UNIT GO FOR BROKE; a church and a cross outlined by an orange sun, SUNRISE BAPTIST CHURCH CENTENNIAL; and the rings of the 1984 Olympics.
It was eight-thirty at night and the sun was just starting to set, casting an orange hue over the hills north of Little Tokyo. Barely visible, they were dried out and brown. Tiny homes crowded the base of the slopes like globs of salmon eggs.
Mas grasped the shoulder strap of the seat belt. You know, when we get there, betta if you just drop me off. I can get a ride home.
I can hold my own, Mas. Dont be worried about me.
There was plenty to worry about, though. There was Haneda, and then Haruo, the sickest gambler alive. Mas remembered the time when Haruo had disappeared for some days after his divorce.
Probably turn up dead, Stinky Yoshimoto had said at the lawn mower shop. You know pah. He pointed a finger toward his head like a gun.
Mas kept his mouth shut. Stinky and the others knew nothing. Death was easy, but Mas and Haruo had been cursed with surviving. To take your own life was an insult to the dead like stealing a medal and wearing it proudly over your shirt pocket. No matter how bad things got, you had to just wait and hope that someone or something else would cut you down, cleanly and swiftly, like pulling weeds out from the ground.
Haruo had eventually turned up in Laughlin, feeding his last nickels into a hungry slot machine. Stinky seemed a little disappointed; gossip at the lawn mower shop had reached a lull, and news of a suicide would have sure sparked things up.
Little Tokyo had not been a part of town that you went to at night. Thats when the manju makers brushed rice flour from their hands and darkened their sweet shops, the bankers went home to the suburbs, and bento lunch shops closed their doors. To the south, the beggars dragged out their cardboard homes, while City Hall remained lit but deserted. Mas had heard of a friend whose car had been broken into, and a ten-pound bowling ball had been stolen. In another case, a thief had taken a radiator out of a car and was on his way to a local dive with his prize when he was apprehended.
That was before they began cleaning it up building new, fancy structures and sending out a troop of citizen patrolmen. But Mas was still not going to take any chances.
That parking lot best place, Mas said, pointing to a place with a security guard, and Tug nodded. No sense in Tugs having his car stolen, too.
A few bars were open, as well as all-night noodle shops catering to carousing young people and red-faced Japanese businessmen. Mas glanced at the map and figured out that it was on the second floor of a brick building painted white. On the first floor was a video store, still open with paper hearts twirling from the ceiling.
This way. Tug opened a glass door, which led to a dark, narrow staircase.
Wait, Tug, maybe Mas was having second thoughts. Tug was a family man, after all, with a wife and grandchildren.
Cmon. Tug slapped Mass back with his huge palm, practically pushing him up the stairs.
At the top was a door. Mas turned the knob. Locked. The staircase was pitch-black.
Mas turned, bumping into Tugs stomach. I guess no ones there.
Try knocking.
But Mas was having second thoughts. Lets just get outta here.
Whos that? A muffled male voice sounded from the other side.
Mas. Itsu Mas Arai.
The door opened, and there was Wishbone. In the shadow of the room, the pockmarks on his face looked like the surface of a peach pit, all bumpy and dark. Out of the context of Tanakas Lawnmower shop, Wishbone didnt seem like himself. He wasnt smiling, and his usual mischievous grin was replaced with a cold stare. Thought you werent coming. He held a strange-looking skinny cigarette in his
It was eight-thirty at night and the sun was just starting to set, casting an orange hue over the hills north of Little Tokyo. Barely visible, they were dried out and brown. Tiny homes crowded the base of the slopes like globs of salmon eggs.
Mas grasped the shoulder strap of the seat belt. You know, when we get there, betta if you just drop me off. I can get a ride home.
I can hold my own, Mas. Dont be worried about me.
There was plenty to worry about, though. There was Haneda, and then Haruo, the sickest gambler alive. Mas remembered the time when Haruo had disappeared for some days after his divorce.
Probably turn up dead, Stinky Yoshimoto had said at the lawn mower shop. You know pah. He pointed a finger toward his head like a gun.
Mas kept his mouth shut. Stinky and the others knew nothing. Death was easy, but Mas and Haruo had been cursed with surviving. To take your own life was an insult to the dead like stealing a medal and wearing it proudly over your shirt pocket. No matter how bad things got, you had to just wait and hope that someone or something else would cut you down, cleanly and swiftly, like pulling weeds out from the ground.
Haruo had eventually turned up in Laughlin, feeding his last nickels into a hungry slot machine. Stinky seemed a little disappointed; gossip at the lawn mower shop had reached a lull, and news of a suicide would have sure sparked things up.
Little Tokyo had not been a part of town that you went to at night. Thats when the manju makers brushed rice flour from their hands and darkened their sweet shops, the bankers went home to the suburbs, and bento lunch shops closed their doors. To the south, the beggars dragged out their cardboard homes, while City Hall remained lit but deserted. Mas had heard of a friend whose car had been broken into, and a ten-pound bowling ball had been stolen. In another case, a thief had taken a radiator out of a car and was on his way to a local dive with his prize when he was apprehended.
That was before they began cleaning it up building new, fancy structures and sending out a troop of citizen patrolmen. But Mas was still not going to take any chances.
That parking lot best place, Mas said, pointing to a place with a security guard, and Tug nodded. No sense in Tugs having his car stolen, too.
A few bars were open, as well as all-night noodle shops catering to carousing young people and red-faced Japanese businessmen. Mas glanced at the map and figured out that it was on the second floor of a brick building painted white. On the first floor was a video store, still open with paper hearts twirling from the ceiling.
This way. Tug opened a glass door, which led to a dark, narrow staircase.
Wait, Tug, maybe Mas was having second thoughts. Tug was a family man, after all, with a wife and grandchildren.
Cmon. Tug slapped Mass back with his huge palm, practically pushing him up the stairs.
At the top was a door. Mas turned the knob. Locked. The staircase was pitch-black.
Mas turned, bumping into Tugs stomach. I guess no ones there.
Try knocking.
But Mas was having second thoughts. Lets just get outta here.
Whos that? A muffled male voice sounded from the other side.
Mas. Itsu Mas Arai.
The door opened, and there was Wishbone. In the shadow of the room, the pockmarks on his face looked like the surface of a peach pit, all bumpy and dark. Out of the context of Tanakas Lawnmower shop, Wishbone didnt seem like himself. He wasnt smiling, and his usual mischievous grin was replaced with a cold stare. Thought you werent coming. He held a strange-looking skinny cigarette in his
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