No Ordinary Love (6 page)

“Fine. You can dress me. I didn’t bring any date wear anyway.” I leaned my weight to my other foot. “I’m more surprised you’re not warning me against dating the gangster.”

“Don’t call him that. The yakuza doesn’t exist.”

“You’ve been screaming he’s the Dragon all night—”

“That doesn’t mean you should say it. Knowing you, you’ll let that slip out of your mouth in front of him, or even worse: try to interview him. Just go on the date and nicely tell him you’re not interested.”

“I will, while I get him to let me write about his soapland and hand back my recorder.”

“It’s always the book with you, isn’t it?”

“I’m addicted to the story. Writing is like cocaine, baby. Every page I finish is a snorted line.”

“Thank goodness your writing is better than your metaphors.”

Chapter 6

KENJI

How amusing?

I folded up Nyomi’s message, tucked it into my pants pocket, and tipped the young boy named Shin. Outside the moon glowed with awareness of this crazy night. Shin’s blue hair waved in the breeze. As if noticing my disapproval he yanked his hat from his back pocket and set it over his head. Every week, he dyed those long strands. Each time I saw the new color, I frowned.

Inside my back pocket sat black rope. It was about two feet long. I couldn't stop thinking about Nyomi. Only touching the rope soothed my nerves. Those rigid edges scraped against my fingertips and reminded me of why I had to remain calm.

She'll be ready soon.

Taking my hand out of the pocket and checking the time on my cell phone, I considered maybe going up to her myself. She wanted her broken device. I had it, and so much more. What would she do if I came to her now?

No. That's a bad idea. Relax.

I stood on the side street outside of her friend’s place. At first, I’d assumed the man was her boyfriend. Jun checked him out and discovered from his neighbors that the Zo fellow was quite the ladies’ man. They claimed he had a new woman in his apartment each weekend.
I hope he won’t be a problem that I'll have to solve.

I glanced up to the guy’s balcony. If she came outside, she still wouldn’t see me. She’d have to go to the patio and then crook her neck awkwardly to the side to see my car, but she would get a glimpse of me.
What am I doing out here?
I’d had other plans this evening, things that needed to be done before going to Father and giving him his report. My Tora changed that with her chase.

“Sato-san, do you need me for anything else?” Shin didn’t count the money. Instead, he tucked it in his front pocket, pulled his skateboard from the sidewalk next to my car, and jumped on top.

“Hold on,” I said.

Grinning, his gaze remained on the ground in front of me. Not many held my attention. For the few that had my view, they valued my time most of all. Plus, the teen did odd jobs for me every now and then. Nothing too dangerous. Although one could argue that my Tora was pretty lethal when shoved over the edge. Giving her my message could’ve ended up badly, at least with a knee to his groin.

Before I got into my car, I turned to him. “Are you going to school every day?”

He kept his head bowed. “Yes.”

I hope he really is going.

The kid had brains and knew it was a bad idea to lie to me. His mother, Reika, had begged me to save him. She took care of my grandmother—cleaning her house, giving her herbal medicine, and making sure her last days were as comfortable as possible. For that, I owed her everything.

Grandmother needs someone around her.

Nothing was more tragic than dying alone. I would never wish
kodokushi
on anyone. Thousands of cases of lonely deaths occurred every year. My nephew owned a company that specialized in cleaning out the apartment of these people, who’d passed away by themselves. Their deaths had gone unnoticed for so long that most were just mummified corpses. They called them kodokushi stains.

That won’t be my grandmother, not with Reika there.

I looked after her son as she tended to my kin. Reika feared her son would fall prey to the new phase spreading across our country.
Hikikomori
was the name people labeled many youth who’d become recluses within their apartments. These hermits even included young kids who remained in their parents’ homes after adulthood and refused to leave. Not that these
missing million
didn’t bring in any income, many earned top online degrees, held remote jobs that they could do within the privacy of their bedrooms, and kept a pretty decent income to rival their parents.

Shin will be something, but not Hikikomori.

The kids never left their homes. That was what worried the elder population. The youth experienced no face-to-face social interaction. Computers were their playground, their homes the only thing that mattered overall. Sun and the fresh air one could only breathe within nature was nothing to them. And with all of that came the fact that real sex and grandchildren would not come with that sort of lifestyle.

Alarm ensued.

Many could see their family lines deteriorating right before their eyes.

What has happened to my city? Thousands of people dying alone in their apartments and no one knows they’re gone for months. The younger generation remaining caged in their homes, refusing to go out and experience love and life. What is my fate?

“Have you met someone yet?” I asked.

Shin continued to stare at the ground. “Yes, but she just thinks I’m weird.”

“That’s a good thing. It makes you unique and separates you from the crowd. Being odd is what gives you power.”

He bowed. “Is that how you will get Ms. Palmer?”

The boy was smart. I didn’t deliver gifts to women, especially flowers, in the middle of the night. It would’ve hurt my delicate reputation as the Dragon. Those scaled beasts didn’t romance, they snared what they desired and did their best not to kill them.

I pierced Shin with my gaze. He didn’t look at me directly, but had to know I was staring at him.

“Don't tell anyone about her,” I said.

He remained silent. His quiet displayed more respect than any of his bows. Silence was time to reflect on the conversation at hand. It told me that he’d not only heard what I said, but took it seriously. The space between us remained hushed, except for the noise of scattered traffic and rustling branches.

I gazed up at the apartment’s patio where I saw Nyomi put the plant outside. “What did she say when she opened the gift?”

“She didn’t do it in front of me, but she was a bit annoyed at the letter.”

“What did she say?”

“That the letter wasn’t a question, but an order.”

I smirked. “Okay. You’ve done good. Go see your mother. I’m sure she needs help. Mothers always do.”

He bowed and skated away.

Getting in my car, I glanced at my phone again. I’d be fifteen minutes late. Father would be mad. Knowing him, I was confident that he would make me wait outside his hospital room for an hour before seeing me, just to show me and everyone else who was really in control.

Sometimes I wish you would just die.

The thought made me grip the steering wheel hard.

No. Don't say that. Let Father play his sick power games. Lucky for me, I have something to read while I wait.

Still sitting in the car, I tapped Nyomi’s book. Like the work, the cover was unique. A man I assumed to be her father sat in an American judge’s gown on the front. There was a strong resemblance between her father and her. They had the same eyes and high cheekbones. At the center of the photo was the beginning of a rip, the edges burnt.

What an odd thing to do to your father’s picture, and so publicly. She must hate him.

The book had told me even more about her, even though the topic was all about her father. Her anger lived between the lines of sentences and pretty words. It was the things she left unspoken that made me aware of how much she hurt.

This is how she uses her claws. She writes like a killer sharpens knives right before a murder.

Nyomi’s book had kept me away from all of my responsibilities that evening. She hooked me from the first page and then never let go. How peculiar that her story's topic would discuss the cruelty and criminal activity of her father.

Did she not think she’d betrayed him? Or did she believe that it was time for him to pay for his sins?

It was reckless, yet liberating to see. I didn’t have a book like that in me. To speak badly of my father would mean exile from everything I’d known. One didn’t display a flag of their family’s atrocities to strangers. They kept them hidden away in the darkness and then dealt with those secrets after their own deaths.

Yet, for most of the evening, I had read her book. My men had knocked on the door and I roared. My cousin, Emi, brought in my lunch and tea. I gave her no praise and simply waved her away. She huffed, but said nothing, probably thinking I was swimming in one of my many mood swings.

Nyomi had a way with drawing me into her world. With each chapter, I breathed in the rough, cold streets of New York City. I'd been there during my soccer career for ads and the promotion of tournaments, but this city was something more to her. I could taste the urban life, feel its rough edges scratching at my fingertips.

Let Father make me wait. I’ll just read.

Back in the car, I started the vehicle and left with visions of the mean streets of this American city in my head and erotic thoughts of my Tora flashing through my mind.

Chapter 7

NYOMI

The next evening, I waited for the Dragon.

Piano music played as I stood on the fortieth floor of the Park Hyatt, waiting for Kenji. A white, strapless dress hugged my body and ended at my knees. A black waist corset, done in tiny beads with carved Japanese characters on them, hugged my center. Zo loved draping me in white and thought the color went perfectly with my caramel skin. Granted, white was also his favorite color, so he would’ve thought up any excuse to use it.

Where is Kenji?

I'd brought a gift for him and placed it next to my seat where I stood near it. My nerves were a jumbled mess. I would’ve paced, but the six-inch heels made me stumble every three feet or so. Zo also had a thing about angles and dimensions when styling clothes. Due to my curls being in a sweeping updo, Zo demanded that I wear high heels.

I checked my watch again.

Nine o’clock.

I’d give Kenji another fifteen minutes before I decided to leave. He'd sent a limo to Zo’s house right at eight. The driver transported me to the hotel where two suited guys escorted me up to the restaurant.

The place was huge. The ceilings rose high in the air. Polished mahogany coated the interior surfaces. Glass made up the outer walls. Tokyo’s glittering lights below served as the true décor and afforded me the best view in the city. A savory aroma drifted from where I assumed the kitchen was located. No one else lounged in the main dining area, besides Kenji’s men and me. The guys wore black suits and talked among themselves as they stayed by the doorway, hopefully not to keep me in but to keep others out.

Kenji must’ve rented the restaurant tonight. How much would that have cost him?

The Park Hyatt was an expensive hotel. Stars from around the world stayed there. Even the movie
Lost in Translation
had been filmed throughout the building. The fact that the restaurant sat on the highest floor signaled to me that the prices soared well beyond my meager budget.

And he rented the place for the night.

“Here you go, Ms. Palmer.” A woman held a tray and placed a blue and white porcelain pitcher of warm sake along with two tiny blue cups on the table. I’d asked for the best sake in the house since Kenji had left a message explaining I could order anything.

“This is Juyondai,” she said. “It is the best we have. This particular one has aged for three years. The flavor palate is bold with ripe, dried fruits, caramel, and subtle hints of vanilla.”

“Sounds outstanding. Thank you.”

She poured me a cup and stood there, waiting for several seconds.

I touched my chest. “Oh, should I try it?”

Smiling, she did a half-bow. I was surprised she didn’t ask why I was standing. I was just too nervous to sit. I picked up the warm cup and sipped the sake. The smooth liquid slipped into my mouth with an elegance I’d never experienced with any type of wine. The caramel soothed my tongue while the sweet taste of fruits finished the experience. It was so light. I almost chugged the rest of it. Instead, I set it down so that I could have a clear mind around Kenji.

“The sake’s perfect. Thank you so much.” I did a half-bow myself, hoping it was the right thing to do. She bowed again and left.

Where are you, Mr. Dragon? Hiding in a cave, I bet.

Jittery sensations bounced around in my stomach. To have something to do, I decided to do an internet search on how to date Japanese men. Not that I considered this a date, but I needed to make sure that I didn’t insult Kenji in anyway. I was still hoping to get his permission for my research in Kabukichō. Zo had no advice for me. Granted, he dated tons of women here. Most were celebrated in the fashion world, others active in BDSM. However, I didn’t think any of Zo’s experiences would help me out.

“All right. What does the internet have to tell me about dating Japanese men?” I unlocked my screen and typed in a few words.

Lots of results came up through my quick phone search and the majority of it seemed a bit … stereotypical. As well as out and out racist.

Japanese men are shy with western women and will never directly speak with you about their wants or needs.