By my teens, I stopped going to class and started hanging with a group of rough Italian knuckleheads. That was when the mob found me. They started me as a runner—their little bitch servant. I took things here and there—money, drugs, and small packages of guns.
Later, I held my own during a tough delivery, shot someone, and broke another’s leg. Everything changed from then on.
They gave me a gun and told me to kill a guy named Fat Leroy. The man kept many guards around him but wouldn’t be so worried about a tall, skinny Japanese kid bringing him a Chinese food delivery. I asked Kevin to hack into Fat Leroy’s security cameras and shut them off, when I entered the building.
Fat Leroy was the first person I shot and killed.
My father was the second.
I did it the same night and with the same gun.
The next morning, my mother sat over my father’s dead body, crying. And the top boss of Chicago, Seymore paid me a visit.
Nothing else was the same.
The next day my mother left Chicago. I assumed she went to live with an aunt. None of them answered my phone calls. I never saw my mother again. I didn’t think she ever forgave me.
And I was no longer Yoshiro. At first the mob called me The Jap. Then it shifted to Tokyo Yo. That was too long for most, so everyone started saying Yo-yo. After several years, I became the highest-ranking Asian-American in their organization. They gave me more jobs and money.
But in the end, none of it was worth it. I lost all that mattered.
Shutting the Titty Palace’s door and even the memories of the past behind me, I gazed up at the dark sky. The weather had shifted to a whole new dimension. Fat lazy flakes fell down around me. The temperature had already dropped fast. A fierce, freezing wind blew past. There was a foot of new snow on the ground. I was glad I’d put on my boots before heading out this evening.
“I better get to the house.” I lifted up my trench coat’s collar and knew it would be an ugly, snowy night. The news had reported the storm would settle down this evening and remain for a week, maybe two.
I hope I don’t lose power.
There was nothing worse than sitting in a huge house by yourself, submerged in cold, darkness.
I headed to my car but stopped at the rowdy sound coming from behind me.
I turned.
Titty Palace’s door opened.
The two slicksters in the suits had not finished their trouble.
Struggling, Kevin dragged the first one out. “Come on, man. Keep your hands to yourself!”
“Fuck you!” The bearded guy slammed Kevin against the wall and headed right back to the club.
Are you kidding me? They were barely in there for five minutes.
The tall one ducked his head out and laughed.
I yelled. “Eh!”
All looked my way—Kevin and the two idiots.
“Here we go again.” The tall guy nudged his friend and stepped outside. “Hey, buddy. We gave this guy the money to get in.”
I looked at Kevin. “What now?”
Kevin frowned. “They went straight to the bar and grabbed Strawberry’s titts.”
Piece of shits.
The tall one pointed at the sign. “It’s the Titty Palace, not the House of God.”
I shook my head at Kevin. When he’d gotten the job, I knew he would suck at it. Half of the reason I’d come to the strip club every week was to look out for him. The manager saw a big, tall guy and assumed Kevin could hold his own. Too bad, Kevin’s specialty dealt with computers and nothing more. Kevin only did good at the Titty Palace because he usually dealt with a few rowdy drunks here and there. Anytime, more came his way, Kevin called me.
Glad I was here. If they’re going to feel up Strawberry, then they would’ve definitely done more to the other girls.
Sighing, I walked over to the men. “Go home.”
Kevin knew me well enough to give us all space. He backed up two feet. The other guys didn’t get the memo.
Inside, I’d given them a free pass. Unfortunately, people usually took kindness for weakness. While they might’ve caught the threat of violence in my eyes, once I let them go, they’d taken it for granted.
The tall one frowned. “Hey, man. We paid our money. We get to—”
“Go home.” Edge laced my voice. “You’re lucky I don’t break the hand that touched Strawberry.”
“Look, Ching Chong,” Beard guy snorted. “We paid our money and it’s a free country.”
I leaned my head to the side. “Ching Chong?”
Chuckling, the tall guy stepped up. “We don’t want any problems. We’re just two guys having a little fun.”
“Yeah, Ching Chong.” The bearded guy clearly had too many drinks. “We’re trying. You’re over here acting like you’re the last samurai or something.”
Studying them, I planned my next moves, anticipating no difficulty. They were drunk. I was sober. They had no real fighting experience. I’d grown up on the streets, battling idiots since I was nine. While I wished the tall guy was on my right to put him down first, I could possibly slam the little one into him.