Page 12 of The Dragon 1 (Tokyo Empire #1)

Chapter eight

Lychee and Looming Death

Nyomi

Zo’s entire place was one-fourth the size of my apartment back home in Brooklyn and consisted of a kitchenette, micro-hotel sized bathroom, living room that held no space when the futon was spread out, and a bedroom that most westerners would call a walk-in closet.

Everything was divided by sliding doors and decorated in a white-on-white palette—cream-colored carpet, vanilla walls, ivory fixtures, and milky toned furniture that cost more than a month’s worth of my royalties.

A set of abstract white canvases hung above the futon, and they were barely distinguishable from the walls unless the light caught them just right. They were minimalist, super expensive, and probably done by some dead artist Zo worshipped.

That being said, I loved his apartment more than my own.

The only thing I didn’t like about his spot was that he paid over three thousand dollars a month due to its location.

It was in Omotesandō, the fashion district of Tokyo. All the top designers, modeling agencies, and foreign brands had offices here. Therefore, Omotesandō wasn’t just stylish—it was strategically ideal for networking and being seen.

Think paparazzi, client meetings, afterparties, and international brand visibility.

Being that Zo made his living as a fashion critic and freelance stylist for the rich, location won out over size.

His neighbor on the left was a retired pop star.

On the right, a designer who’d dressed Beyoncé for two different tours, and right across from his door, a woman who owned part of the Chanel brand.

From his window in the morning, I could always see a parade of Tokyo’s elite—actors, models, fashion editors, tourists with too much money—strutting down the tree-lined boulevard like it was a catwalk.

Basically, his spot was the kind where stress felt like it should be left outside the door.

Too bad, Zo hadn’t gotten the memo this evening.

“We’re going to die!” Zo paced back and forth in his tiny living room, barely stepping five feet before having to turn around.

I sighed. “I wonder how I’m going to get my recorder back.”

He paused and scowled at me. “Really? That’s the only thing that’s on your mind? Word of advice? You needed a new one anyway.”

“I don’t need a new one.”

“Kenji is going to punish you for what you did.”

Oh God.

“I don’t think so,” I shook my head. “I believe that if he was going to do anything, he would have already done it.”

“Or he’s taking his time thinking of a proper torture plan.”

“Please, relax.” I flexed my bare toes and sipped my drink.

I’d learned from our years of friendship and short dating that Zo needed time to freak out. It took him minutes to travel on his darkened path of hysteria. Once he got to the mid-point, sweat dripped down his red-tinted face.

In those moments, I reeled him back into reality, calming sentence by calming sentence.

We'd dated for three whole weeks before mutually calling it off. If anyone asked me why we stopped, I would say due to his inherent ability to absolutely not enjoy himself.

He would say it all came down to my recklessness.

A perfect date for Zo was dinner and a movie in the safe confines of his home.

For me, jumping out of a plane rushed to my mind first. Afterwards, we'd just let the wind take us to the next journey.

God, I hope I’m right. Has Kenji forgotten my crazy behind by now?

I checked my watch.

It’s been three hours. We should be safe.

Zo shrieked. “We’re going to die!”

“Hey, please calm down. Stressing each other out is not going to save us.”

When Zo and I broke up, we stopped communicating for a week. Seven days without talking to him had been excruciating. He'd ended the silence by calling and saying, “we may not be compatible but you damned sure are something I need in my life.”

Then, he invited me over to his place for a quick chat and to watch one of his favorite shows. Soprano reruns if I remember correctly. Italian mafia drama and wine was how we began our friendship. After so many years, neither of us ever looked back or even tried to do anything physically.

“Did you have to knee him? Really!” Zo shrieked again, bringing me back to the present. “I should have never left you alone!”

“I didn’t mean to—”

“But you just couldn’t help yourself?” He stomped back and forth, back and forth, leaving prints of his long, bare feet on the thick carpet. “He's going to kill us.”

“It's going to be okay.”

“Never. We'll be dead by dawn.”

“Or fine and alive.”

“No way.”

“Yes, way.”

He raised his hands in the air. “You kneed the Dragon!”

“Really? The Dragon? Stop saying that.”

“The odds of us surviving are not in our favor.”

“We're full of luck, man. Nothing's going to happen.”

Zo raised his fists in the air and shook them. “You kneed the bloody Dragon! I had no idea it was really him until I got a good look at that face. I mean, who can forget a face like that? It’s like the devil himself chiseled it.”

“This sake is amazing, by the way.” I took another sip and crossed my legs. “Is this lychee?”

Zo glared at me. “You know damn well it’s lychee. You were with me when I bought the wine yesterday. You tasted it last night. You had a sip before we went out this evening. You know it’s lychee! We’re going to die and you’re talking about fruit-flavored sake.”

“You have to relax.”

“You kneed the Dragon in his groin!”

I hit my forehead. “Please stop calling him that.”

“Why?” Zo returned to pacing. “Everyone else in Japan calls him that!”

“I’m sure other people are referred to as the Dragon besides Kenji Sato. I mean, I see images of dragons all over the place, on book covers, titles in movies, shirts, and jackets. Surely someone else uses this name.”

Zo paused and stared at me with an open mouth. “Yes, but he is the Dragon. Google him!”

“No.”

“Are you afraid to see the news reports of unsolved murders? Gang activity? His name being brought up as they report shootings all over the red-light district?” Zo’s pacing increased as he grabbed the hair on the sides of his head.

“Soon as we walked into the office, I recognized him from TV. He’s always on there.

If not for crime stuff, then he’s walking around with actresses and attending big fashion events.

He’s been photographed with every Japanese actress worth knowing.

Rumor is, one of them disappeared right after they broke up, I had no idea he owned Castle in the Sky. ”

“We’ll be fine.”

“Google him!”

“Nope,” I gulped down the rest of the sake. “That would probably ruin this awesome sake. Lychee, right?”

“You kneed him like he was an average guy, like he was some nobody named Jerry from Topeka, Kansas. And then you run off as if he’s Billy Bob from Montana like you may never see him again—”

“I don’t know any of those people,” I leaned back on the futon, “But I bet Jerry or Billy Bob wouldn’t have groped my face with his mouth upon meeting me. Most Midwest guys have manners.”

My skin still tingled where his mouth had brushed it. No man had ever made me want to burn him and kiss him in the same breath.

Zo wiped the sweat from his forehead. “You told him your name. His manager, Jun, probably checked you out. The Dragon knows who you are now. Did you tell him my name?”

“No.”

“Okay. So I’m safe.”

“But. . .remember you told him your name.”

“Goddamn it! I did. Didn’t I?”

“Yes, but I still think we’re both safe.” I shrugged. “I kneed him, not plundered and pillaged his family’s village. His hands and lips were all over me. I asked him to move. He didn’t. Where I’m from, when a guy gets too touchy, you knee him and search for your mace.”

“You’re not in New York. You’re in Tokyo,” He covered his face with his hands. “There is great care in showing respect to people here—”

“Respect? Well, I wouldn’t know that from his actions. He was being rapey.”

“Do not say the Dragon was being rapey.”

“Fine.”

“This culture is all about saving face. Not embarrassing people. Did his men see him hunched over and screaming?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Fuck!” He held his stomach.

“Are you going to vomit?”

“I might after I have a heart attack.”

I grabbed the sake. “So then you won’t mind if I finish the bottle?”

“Who cares about the damn bottle?! Maybe I’m just freaking out. Maybe it’s okay,” Zo pointed at me. “He called you Tora. That’s tiger in Japanese. Tigers are a symbol of courage here and they’re in lots of Zen parables. This could be a good thing.”

I burped. “Tigers also have claws.”

He opened his mouth and stared at me. “Why is that good? Claws? For God’s sake, Nyomi.”

“I’m just being helpful.”

“If you want to be helpful then leave a gang leader’s penis alone. You know his father is like the head of one of the biggest gangs here? I think it’s Yamaguchi. That’s the biggest one. Dear God, please say it’s not that one. I’ll have to research this.”

“Maybe it won’t be—”

Someone knocked at the door.

We both went silent and froze.

Zo tiptoed and turned off the lights.

I set my glass on the white table in front of me and checked my watch.

It was close to midnight.

More knocking came.

This time it was louder.

Zo dove to the ground and mouthed some incomprehensible words like I could easily understand a string of silent sentences in the dark and after drinking two glasses of sake.

“What?” I whispered.

“Shh.”

The knocking continued.

We must've waited for five minutes before the person on the other side coughed and began to speak.

“Please open the door,” A light male voice drifted from the other side. “I know someone is in there. I heard screaming earlier. If I don’t give you this gift then I’m going to have a pretty bad night. Please open the door.”

I rose.

Zo grabbed my arms and pulled me back to him. “How do we know it’s not a trick?”

I snatched my arm away from him. “Because if Kenji is truly as bad as you say he is, we would’ve already been dead. Why wait for someone to nicely knock on the door at midnight, posing as a gift giver?”

On the other side of the door, the person banged louder. “Please, Ms. Palmer. You’re to sign for this.”

He said my last name.

I tensed. My fingers shook a little.

Zo tossed me an I-told-you-so look and then he chewed on his right thumbnail. “What do we do now?”

“I’m going to grab my mace and open the door.”

“I don’t think mace will be enough. He’s the damned Dragon.”

Really?

“Look,” I said. “Dragon or not, if my knee can bring him down, I bet mace could do the job too and that doesn’t sound like him out there. It’s another person.”

“An assassin maybe. . .”

“An assassin? Knocking?” I pointed in the other direction. “Just go in the bedroom.”

Zo widened his eyes.

“Look. I don’t think anything will happen, but if something does, climb out your window and get help.”

“Climb out my window?” Zo frantically shook his head. “Are you mad? We’re on the second floor.”

“You can leap or something.”

“Leap?”

“Just go hide,” I stepped around Zo, picked up my mace from my bag, and headed to the front door.

Poor Zo. How can somebody so huge be so scared all the time?

Anytime he stayed at my place in Brooklyn, he jumped and shrieked when he heard a popping noise or the police sirens blaring by as if I lived in a crack den in the center of the hood.

“Nyomi, maybe I should stay.” Still, he edged away from me.

Yeah, right.

I turned to him. “Just go. I’ll be fine.”

I wasn’t fearless. I was just good at lying to my own heart. But my hands. . .they always told the truth. And they were shaking.

“Okay,” Zo rushed to the bedroom and slid the door closed.

I shook my head.

What a hero. . .