Redemption Page 2

  “Go ahead, baby.”

  A tear left Jalen’s eye and then he rushed away.

  “You’re not going to leave me here.” Wyatt glared at me. “I’ll die! Ebony, don’t do this.”

  He lied. As much war as he’d seen, he would know what to do. He would figure it out. And in the end, it wouldn’t be so bad if he died.

  I inched away. “Leave us alone.”

  “E-ebony.” Spit trickled from his mouth. “Help me.”

  I edged back some more. “This is the last time you come for us.”

  His bottom lip quivered. In a rush, he stumbled as he got up and charged for me. “Bitch!”

  I pulled the trigger. A deafening sound came as the gun kicked back, almost making me hit myself. The bullet sank into his thigh. Blood spilled from the hole.

  I gasped.

  Oh my God. Oh my God. That’s okay. It’s alright. He can’t get up. It’s okay.

  “Leave us alone!” Tears stung my eyes. “Or the next time, I shoot you in your head!”

  Trembling, I ran off with the gun.

  I didn’t look back.

  I didn’t shut the door behind me.

  I yanked my keys out of my pocket, jumped in the car, started it, and drove us away.

  Chapter 1

  Ching Chong

  Yoshiro

  The strip club pulsed and pounded to the rock and roll music blasting from the speakers.

  I sat at the bar, studied the other men as they drank, and held my usual cup of tea—a chai blend. They probably gave me the only coffee mug within the entire place. Anytime I walked in, they went to the back and pulled the same one out.

  I tucked several loose black strands behind my ear. I’d stopped caring about my appearance so much that I hadn’t cut my hair in months. Now it was touching my shoulders. Eventually, I would have to get it together.

  Maybe, when the storm has forced me to stay inside the house.

  I returned to people watching.

  The club’s owner was named Harold. He called the strip club the Titty Palace and it was as high-end as the name. Not much glamour or ambience, but bare breasts for all to see. The bar ran long and narrow, taking up the whole right side of the space. A circular stage sat in the center with a shiny chrome pole that reached up to the ceiling. Small stools lined the stage, providing a closer look of the performing women. Mirrors covered the walls.

  The bartender Strawberry came to me. “Yoshiro, are you sure you don’t want anything stronger?”

  “Not tonight.” I gestured to the snow-coated window. “A storms coming. I don’t want to be drunk and stuck on the road.”

  Skepticism covered her face. “It doesn’t matter, if a storm is coming or not. You’re the only crazy man that consistently orders herbal tea in here.”

  “Are you saying you don’t like making it for me?”

  “I love it. I just wish you would let loose one of these times.” She leaned forward, exposing her deep cleavage. “Maybe have a few drinks and have fun with some of the girls.”

  “And why’s that?” I asked.

  “Because you always look so sad.”

  “And a drink will change that?”

  “Definitely.”

  I gave her a weak smile and sipped my tea. “Perhaps, next time.”

  “Yeah. Yeah.” She waved my comment away and walked off. “You’re hopeless, Yoshiro.”

  Strawberry thought she had the solution to my problems—pussy and a hard drink.

  She had no clue.

  How many drinks could make me forget the horror that haunted me? It would take so many that I would die from alcohol poisoning. Alcohol served as a temporary high. Once sober, reality would return.

  I’d already spent years in bars and clubs, hoping to run away from the pain. Few times the dread disappeared, only to reappear the next morning, sticking to me. Glued and fastened to my soul.

  What am I doing in here, anyway? Same old shit in this place, just another day.

  Sighing, I glanced around.

  Like any Wednesday in the nude bar, the place was half empty. And with the snowstorm coming, only the regulars had braved the roads and ventured to Titty Palace to see their favorite girls. It hadn’t been more than maybe twenty or so people throughout the night. Strawberry and Candy handled the bar. Five girls had took turns dancing on the stage. They were all named after cooking ingredients—Cinnamon, Sugar, Honey, Cocoa, and Ginger.

  The only thing I enjoyed was my seat at the bar. It was a third of the way into the room. Near enough to see who walked into the club. Far enough to be forgotten.

  I turned to the stage.

  Cinnamon finished her set. All brown and rich like the spice, she exuded a teasing beauty. Not many ethnic women lived in this part of the State. The uniqueness had gained her a decent fanbase. Several men crowded the stage, probably hoping for a private dance. Smiling, she gathered up her clothes along with the dollars and headed away.

  I checked the northern part of the club. Sugar guided a chubby guy to the back and disappeared among the green crystal curtain. There, she would provide a private show for a hundred dollars.

  The DJ shifted the song to one that was upbeat. “Now entering the stage, the hot and beautiful. . .Honey!”

  No one clapped, but a few sat up in their seats.

  Honey strolled up the steps to perform her third round of dancing for the evening. A few guys walked over and tossed her a dollar, before she even stepped on.

  Honey had been at the club for six months now. I wondered how long she would remain. Many of the girls didn’t strip here for longer than a year. Most made some quick money and pursued something else. Many headed off to college. The ones that stayed in this place usually ended up with a habit, eventually they left the club and moved to one of the nearest cities like Seattle or Portland to make extra money.

  Titty Palace stood on the outskirts of Southwest Washington. It was near a small town called Tenino. Not many people lived in the area. The population consisted of farmers, retired folk, and hippies yearning to live off-the-grid and as far as they could from civilization. The rest were like me—men and women running from something. People who just wanted to be left alone with their torrid past and haunting problems. Recluse. Loners. Outsiders by choice.

  I took a sip of the tea as Honey twirled her hips to the music.

  More men rose from their seats and brought over bills.

  So far, she was the top earner of the month. While she hadn’t made the money I did in my old days with the mob in Chicago, she’d earned enough to buy a new car and move into the small rental unit in my neighbor’s back yard.

  But to call him a neighbor was a stretch. Everyone lived on at least eighty acres, guaranteeing privacy, massive room for gardens, and even grazing ability for livestock. Many had cows, rabbits, chickens, and hogs. I just owned two big Huskies that had stumbled onto my property as puppies one night.

  Regardless, Honey moved near me—too close for my liking. I was sure it wasn’t intentional.

  However, a few mornings she had walked onto my property, came right up to my front door, and knocked. I never answered. If I’d wanted company, I would’ve lived closer to the city. And I’d never found out what she wanted. If I cared, I would’ve opened the door.

  On the stage, she watched me. Her body moved perfectly to the rhythm of the rock song blasting from the speakers. A man sat on the stool in front of the stage and waved a twenty dollar bill her way.

  She would get to him soon, but for now she kept her attention on me.

  I sipped my tea, enjoying the Chai blend.

  Honey raised her hands to her top and began to slip it away.

  That was the moment, I turned back around and signaled for Strawberry.

  She hurried over and rolled her eyes. “You want another Chai?”

  “No. Close me out.”

  Strawberry frowned. “You’re ridiculous. You’ve only been here for an hour.”

  “That’s long enough.” I rose and grabbed my trench coat.

  “Stay a little longer, Yoshiro.”

  “I’m bored.” I put the trench on.

  “With the titties? How can you be bored?”

  “Keep the change.” I dropped a twenty on the bar, waved goodbye, and headed away. There was no need to glance back at the stage. I could feel Honey watching me.

  Leave it alone, sweetheart.

  The new girls always wanted to test me. I never understood why. There were enough men in the club to garner all of their attention. Why focus on the one man that’s looking to be left alone?

  I approached the door.

  Two men emerged.

  They’d barreled past the Titty Palace’s big bouncer, Kevin—who happened to be my only friend. Tall, chubby, and white, Harold thought Kevin would be perfect for the job. Not much ethnic people came around, and Kevin’s big frame gave off the impression that he could do damage. Unfortunately, appearances tended to be deceiving.

  I looked at Kevin and gave him the unanswered question I always did.

  You need my help?

  With a grim expression, Kevin shrugged.

  I waited to assess the situation.

  I’d never seen the men before. They had a different attire than the regulars. Around here, men wore hiking boots, jeans, a thick flannel shirt, and jacket. These two had on expensive suits and polished leather shoes. It was pretty stupid to wear on a snowy evening around here, where there was more mud than pavement. One was tall, reaching my height of 6’2. The other was short with a long beard. They had that worn down look on their faces that working for over a decade brought. Due to that, both must’ve been around my age—mid-thirties.

  I wasn’t worried about getting shot at. The guys had no guns. Their suits proved it. Too tight to conceal weapons. And even if they had them, they didn’t look like they knew how to use them.

  Kevin glared the guys. “Hey, you two have to pay.”

  Ignoring Kevin, they continued on.

  I got in their way. “What’s going on?”

  They exchanged looks and then laughed.

  Kevin got to my side and helped me block them. “They want to see what the women look like first, before they pay.”

  I shook my head. “That’s not the rules. You pay, then enter the club.”

  The tallest one looked me up and down and snorted. “Are you the owner or something?”

  “Don’t worry about that.” I gestured to Kevin. “Pay him. Now.”

  The short, bearded one scowled. “Or what, Chinatown?”

  “I’m Japanese.” I stepped closer to him. “So, cut the Chinatown shit.”

  He backed away. “Don’t matter to me what you are. You all look the same anyway.”

  “Pay him.” I studied both of them.

  I’d seen their kind before. A narcissistic arrogance radiated off them. They were the sort of men that always got their way. I sniffed the liquor on their breaths. With the arrogance and liquid courage they could be a problem this evening.

  Neither spoke as they watched me.

  And I knew what they saw in my eyes. That I wouldn’t back down, if they pushed it. That I hadn’t broken a leg or shot a gun in a while and had been hungry to do it. That I enjoyed triggering pain in douchebags like them. That I often dreamed about torturing some and smiled as I did it.

  Both backed away.

  The tall one reached into his jacket, took out his wallet, and gave Kevin the money. “Here, man. We’re just trying to see pussy. Not fight.”

  “Too bad.” I winked. “I was hoping we would have some fun.”

  Suddenly, the bearded guy wasn’t so bad. He raised his hands. “Hey, man. Like my friend said, we just want to see some pussy.”

  “Enjoy.” I walked away.

  Chinatown? Are you fucking kidding me?

  Kevin called after to me. “Thanks, Yo-yo.”

  Stop calling me that.

  I shook my head and left the Titty Palace.

  Kevin knew me from my old life in Chicago. We grew up together. It all started in second grade during one lunch break. On the school’s playground, he’d snuck in a Spiderman comic book. I’d stolen gum from the store that morning. We bonded over superheroes and candy.

  Time passed, we grew up and remained tight. Although I hung with roughnecks and he became a nerd, we met each week with the same two things that connected us—comic books and candy.

  High school came. I dropped out and worked for the mob. Kevin’s mother died. His father worked two jobs. They still remained broke. Every now and then, I gave Kevin money to help me out on small jobs. I used him a lot. By then he was a computer whiz, able to get any address or hack into anybody’s phone. Jocks used to bully him. It took one time of me coming up to his school and breaking the Wide Receiver’s leg. After that, Kevin had no more problems.

  If someone wanted to find me, they could go to him.

  Years later, when I had to run from the mob, I took Kevin with me. By then, he’d buried both parents. Not much of a life, he worked at a small tech company that gave him a janitor’s salary. No girlfriends or other buddies. After me, his computer served as his best friend. But most important, the mob knew how tight we were.

  Allowing them to kill Kevin wasn’t an option. They had already murdered enough of the people I loved.

  Kevin ran out of Chicago with me. We landed in Tenino.

  After a week in town, I bought my huge property. He’d stayed in one of the many extra rooms in the massive house. Once he found the bouncer job at the Titty Palace, he saved up enough money and moved to a small apartment closer to the club.

  “Thanks, Yo-yo.”

  Kevin knew I hated that nickname, but he could never stop himself from letting it slip out that fat mouth.

  My mother had named me Yoshiro. It was Japanese for ‘good son.’ I still didn’t know, if I’d ever earned that name. My father had been an abusive drunk. He’d been a well-respected doctor in Japan. Due to war, they’d immigrated to America. His medical license held no worth in this country. The best job he could get was selling almost rotten fish on the side of the road in Chinatown.

  It turned my father into a drunken angry man. Too many times I watched from the shadows as he beat on my mother. As a kid, I didn’t do anything.

  Still, the anger for him rose inside of my young soul.

  I took that rage out onto the streets and within my school, constantly fighting and getting kicked out for bad behavior. My teachers expected the Asian stereotype—a nice, quiet nerd that was good in math and science. They told me to stay away from the black kids. That made me hang with them more.

  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.