Ryan insisted on stopping for a large cup of very strong coffee before they arrived at The Red Light. The cooks wouldn’t be working yet at the hostess bar, and he hadn’t had much sleep again. When he’d picked up Lara last night, she’d been drunk and madder than a cornered barracuda. Mostly she was pissed at him for standing her up for dinner, but he had the feeling there was more to the story. He’d spent the night on the sofa, neck cricked at one end, feet hanging over the other.
He left before she was up this morning, and that wasn’t going to please her, either. His father seemed to take the stop at Starbucks in stride.
“You want anything?” Ryan asked before he got out of the car.
“Sure, I’ll take one of those green tea lattes,” Tagama answered, and rolled down his window to wait in the car.
That’s a first, reflected Ryan, right before the barista took his order. He ordered two blueberry scones to go.
Tagama was eating the scone with gusto when his mobile phone rang. Ryan couldn’t make out what the person on the other end of the call was saying, but he could tell it was a woman’s voice, and he could hear it rise and fall with dismay. Tagama grunted a few times into the phone then snapped it closed. He tossed his green tea latte and the half-eaten scone, paper bag and all, out the car window.
Ryan kept his eyes on the road. His father’s face was a dangerous red. Neither man spoke, and when Ryan bumped into the rutted gravel lot behind the hostess bar, Tagama was out of the car before Ryan had shifted into park. While Ryan fumbled the key out of the ignition, Tagama squared his shoulders as if he were a gladiator entering the arena.
Yasuko greeted them at the back entrance, where her obsequious bows were stiff. Her face was paler than usual, a white mask. Tagama’s gaze lingered on her as if reading a message. His glower then moved toward the meeting room. No “Flower of Japan” endearments this time.
Because his father had seemed to watch Yasuko for a signal, Ryan observed her, too. He saw the dark shadow under her left eye, which her makeup couldn’t quite conceal. Nor could the crimson lipstick hide the swollen upper lip. Yasuko turned away from him.
In the meeting room, Obake sat at the same table. His body guard son stood behind him. “Sit,” he commanded.
Tagama sat across from him, and Ryan stood behind his father. Ryan avoided the hooded, smoldering gaze of Steven Kudo. What was going on? Hostility hung in the air like ozone at a thunderstorm.
Not that Obake had been welcoming the first time, but his demeanor had been neutral and he’d sent his body guards away. Ryan was learning that every motion, gesture, and word this man presented had significance. Keeping a body guard in the room sent a blatant message.
Who’d made the phone call to his dad? Yasuko? He could tell from what little he’d heard that the speaker was troubled, but he hadn’t been able to identify her.
“Keiko.” Obake snarled the word.
“Keiko?” Tagama said. “I just met her.”
“Stella called you.” Obake slapped the table for emphasis.
“Keiko just recently came to my attention. My future daughter-in-law’s new employee.” Tagama, whose face was more flushed than Ryan liked to see, responded as if he and Obake were discussing which friend to include in their weekly golf foursome. Not that he’d ever seen his father play golf with Obake. “Why would Stella call me?”
Ryan felt a breath of cold air along the back of his neck. Keiko? The first he’d seen of the girl was when Lara hired her a couple of months ago. She was a thin wisp who barely made a sound. He hadn’t given much thought to her, except to wonder about the fact that she didn’t swim very well. He’d asked Lara about it. She’d assured him Stella would teach her, and Keiko was cheap—a few cents over hourly minimum wage.
“You cannot play me, Tagama.” Obake’s voice cut through Ryan’s thoughts.
“Nor would I want to.” Tagama sounded calm and sincere.
“I have kept the doctor’s report.”
Ryan felt his father stiffen. “That was a long time ago. The statute of limitation in Hawai‘i—”
“Is worthless. Rape is a Class A felony, and the doctor will say it was five years ago.” Obake’s fat brown face was hard as a plate. No jolly tan lines now.
Ryan was frozen in place. At one level, he knew Obake was playing to him as the stunned audience. On another level, he was so shocked he couldn’t process the information he was receiving. Rape? His father?
He’d never seen his father on the defensive. He’d never seen him react in front of anyone like this, particularly an adversary like Obake.
“I have reformed. She knows this.” Tagama’s spine was as straight as a fence post. “She will not testify.”
Ryan had to brace himself by putting a hand on the back of his father’s chair. Through the roaring in his ears, he realized that Obake had picked up on his shock, and the thug was pleased by it.
A flush of shame spread from his chest and up his neck. Burning, he gathered himself and met Steven Kudo’s leer with eyes like obsidian. His pallor might betray his angst, but he wouldn’t give them anything else.
“She doesn’t have to. Someone else will.”
Tagama opened his mouth, then closed it without making a sound. Ryan’s chest ached, and he knew he had been holding his breath. He exhaled slowly. His mind began to work through what he was hearing.
“The young woman has defied me,” said Obake.
“Stella?” Tagama asked.
“No! Keiko.” Obake slammed the table with his fist, then lowered his rumbling voice so Tagama unconsciously leaned toward him. “Stella knows better.”
Ryan observed the man’s performance. It was masterful, every gesture and tonal inflection. Even the accent, a reminder of his fearsome status in his own country.
“Keiko, then. What has she done?” Tagama’s voice was agreeable, though Ryan knew a razor-sharp wire vibrated through it.
“She has stolen from me. You will find her.”
“I need more information.”
“You’ll get it yourself, and have Keiko and the—property—,” he paused for emphasis, “back here tonight.” Obake rose, a dismissal.
But he had one more knife to twist. He turned to his son. “We’re a few minutes late, but Wayne Harding and Larry Johns will wait.” His capped teeth gleamed against his tanned skin in a sneer. “I don’t want these people to make me late for my sunset swim.” He stood and rolled his oversized head in the direction of the Tagamas.
“Let’s go.” Steven Kudo sounded as if they were leaving excrement on the floor.
Though Ryan’s feet seemed to be cemented in place, he didn’t expect his father to sit still for this. Yet the older Tagama stayed in his chair until Obake and his son left the room. Ichiru Tagama’s expression betrayed no strain; he looked, if anything, thoughtful.
Ryan knew the names Obake had thrown at them. Larry Johns was Maui County Commissioner and Wayne Harding had just assumed the late Tom Peters’ position as Deputy Director of Liquor Control. He’d filled his boss’ shoes in no time.
Obake was letting Tagama know that his contacts had more power than any Tagama could scrounge together. His message was that few would believe Tagama if it came to Obake’s word against his. And even if they did believe Tagama, they’d be too afraid to say so.