Sayonara Slam (6 page)

Yuki didn't seem to recognize anyone—that is, until a woman in a flowing peach blouse stepped in front of him.

“What are you doing here?” he asked Amika.

“I was going to ask you the same thing.”

Yuki didn't answer and found an empty seat on the end of the front row. Mas opted to stand in the back. Amika, unfortunately, took her place right next to Mas. He chose not to acknowledge her existence.

A woman with a camera came by. While everyone else's cameras were large and had large lenses, hers was palm-size and conventional. And what was even more interesting was that she wasn't aiming her camera at Jin-Won. No, she was taking pictures of Mas and Amika. Mas recognized her—he'd seen her on the field at Dodger Stadium before Itai had died.

“Whozu dat?” Mas grudgingly asked his neighbor against the wall.

“Sally Lee. She's not with the media. She's part of a Korean women's advocacy group.”

Before Amika could elaborate, the press conference began. Sure enough, it was in Korean.

Amika seemed to understand the speaker, a middle-aged Korean man in a suit sitting next to Jin-Won.

“You knowsu Korean?” Mas asked.

“Some. I can get by.”

“Whatsu goin' on?”

“Jin-Won wants to join the major leagues.”

“Can he do dat?”

“He just told the Korean press that he wants to. He can be officially posted after this season. If his current team, the Unicorns, agrees.”

This was certainly news to the journalists, who looked electrified. Questions shot out from various corners of the room. Yuki, who was observing carefully, nudged the man next to him, who seemed to give him an update.

During this flurry, Mas noticed two new figures standing in the doorway of the meeting room. Two women. Neko and an older woman whom Mas had seen at Dodger Stadium.

“Whozu dat ole woman?” Mas asked Amika.

“What's it to you?”

“I'zu see her before. At Dodger Stadium.”

“You are very observant for a gardener.”

Mas's eyes widened. Why should Amika know that he was a gardener?

“Yuki and I talked a lot last night.”

That's not all you did
, Mas thought.

Mas wasn't the only one to notice Neko. Yuki was out of his seat and making a beeline for her.

Not good
, Mas thought. He tried unsuccessfully to divert the boy's attention.

“I didn't expect to see you here,” Yuki said to Neko in Japanese.

“I'm just here to support Jin-Won.”

“So is this part of your plan? He comes to America to be close to you.”

Neko frowned. “I'm in Hawaii. Hawaii is closer to Korea than most of the major league teams in America. He wants competition. He wants to play in the majors.”

“And I suppose his wife and baby will be back in Korea—quite convenient for the two of you.”

Neko, whose pale face was as smooth as that of a white peach, scrunched it into an awful grimace, as ugly as the
oni
devil mask that once adorned the Arai hallway. She pulled one of her arms back and unleashed a slap as loud as a thunderclap across Yuki's right cheek.

“Neko!” the old woman cried out, running to the pitcher's side. She cradled Neko's hands as if they were made of fragile glass.

“No worries,” the pitcher said in Japanese to the older woman. “I used my left hand.”

“You gotsu to stop.” Mas had pulled the boy into the hallway. He was making a complete
aho
out of himself.

“I'm in love with her,” Yuki said in Japanese.

That was obvious.

“She decide to go wiz Jin-Won, datsu her decision,” said Mas.

“She has a chance to become the first female major leaguer.”

“Whatsu dat to you?”

“I want her to succeed. I want her to achieve her dreams.”

Mas examined the boy's face.
Chikusho
. He was telling the truth. He was punch-drunk in love with that woman. “Youzu gotta get your head on straight. Find out what happen to Itai.”

Yuki took a deep breath, in and out. He paced the hallways and returned to Mas. “You're right,
Ojisan
. I need you to call.”

“Call who?”

“The coroner. Find out the status of the autopsy report.”

“Me?” Mas said in Japanese. Was Yuki
kuru-kuru-pa
?

“You'll be better at communicating than me. You're the one who's telling me to concentrate on work.”

Mas cursed. The boy was right. He couldn't get out of this one. After Yuki pressed in the number, Mas took the phone. “Hallo. I want to talk to coroner.”

“What is this regarding?”

Whatthehell was Itai's first name?

“I'zu reporter. From Japan.”

“You can leave a voice message with our press department.”

After some clicks, Mas explained that he was leaving a message. “Dis from Yuki Kimura,
Nippon Series
. Callin' about Mista Itai. Whatsu goin' on wiz him?”

Yuki took the phone from Mas and left his cell number.

Who knew if the coroner would respond back?

Yuki agreed that it would best to leave the Bonaventure
and stay clear of both Neko and Amika. They returned to the Little Tokyo hotel, where Yuki took a proper shower and then went shopping for fresh changes of clothes. He wasn't much of a shopper, to Mas's relief, and they ended up in a tiny gift store bordering the driveway at one of Little Tokyo's Buddhist temples.

Yuki's purchases in hand, Mas gestured toward the semi-hidden temple down the skinny driveway. “They have the Hiroshima Peace Flame in there,” he said in Japanese.

Yuki came to a dead stop on the sidewalk. “What do you mean, ‘flame'?”

“Someone carried it from Hiroshima,” Mas said, remembering an article in
The Rafu Shimpo
. “Still burning.”

“Can we see it?”

Mas shrugged. He wasn't much of a Buddhist, but he knew most of the priests around town were on the mellow side. Since Buddhists were the minority in the US, their doors were always open to newcomers.

The main sanctuary was locked, so they went to a side door to find the office. The priest, wearing a white shirt and tie underneath a solid brown kimono, looked familiar to Mas. He had a long face and eyes that looked both welcoming and sad. He must have officiated at one of the many funerals that Mas seemed to attend every other weekend.

“I understand you have the Hiroshima Peace Flame here,” Yuki said. “I am from Hiroshima.”

“Oh, really?” the priest said, almost as if he was expecting Yuki. He led them out of the office and into the darkened sanctuary. At the side of the main altar was an ornate gold
lantern shaped like a beer stein. A faint flame illuminated its center. “In the 1980s, the mayor of Los Angeles brought the flame over in ember form from the Hiroshima Peace Park,” the priest said. He'd obviously told this story before.

How could he bring fire on an airplane
? Mas wondered. He must have had to go through a lot of clearance for that.

Yuki put his hands together and bowed toward the light. This moment of reverence both touched and surprised Mas. The boy then stepped back and waited, as if he expected Mas to do the same. But Mas had experienced the flames of the Bomb firsthand. He felt no need to bow to it now.

As they walked back to the hotel, Mas remembered Mari's earlier offer. “Youzu can wash some of your dirty stuff at my house. My daughta invite you ova for dinner, anyways.”

Yuki seemed relieved for the chance to eat a home-cooked meal.
He didn't know what he was in for,
thought Mas. Mari was still in her healthy, no-rice, no-bread mode. In other words, a big pile of various raw greens with squares of fresh tofu.

Yuki's eyes widened as he stared at the white cubes on his plate on the dining room table.

“What, is something wrong?” Mari asked as she passed around some miso dressing.

The boy was smart enough to stay silent and shake his head no. Takeo, who was raised on raw, unsalted almonds and dried cranberries, happily began to eat, and so did Lloyd.

Mas felt the last bit of fat leave his body as he bit into
the fancy organic lettuce. Just what did his daughter want—for them to be a family of skeletons?

The doorbell rang, saving him from taking another forkful of salad. “I'll get it, Dad,” Mari said, pushing him back down in his seat.

Mas heard a familiar bright voice at the door and then, there she was. Genessee, with a casserole dish full of carbohydrates and cheese.

“Auntie Genessee!” Takeo called out. Even Lloyd was smiling. She was a favorite of the house, no doubt about that.

Yuki, on the other hand, looked utterly confused. He was probably taking in Genessee's Afro and dark skin. “Aunt-tee?”

“I'm Genessee Howard,” she extended her hand. “
Hajimemashite
. I'm Mas's, ah—”

“That's my father's girlfriend. You know, lady friend?” Mari interjected.

Mas wished that he could sink into the floor, right then and there.

“You didn't say anything about having a girlfriend,” Yuki said in Japanese to Mas. “What about my grandmother?”

“Who is his grandmother?” Mari understood at least that much Japanese.

“Akemi Kimura. We lived with Arai-
san
here.”

“What's going on?” Born on a US military base in Japan, Genessee, whose mother was from Okinawa, knew enough Japanese to get by.

Just then Yuki's cell phone rang.

Good timing
, Mas thought.

“Yes, waitaminute,” Yuki answered, gesturing for Mas to take over.

“Hallo.”

The voice on the other side was that of a man, probably a little younger than middle-aged. “This is the deputy coroner. I just want to inform Mr. Kimura about the cause of death in the case of Tomo Itai. It's definitely cyanide poisoning. Ingested a few minutes before he died.” He promised to email the report to Yuki's phone.

As promised, just minutes after Mas got off the phone, the email arrived. Yuki bent over the report on his screen, mouthing out the English words. Finally, Mari couldn't stand it any longer and grabbed it away. In about thirty seconds, she'd absorbed it all. “It was cyanide, Lloyd,” she told her husband. “He somehow got it into his system at the stadium.”

Yuki insisted that he be driven back to the hotel immediately to continue work on his investigation into Itai's murder.

“
Hai, hai
,” Mas said, digging out his keys from his front pocket. He was really starting to regret agreeing to be the boy's driver.

Yuki was already waiting by the Impala when Genessee got in front of Mas before he was out the door.

“I don't understand, Mas. Who is that young man?”

“Heezu nobody.”

“He's a journalist who is obviously investigating some kind of murder. And you look like you're involved in some way.”

Mas lowered his head.
Shimmata
. He'd been found out. He knew he should have been more forthcoming to Genessee, but that would have required energy. Energy that he couldn't muster. It was easier to operate in his usual mode. Avoiding the truth.

“I'zu his driver.” Mas didn't bother to add “translator,” because that would have made it all the more ridiculous.

“Did you have a relationship with that woman?” she asked.

“Huh?”

“I know you can hear me perfectly well. That woman. His grandmother. Akemi Kimura.”

“Same class as her brotha. Datsu all.”

“Why do I think that's not all?”

Embarrassed, Mas swung his gaze back to the living room to check if any of his family members were in earshot. They must have sensed that something was amiss, because the room was empty, yet all the dirty plates remained on the table.

“Mas, what are we doing? We aren't kids. I don't need a ring around my finger, but I do need something. Honesty, for one. Do you get what I'm saying?”