The Tattoo (19 page)

At about ten o’clock I was wishing Claudia had a pager. But she hated pagers, she always told me they were like leashes. I sat on the sofa, telling myself, “Now you worry.” I looked at the clock. I looked up at Musashi. I stared at Musashi. I told him, “Fuckin’ A,” and got up to grab my keys. I decided to go to Club Mirage and see if Mama-san was there. Just then I heard a key go into the front door. Relief hit me. I dropped my keys and prepared a big smile for her. Instead of seeing Claude, however, I saw three slick-looking Korean grave-diggers, dressed in black slacks, thin dark-gray coats, and Italian dress shoes, walk in one by one, all three meeting my smile with their own. I refused to let my smile crack, even when I saw the first one open his coat and pull out a nickel nine-mm.

I watched as two of them quietly destroyed my apartment. The one with the gun casually watched me. He was sitting on the sofa while I stood in front of him. His hair was straight and long. It was put back in a ponytail. A thick gold chain dangled from his neck. It wasn’t a rope chain like mine, instead it was a figaro chain with thick gold links. Every time he smiled, he revealed unusually small, yellowish teeth. They were as crooked as hell.

The other two went through every room, pulling out every drawer. One came out of my bedroom with the shotgun. He was short and chubby with a wild, eighties-style curly head of hair. He smiled and I smiled back. The other, the one who was bald and had this thin, sorry excuse for a mustache, looked through my books and pulled out a thousand dollar bill out of
Macbeth
. He showed it to the others and said something in Korean. The other two laughed. I watched as this guy opened all of my books, taking every bill he found. After he’d finish a book, he’d just toss it on the carpet. He was getting out of the texts what he was looking for. Soon a pile formed, in one stack books, in another, my money. After he got all he could find, he gathered the money and separated it into two big rolls. He stuffed each roll into his front pants pockets.

The Korean with the small yellow teeth and nine-mm got up from the sofa and began looking at Musashi. The one with my shotgun, the chubby one, covered me while the nine-mm guy walked up to the print. He stared at it for a while, then the other two began yelling words to him in Korean. He ignored them and continued looking at the picture. After a minute or so, he turned around, looked at me and smiled. “You tink look like you? You samurai?” He laughed, and the other two politely joined in. He turned back around, faced Musashi, and took him off the wall. He cracked the glass with his fist and pulled the print out of the frame. He crumpled it up and threw it at me. The three of them laughed. They said something in Korean and the one with the shotgun dropped it on the floor while the bald one opened the door. The asshole who’d crumpled Musashi walked behind me and said,“We go now.” I followed the other two to the elevator and felt Mr. Yellow Teeth walking behind me.

When we were in the elevator, I suddenly remembered that there was my soju-drinking friend, the security guard, waiting for me at the bottom. I tried to formulate a quick plan while the numbers in the elevators flashed, counting down. At floor fifteen, I figured I only had to worry about the one behind me. At floor fourteen, I remembered that I had no way of knowing whether the other two were armed or not. At floor twelve, I thought, one of them had grabbed my shotgun. At floor eleven, I realized that this didn’t mean shit. At floor ten, I decided I needed to take my chances anyway, and just assume that the one behind me was the only one armed. At floor nine, I figured I’d yell “help” right after I turned around and hit the asshole. At floor eight, I scratched the idea of hitting the one behind me, and decided it would be better if I went for his gun. At floor seven, I tried to figure out in what order I’d shoot these mother-fuckers. At floor six, I decided I’d shoot the ones in front of me first, then turn around and save Mr. Yellow Teeth for last. At floor five, I questioned this decision, because, if I had my back to him, I’d be vulnerable. At floor four, I figured it was better to have my back turned on two guys rather that one. At floor three, I suddenly realized that I was thinking about all this killing and I’d never killed before. At floor two, I thought about Claudia, and decided that I wouldn’t even hesitate.

When the doors opened on the first floor, I realized that I was fucked, and this whole plan would probably get me killed. When we walked toward the Korean security guard, I knew I was afraid to die and that Claudia had made me afraid because she’d given me something to live for. When we stopped at the guard I looked at his bulldog face, and suddenly I remembered that he was Korean, and it came to me. I was surrounded by Koreans. When I saw the one who had the shotgun put his arm around the guard, I knew the plan would not work. I had to go wherever they were taking me. Before I stepped into the revolving doors of the building’s entrance, I said to the guard, “I’ll be back for you, mother-fucker.”

When we got outside the building, two cars were waiting. One was a charcoal gray Mercedes sedan, the other was a new-looking black Chevy Blazer. I squinted and saw the faint lines of a driver in the Benz, but the Blazer was empty. Mr. Yellow Teeth led me to the Blazer, while the other two stepped toward the Benz. I was put in the back seat of the Blazer, followed by Mr. Yellow Teeth, who sat down beside me. He smiled and his sharp little crooked teeth looked almost canine. After a couple of minutes, the two others stepped into the Blazer. The chubby one with the curly hair sat on the other side of me in the back, while the bald one with the baby mustache went to the driver’s seat. I heard the Mercedes engine start, and as it pulled past us, I looked as the red lights became smaller and smaller.

On the long freeway drive in their black Chevy Blazer, the driver in front of me sucked on a cigarette and blew smoke out the window. I sat in the back between the other two, ugly teeth on one side, ugly hair on the other. None of them talked, but the two sitting with me never let their eyes off me. Mr. Yellow Teeth rested his right forearm on his lap, so that the gun in that hand was pointing at me at all times.

I sat there feeling pretty defeated. I stared down in front of me, looking at the plastic compartment which separated the two front seats. I wondered what was in it. I thought about the moment I had walked through the revolving door at the entrance of the Marco Polo building, how I should have tried to pull something then. Regret and shame were starting to percolate in my mind. I should’ve stopped the door or something, I should have forced them to react. I thought, fuck, I should’ve forced them to do something there. I hated myself, my cowardice. I starting thinking there was no way they would’ve killed me there. It was too public, they risked too much. These guys were working with reason, with their minds sharp and intact, they weren’t pissed off or anything. There was no way they’d risk so much on something that could land them, that probably would’ve landed them in jail for life. I thought hatefully, I’d missed my chance. I should’ve tried to run while we were in a public place, shit, I can still run fast, I thought.

God, I hated myself then. I felt like I was doomed to die because I was unwilling to chance death, unwilling to risk everything. I thought about Claude, and for a while, stuffed in that Blazer between those two Koreans, I hated her, too. I wouldn’t be in this mess, I thought, if she had made me let her leave that night at Black Point. There was no way, I figured, I’d be in this if she had not made me love her. I blamed her for making me soft. Suddenly it wasn’t only my cowardice which had prevented me from acting when I should have, but I realized that behind the cowardice hid Claudia herself, hiding there with, yes, two syringe arms of her own, sucking out what my father had put there years before. The regret and shame that was percolating earlier turned into a raging boil. I hated her, myself, Mama-san, and these three Korean fuckers that were taking me someplace far away.

Then I got even deeper into the roots of my hate. Wait a minute, I thought, I wouldn’t even have gotten the fucking job with Mama-san if I didn’t know how to kick ass. That Samoan would’ve licked me if I was who I was meant to be. I was meant to be a regular guy afraid of the water. Suddenly it was easy to add my father to that hate checklist, a list he’d topped for many years anyway. Then I thought, who’s next? Shit, Koa, yeah, Koa, if I didn’t run with him in Kahaluu, I wouldn’t be used to being around big guys and that Samoan would’ve been so scary-looking to me that I wouldn’t even have thought about stepping between him and his appetite for destruction. If it weren’t for Koa, I wouldn’t have been capable of feeling like a big shot. Shit, that Samoan too, I hated him, too. He should’ve been able to kick my ass easy.

So for the remainder of that ride into the country, into the remote farming areas of Waimanalo, this was my state of mind. I constructed this huge list of hate. By the time I felt the Blazer stop, things like cancer, swords, Musashi, the artist Otsuka, syringes, heavy bags, all races of men including Japanese, even the invention of the automobile, made the list. Every image I could conceive, I hated.

When the Blazer stopped, and Mr. Yellow Teeth led me out, I looked around and recognized where I was. It was a pig farm. The animal smell and remoteness of the place was my first clue. I looked toward the mountain and saw a huge pen under the moonlight, the biggest I had ever seen. Thousands of pounds of cement blocks and corrugated sheet metal sat under the enormous tin roof. I knew from the drive over that we were miles away from the nearest house. I felt the barrel of a gun press against my back. Mr. Yellow Teeth led me to the pen while the chubby Korean and the bald one, both armed with flashlights, walked in front of me.

There were hundreds of pigs in that pen. Each one was separated by stacked cemented blocks, walls from which rose thick metal poles which held up the tin roof. As we walked through the center aisle, the two men in front of me kicked each of the rusted gates they passed. The pigs were being woken up and with each kick the collective snorting became louder. I looked into the gates I passed and saw the inter-connected channel system which allowed cleaning water to run through and exit each cage efficiently. Suddenly I wished the water was turned on, wished I was small enough to jump into this canal and drift outside with the rest of the filth.

By the time we got to the front of the pen, the sound of snorting, hungry pigs saturated the air. The Koreans had to talk loudly to each other over the sound. The three of them surrounded me, while Mr. Yellow Teeth never took his eyes off me. The bald one laughed and pointed to the slop cooker. It was a huge pot in the corner of the pen. He said something in Korean and the other two laughed. I had never been so angry in my life. Then a sense of calm hit.

Suddenly the sound of squealing pigs and the laughter of the Koreans was drowned out by the sound of my beating heart. I heard it beat, and it beat strong and fast. I wondered if the three Koreans heard. How couldn’t they? I thought. Then, when I felt the barrel of the gun push into my ribs, and I looked at that fucking Korean,
yobo
mother-fucker smiling at me with his fucked-up small yellow teeth, I felt like the most powerful man who’d ever walked the planet. I felt like I had to gain some control over myself or I’d begin to rise above the ground with my throbbing power, unable to exact my revenge on the world. Suddenly I felt myself grow bigger. My power made me bigger, heavier so I would not float away. When I looked at the three Koreans, I began to see children, three kids with a toy gun who pushed me too far. They looked so small. So when I looked at Mr. Yellow Teeth and smiled, I think he saw my power, too. Who couldn’t see it. I was a god.

I stood there between the three, in the center of the triangle. Mr. Yellow Teeth said something to the other two, and they began opening the gates of each cage. My arms were crossed in front of me and I stared at Mr. Yellow Teeth. After several minutes, the two who were letting the pigs loose came back with a herd of pigs following them. Out of the corner of my eye I saw the bald one move in front of me with a lit cigarette dangling from his mouth. The wind blew against the rising smoke, spreading it into nothing. The smell of the pigs was strong, and several of them bumped my legs. The bald one looked at me and flicked his lit cigarette at me. I felt it land in the cradle of my folded arms. I let it rest on my arm, let the cherry burn my flesh. I stared at Mr. Yellow Teeth and felt my mouth work itself into a smile. I continued to let it burn until I finally saw their confidence shatter, until I was sure they saw me, saw my state, saw my godliness. Mr. Yellow Teeth took a step back and tripped over a pig behind him.

The four of us were on all fours scrambling for the gun. I felt like hundreds of pigs were bumping into me as I looked in between all of the hoofs which walked by me. Then I saw it. Underneath one of the white pigs, a flash of nickel appeared. I quickly crawled to it, feeling the rough cement scape my hand and knees. As I grabbed the gun, I felt pig drool fall on the back of my neck. I stood up and waited for the three Koreans to do the same.

Suddenly Mr. Yellow Teeth realized that the gun was in my hand. He slowly stood up and looked for me. He smiled and put both hands up. A few seconds later, the other two stood. They looked at me then Mr. Yellow Teeth. Mr. Yellow Teeth said something in Korean, and all three of them rushed me.

I was Achilles in Aristeia, Musashi in
Void
.“C’mon,” I said. I let them take a few long strides, then fired three times. Three heads exploded brains, skull, and blood. They didn’t even get two steps close to me.

While the pigs screamed and scattered, I checked their pockets for my money. None of them had it so I took theirs, maybe about seven hundred dollars. They must’ve given the money to the driver in the Benz, I thought. As I shuffled through their stuff, taking off their non-digestable belongings, like Mr. Yellow Teeth’s thick gold chain, the pigs calmed. I went over each body twice and ended up with a pile stacked with wallets, chains, watches, and belts. I picked the stuff up and headed for the Blazer. Before I left, I waited outside of the pen. After I heard the sound of pigs feeding and the crunching of bones, I threw the pile of stuff on the passenger seat and took off.