Two Halves Whole Read online

  “Sometimes I like going to the shops in Richmond or Chinatown and blowing minds with my perfect Mandarin.” Damon grinned toothily. “It’s like ‘yo, I know what you said!’ and they’re like ‘whoa, your accent is so good’!’”

  "Are you totally fluent?" Ryu asked.

  "Pretty much." Damon’s smile faded, and something about his tone sounded sad. “But you know…it’s hard sometimes. I guess ‘cause of how I look, everyone expects me to be a certain way. The dreads don’t help, right? But I don’t fit with the Asian kids, the black kids, the Asian-and-white kids… of course, being black and Jamaican is awesome, but it’s like I got to pick sides. Can’t I just be both?”

  “Pick sides…” Ryu had never thought of it that way before.

  Damon gave a small, dismissive shrug. “I guess since you look fully Asian, it’s obvious which side you pick. But, what is your other half anyway?”

  “Dunno.”

  “Not at all? Aren’t you curious?”

  “Nope. But I never chose a side. It was decided for me.”

  Ryu stared into space. This was the second time in the last few weeks that his parents had come up. His father was yakuza, a gangster who had died doing the usual gangster things. But no one from the White Flower Syndicate, not Katsuo, not Matsumoto, not even Matsumoto’s wife, ever spoke of Ryu’s mother. His mother was a gaijin, a foreigner in Japan. She’d either been a prostitute or a junkie. No one with any sense at all, let alone a foreigner, wilfully got tied up with yakuza. And what kind of mother would leave her child to be raised by other gangsters? It’s not like she could've been a saint. Knowing this, Ryu wasn’t interested in learning about who she was. It wasn’t like it changed things anyhow.

  Ryu glanced back at Damon. He’d been quiet. Deep in thought, probably.

  "Does it bother you? That you'll never really be one or the other?" Ryu asked.

  "Nah," Damon said, snapping out of his daze and waving a hand. "I've stopped caring what others think. I've accepted it. My philosophy is, like, part Taoist, part Rasta. Best of both worlds."

  “How does that work?"

  "Being Rasta is about peace, unity… Taoism is about finding balance. Action without action."

  "Which means?"

  "You let things happen as they must. You don't fight nature. Or I guess, sometimes fighting isn't the best way to get ahead. There's a book called Tao te Ching, The Way…"

  Ryu scrunched his face. "Why couldn't you read something useful? Like Art of War or something?"

  Damon smirked. "How come I just knew you'd say that?"

  By seven o’clock, the boys had had enough for the evening and parted ways. Both of them lived within walking distance of the East Side basketball court. Ryu thought it was nice to hang out after school, though it left something of a void inside of him as he made his way towards 983 Wood Valley Crescent. That lonely walk in the dark made it clear how much he had needed Damon's company. Anyone’s really. Ryu hated going straight home after school, and now he no longer had those so-called friends from the Academy as a distraction. It looked like Seth and Ryu weren’t going to be on good terms for a while, if ever again. But Ryu figured he’d cut his losses. Seth had shown himself to be a self-righteous poser like everyone else. He had no right to tell Ryu off over things he knew nothing about, and to think he'd call Ryu a hypocrite because Ryu had tried to warn him about dating Gabrielle. Ryu knew she'd dump Seth eventually, he just never believed it would happen so soon. And what those two had was in no way the same as what was going on between him and Haruna—

  Because nothing was going on between him and Haruna.

  Sure, Ryu had a thing for her now. But all that stuff Seth said about Ryu being “crazy” about her, that he’d “always” been?

  Ryu shook his head thinking about it.

  Haruna was weird, loads weird, but she was easy on the eyes. So Ryu was pretty sure his attraction to Haruna was only that—an attraction. Chemistry. Certainly, finding out she’d dumped her boyfriend felt good. Okay, great. It felt great. So whenever he was around her, he ended up doing the dorkiest things. He even said things he wasn’t sure he meant. But flirting with her was kind of fun. He’d borrowed the same tactics he’d seen some of the older Syndicate guys use on their own flings. It was easy. Hilariously, so. Besides, he’d already guessed she liked him a little even if she herself hadn’t figured it out yet.

  Hm. Maybe Seth was half-right? Ryu did want something. He probably wanted a lot more than what being just friends could offer. But an actual relationship wasn’t it. Ryu wanted nothing of the sort. It was decided long ago.

  He didn’t have time for girls.

  Once at the house, Ryu announced his return. Tired, he slipped off his shoes and lumbered past the sitting room for the kitchen. He spied Clyde, Bradley, and Albert huddled in a small clump at the base of the staircase, their faces long and voices muffled. Upon his entry, they fell silent. Ryu didn't need to ask what was going on. His hard stare on them was enough for them to know they had explaining to do. Albert obediently slouched to the front, rubbing his neck.

  “So, uh, Dan. He didn’t come home.”

  Ryu knitted his brows. “What do you mean ‘he didn’t come home’?”

  “He went out around five o’clock… No one’s heard from him since,” mumbled Bradley.

  “Kit went to check with the police. You know, ‘cause Dan might be…” Clyde’s voice cracked, and he didn’t finish.

  So that’s what it was. Dan was missing. How would Katsuo react at a time like this? As their superior and older brother, their senpai and aniki, Ryu needed to be tough.

  “Then what are you guys moping around for? I’m sure he’ll turn up or whatever. Go train or do your homework or something.”

  The boys exchanged confused and annoyed looks. Bradley stepped towards Ryu, fire alive in his eyes.

  “How can you jus' say it like that?” he hollered. “Dan could be hurt! Or dead!”

  Overdramatic much?

  “Don’t be stupid,” Ryu said.

  “How’s it stupid? Every day that we go out there we risk dying! It ain’t like Dan to just disappear!” Clyde argued.

  Ryu crossed his arms. “So what then? Suppose he’s dead. You think your whining will bring him back?” He then flung his arms to his sides. “People disappear. People die. Get used to it.”

  The boys parted as Ryu marched through them for the staircase. He could feel their glares scorching on his back. They were angry with him—so what? These kids failed to understand that this was how things were. Why hadn’t they accepted it yet? At some point, all of them would have to see or hear things they didn’t want to. At any time, any of them could be targeted or go missing.

  Ryu stopped short of his bedroom door. It was closed and some pretty awful music reverberated out from the inside. An electro-metal-Beethoven mash-up accompanied by whiny screamo vocals—an unholy combination Ryu didn’t even know existed until that very moment. Damn. Seriously, Tyler? Ryu turned with a groan, opting to go elsewhere. He walked until he found the hidden staircase leading to the attic. He swatted away a spider web and meandered about in the dim until he found an old, beaten-down couch to crumple onto.

  None of the boys were allowed in there, so this was the one place in the entire house where Ryu could be left alone. Yuan had been the first one to figure out how to pick the lock, but his only interest in the attic was for finding solitude himself. Yuan hated being around too many people for too long. The only other one among them who'd managed to find a way in was Albert, who'd sneak in once in a while to take selfies of himself posing with one of the katana stored there. Albert imagined he was some kind of samurai. A pretty cool thing, actually, the samurai. It was a shame that it was a far cry from what they actually were.

  Ryu closed his eyes.

  Ever since Ryu had injured his leg, most of the boys had been forced to take on more work, making up for what he used to do between the big jobs
. He knew what everyone was really thinking. They blamed him for the added pressure. Blamed him because if he had been out there instead, Dan would be with them right now.

  But it wasn’t Ryu’s fault.

  Heaviness squirmed in Ryu's insides. It was like the time Julian had gone missing. There had been ten boys in the house then, and Ryu was the fifth oldest after Tyler. After Ryu was Albert, and after Albert was Julian. Julian was the weakest of all of them. He was often winded after doing very little and couldn't keep up with the others in training. He was a slow-learner and a little chubby, too. As it turned out he also had asthma. Ryu always felt a need to look out for Julian, though he wasn’t sure why. So he taught the kid things he struggled with after Katsuo had pummelled him for being too slow or lazy to learn the first time. Gave him encouragement. And on a day like today, Julian didn’t come home. They later discovered he’d been beaten black-and-blue by members of the Rooster Kingz gang, Triad affiliates. Months later, Ryu had been the one to suggest they go back and fight, just the two of them. Ryu had been the one to promise payback—but Ryu hadn’t been strong or smart enough to deliver. Ryu hadn’t anticipated the ambush that would come. He hadn’t anticipated that brush with death. His first brush with Szeto.

  The tears started before Ryu could think to stop them.

  “It’s not your fault, Ryu-kun. This is life.”

  Ryu could still hear Katsuo’s words in his ears from that night. Ryu remembered being inconsolable, borderline hysterical with rage. Why had he been the one to make it out of there? Why had he survived when Julian hadn’t? Ryu still couldn’t understand what had happened; but through it all, Ryu had been made to believe that one who helped his brother out, one who always did his best, was honourable. If something bad happened, something beyond his control, there was no use dwelling on it. There was no use blaming himself. The strongest survived. Julian wasn’t strong. Life goes on.

  Yuan had come to the house in 2010, just last year. He'd replaced Julian.

  As if it were possible to simply replace people.

  Ryu wasn’t sure he felt blameless or honourable at all.

  How can you live with yourself?

  Seth’s question. Ryu wasn't sure of the answer. He just didn’t know.

  Ryu glared bleary-eyed into the distance, spotting the faint glimmer of a razor blade. It was the blade Szeto had cut him with. Everything was stored in the attic, including the weapons they’d recovered from brawls and shakedowns. Ryu rose to his feet and shuffled over to the crate where it lay. He took it into his hand. Studied it. He watched the faint ripple of his own reflection. Ryu was strong, but if he had been stronger… he wouldn’t twice have been rendered helpless against a cocky, dumb, hot-headed thug like Szeto. Ryu was smart, but if he had been smarter… Julian would still be there. Dan would be there. And everyone would stop giving him flack for things that happened—because this was the real world and things happened in the real world—things Ryu thought he understood but didn’t understand at all.

  Ryu's shoulders shook. His chest heaved. He clenched his jaw.

  Pathetic.

  What warrior—what man cried like this? But he couldn’t stop it. For three agonizing weeks, he’d been deprived of fighting, unable to train, spar, or make good use of his Glock. For three long weeks he’d been deprived of the few outlets he had, the things that made him feel alive when so much left him numb. Ryu’s grip around the blade tightened. He could feel its jagged edges leave impressions in his palms. One swipe. One clean swipe and all of this could be over. Ryu was an assassin. He knew exactly how to do it, how to do it correctly, how to make it end as quickly as possible. The house guardians, Katsuo Kazama and Claudia Tanaka, would find him the next morning lying in a pool of red. He'd be branded a quitter, but all of this would be over.

  He would be free.

  Ryu turned over his wrist. He sunk the blade in and drove it along his arm. Slow. Careful, as though carving something elegant. The burn was white-hot. Blood oozed from his flesh. It hurt. But in spite of the pain, in spite of the blood that he watched with fascination, watched drip and land in dark splotches on the old, dusty floor, Ryu felt satisfied. He’d been careful not to cut the vein. He wasn’t ready to go, not yet. He couldn’t let Katsuo down or disgrace his father’s legacy going out like this. But for now, Ryu had discovered it like an old friend. The release he’d been searching for.

  Marie was uncomfortable, to put it mildly.

  Saturday was as grey as ever. It was much too early for Christmas shopping, but Christmas shopping was a welcome diversion from the fact that it was still November, still this bloody awful month. But visiting the homely boutiques of the downtown shopping district on this dull, overcast day was not the problem.

  The problem was Annette.

  "Magnifique!" she exclaimed, her bejewelled, aged fingers tugging a Ralph Lauren sweater from its rack. "Handsome, yes? I think Emmanuel will like this one."

  Marie gave a weak nod, her lips forming a tight smile. "It’s lovely, but then again I know very little about what's fashionable for young men these days."

  Annette laughed. "That’s right. You’ve had only daughters. Men aren't like women. For them, the classics never change. For Emmanuel, for Michel, it is of no difference."

  Marie gave a small shrug. Michel Lacroix, Annette's son, was in his forties now, if Marie recalled correctly, but Annette loved to spoil him and her grandson just the same. Marie didn't like the idea of spoiling children. She had spoiled Grace when she was alive—with things, not affection. What a disaster that had been. Marie wondered how differently things might have turned out if she had had a son instead. Especially one as loyal as darling Michel. Boys loved their mothers more.

  A melody sounded, Celine Dion’s Sous le Vent. Annette juggled her shopping backs along her arm and removed her phone from her handbag.

  “Ah, one second. Oui, allô?”

  Marie gave a polite wave, taking the opportunity to find herself a seat as Annette took her call. As she sat on a bench, Marie observed the well-dressed patrons, arms swinging with purchases. Christmas shopping must have started early for everyone. The spirit was alive and well, but Marie didn't feel any Christmas cheer. Who knew how long she sat? Static. Pensive. The shuffling of footsteps and bags alerted her to Annette's return. A miserable scowl was on her face.

  “That was Renée. Complaining again," she said. She sunk down beside Marie, hints of Chanel No. 5 wafting off her neck scarf. She sighed wearily before dumping her purchases on the bench and setting her handbag on her lap.

  “Your daughter? How is she?” Marie asked.

  “The usual thing, you know. She and her husband have been, arguing—oh my gosh—back and forth and back and forth… I keep telling her that it’s from all of the medications. Such awful things—so many side effects.”

  “Medications?”

  Annette nodded, weary-eyed. “Oh, yes—Ioudas gets a pain in his joints, you see—he injured himself when he was young. He was active, a big athlete. Like Emmanuel with the hockey. I told him he needs to try something else. Renée, she also tells him this, but you know the withdrawals are very bad. And that man never listens.”

  Marie frowned. “So his problem is now from the withdrawals, not the side effects?”

  “Yes, that’s it! Like you know, he gets anxious and irritated. Sometimes he won’t eat. Sometimes he can’t sleep… I think for a city councillor that should not be.”

  Marie knitted her brows. Odd. Not being able to sleep? That sounded like the opposite side effect of any pain medication she knew. In fact, none of what Annette described sounded like a man who had stopped using drugs; rather, a man who had switched to a drug of another kind.

  “So what does he do for the pain now?” Marie asked, assembling a look of polite concern.

  “He likes to do the massage, here and there. Saturday night he’s over there at the massage parlour.”

  Marie froze. “On the East Side
of town?”

  "Oh, you know it? I hear a few of the other local politicians go there. C’est très exclusive, n’est-ce pas? They specialise in this, how you call it—Shiatsu? Never for me—you couldn't pay me to get involved with that kind of thing. To me, it's all black magic.”

  Marie's shoulders dropped. She turned her head, eyes to the ground, her brows drawn together. East Campbelton. Drugs. The parlour. That was it. That was the Vangelis-Matsumoto connection.

  Haruna had been gloomy all weekend. Likely because of the dread that came with knowing she’d have to go to church. She could already envision the Sunday morning walk up the aisle, the search among the pews for the usual spot way up front. Waiting there would be her ex-boyfriend who she’d dumped little over a week ago. She’d be forced to sit beside her grandmother who would sit with his grandmother, Annette. Annette would insist on sitting with her beloved grandson, Mani. Haruna and Mani would wind up sitting beside each other.

  Oh, how delightfully unpleasant that would be.

  After an hour-long Mass that would never seem to end, both of them glaring into hymn books, kneeling beside each other and begrudgingly offering each other handshakes of “peace,” they would be asked to stick around, the two of them, along with other youth ministers, to help organise for their first concert. Christmas was four weeks away. For Haruna, it meant four weeks of back-to-back nativity scene re-enactments and concerts.

  What a shame.

  Haruna’s prediction wasn’t too far from reality.

  The good news: during the three hours in which all of this went on, Mani hadn’t spoken to her, not once. He hadn’t even looked in her direction. And though it ached just a little to know that a person she had once cared about was no longer acknowledging her, she thought it was for the best. She wasn’t going to go backwards. She had made the right decision.

  Haruna slipped on her jacket. The walk home was quite a long one, and it was times like this she resented not yet having her full driver's license. But her grandmother would never let her borrow the car. Young ladies needn’t drive until they are eighteen or married, she’d said. It always amazed Haruna the way her grandmother managed to be so progressive in her younger days and yet so embarrassingly old-fashioned now. With a sigh, Haruna made a start for the door. She flinched, feeling the sudden tap on her shoulder. She turned and flinched again. Mani stared back at her.