Dirty Laundry (4 page)

It was still pitch black outside, but the liquid stink of a Los Angeles morning was already rising up from the streets. A rotary cleaner chugged past us, spurting out lukewarm suds to wash oil and soot from the road. The foam slunk down to the curbside, a frothy curl of dirt and black specks. Jae chirped open my Rover and dangled the keys over my hand, letting them drop into my palm when I opened my fingers for them.

“Hey, I want to see if I can get my truck back. That’s the detective there. Give me a few minutes to schmooze him.” Bobby looped an arm over Jae’s shoulders and gave him a quick half hug. “Thanks for coming to get us, man. I appreciate it.”

I answered for us both. “Sure, no problem. We’ll be by the car.”

I was already talking to Bobby’s back, a broad wall of muscle built up from years of kicking bad guys’ asses and knocking lesser mortals about in a boxing ring. Jae walked over to my Rover. His long legs ate up the distance to the car with a few strides, and I hurried to catch up with him, wincing when my leg protested at the rapid movement. The tape tugged on what little leg hair I had, and the gauze stuck to my wound ripped off of my skin, starting a slow, seeping leak into my bandage.

“Hey.” I caught up with him at the Rover’s passenger side and placed my arms on either side of his waist, trapping him against the car. “I’m
sorry
. I am. It really wasn’t supposed to go down like this. How were we supposed to know we were walking into a drug sting tonight? It just got… out of control, okay?”

He tilted his head back and exhaled, pursing his lips to kiss the air above him. He scrubbed at his face with his hands, and when he lowered his chin to look at me, there was a shimmer of wet in his eyes. He wouldn’t cry. Not here. Not out in the open. But it was there, lingering on the razor edge of his control. There was a break in his voice when he spoke, a painful crack of emotion in his sultry rasp.

“I get scared when the phone rings and the ID says it’s a police station.” His voice was breaking, and my heart shattered under the grief and fear in his words. “There’s been too many times… too much blood for me not to think something bad has happened. So can you please… not do this again?
Please?
”

I shouldn’t have taken him in my arms, not with his aversion to showing affection and his fear of being outed as a gay man, but in the middle of the parking lot, listening to Bobby try to charm his truck out of impound, it seemed like the right thing to do. Typically, he fought me, a minor struggle to break free and somehow hide from my affection, but I refused to let him go.

It was selfish of me. I knew it. Our sensibilities warred with one another. His instincts fought me, driven by an ingrained fear of his family’s shunning. I’d already been ostracized, thrown aside by my father and the only woman I’d ever called mom. I wanted to pull him over to my way of thinking, nearly begging him to turn his back on the single most important thing that defined a Korean man—his family.

Whereas I’d just found out my mother… the woman who supposedly died giving birth to me… actually went back to Japan to have another family before dying five years ago. My brother Mike and I had differing opinions on that matter. He was willing to forgive and reach out to the man who called himself our half brother. I was pretty much pissed off at everyone except for my sister-in-law, but then Maddy endorsed my father being drawn and quartered for lying to us all these years.

So I wasn’t exactly thrilled by the whole concept of family at the moment.

I wanted Jae to be my family. I wanted both of us to go home, close the door, and lock everyone else and everything outside. Maybe just open it up for takeaway delivery and possibly to throw out the trash. I’d yet to master tossing a full bag into the dumpster behind my carport. Close, but I couldn’t get enough swing to clear the arc, and the weight varied too much.

That particular nirvana was never going to happen. Jae needed to roam, stretching himself out in dark places to capture them on film, and it would be impossible to keep him contained. He also knew, once he came out of the closet, he would have no one left… no one but me, and he wasn’t quite ready to trust that I’d be with him to the end of time. So I held him, smelling the sweetness of his hair and the citrus soap he used on his skin, then resigned myself to having to let him go.

“
I am sorry.
” Repeating it seemed to help. Ghosting a kiss over his mouth, I caught the sigh he exhaled, taking his hot anger inside of me with a press of my lips. “I really am.”

“I know,” he murmured back. Laying his forehead against my chest, Jae exhaled again. This time his shoulders relaxed, and the tension slid from his spine. “You just don’t know… how fucking scary it is to think something’s happened to you. Even if it’s just for that one second. It
hurts
so much, Cole-ah. I can’t… take it. I don’t want to take it. It’s too much to ask.”

Leaning back slightly, I cupped his face with my hands and pressed a light kiss onto the end of his nose. “I promise I am not trying to get killed. Okay?”

“Hey, you two quit sucking face so I can get a ride home.” Bobby’s shout pulled Jae back, and he stumbled, pushing at my hands when I tried to catch him. Trotting up to the Rover, Bobby growled a few curse words at the detective walking up the steps to the station. “Asshole won’t let my truck go. Says it’s evidence.”

“Kind of is.” My shrugging at him didn’t help his temper, and Bobby’s nostrils flared at me. “They tossed bricks of hash into the back of your truck, and then you took off.”

“Shit, I thought it was you jumping in,” he groused. “How the fuck was I supposed to know it wasn’t?”

“You could have looked?” Jae snorted, opening the car door. “Get in. The sooner we get you home, the sooner I can go back to bed. And, Cole-ah, Mike’s starting to call me now. I am staying out of it, so when you wake up, call your brother. Or I’ll tie you to the bed while you’re asleep and tell him to come over so he can beat some sense into you.”

I
N
THE
end, I didn’t call Mike. I’d meant to. It was on my mental list of things to do first thing in the morning. However, by the time I woke up it was about noon and I was late in opening up the office. Jae was already gone, and Neko, his wicked black cat, already laid claim to his empty pillow. From the fishy stench of her breath when she meeped at me to wake up, I guessed Jae fed her before he headed out for his morning assignment.

It’d been only a few weeks since Claudia, my office manager, was laid up by a gunshot meant for me. The doctors were giving her a two-month recovery time. Her family gave it five more days before she showed up at the office with a pillbox hat and a stir-crazy look in her eye.

I was under strict orders to turn her back around and send her home. All bets were off if she showed up with pie. Claudia’s homemade pies were delicious enough to outweigh any potential damage her sons might do to me if I didn’t call them immediately.

Since I wasn’t planning on doing anything more strenuous than sitting on a pillow to ease the ache in my thigh, I found the most comfortable pair of jeans I owned. The bite seemed healed over enough to leave off a wrapping of gauze, especially since I didn’t trust myself not to tape up my leg. The canine left only light punctures, but they hurt enough to sting when the shower spray hit them. Promising myself coffee when I got the office opened up, I grabbed a couple of Jae’s Choco Pies and headed to the front of the building.

Judging by the frowning, tiny older Korean woman standing on the porch of my investigation office, paperwork was going to have to wait a little while.

I’d been around Jae long enough to recognize the type of woman he called an
ajumma
. I’d originally thought it was a term of respect, like calling Scarlet
nuna
. I learned that lesson quickly when I used the
A
word in her presence, and the look I got in return would have fried me like a piece of bacon if Jae hadn’t laughed it off and pushed me out the door. I was then schooled on the proper use of the word, preferably when the woman in question couldn’t hear it being said.

One did not call a sleek, elegant transvestite like Scarlet an
ajumma
. No, that word was reserved for the squat cherub of a woman peering imperiously down at me from the top step of the porch. A pair of black rhinestone-studded glasses were perched low on her nose, secured from falling to the ground by a silvery crystal leash looped around her neck. More than a few strands at her temples were bright silver, but the majority of her curled helmet of hair was inky black, the same color as her heavily made up eyes.

Even through her thick glasses, I could see a hefty dose of crazy lurking in those eyes, but I opened the door for her anyway. I’d been accused more than once of having more than my own share of crazy. She might have been a bit close to the off-kilter side of mental, but by all appearances, she seemed to be holding her own.

Polyester seemed to be her preferred fabric. Her bright pink pants were a few inches shorter than they needed to be, and her floral chiffon blouse was tight across her midsection, flattening her breasts until they were almost square in shape on her torso. From the wrinkles near her eyes and the grooves along her mouth, I’d have put her age at late sixties. Judging mostly by the sucking hiss of disappointment she gave me when I approached, she could have been Methuselah, and I was the reincarnation of her worthless grandson who’d forgotten to get the dinosaurs and unicorns on the fucking ark.

“Are you the detective?” Her words were rounded with a soft Korean accent, much like Jae had when he was sleepy or angry. Another telling sniff and she glanced at the thick gold watch on her wrist. “It is bad for business to open so late.”

“Sorry, ma’am, I had a late case last night.” It’s funny how an angry elderly woman immediately upped my manners to high alert. “Let me get you inside and make some tea.”

I didn’t like tea. The only reason there was tea in the office was because Jae and Scarlet drank it when they came to visit. Other than that, it was a coffee kind of place, furnished in massive vintage desks and comfortable chairs. I’d stripped down the years of paint from the wood half-wall paneling when I’d bought the building and stained it a dark cherry, varnishing it until Claudia could put her lipstick on in its shine. It was a vast open space with a separate conference room. I liked it a lot. Claudia said it reminded her of a men’s club. Scarlet, who actually sang at a gentlemen’s club, agreed with her. Since I was the one paying the bills, I wasn’t going to change one damned thing about it.

“Coffee would be better,” she muttered at me, her eyes skittering around as she took the office in. “This is suitable. It looks more like a detective than you do.”

Counting to ten worked. So did using instant Vietnamese 3-in-1 and the hot water from the spigot on the coffeemaker. I made myself a double batch, filling up my mug, and carefully walked a smaller mug over to the couch where she’d taken roost. I placed the steaming mug on the table in front of her and sat down in the leather wingchair opposite the couch.

Sipping my coffee, I let the caffeine hit my system before I felt ready enough to take her on. She had no such reservations. After tanking down a mouthful of the scalding liquid as if it were tap water, she set the mug down with a fierce thump and looked me square in the eye.

“My name is Madame Sun.” She drew out the
U
until it was almost a ghostly sound. “You should know that you are in the presence of the best fortune-teller in Los Angeles, possibly even Korea, now that my
sunbae
has retired.”

I ranked fortune-tellers up there with people who came to my door insisting on dumping a pile of dirt on my carpet to show me the vacuum they’re selling will pick it up. I couldn’t have faked being impressed if she’d dropped her pants and unfurled a foot-long dick that danced and sang “Hello, My Baby
.
”

I went with a murmuring sound of mild awe. “What can I help you with, ma’am?”

“Someone is killing my clients. Three have died so far, and from what I have seen, more will die.” The
ajumma
stabbed at my arm with a bony finger, demanding my attention. “And I want to hire you to stop them.”

T
HERE
are an infinite number of things I know nothing about. From the existence of God to why they can’t figure out a better wrapper for American cheese so I can get it all out without leaving that small strip behind. The world is a mysterious and awesome place. With this philosophy, it makes it pretty easy to be a private investigator. Usually, I push the
I believe
button when someone asks me to prove their beloved husband or wife is faithful to them, but it worked just as well for clairvoyants. At the very least, I could show her no one was dying because of her.

I made Madame Park Hyuna Sun another cup of instant Vietnamese coffee and encouraged her to continue.

“It all started with May Choi. She is… was… one of my regulars. Young woman. Very pretty and married to a good man.” Madame Sun’s rings flashed as she wove her hand about to tell her story. “I’d just had a consultation with May. It was good news, but there was a blackness around her. I didn’t say anything at the time, but after she left, I was filled with a cold feeling. The next day, I saw on the news she’d been killed by a man who wanted her car.”