Terror (18 page)

Gaia pulled at the door handle, but it clicked right back into place. Her heart thumped.
Please, no.
“Um, sir,” she said. “I think the door is locked.”

“Then unlock it.”

Gaia saw that there was a manual lock on the top rim of the door.
Relax, Gaia. It's just a cabdriver.
She pulled; it popped up. “Oh, I see. Thanks….” She opened the door and stepped outside into the dewy night. Slamming the door, Gaia was relieved that the cab didn't linger. It immediately drove off, leaving her with nothing but the thick black quiet of solitude. Like most big-city people, Gaia was much more leery of silence than a loud ruckus. Noise could be located. She picked up her pace to a speed walk at the corner.

“In a hurry?” a voice said.

“Late for curfew?” another one added.

Gaia looked to her left. There was one guy there and another one on the right. She turned to run the other way, but another one was back there.
Damn,
she thought.
That cabbie set me up.

“That sure is a pretty dress you have on,” the voice behind her said.

“My apartment building's right up there.” Gaia's eyes were wide open. Her heart drummed so loud, she could hear it up in her ears. It was clogging her thoughts, taking over her brain. “I don't want any trouble.”

“Neither do we.” But their movements suggested otherwise. They were getting doser, apparently timing their approach so that all three would converge on her. A dozen plans shot through Gaia's head, but one in particular took hold. She gripped her shoe tightly in her right hand, the heel pointed away from her.
Come on, Gaia. You're not afraid. You can do this.
She faked a lunge forward and then twisted a full hundred-and-eighty degrees and smacked the dude behind her in the head with the heel of her shoe. The guy went straight down and Gaia ran past him.

“Ahhh!” Her mouth was muffled with a piece of toxic-smelling cloth before she could get much out.
I've smelled this smell before. I know what comes next…. unconsciousness.
She grabbed the doth and yanked it away from her mouth, buying herself a few clean breaths. There was a loud ripping sound down below somewhere.

“Aw,” someone said. “You tore her pretty dress.”

“Turn her over on her back. I want to see her.”

Gaia's body was flipped over. It felt like she was being punched and slapped and groped all at once. Her body was covered with hands. One guy pinned her arms with his knees and crouched atop her chest. Someone else was sitting on her feet.
It's my worst nightmare come true,
Gaia thought.
Utter powerlessness.
She had a miniflashback to the image of Juliette Lewis screaming at psycho De Niro. His deranged gaze was still crystal clear in her mind. She tried to squirm, but it got her nowhere.

“Do you want her conscious or unconscious?” the guy crouched above her said. Gaia coughed into the face mask. She was getting drowsy. There was nothing left to do….

“I haven't decided yet.”

Gaia's eyes opened to half-mast at the sound of a shotgun blast.
Great. Now I'm dead. Doesn't feel much different anyway….
The forces weighing down her body suddenly lifted. Her attackers were running away.

“Ack,” Gaia said as she ripped the smelly cloth out of her mouth, coughing and hacking.

“Are you okay?”

Gaia's lazy eyes caught a blur coming at her. “Huh?”

“I said, are you okay?” It was a new voice.

“I don't think so. I've been shot.”

“I doubt that,” the voice said. “I shot the gun into the air to scare them off. It's me, Oliver.”

“Olive oil?”

“Oliver.”

“Oliver.” Her eyelids fluttered. “I sleep now, Oliver,” she whispered. The shutters were down; Gaia had checked out.

From
:
[email protected]

To:
[email protected]

Time:
12:30
A.M.

Re:
Those bitches

Laura and I caught Gaia and Liz in a major lie. They are both formally pronounced persona non grata, and I think we should start plotting revenge immediately….

1

“This won't hurt a bit,” said a voice in my ear.

I burrowed my head further and tensed for the pain. Strong hands pierced a muscle in my shoulder. They eased down to my middle back. I felt a hot twinge and squeezed my eyes closed.

“Ouch,” I said. “That hurts.”

No answer.

I was lying facedown on a massage table, a towel over the lower half of my body. The massage therapist's paper-thin Chinatown slippers were the only things I could see. The roar of an engine was the only thing I could hear.

I was on a plane, flying from L.A. to Japan. Flying home.

Across the cabin I could see my step-uncle Masato's shoes. I was lying too awkwardly to see his face. But his shoes—trendy dark blue loafers—kept tapping out an even rhythm, as if he had a song stuck in his head.

“Ow!” I said again. I'm not supposed to feel this, I don't think.”

“Have you been under a lot of tension lately?” the massage therapist asked. “Sitting at strange angles, perhaps in cramped quarters?”

“Um, you could say that,” I answered. “On both counts.” I'd just spent what felt like a lifetime in jail, spilling my guts to a cop and going on a botched sting to set up my ex-fiancé, Teddy Yukemura. If
that
wasn't tense, I don't know what tense is.

Masato's shoes still tapped out the same beat, I tried to put it to a song. It seemed like it was the rhythm of “Bootylicious,” but I didn't really think Masato would be into Beyonce. Still, he seemed way hipper than my father, so there was no telling what kind of music he was into.

Then I heard another voice. “You must be so excited to be flying back to Japan, Heaven!” The owner of the voice wore thick-heeled platform sandals with a giant flower on top. Her toenails were painted a shimmery shade of green that she assured me was the “latest color in Tokyo.” She had been introduced to me as Kaori, my uncle's personal assistant. And ever since I'd met her, which had been about two seconds before we boarded Masato's private plane, she hadn't shut up for a second. She made a huge deal out of the fact that now that I was flying back to Japan and would be under Masato's care, I had to have a complete makeover. Hair, facials, clothes, everything.

The therapist pressed her hands into another part of my back. She was doing shiatsu, which is a type of massage
that concentrates on relieving blocked energy from the body. When her hands hit one of my pressure points, I sighed in unbelievable relief, it had been ages since I'd had shiatsu. My energy was probably blocked everywhere.

“I guess I'm excited,” I said, my voice filled with uncertainty. I hadn't been back since Ohiko died. So many things had changed. Would I get to see my father? Mieko? What would happen to me? I honestly didn't know.

“Do not worry. You will be safe,” Masato said from across the plane. “Try to relax.”

“And besides, when we get back to Tokyo, we're going to go on a big shopping extravaganza!” Kaori said. “The Tokyo shops have great stuff right now….”

“Okay,” I said weakly. Shopping made me think of L.A. And L.A. made me think of Hiro. And that made me think of what Hiro had said to me, about who his family was. That they were connected to—entrenched in—the yakuza.

“You're tensing up,” the massage therapist said.

“That's because you're pressing too hard,” I muttered through my teeth.

“Your back is arching.” She pressed on my upper back. “Just lie still.” She'd found a knot in my shoulder and was pinching it in to release some of the tension. But the whole process hurt like hell.

Hiro was no better than Teddy Yukemura. And Hiro had
lied
to me. He'd lied to me for
months.
I'd … I'd kissed him! I'd told him I loved him! And he'd
lied.

“Kutsugeru,” said the therapist again. “You must relax. I'm going to put a lotion on your body now that will awaken
your skin and chi. You can lie still and relax for thirty minutes, and then I'll start on your legs.” She started to pull a screen around my table. The room grew dark.

“Now just let yourself fall. Let go completely,” the massage therapist said.

I sighed and tried to clear my head. But then I heard Kaori speak from behind the screen.

“Heaven? Heaven?”

“Yes?” I answered.

“Where would you like to go first? Prantan Ginza or Takashimaya Times Square?”

“Either one, I guess,” I said. “I think I'm supposed to be relaxing now.”

“Oh, right. Of course.”

I tried to imagine myself falling down, down, down. I'd been told everything would be safe now, but I still felt so keyed up. My mind flicked back to what Masato had said to me earlier when we were driving to the airport. He had led me from my jail cell in San Diego to his Rolls-Royce limo, explaining that we would be taking a private flight back to Japan. I'd climbed in the limo, bruised and quiet. He must have sensed my uncertainty because as soon as the limo rolled away from the curb, he put his hand lightly over mine.

“All your problems have ended,” he said simply. “You're safe now.”

I noticed right away, there in the limo, that he was the complete opposite of my father. Even the way he carried himself was different. My father would have sat in the back of the cab with perfect posture, hands folded neatly in his
lap, no expression on his face. Masato, who had to be about the same age, sat slumped, sprawled against the seat, his feet constantly tapping. The tapping put me a little on edge.

“I don't quite understand why you're doing all of this for me,” I said to him finally. “I mean, not that I'm not grateful, but …”

“It's my duty,” Masato said. “You are family. Family must help one another. There are certain kinds of people in the world who cannot be trusted, who you will be free from now. You don't need to be grateful. This is duty, you see?”

I shuddered.
Kinds of people in the world who cannot be trusted.
Hiro.

“How soon will I get to see my father?” I'd asked. “Is he still in the hospital?”

Masato was quiet for a moment. “I respect your father, but he is not who you think,” he finally said. “He has been putting you in danger. And there is something else—something you might not be ready to know, but I will tell you for your own good. There are people who are very closely tied to your father who don't want the best for you. Who would rather see you … hurt … or … out of the picture.” He cleared his throat and shifted his weight closer to me. “These people are
very
close.”

A shiver ran through me. “Oh,” I said.

Wait,
I told myself, snapping back to the present.
You're supposed to be relaxing. Letting go. Don't think about that stuff.
I closed my eyes again and tried to think basic thoughts: clouds, air, birds. Landing in Japan, Mount Fuji, I
suddenly felt very light and airy. Maybe my chi was being aligned after all.

But then after a few more moments of bliss, I heard a voice. “Heaven?” It was Kaori.

“Yes?”

“You know, I think you'd look really great in Diesel. You don't have Diesel jeans, do you? Apparently Lucy Liu wore them all through
Charlie's Angels: Full Throttle.
There's a big Diesel store right in town. It's pretty new; maybe you haven't been there. Their jeans are
hot!
They have a whole new shipment in, I think. They have great shoes, too. We'll have to go as soon as we get back….”

Relaxation came to a halt. I rolled my eyes in the semi-darkness.

We drove slowly through central Tokyo. I had been away only four months, but everything looked different. New stores had popped up in the place of old ones. And on every block Kaori pointed to some clothes shop, makeup emporium, record store, fitness club, spa, salon, nail shop, or jeweler that we had to go to as soon as possible. Masato spoke up front on his cell phone, murmuring in a voice so low that I couldn't make out anything he was saying.

I gasped when we drove up to Masato's compound. We pulled through the gates, past a lavish row of sakura, or cherry blossom, trees, a lustrous rock garden, and fountains. The house had several stories and was very modern looking. The front stone facade seemed to meld naturally into a waterfall. Giant goldfish swam in a clear,
sparkling pond. The goldfish were as big as my forearm.

The limo came to a stop next to a line of three shiny, freshly waxed cars. Two of them were Mercedes. One was a Land Rover. The other was a sporty red Porsche Boxter, only my most favorite car in the world.

“Whoa,” I said. “Nice.”

“Isn't it great?” Kaori said as we stepped out. “I'll be living in the compound, too, attending to anything you need.”