Starting a fight…
I watched Misao out of the corner of my eye as she drove like a bat out of hell down the interstate. Her red Maserati was anything but low-key, but it fit her. She was like the car she drove, sleek, exotic, and fast. The young woman was both attractive and intriguing, and any other time, I might have allowed myself to enjoy her company, but in this case, she was a liability, one I could not afford.
“Where are we going?” I asked, feeling irritation rising.
She smiled and shifted into the next gear. “To a bar.” Her short reply left me unsatisfied.
I looked away, closing my eyes, and counting to ten. “Why are we going to a bar?”
She glanced at me. “So you can get arrested.”
This caught my attention. I regarded her in a different light. Perhaps this forthright female might be an asset after all.
“And?” I waited for her to continue.
She looked at me again, changing lanes in the process as she sped around the car in front of her. “Don’t you just hate it when people drag ass in the fast lane?”
I blinked as she cleared the slower vehicle and once again, crossed back into the left lane. Still, I remained quiet, waiting for her reply.
“And what? Once the police take you in, you’re on your own. I won’t see you again until morning. Then I’ll pick you up outside of the jail and drop you off at the airport.” She spoke in a matter-of-fact manner, one I usually appreciated, but since I didn’t seem to have much control over my current situation, I found her brief answers grating.
“You mean you haven’t planned this out to the last detail? Exactly what am I going to be arrested for, Miss Nakamura?”
She smirked. “Misao. We are not so formal here in Texas. And since we’re going to a bar, I thought you might have figured that about by now. A little drunk and disorderly? Nothing a night in the can won’t fix. I’ll have a few with you, let everyone see you drinking, and then we’ll argue. I’ll leave, and you stay on, drinking more. Get loud, toss a few chairs, kick a table, sing strange Japanese songs, curse me, but let the clientele see you drunk, or acting drunk. Actually, you’ll have to be somewhat drunk for the police to lock you down for the night. They’ll breathalyze you, so you need to blow at least a .08. After that, it’s all up to you. Mr. Tatsuhiko was very firm that you operate alone.”
I contemplated her words. It was pretty much how I’d planned to get myself thrown into jail, albeit, I’d planned to be alone. Having her there added a layer of reasoning, an authenticity that I might not have otherwise.
She slowed down as she exited the off-ramp. “I’ll give you my cell number. Use that as your one phone call. I’ll contact the jail and let them know you’re staying with me, drop daddy’s name and position. He’s quite well positioned within the San Antonio business community, and we do a lot of charity benefits for the police department. I’ll let them know I’ll be there to pick you up in the morning. Pay any fine to the bar necessary for whatever you decide to break.”
“How do you know about what I do? What Tatsu does?” I was amazed by how her mind worked, but more so, I was confused at how she was involved in such dealings.
“Mr. Hattori, I have not asked about your business, simply accepted it. Please do me the same courtesy.” She drove into the heart of downtown, slowing in the traffic. “I am here to help. Accept my help, and everything will go smoothly.”
I digested her words and looked at her again. She seemed sure of herself, wearing a mantle of self-composure rare for one her age. I began to re-evaluate Misao. There was more to this lovely woman than met the eye.
I remained quiet for the rest of the journey. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a small up-tilt to Misao’s lips. It was a self-satisfied smile, barely detectable to most people, but I was not most people. My training had taught me to pick up on the smallest of nuances emitted by those around me. I knew better than to respond. So did she, but her action gave her away. Although intelligent and obviously bold, even seemingly capable, she still had not mastered masking her thoughts and emotions completely. Whatever role she fulfilled with Tatsu, she was still a novice. It reinforced my own personal ethic of working alone. If she could not control such a small emotion as gloating, then how might she survive in far more volatile situations? Worse, her tells could put others working with her in danger. When this was all said and done, I was going to have a long talk with my old friend about her future.
“We’re here.” Misao pulled to a stop along the curb on W. Houston Street.
I looked up at a worn-down, metal sign that read, ‘Gordo’s Cantina.’ It was a dive bar set between a hole-in-the-wall restaurant, Mexican food, of course, and a tourist shop filled with t-shirts, multi-hued sombreros, and all things Texas. Music blared from inside the bar, competing with more music coming from the dingy restaurant next door. Both were colorfully ethnic, but I could not distinguish the talent, being uneducated in Tejano artists. It wasn’t my forte. I knew jazz, but Latino music eluded me despite my years in New York where Puerto Rican tunes were as much a staple as the cuisine in certain neighborhoods.
“Shall we?” Misao offered a cheeky look before stepping out of the car.
I followed suit, standing on the curb where I removed my jacket, holding it over one arm. I offered her my elbow. “We shall.”
She took my arm and leaned in. “This is the central substation precinct, as close as I could find to Bexar County Jail.”
I glanced down, side-stepping a crack in the cement sidewalk. “And you’re sure that is where they will take me?”
She nodded. “You’re a visiting foreigner. It’s where they’ll book and hold you for the night. I’m sure they’ll also be running a thorough background check on you as well.” Misao pinned me with an enquiring look.
“No worries. All my documents and identification will pass inspection.” I knew my alias would not only protect me, but also Kenji and his daughter should anyone ask. They had no more clue as to my true identity than the police would have in a few hours.
“Good to know, Jin’ichi.”
I reached out to open the door, allowing Misao to walk in ahead of me. The light dimmed as the door closed behind me. Thick smoke filled my nostrils, and the clinking sounds of glasses and the crack of billiard balls breaking greeted my ears. Heard over all of that was the din of voices and loud Tejano music blaring a face-paced accordion piece punctuated by yelps I would learn later are called ‘gritos.’
The colors inside ranged from faded red to green with a dirty black and white tiled floor that had seen better days. Black leather barstools on rusted metal legs lined the bar, and rustic wooden tables and chairs filled the floor space nearest the front door. Three pool tables occupied the back of the bar. There was a back door, propped open to help ventilate the smoky interior.
“We should sit at the bar. The more people who see you, the better.” Misao led the way, sauntering in a way meant to appear casual, but drew the eyes of every man within like a magnet.
I followed, surveying the room, and assessing each individual, where they were situated, their size, facial features, and levels of intoxication. Towards the back of the room, three men played a game of pool while four women sat on stools against the wall watching. The men wore motorcycle club vests. Bandidos. Two were short and portly, appearing slovenly, while the third was taller, and had a mustache and goatee, with a shaved head. There were tattoos on his scalp, a tear drop tat under his right eye, filled in, which told me he’d killed someone, and crosses on his knuckles along with three dots on the right hand between his thumb and forefinger. This beauty had done time living ‘la vida loca’. All his ink was of the jailhouse variety, a combination of soot, pen ink and low-grade prison shampoo creating a faded, greenish or charcoal shade. I caught his eye and pinned him with a look before deliberately glancing away, returning my attention to Misao. His eyes followed the path of my own, landing on her. It was exactly as I intended.
“So, what shall we drink?” I asked, placing my jacket over the back of the barstool.
Misao caught the bartender’s eye, a young Latino gentleman with a few tattoos of his own, purchased from some reputable parlor as they were artsy, and not even remotely gang related. She waved him over. The young man straightened his black, death metal t-shirt, and made his way to our end of the bar.
“What’s your poison, Jin’ichi?” she asked.
I thought about it. A single malt Scotch would be welcomed, as would a fine Bordeaux, but this was a cheap bar on the south side of San Antonio. I glanced sideways, raising an eyebrow. “Cerveza?”
She sighed. “Boring, but will get the job done,” she mumbled under her breath. I silently agreed. Misao smiled, oozing warmth and friendliness. “Can I get two of your finest Cervezas for me and my friend here? Oh, and two Patron shooters.”
The bartender grinned. “You got it, pretty lady.” He pulled down a couple of beer mugs and drew two cold ones on tap, and then proceeded to fill two shot glasses with Tequila.
When he returned with our order, she placed her credit card on the bar. “Please open a tab. We’re celebrating.”
The bartender took her card, running it through a machine. “Oh yeah? What’s the occasion?”
Misao lifted her shot glass. “It’s my friend’s first time in the Alamo city.” She waited while I picked up my own, and then clinked her glass against my own. “Cheers,” she said, and tossed it back.
I swallowed the amber liquid down, feeling the burn as it slid smoothly down my gullet. Expelling a breath, I picked up the beer and chased the Patron with the cold brew.
“Another, por favor!” she laughed, slamming her shot glass down on the bar.
The bartender poured out two more shots and eyed me.
“You might want to take it easy with these.” His glance slid back to Misao. “Your friend doesn’t look like he’s used to the hard stuff, but I’m here for you if you need a ride later. I get off at seven.” He winked and left us to tend to the Bandido who was holding up his hand, beckoning.
Misao laughed, and turned, facing me. “Well, Jin’ichi, you now have a rival.”
I looked over her shoulder, locking eyes with Prison Tats. It seemed like the most appropriate name for him. “No, not the bartender. He’s the witness, not the target.”
Misao shrugged. “Who, then?”
I returned my attention to her, and entering into character, grinned, and spoke in broken English, “Two more, and a round a pool, yes?” I hailed our unsuspecting bartender and tapped my shot glass on the worn wooden bar. “More Tequila, if you please.” Then, I reached out, grabbing Misao’s hand, and tugged her along behind me as I made my way toward the back of the bar, to the open pool table next to the man I intended to piss off and goad into a fight.
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