha
.

Thom entered a restaurant kitchen, quite large and immaculately shiny and clean—a complete dichotomy from the drippy exterior. A large, rectangular table with twelve chairs took up a significant portion of the right side. On the table, an explosion of colorful foods. Exotic orchids and other delicate flowers filled vases and decorated the table.

“Poo-poos,” said a salty voice behind him.

“Excuse me?” said Thom, whirling around to face a tall, brown man.

“P-U-P-U-S,” said the man. “Hawaiian for appetizers.”

The man standing before Thom was straight and secure, shaped by the Marine Corps and obvious to the world. Unknowable deadly skills hid behind golden, tender-hearted eyes and Thom liked him immediately. Instinct said this man would have his back.

The man reached out. “Noa at your service.”

They shook. “Nice to meet you. I was expecting—”

“—a fat man?”

“When Ron said big Hawaiian—”

“—a common stereotype. I don't take that stuff personally.” He gestured to the sink. “We eat with our fingers tonight.”

Thom shrugged off his jacket and hung it on the back of a chair. He rolled up his sleeves and pumped the soap dispenser. The water went on automatically and he washed his hands. He had never worn a wedding ring. Never wanted a bad guy exploiting his connection to a wife or family. What irony. Noa stood next to him and also washed. Thom noticed his long fingers. Almost delicate. Thom finished and looked around for a paper towel when a tiny Chinese man with bad teeth handed him a white tea towel.

“That's Jin,” said Noa, also receiving a drying towel. “My friend. The best chef this side of the Pacific. I want him to work for me, but he refuses.”

Jin smiled and bowed. Then he held out his hand for the tea towels.

Noa sat and gestured at a chair for Thom.

“You weren't kidding when you said come hungry.”

Noa waved his hand over the table. “This is all authentic Island food. Some of these you'd find at a luau.” His fingers pointed at various bowls and plates. “This is char siu—spareribs. Long rice. Huli-Huli sauce—made with Island brown sugar cane and fresh ginger. Delicious.” Noa winked. “It's okay to double dip. This fish is dorado, most commonly known as mahi mahi. In Hawaiian, it means very strong. And they are! Man, what a workout to pull one in. It is the most beautiful fish in the world. It is steamed in taro leaves. This one here is pulled Kalua pig, coconut lime shrimp, fresh pineapple, mango, caramelized Maui onion dip with baked taro chips. All fresh and tasty and made by Jin.”

Jin bowed again.

“And over here,” said Noa, pouring a glass for Thom, “is the best water ever. Taste it.”

Thom took a sip. “Yes, very good. Is it spring water?”

Noa laughed. “It's L.A. tap. Isn't it great? Angelenos are missing out. Bottled and filtered? Waste of money.” Thom didn't know if he were serious or joking.

“Dig in.”

Everything on the table was unfamiliar. Thom followed Noa's lead and picked up a sparerib. Tried a bit of everything. They engaged in small talk that centered on life in Los Angeles: the weather, traffic, cars, surfing (which Thom had never done), beaches, taco trucks. Noa eyed Thom. Watched, weighed, examined. At first it made Thom uncomfortable. As the minutes passed Thom began to relax and ignored the intense study.

“This is the only way to eat,” said Noa, putting a piece of fish into his mouth. “The whole foods way. I taught Ron the benefits of this diet.”

“Did you also teach him to cook?”

“Ah, no. The pupil passed the mentor. Do you cook?”

“No. Anne does.”

“A traditional family, then?”

“Yes.”

“Except not so traditional, is it Thom?” Noa leaned back on his chair and patted his flat belly. He sighed with contentment. “I'm going to rest my stomach.”

Jin placed two warm towels and two water bowls on the table.

Thom cleaned his hands. “What do you mean by, ‘not so traditional'?”

Noa's smile was genuine. “When I take on a domestic I become a therapist. A very expensive one. It's in your best interest to speak the truth and be frank because we don't have time for bullshit. There is no judgment. Everything we discuss is privileged. Our business is our business. Just you and me. I've lived in the wide world and I'm smart. I'm observant. And if you listen to my advice you'll get what you want.”

“And Jin?” said Thom.

“Ah, yes. Jin. He's like the monkey—sees no evil, hears no evil, speaks no evil.”

Jin smiled and bowed.

“And …?”

“Anne Carmichael of Carmichael Ford. The biggest dealership west of the Mississippi. A dynasty started by her father, inherited by Anne and her brother, Jerome. The gated estate, private school, cars, bills, maintenance, all paid for by Anne. Trust funds, brokerage accounts … a lot of money. You write the checks, but she provides the funds to do so.”

“So? I married a rich woman. Money doesn't matter to us in the way you suppose. I've loved her since the day I met her. I still love her. She loves me, too.”

“Really? Is that why you think she's having an affair? Are you protecting your feelings or your lifestyle?”

“Screw you!”

Noa laughed. “Yeah.” He reached across the table and slapped Thom's arm. “Pissed off ?”

“What are you playing at?”

“Why do you want this woman?”

Thom swallowed the emotion swelling up.

Noa spread his hands. “Hey, man, I have to know where your head's at.”

“I fell in love with the freckles across her nose, the gold in her hair that catches the sunlight. Her lips.”

“Hey, that's just biology. That happens to me every day. What happens in your heart, Thom? What does she bring to the table?”

“I don't understand the question.”

“Is she a good wife?”

“She used to be.”

“What happened?”

“Children.”

“You and Anne are no longer an engaged couple?”

“No.”

“Does she know you cat around?”

“How could you know that?”

Noa leaned back in the chair. “I know where you spend your money.”

“I pay cash when I go out.”

Noa nodded. “Sure. And where do you get it? From the ATM, man. Like clockwork.”

“Is this about me or Anne?”

“Both of you. A marriage takes two.”

Thom didn't know where Noa was going with the questions, and he began to seriously feel uncomfortable.

“Did she even question the wire?”

Of course she hadn't. Thom didn't have to make up a lie. “She doesn't care about the money.”

“Everyone cares about money, Thom. Especially Anne. She's been spending a lot of it lately.”

“So? She works hard. She's up with the kids, gets them to school, goes to work, picks up the kids from school, helps them with homework, makes dinner. She's entitled to spend money.”

“The bulk of your salary goes into a retirement fund. You live off her.”

Thom's anger flared. “So what? I'd love her if she were poor. I wear off-the-rack suits, nothing fancy. Our children are not raised in a privileged household. We have old-fashioned values. Anne cooks dinner every night, the kids clean the kitchen, they do chores and yard work, everyone has a job. Sunday is family day. We attend Mass and spend time with our relatives. We're hands-on parents.”

“But not a couple.”

“Not anymore.”

“Do you understand what would happen if she forced you out? Where could you live on a homicide detective's salary that's even close to what the kids are used to? Your cousin's house? It may not matter to you and Anne, but trust me, the kids know their economic status affects peer relationships. All rich kids know this because they learn it from other rich kids. If you and Anne separated they'd stay with the money. They know who provides. Which brings us to the issue at hand. A potential affair. What if it's true? What are you going to do?”

“I seriously have no idea.”

“Do you want to stay married?”

“I want the kind of relationship we used to have. I want to sleep in our marriage bed. Mostly, I want her to look at me with love and respect. A smile would be nice, too.”

“But that doesn't prevent you from catting around.”

“Apparently not.”

“I can see that by looking at your financials. I know where she spends money. I know where you spend money. There's no intersection. You co-parent, but live parallel lives. When was the last time you went on a date?”

“We went to an automotive industry dinner dance.”

Noa leaned forward. “That's not a date, Thom. And I bet you didn't even dance.”

No, they hadn't. Anne spent much of her time talking to colleagues and Ford representatives. He drank at the bar.

Noa said, “Okay, I've rested enough. Time to eat more. Thom?”

Thom picked at the pulled pork. Dipped it into the Huli-Huli sauce and rolled it in rice.

“You eat left handed,” said Noa. “Yet, you're right-handed. I can tell by the cross-draw holster worn under your left arm. You're very comfortable with that weapon. You sat down and didn't even adjust it. It's a part of you. As are those handcuffs you tuck into the back waistband of your pants. Have you ever shot someone?”

“I get it,” said Thom, wiping his fingers on the now-cold towel. “You think I'm going to kill the man who's screwing my wife.”

“Are you?”

“If you're as good as Ron proclaimed then you'd know I've never shot anybody. I spend a lot of time on the range.”

“Yet you keep your gun hand free. Ron's a lefty. Draws left. Next time you see him, watch how he holds things. Always with his right hand. Never his left. His gun hand is ready and always available. It's a warrior thing, you know. I still do it even though I no longer carry a firearm. You don't draw your weapon, and yet you're a warrior, too.”

“I'm a cop. It's habit. Don't read into it.”

“That's the thing, Thom, I have to consider it. If we are to do business I have to know that you won't go mental. I'm going to give you one free thing right now.”

He paused for emphasis. “Anne is having an affair.”

Thom jumped up and spun toward a prep table stacked with metal bowls. One second he intended to reach over and knock them off, the next second he found himself face down on the red tile floor and confused about how he got there. Then he felt Noa's hand on the back of his neck and his mouth near Thom's ear.

“You really want Jin to wash all those bowls?”

Noa lifted Thom to his feet and pushed him onto the chair.

Thom sat, stunned by the speed in which Noa moved and paralyzed by the hard word.

Affair.

He already knew. Why had the confirmation taken him by surprise? A disembodied voice said, “Well, that's an inconvenient truth.” He almost laughed when he realized the words were his own. “She already left me. I've left her. Where do we go from here? I don't know why this happened to us.”

A tornado of dark swirled around him. He felt outside himself, looked down at the wretch he'd become. Just yesterday he prayed to God; asked for illumination, a light, an answer. As he sat here in an underground kitchen, aware of Noa's eyes trained on the geography of his face, he felt God's response. A glimmer of light cut through the darkness. A wisp of warmth.

“How did this
situation
happen?” said Thom. “Why did Anne and Thom allow a good relationship to go bad?” He reached out, grasped at air. “I don't remember. It was so long ago.”

A voice said, “They did it to each other.”

He waved a finger at Noa. “Yes. Like he said, we are living parallel lives.”

“We're both to blame in equal measure.” Yes. Like she said.

“Yes! Both. Of. Us. Are. Guilty!” He stood, waved his arms as if swimming. This time the red tile came up to him.

_____

Noa slapped Thom's face. “Okay, there, man? Have a drink.”

Thom sipped a sharp liquid. Felt the warmth down his throat, behind the eyes.

“Jesuschristalmighty,” said Thom. He awoke, as if from a dream. “I'm a mess. No wonder she went looking for someone else.”

“Just sit, man.”

Jin placed two small bowls on the table. A scoop of ice cream in each.

Noa picked up a wooden spoon and took a bite. “Mmmm, homemade lemon and lavender. Thanks, Jin.”

Thom took a bite as well. Found the sour and the sweet a bit too much. He chuckled. “Ah, I get it. Take the sweet with the sour.” He took another bite. “Okay, Mr. Expensive Therapist, what do I do now?”

“That's up to you,” said Noa. “What do you want?”

“I want everything.”

“Everything? Video, photos, emails, text messages? How much of everything?”

“I want every bit of everything.”

“Why?”

“My cousin, Bird, thinks Anne is having me watched. That she's responsible for the eyes and ears. She told me Anne was planning divorce before Anne told me herself. Bird thinks she's scheming to avoid spousal support. I could care less about that. But I have to think about the kids. They're old enough to choose. Sure, they'd visit me, but where would they sleep? I'll fight like with like.”