Tokyo Ever After: A Novel (Tokyo Ever After #1)(32)

Yoshi laughs. “We’re a sad pair, aren’t we?”

“Super sad.” I stare glumly at the table littered with empty glasses.

“Don’t worry. I’ve been here before,” he says. “I know exactly what we should do to make this better.”

“What should we do?” I echo.

“Sing.” Yoshi pats my back. “We sing.” Then he takes up a post at the karaoke machine and motions for me to join him. We scroll through the options. I perk up when I find something I recognize, something I know by heart. If anyone is wondering if I can rap the entire lyrics to Warren G’s “Regulators,” the answer is yes.

Yes I can.



* * *



More confetti falls from the ceiling and sticks in my hair. Yoshi and I drown our sorrows, our earlier conversation dissolving into the night. I’ve rapped and tried my best at a Hideto Matsumoto ballad. Time is a nebulous thing. There are no clocks in the karaoke bar. Taka slow dances with one of the pink-haired girls. Yoshi is dozing off. The salarymen are singing a Bruce Springsteen ballad, and they’ve dedicated their session to me. I don’t know why. I tried to explain he was from New Jersey, but they insisted. Who am I to argue? I stand and wobble.

“Bathroom,” I say to Yoshi when he pops an eye open.

“It’s downstairs to the left.” He rouses. “Want me to come with you?”

I shake my head and walk off. I use the wall for support. Wow, I am drunk. Slowly, I make my way to the bathroom. My vision is blurry. Miracles of all miracles, I find the bathroom. A one-stall affair with little light and chrome stalls. Back in the hall, I can’t remember which way I came from. Left or right? My odds are fifty-fifty. I head left, slipping through a black door.

The thump of music snuffs out. Instantly, I know I’ve made a mistake. The door slams shut, inches from me catching it. I’m outside. The alley is narrow, with a couple dumpsters and crates stacked against one wall. My stomach recoils at the smell. Now I know where all the fish waste goes. I try the door. Of course, it’s locked. All right, I’ll just have to walk around then, make my way back to the front of the karaoke bar. No problem. It’s all good. Only—there’s chain link fence all around me. There’s a gate wide enough for the dumpsters to fit through, but it’s padlocked. I look up to the sky for an answer. Chain link up there, too. I’m in some sort of dumpster cage. Super. I’m trapped.

My phone is in my back pocket and I take it out and try Yoshi. No answer. I give it a minute or two. Then try again. And again. And again. “C’mon, answer.” I shift from foot to foot. Goose bumps have broken out on my arms. A piece of confetti falls from my hair and onto the pavement. He still doesn’t pick up.

The door swings open. No way could he be that fast.

I’m right. It’s not him. It’s the young salaryman I practiced English with. He must be lost, too. The karaoke bar should do something about that, like placing a guard at the door or a tank full of sharks or a leashed bear to indicate danger lies this way.

The salaryman sways back and forth. He burps and undoes his zipper. I turn my cheek as he teeters to one of the dumpsters and relieves himself. He finishes with a shake and stumbles backward, almost into me. I make a little noise and he whips around.

“Sain,” he says.

I stick up my hands. “I don’t know what that means.”

He draws closer. “Sain.” He laughs. It echoes off the building. I am all too aware I am trapped with a stranger who is bigger and stronger than me. A warning light blinks in my head. Danger. Danger. Danger. My breath quickens. He’s crowding me now. I can smell the beer on his breath, see food between his teeth.

“Whoa.” I back up more. My body hits a dumpster. I’ve cornered myself. “You’re kind of violating my safe space here, buddy.” My arms go up. He leans in. I whimper, close my eyes, and brace myself.

I hear the door click. There’s a whir of movement, the sound of shuffling feet. The warmth from the salaryman’s body is gone. I pop open an eye, then another. I clutch my chest.

It’s Akio. He’s dressed in a plain gray hoodie, jeans, and tennis shoes. He is positively wrathful, holding the salaryman by the neck against the brick wall. It’s one thing to read about Akio’s qualifications on paper and quite another seeing them come to life.

My skin tingles. Right, so I shouldn’t find this attractive. Wrong time.

Akio bites out something in Japanese. I don’t understand a word he’s saying, but all in all, it’s threatening.

The salaryman’s face is turning splotchy, red and purple with a hint of blue. His hands flail at his sides. “Sain,” he chokes out. The salaryman raises a hand, opens it. A piece of paper and pen fall out. I don’t have to be fluent to understand—he wanted my signature. An autograph, that’s all. But someone really should have a conversation with him about boundaries.

Akio’s mouth is a tight white line. He lets go, and the salaryman slumps to the ground, holding his neck. My bodyguard crouches and speaks lowly to him, and the salaryman fishes his wallet from his pants. Akio opens it, removes the identification, and takes a photograph of the ID, then flicks it back to the salaryman.

Akio stands. Our eyes meet. “I don’t think he’ll be a problem. But I know his name and address.”