Dim Sum Asylum(75)
Grandfather ordered in Mandarin, and the elderly tight-faced woman nodded, then disappeared, closing the door behind her.
“As nice as this is, I’ve got a job to do, Grandfather,” I reminded him. “I’m going to guess you’ve got something to tell me that’s going to make that job easier.”
“Patience,” he murmured, smoothing out a paper napkin he’d gotten from the pile left on the table. “Ten minutes, and then I will ask you a favor.”
“You’ve asked me for a lot of things over the years, Takahashi.” I eyed the cousin skeptically. “When have I ever done any of them?”
I saw no sign of distress or discomfort in the old man. Every hair was in place, shaved down to his jutting jaw, and he stroked at the thick gold ring on his ring finger, something he liked to do to make people nervous.
He’d tried giving me an identical one when I was younger. Or it could have been the same one. My mother tossed it back into his face, reminding the old man I would never be his as long as she drew breath.
Ironically, she was now gone, and there he sat, fiddling with a gold ring with the Takahashi crest carved in bas-relief on a jade cabochon on his finger—the finger where a wedding ring should have resided—but then, my grandfather was always more married to the family than to either of his wives. Cousin, on the other hand, was extremely agitated, judging by how he ran his free hand over his face, then through his hair.
“This one you will do because it involves Jie… and your grandmother.” His gaze flicked momentarily at the man sitting across from him. Then his hand dropped out of sight beneath the table. “I need you to rescue Yukiko from this madman. Anything you want—”
“You’ve already offered anything I’ve ever wanted before, and I turned you down.” I let the bilious harshness I felt stain my words. “That’s how my family ended up dead, remember?”
“I will pay for that… for what he did to you… for the rest of my life. This is different. This isn’t about me. This is about a woman who is caught up in a war she has no part of. Much like you, Yukiko is innocent, and she is now paying the price of loving me. For being my mistress… instead of my wife.”
“Mistress?” I almost stood up from the table, but a discreet knock on the door kept me in my seat. The old woman came in, dropped off a pot of tea, cups, and a mound of enormous char siu bao, then left. Leaning forward, I slapped at the cousin’s hand when he reached for the teapot. “What do you mean mistress? I thought Yukiko was your wife. My grandmother is—”
“I am confused, Grandfather.” The cousin cleared his throat, watching me warily. “Grandmother’s name is Kodama Akemi. Yukiko is our aunt… Grandmother’s adopted sister… she lives with Grandmother. In Hokkaido—”
“Sofu, no!” The scent of gun oil and cold-blooded resolve perfumed the air when my grandfather shifted in his seat. I lunged, grabbing my grandfather’s arm before he could fire the gun he’d drawn out of his jacket. Twisting the weapon from his hand, I hissed, “Do not kill him. Have you been lying to everyone in the family about who my grandmother is?”
“She is my wife and lives in Japan, away from this city and its complications.” Grandfather met my hard gaze with one of his own. “Akemi is a good wife. She knows what’s expected of her, and I married her because she is a strong partner and comes from a powerful family. Yukiko is…. My wife agreed to claim your father as her own, like she was taken in by the Kodama clan, and as far as the family is concerned Akemi is your grandmother. Your father is our only child.”
“So I’m the only one you weren’t lying to?” I handed the gun to Trent, the steam from the bao warming my skin when I passed my hand through it. He took it and began to remove the clip from its chamber as I sat back down. “Shit, you should have been worried about me shooting you.”
“I need no protection from my own grandson,” he sniffed imperiously. “Can you imagine the talk if I gave even a hint of distrust? You know better than that, Roku. I cannot risk that. Especially not… now. Not when I am being attacked and I can do nothing to save the woman I have in my heart.”
“I didn’t even think you had a heart, old man,” I retorted. My cousin was shaking in his seat, his trembling rocking the chair’s back. “Promise me you won’t kill him.”
There were consequences for discovering any of my grandfather’s weaknesses, and anyone who’d been in the room when he’d first gotten the news—however he’d gotten the news—was probably already fattening up the Bay’s bottom feeders, and I had little hope the men who’d dumped their bodies would live long enough to see another sunrise. My cousin’s life was forfeit the moment he’d crossed the threshold of the tearoom’s front door, a sacrifice my grandfather was willing to make but one I had no intention of him offering up.
“Promise me, Sofu.” I wasn’t going to plead for the man’s life, because my grandfather didn’t respect begging. “You took a life when I didn’t want you to. You owe me a life. You owe me his.”
“I spared you from killing Donnie,” he replied softly. “Because you would have killed him, and that would have destroyed you then.”
“Do not kill him. Make him a confidant. Hell, have him wash your feet every day if you have to, but do not kill him.” I was deadly serious, and Trent edged his chair back, anticipating something, but I couldn’t guess what.