Sweet Seduction Sayonara (10 page)

I
should stay away
. She’s warned me. Her life is too complicated and my name’s not on her dance card. I
should
stay away. But I don’t.

I find myself driving into the Viaduct Basin Wednesday evening, just when I know she’ll be shutting up shop. The sun is low on the horizon and the Harbour Bridge is glinting orange and rust red. Sail boats are out on the water, multiple white sheets against a swathe of vibrant blue. I can smell the flowers from her shop, the remnants of their scents still hanging on the air. But the bamboo wrapped buckets are all inside and the front door is closed now.

There’s no light on in the window and I wonder if I’m too late. In a fit of genius, I drive around the back of the building to where I assume Momoko parks her vehicle.

It’s not Momoko’s car I find waiting for me, though, but an ominous black van.

My heart leaps into my throat, I find it difficult to swallow. Sweat beads on my brow as I roll my car past the silent van and park it farther down the little back alleyway. No one is in the driver’s seat, but I can’t see into the back. It’s dark in there and there could be someone watching me even now, but I don’t hesitate.

She told me not to get involved, but I’m already so far into this mess that I can’t see my way out of it.

My door chimes as I open it and I wince. Stealthy the Lexus isn’t. I close the door as quietly as I can, but Auckland mid-week is noisy; I really don’t have to be so cloak and dagger. My palms are sweaty and I rub them on my suit pants, then pat down my pockets. I’m unarmed. I don’t own a weapon. And going forward seems like a very ill thought out plan.

But I can hear Momoko’s voice from inside the shop, and a deeper one that sounds threatening. At least they’re speaking in English, but if this is who I think it is, then that is the most obvious common language.

I’m sure Momoko Tanaka doesn’t speak Mandarin.

And the Triads sure as hell don’t speak Japanese.

So, English.

I check the van out when I get abreast of it; it’s empty. No back seats at all, just blankets and a toolbox, and ominously zip-ties and masking tape. I pause, staring at those two items in an otherwise clutter free interior. My hand shakes a little as I lift it to my breast pocket, feeling the cell phone inside there.

But then Momoko lets out a squeak and I spin toward the shop, almost barging inside the slightly opened back doorway without thinking.

“You have no right to do this!” she’s yelling and I hear crashes and bangs and the shattering of glass from inside.

“You’ve been warned,” a man’s voice says, dispassionately. He has a slight accent. “Huang Fu is being lenient. You refused his summons.”

“I didn’t refuse,” Momoko snarls. “But I did object to being forcibly abducted.”

It’s the same guys as on High Street, I’m sure of it now.

“You don’t get it,” the man says. “We can make life very hard for you.”

“You think broken flower pots will make me change my mind?” Momo shouts.

And then she gasps.

I’m through the doorway before I can think. God alone knows what I had planned, but once I’m inside the rear of the shop I see the entire space in little snippets of shocking colour. Reds of roses crushed beneath booted feet. Browns of the bamboo buckets broken into a thousand different pieces. White flashing brightly as light glints of shattered glass. The blue of Momo’s dress, ripped off her shoulders.

The black of the glove wrapped around her neck.

I let out a cry of rage and leap toward the thug holding Momo. For a second I see her fear, but I can’t tell if it’s for her or me. My fist connects with the man’s cheek as Momo takes the opportunity to throw back her head and connect her skull with his nose at the same time. Blood splatters and she twists away. I have a split second to see her hands are bound behind her back and then I’m knocked to the ground and my forehead connects with concrete and I see only stars for several seconds.

Pain explodes everywhere. I can’t decide if my back hurts more from the pummelling I’m receiving or my head does from the concussive blow I’ve just received. Momo is shrieking and the other guy is trying to apprehend her again, and more glass shatters and flower petals fly, and through it all I’m getting the shit beaten out of me.

I don’t know what I was thinking barging in here. I’m no ninja warrior. I’m a fucking lawyer for fuck’s sake. But Momo’s in trouble and this arsehole on my back is pissing me off, and my hands aren’t tied, so I reach out and grab a piece of glass and thrust it back into his thigh with all of my strength.

He grunts and jabs his fingers into my kidney. For a second I feel nothing, see nothing, hear nothing, just… pain.

And then his weight is removed from my body and I roll over onto my back, panting. And Momo streaks past having delivered a kick to my thug’s head as she still tries to evade capture again by the other.

She kicked him off me. I almost want to laugh. I’m lying on the floor, unhindered by zip-ties, and she’s the one who does the rescuing.

My hand finds a broken length of bamboo barrel, I heft the wood and swing it at the now recovered thug who was attacking me. I hear Momo fighting behind me, but I don’t take my eyes off my Triad. The wood connects with his jaw, and then he’s pulling a gun from his jacket.

I swing again, and somehow manage to clip the weapon, making it fly across the room and disappear out of sight. He snarls and lunges for me; his movements too fast for me to counter. I feebly attempt to defend myself with my one piece of wood, all the while taking steps back, trying to retreat from the onslaught of punches and kicks and faster-than-the-eye-can-see movements.

I swipe up a pot, still intact on a bench, and fling it at the guy’s head as I move backwards. He ducks. The pot misses. I try a pair of scissors instead. He reaches up and grabs the projectile out of the air, getting a nice cut along the inside of his hand for his efforts. But although blood drops from the wound, he simply tosses the scissors up in the air, turning the sharp tip toward me as he catches it.

Ah, so throwing weapons he can use against me is not a good idea, then.

I try another pot instead. And then I’m flinging at him whatever is left in Momoko’s shop still in one piece as he waves the scissors in my face threateningly. A pot. A watering can. A mug of cold tea. The kettle. He avoids it all and I’m getting tired.

I also can’t hear Momoko anymore.

I’m filled with chagrin and anger. Shamed I didn’t call for help before stupidly coming in here. Enraged that these arseholes haven’t run away screaming. The anger wins.

I find myself beside the cash register. It’s an old style one, antique filigree decorates the sides. I’m sure it makes a delightful chiming sound when the drawer opens. It’s big. It’s gotta weigh a tonne.

I don’t even hesitate. And somehow I manage to lift the whole thing up over my head and bring it down at the precise moment the thug lunges.

It’s better than a baseball bat. More convincing. Because even though it just glanced him, I’m sure it crushes his skull before he even hits the ground. Blood seeps out from around his head and I almost vomit.

And then I’m running through to the back of the shop again in search of Momo. She’s on the floor, dress in tatters, bruises marring her face and upper arms. There’s a glazed look to her eyes I don’t like. I manage a half hearted attempt to ascertain the second Triad isn’t lurking around somewhere and then rush to her side. My hands hover over her body, before I carefully place them on her shoulders, bending down to look her in the eye.

“Momo,” I say. I can barely breathe. “Talk to me.”

She mumbles something in Japanese, but I get the impression she’s not concussed, so much as defeated.

“Momo,” I say, and pull her closer for a hug. Her wrists are still zip-tied, and she can’t be comfortable, but she leans into me, buries her face in the crook of my neck, and sighs.

It’s entirely inappropriate, but I smile. Momo seeking comfort in my embrace. Chump.

“Where’s the other one?” I ask.

“Scissors,” she says.

“Um, I’ll find a pair in a sec,” I offer, thinking she wants me to cut her zip-ties.

She only starts laughing, but I admit, it’s a little unhinged. A little hysterical. I hold her tighter.

“I stabbed him,” she says. “In the leg. He hobbled out the back door.”

I look up, but the door is closed, and then I hear a crash of glass out the front of the shop and my whole body jerks in reaction.

“Stay here,” I say, reaching out and grabbing a shard of glass off the bench behind Momoko, and then I head toward the noise.

Adrenaline still fuels me, because when I see the thug I’d hammered with the cash register following a bamboo barrel through a now shattered front window, I start to chase him. But he makes it to the black van, presumably driven by the second thug who now has a pair of scissors embedded in his thigh, and they gun it.

I watch from the pavement as the van fishtails out of the Viaduct, tyres squealing and people jumping out of their path. Several people stop and stare at the wreckage behind me and then their eyes start to take in my sorry state.

I haven’t had time to catalogue my injuries, but I know Momoko is in a worse condition than me, so I ignore the alarmed stares and return to the shop, walking across broken glass to reach the rear.

Momoko is still sitting exactly where I left her. But now she just looks mad.

“Those bastards broke the front window, didn’t they?” she says.

“Ah, yeah,” I offer, because it’s clear this is what has her upset the most right now.

“Do you know how long it takes to get those replaced?” she demands.

“Ah, no,” I say, because she seems to want an answer.

“And the loss of business will be gutting.” I smile. Not because of the situation or the fact that I think Momo losing money is funny. But because I still find it remarkable that she’s just so fucking kiwi.

This woman who could wear a kimono with chopsticks sticking out of her hair and look the genuine article is as kiwi as they get.

And then I watch her push herself to her feet, surprisingly gracefully considering her hands are still tied behind her back, and then she jumps up in the air. Knees to chin, hands sweeping beneath her feet, to bring her zip-tied wrists to the front of her body.

Yeah, kiwi chicks don’t do that every day.

At least, not the ones I’ve ever fancied.

She rummages around in a drawer for a while and then produces another set of scissors. It’s only then I think to move and offer assistance. But she has the zip-ties undone in a flash and I once again feel superfluous. I run a hand through my hair instead and then tentatively rub the lump forming on my forehead.

“Are you OK?” she says quietly.

“Fine,” I offer, studying her every move. “You?”

She lets out a long sigh and I swear I can see the weight of the world on her shoulders.

“What did they want, Momo?” I ask softly.

“Money,” she says, surprising the fuck out of me. I hadn’t thought the 14K Triads would be that hard up for cash.

“Money?”

“Protection money,” she reluctantly explains. Maybe nearly getting knocked out and eviscerated by scissors allows me some leeway as far as explanations go. Because that’s the most she’s ever told me.

“And this protection money is against what?” I query. “Them roughing up your shop?”

She nods her head.

They’re extortionists. They’re blackmailing her. In Auckland. It’s ludicrous.

I shake my head at her.

“That’s not all of it,” I say, because it can’t be.

She lifts her gaze off the debris strewn floor and looks at me. I see so much in that one sorrowful stare.

I cross the space between us and reach out and wrap her up in my arms, laying a soft kiss in amongst her hair. My hand strokes down her back and she returns the embrace, arms around my waist, cheek to chest. She’s so tiny and those men were so big. I shudder with the thought of what they could do to her.

“They were the same guys who tried to shove you in that van on Friday,” I say.

She nods her head.

“Momo,” I press. “Blackmailing you is one thing. But abduction?”

“It’s part of their negotiation tactics.”

“Taking someone off the street, zip-tying their wrists and slapping masking tape over their mouths? That’s negotiation?”

She just nods.

And I thought courtroom antics were cutthroat.

I let out a long breath of air, waiting, hoping, she’ll elaborate. But she says nothing.

“Are you going to call the police?” I ask eventually. I feel her whole body stiffen. “What about your brother?”

It’s not what I want to suggest, but something needs to be done about all of this. And if Momo won’t go to the police, and I kind of understand that considering the Triads who invaded my home had to have connected me to Momo though the CCTV system, then I’ll settle for Koki Tanaka getting involved.

Then maybe he’ll be pressured to involve Nick.

“Koki can’t stop this.” And the words sound final. Demoralised. Almost dead.

“Momo,” I plead.

“Please,” she says, pulling away to look up at me. “Just help me tidy up this mess.”

It’s better than nothing. She could have ordered me to leave. To not get involved. Like she’s told me to before. But Momo looks shattered and I think right now she just needs someone to be there for her.

And it’s not her brother. It’s not even this Tadashi guy she’s meant to be marrying in less than two weeks. It’s me.

So I help her tidy up. I organise a glazier to come around and board up the front window. And I say nothing of my fears and worries and gut churning anguish at what might happen.

It’s late when the shop is clean and secured again. Momo looks dead on her feet. I’m not far off that myself. My body aches, my head is splitting in two, and my chest feels strangely heavy.

I know she’s going to tell me to go home now. She’s going to send me away.

But she just sits down on the back step of her shop and leans her shoulder against mine when I sit beside her.