Carli
Kato. How the fuck did he know to find me here? Why?
He’s already made it quite clear that if I don’t go, my sisters will pay the price. I heard from Miori, and I know of father’s death. I didn’t need a reminder of why I’m leaving on the first flight to Osaka. All I wanted was time to say goodbye to Circe, giving her a smidge of a reason as to why I was running home, and a hurrah with the man that has caused me to rub one out too often lately.
Now that Jamieson has had an opportunity to see Kato, I can no longer avoid it. Thanks, Kato. There’s no way I’m getting out of this without some explanation now.
He totally did it on purpose. He wanted to show me that there’s nowhere to hide. There’s nowhere I can be that he won’t get to me or the people I care about. And as I look over my shoulder, Jamieson is there, seemingly dumbfounded.
I know better, though, he’s slick.
Looking at the food on the table, I see that Jamieson did an amazing job. He ordered from the vegan place we visited the other day. With the same salads, and two bottles of water, Jamieson has recreated our lunch date. How sweet.
“This looks great. Thanks, Jamieson,” I state, moving toward the table.
“Carli, what’s going on?”
Ignoring his request, thumbing a strawberry, I venture a look his way. Yeah, he’s itching for answers.
“It’s a long story,” I say, and ain’t that the half of it.
“How about you start somewhere, and after a bit, it’ll be a shorter story.”
Understanding that there’s no way around it, I strip the proverbial band aid off. “You might want to sit and eat. This will take a bit of time.”
Stepping toward me, he pulls out a chair, motioning for me to sit.
“And they say chivalry is dead,” I say, folding myself into the seat. Pushing it slightly forward, Jamieson grabs the chair beside me.
“So start it off, Katana. Give me something.”
“Oh, boy. You have no idea how big this is, Crown.” Pulling a fresh piece of loaf off the tray, I rip a section off and start. “And it’s not Katana. Well, it is legally, but in Japan it’s also Ryu. Kaori Ryu. Daughter of the Dragon. But my father died recently, and now I’m the Dragon Clan leader. Surprise!” Munching down on the bread, I try to occupy my mouth as I let Jamieson absorb the information.
“Dragon Clan? I don’t understand. What’s that?”
I reach over and pour us each a glass of water. “The Dragon Clan is the most powerful family in the Yakuza. That’s just a fancy name for mafia. My father was the leader, and he died a few days ago. Now, the task of leader, or Oyabun, has fallen to me. If I don’t go back, my twin sisters will be auctioned off. They will become geisha slaves, and second wives to old assholes.”
“You’re fucking with me?”
“God, don’t I wish.” Reaching for my glass, I sip to slow the flow of information. I doubt he can handle it all.
“So you’re a mafia princess? And you have to go home to stop your sisters from being turned into paperweights for some oversized Japanese blowhard? Have I got that right?”
“In a nutshell. And I have to be on the next plane out or it’s done.” Forking up a mouthful of the raspberry quinoa, I chomp down as Jamieson takes in the news.
“Can you come back? Or are you chained to some bureaucratic desk?”
“I’m there, I’ll be leading, and there’s not much choice in it.” If I figure out a way to remove the restraint on my sisters, and a way for Kato to take the role, you can bet your ass I’ll find a way. The old man must know that I have him in my sights, but I’ll just have to figure out how to thrust him into the seat without me dying.
I watch Jamieson as he stoically eats his food, drinks his drink, and processes it all. He’s quiet. Totally silent, which is kind of scary to say the least.
“Any other questions?”
Grinning wickedly, he tosses a chunk of bread around. “Who else knows?”
“All of it? I haven’t told Circe much. I don’t think she can handle it.”
Jokingly, he asks, “You figure I can handle myself if a sword wielding guy in pajamas comes after me?”
“If a guy in jammies comes at you with a sword, you’re on LaBrea. And no. No one will come after you wielding swords.” Deciding to have some fun with him, I add, “But a well-dressed man with a semiautomatic and a suit situation could occur. Just sayin’.”
With a smarmy grin, like he thinks I’m fucking with him. His smile is visible through the scruffy beard as he munches on his lunch.
For the next half hour, we talk at length. He asks questions, and I ask about the Crown situation. He asks to learn the more vulgar Japanese, and we end up on the floor in a heap of sweaty bodies once more before I leave.
Unfortunately, the future calls.
It’s kind of like a telemarketer that you’re avoiding, but you know it won’t go away until you deal with them properly.