“It's beautiful.”
“It's money.”
“Same thing, in my book. I can't believe Ming managed to pull through, though. Those Columbian bastards rarely deal with foreigners.”
“The right price can buy anything.”
“You gave them more than cash.”
“I saved them a lot of trouble, is what I did. The ambassador didn't know what hit him.”
Standing on a crate, a boy peered in on the conversation, his eyes wide, pressed firmly against the crack in the door. He saw a man pacing in front of a small desk, carefully weighing a powdery white brick the size of a book emblazoned with a scorpion in his hands, a dangerous smirk plastered on his face. The boy's father sat in chair opposite the man, smiling softly at his visitor. The boy knew he shouldn't be there. He knew his mother had threatened him with nameless punishments if he was caught near Jin Lee's study. But he didn't care anymore. The curiosity had been too great. The magnetism of the mysterious room had been far too powerful for him to resist. Every minute or so, at even the slightest sound, the boy would glance over his shoulder down the hall. He was sure his mother would kill him if she found him. Her wrath would be like the hell she read about to him every night in the bible. Fiery lakes of brimstone. Tortured souls.
No return.
“We've milked our territory, Jin. There's nothing left in it. We've got dealers on every corner, in every alley, and we still only move minimal snow.”
“So we traffic another neighborhood.”
“You and I both know that's not possible.”
“The other Tongs know who we are. The small time gangs'll move out of the way if we take over their territory.”
“Maybe you're right.”
“I know I'm right.”
The man hefted the brick. The boy saw flakes and crumbs break off and tumble to the ground. “Does your wife know about this?” he asked quietly.
“The less she knows the better. She's threatening to file for divorce, you know.”
“What are you going to do about it?”
“Nothing.”
“Divorce is expensive, Jin. Especially when your dealing with someone like Claire. She'll take as much as she can.”
“Not if she knows what's good for her, she won't.”
“You're not going to bring our boys into this are you?”
“And if I do?”
The man paused. Jin Lee continued.
“I won't need to anyway. Claire's a smart woman. As soon as a divorce hits city hall that whore'll clear out and never show her face again.”
“I hope so.”
“And what's that supposed to mean?”
The boy leaned in farther as his father's voice dropped to a hiss, pressing his hand even harder against the doorway. The wood framing the crack was cutting into his eye; he could feel it. But he ignored the pain. They had mentioned his mother's name twice and he wanted to hear more. This was confidential information, after all. Things not meant for his ears. And he had to puree the situation for every drop of restricted gossip it held. The crate beneath his feet creaked ominously as his weight shifted.
Down the hallway, in the kitchen, something heavy clattered to the ground and shouts from his father's servants echo after it.
The boy's head whipped around at the sudden sound, searching for some sign of his mother, and drew his hands away from the door, immediately causing the crate beneath him to wobble forward. He caught the door nob as the crate slipped from under him, pushing the door to his father's study open. He toppled into the room with a grunt. The visitor swore, slipped the powdery brick onto the desk and looked at Jin Lee with an unsure expression. His father was only smiling.
“Booker. How nice of you to join us.”
A seven year old Booker Lee looked up at his father with frightened eyes. He was caught. Cringing, he looked over his shoulder and down the hall, expecting his mother to drag him away from his father's clandestine temple. And then hungrily, realizing she was not coming, he glanced around the room at Chinese symbols he could not read posted behind his father's chair, a collection of swords, and framed newspaper clippings. All war is deception was inscribed on a plaque and nailed to the front of Jin Lee's desk. The dusky, sickly-sweet scent of his father's cigarettes permeated the carpet and walls and Booker breathed the smell in deeply. It was the smell of power.
Noticing Jin Lee and the visitor staring at him, Booker crawled to his feet and bowed his head.
“I'm sorry, papa. I didn't mean... Mama will...”
“Your mother doesn't need to know anything.”
Booker immediately looked relieved. The visitor fidgeted anxiously and stepped forward to shut the door.
“You really need a lock, Jin.”
“Claire never comes down here, Tsao. I don't need to worry. Besides, my jian will learn something today. Booker, how long have you been listening?”
“I won't say anything, papa, I promise.”
“I'm sure you won't. Come here. Would you like a cigarette?”
Booker walked forward, nodded eagerly and rested his hands on his father's thighs. Jin Lee opened a wooden box on his desk and drew out a long cigarette, lit it and handed it solemnly to Booker. The boy greedily took it and stuck it between his lips, feeling a sudden surge of importance and vanity. He was like his father now. Men from all over the country would soon come to visit him, and ask him for advice.
“Don't breath in too deeply, my jian.”
As if on cue, Booker gulped in a mouthful of the pungent smoke and began hacking violently. The two men laughed at his predicament. Booker coughed and smiled nervously, replacing the cigarette. He breathed in the smoke more carefully this time and blew it out with his mouth in an 'O' like he'd seen his father do. His head suddenly felt light.
“This is Mr. Tsao, Booker.”
The visitor nodded at the boy, who smiled again. “You're a lucky boy, Booker. You've got a lot going for you.”
“Mr. Tsao is here on business with me. He's going to help us make a lot of money.”
“Is mama leaving?” Booker asked.
“Why would you say that?”
“I heard you talking about mama leaving.”
“Maybe, my jian. But only for a little while. Don't worry about it.”
And Booker didn't. He blew out another ring of smoke and, eyes scanning the desk, reached for a pistol balancing on the edge of the desk. Jin Lee's hand got to it first, though and he looked at Booker curiously.
Tsao chuckled. “They start young.”
“He doesn't know what it is.”
“Yes I do,” Booker said indignantly. “It's a gun.”
Jin Lee smiled slowly. Tsao took a seat. “Like father like son.”
“And he got all the right genes from me.” Booker's father paused. “Here,” he said, handing the boy the gun. “It's yours now. Don't show it to - ”
The door suddenly burst open, revealing another eavesdropper, rebounding off the wall with a bang. Claire Lee stood in the doorway, her normally porcelain perfect face contorted with disgust. Her breasts heaved and fell, heaved and fell.
“What the hell do you think your doing, you bastard?”
“I”m teaching my son.”
“No, you're not. You're screwing him up. You're sick Jin. Just sick. Are you trying to turn Booker into yourself.”
“Yes,” Jin Lee said simply.
“I'm leaving you, Jin. I'm leaving for good.”
“Good riddance.”
“And Booker's coming with me.”
Jin Lee smiled his dangerous smile. Booker was cowering behind the desk, the cigarette long forgotten and smoldering on the floor, the gun replaced on the table. He was confused. His mother was angry with his father, not him. But he could practically see the brimstone in Claire's eyes. It was only a matter of time before she turned on him. Hell was not far away, he could feel it.
And there would be no return.
“No, he's not.”
“Who are the courts going to give him to? Huh? Me. That's right. The one who doesn't have cocaine lying around the house. And you can bet your ass I'm going to court with this.”
“No you won't.”
Claire merely looked furious. Jin Lee continued. “You're disposable, Claire. I don't need you anymore. You make one false move and, well,” he glanced at Booker's gun. “I do with you what I do with anyone who betrays my Tong. You would be wise to leave and never come back.”
Claire's fury turned to silent fear. She opened her mouth and then closed it, repeating the process several times. Booker was trembling. She stared at Jin Lee for a long time. And then Claire Lee smiled.
“You'll never get away with this. Booker's life is infinitely more important than mine. And I'll make sure you have no part in it. Goodbye, Jin Lee. I'll see you in court.”
Claire spun on her heel and marched out the door.
Jin Lee glanced at Tsao and lifted Booker's gun. Impassively, he tossed it to his friend and gestured down the hallway. “You know what to do.”
Tsao nodded solemnly and, both hands wrapped around the butt of the gun, his jaw iron set, he walked out the door after Claire.
Breathless moments passed between father and son.
And then shouting erupted several rooms down. The walls rattled and Booker heard his mother scream. Instinctively he moved to find her, but Jin Lee caught him by his arm. He shook his head.
There was a gun shot.
And all was silent.
Eva was already sitting at the kitchen table when Booker got out of bed, wrapping a robe around his shoulders. She held her head in her hands, elbows propped up on the chair arms, and remained motionless as her husband sat beside her. He himself had a splitting headache. His brain seemed to pulse loudly in it's cradle, knocking at the walls of his skull for an escape from the scotch induced hangover. Grimacing, he rubbed his temples and rotated his arm, igniting the knife gouge once again. Swearing inwardly at Mao, Booker wondered where his purple heart for being wounded in the line of duty was?
You're wearing it, came the ready answer.
The wound would become a scar. And he would bear the scar like an honorary tattoo. Mao's knife had branded him. A hero among the Tong members, a miscreant among the public. This was his reward. Twisted flesh, rather than twisted metal.
Unmoving, Eva spoke. “I saw your shoulder, Booker. Busy night?”
He took a breath. “It couldn't be helped.”
“There is blood all over our sheets! Why didn't you at least clean up?”
“I had a little to drink before - ”
She looked up. Booker smiled inwardly. She was even beautiful before a cup of coffee, even wearing a tired frown. “Did we know them?”
“What?”
“Who missed their payments?” She gestured at his wound. “You were in a raid.”
Booker looked at his hands. “The Enlai family.”
“Please tell me they're alright.”
Booker didn't say anything. Eva sighed and dropped her head. “This has got to stop, Booker. You are a slave. And I know you don't like it.”
Booker shook his head. Here it goes again.
“I've told you a million times, hon. I don't have a choice.”
“You always have a choice.”
“No,” Booker said, standing up. “I don't. Do you realize that if I left the Tong, we would both be killed? Secrets die hard, Eva. And if I make one false move, the first to go is our kid, born or not. And then you. And then me. I am locked into this. There is no getting out.”
Eva fell silent and her hands slipped to her swollen stomach. “This can't go on like this forever,” she said. “Our child cannot be raised like you were.”
Booker felt as if he had been slapped in the face. She was comparing him to his father. She actually believed he would encourage his daughter to follow in his footsteps. He felt a surge of outrage and anger rise in the back of his throat. Booker stepped forward and bent down to Eva's face, breathing heavily. “I am not my father.”
“I'm not saying you are.”
“There is a big difference between me and him.”
“I know - ”
“My father actively tried to make him like me. I will never give our child or children the illusion that I support what I do.”
Eva stared at Booker for a moment, searching his eyes silently. She then reached up and rested her hand on the side of his face. Her hand was cold and smooth, like the surface of water. Electric. “I know you won't.”
Booker closed his eyes, straightened up, and walked into the kitchen. He was as worried as she was, to tell the truth. He was always worried. Worried that in reproducing he was making another batch of criminals. Fresh out of the oven and onto the streets. He was worried that they would grow up to become the same person he was. His was not a life he wished upon his children, let alone any self-respecting human being. Booker knew Eva was right. He knew that his life, his family's life could not go on like this. Something had to be done.
But his options were limited.
He had considered the witness protection program more times than once. It was possible that if he went to WITSEC with his problems, the entire Tong could be put behind bars. He and Eva would be provided with a new name, a new identity, a new home. But he would be living in constant fear of tomorrow. Prison bars could only hold a criminal for so long. And a Tong brotherhood was committed to exterminating traitorous members. If he handed the Black Dragon Tong to the government, paroled members would stop at nothing to hunt him down and kill him in a very demonstrative fashion. An eye for an eye. WITSEC could only provide so much protection for his family.
New names were transparent masks.
Booker flipped on the coffee maker and headed for the bathroom. “I'm going to clean up.” he called over his shoulder. Eva grunted, her head replaced in her hands.
There were other options. Divorce was at the top of the list. If he and Eva split up, it was more than likely she would be able to go on with life. A normal life. His daughter would grow up like any other person, fatherless in the beginning maybe, but not a criminal. That was all that was important. Eva would hate him. She would fight him about it. But it was for the greater good. Her good.
Booker closed the bathroom door behind him and shed his robe, surveying the ugly looking clot of blood on his shoulder vaguely. He didn't think he could do it. He loved Eva deeply and the last thing he wanted to do was leave her. It wasn't a question of her strength, but his strength. Divorce would be extreme and painful, but prudent. Eva would be happier if he left, he was sure of it.
Slowly, Booker poured hydrogen peroxide onto a cotton swab and pressed it to his wound. He winced as it stung harshly and bubbled as dirt and bacteria was forced back to the surface, destroying any healing that had taken place the night before. His thoughts still lingering on Eva, Booker leaned on the sink closing his eyes, willing the hangover away. He hadn't told her about Jin Lee yet and he didn't know when he would. She had hated the man. And it wouldn't matter to her whether or not his heart was still beating. Her go-to-hell-first-class-non-stop mentality surfaced anytime Jin Lee was the subject of a conversation. He couldn't blame her. The man had done all he could to stop their marriage. She's not your type, my jian. There are many, many women in this world. And is this one going to give you what you want? Is this one any better than the women I can offer you? You must choose your bed-partners carefully, my son. If you're not careful, you might be stuck with them for life.
Booker shook his head and fumbled underneath the sink for a bandage. He supposed in some convoluted way, his life would be different without his father. Not in an emotional sense as much as a legal one, though. There would be no exclusive, last minute courtroom saves. There would be no extra bail paid. There would be no son-of-the-boss courtesy identity changes and aliases for lying low. He had to be careful now. As the new Tong leader, Tsao would not cut him any slack. He was a soldier now. He was in the ranks. The lack of special treatment would take some getting used to.
As he finished wrapping the bandage around his shoulder, something crashed to the ground in the next room. It was glass. He winced. “Eva? Are you alright?”
Silence. He opened the bathroom door.
“Eva?”
“Booker!” Eva spoke his name urgently, hoarsely. Her voice shook. Something was wrong. Snatching his robe, Booker sprinted out of the bathroom, down the hall, and into the kitchen. Eva was still at the table, clutching her belly, her eyes screwed shut. As she rocked back and forth in the chair, she breathed harshly, gasping. Booker swore.
“Contractions?”
“We need to get to the hospital. Now,” she hissed, opening her eyes.
“But you're only eight months along - ”
“Booker!” She doubled up again and leaned forward into the table. He glanced at the clock. Less than five minutes had passed. The contractions were getting closer together.
“Are you sure?”
“I'm sure as hell!”
He glanced at the clock again. Eva let out a gasp. “Get my ass to the hospital , you indecisive - ”
“Alright, alright. Give me a break.” Booker grabbed a t-shirt from a pile of folded laundry on the table and pulled it on. He reached for Eva's chair and helped her out of it, holding her at the elbow. He could feel her muscles tense again as he opened the door to the veranda stairs and hurried her out. The Mercedes seemed like a mile away. He whispered confidently in her ear as she gritted her teeth and swore. They took the stair steps one at a time. When they finally reached the car, silent tears were leaking from the corners of Eva's eyes. The drive to the hospital would take fifteen minutes at least. He didn't know if she would make it. But underneath all of these thoughts and worries, a single sentence pulsed subconsciously.
I'm going to be a father.
And it was terrifying.
'Tis spelled as "knob." 
) Anyway, keep writing and let me know when you write more!
A lot of people don't do that, and assume the reader will come back if nothing interesting happens at the end. XD
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