Kapitel 19: Chapter 19

Avara POV

I climb out of the cab, closing the door behind me.

My eyes skim down the run-down neighborhood with busted street lights and litter carpeting the sidewalks. I step onto the tarmac and walk the derelict path to the weather-worn front porch. The Ford Mustang Shelby GT500 demands my attention with white racing stripes on the hood. At least now I know that someone is home. I go up the short flight and I knock on the door.

After a long while, the door whips open. The man has long hair that's tied into a mid-height bun, with a cigarette sticking out of the corner of his mouth. He scans me thoroughly, his expression melding with surprise and irritation.

"Can I help you, ma'am?"

"Perhaps you can?" I take off my sunglasses, propping them on top of my head as I lower the scarf to my neck.

He bristles in the doorway. "Miss Du Pont… Avara Du Pont?" He slants forward to cast furtive looks around us. "What are you doing here? And how the hell do you know where I live?"

"Mutual friend. I'm here because I know you were the lead investigator on the cases looking into my father."

His brows collide, his expression turning hostile, holding onto the door like he's ready to slam it in my face. "I was," he corrects. "Just like I was a detective, one of the many things your father took from me. How do you even know about that? None of those cases made it to trial and the charges never stuck."

"Friends in high places." Another vague utterance.

"Then what?" He takes out the unlit cigarette to point it at me. "Are you here because I came after your daddy?"

I maintain my calm. My gaze lowers to the dust-coated floor. "Yes. But not for the reasons you think. You believed that he was working with a crime syndicate, yes?"

"What I believe and what I can prove are two different things."

"The Yakuza."

His eyes explode, swelling with unbound shock.

I look around pointedly. The sun beating down on my back. "It's quite hot out here."

He shakes off his surprise and steps aside, extending a hand towards the interior.

"Please."

I enter. "Thank you, Mr Mansfield."

"You can call me Simon."

"Only if you call me Avara."

He closes the door and leads me to his kitchen. The surrounding walls are a creamy cedar wood, paired with warm timber flooring to amplify the golden tones of the cabinetry. He disposes of the cigarette and gestures to the round table. I settle on the seat, crossing my ankles.

"You want anything to drink?"

"Green tea would be lovely."

He sends me a jeering look. "Do I look like a man who drinks green tea?"

My eyes dart to the wedding band around his finger. "No, but maybe your wife does."

"Perceptive." He takes out‌ a mug from‌ a cabinet. "If she was still with me. She left shortly after the department gave me the boot."

After pouring good-quality water into the water reservoir, he places the filter to grind the caturra coffee beans. He blends the coffee with the flawless and measured ratio of a barista, finishing it with crema floating on the top. He serves it to me with a teaspoon. I stir it inside and I take a sip. Well-balanced, textured and creamy. And oh so heavenly.

"I'm sorry that being a detective didn't work out, but at least you have a promising career as a barista."

He chuckles good-naturedly at the joke. "I'm glad you like it."

"I am serious about this being the best cup of coffee. Ever," I say with dramatic emphasis. I drop the melodrama, wiping off my smile. "But I am sorry that you lost your job."

He looks back at me curiously. A rime of gray grafted to his lantern-shaped jaw.

"You say that as if you're responsible?"

I avert my gaze, taking in a greedy slurp of the divinely synthesized liquid.

"Why are you here, Avara?" His nougat-brown eyes swirl with suspicion. "And how did you know that your father, allegedly, has been working with the Yakuza?"

Should I give ammunition to the man who held a metaphorical gun at my father? I want answers, but I don't know if this is the way to do it. I could be doing a lot more damage than good. It's not only my father's life dangling in the devil's grip. It's all of ours.

He analyzes me with a thoughtful stare, putting the pieces together on his own. "I'm guessing you found something out about your father you didn't like. And now you want to know how deep the hole goes?"

I give him a dubious look. "And how deep does it go?"

"Straight to hell." He spurts to his feet. "If you're done cradling that cup to your chest like a newborn. I'd like to show you something."

I take one last, long draw before I place it down on the table. I rise and follow him out of the kitchen, around and past the lounge, a quaint space with out-dated furniture. And he takes me straight across to a single door on the other end of the house.

"My colleagues, even my former partner, were sick of my obsession with the Yakuza. The Japanese police call them the Bōryokudan. The hierarchy is the oyabun-kobun relationship, a set of father-son roles that bind all Yakuza clans together. And I believed that your father serves the most powerful one."

He opens the door. An empty garage. His hand gropes the wall before the lights flicker on. And I spot it immediately because it takes up most of the cement wall. I approach it. An immense crime board with red strings to link the various connections that I can't comprehend. He has old police reports, case files, profiles, snippets of newspaper articles, and locations.

Simon comes to stand beside me.

My father's profile is in the center of all of it. And an unknown man crowns the top.

"My target has always been Haru Black." He points at the top to the mysterious profile with a silhouette and a question mark inside of it. "The head of a clan is known as the Oyabun. I believe Haru Black is the "Godfather" of all the clans. His organization is the stronghold that others operate under. Haru Black is not only his name but his currency. A name that lesser men were taught to fear."

I flinch at the pain. I look down to see my nail digging into my hand, right over the scar.

"I became aware of your father's existence in the Yakuza when I was on a stakeout tucked away in a surveillance van." He points to another profile. Botan. "Your father was meeting with this guy. That man is believed to be His right hand. The Taskforce nicknamed him 'The Wolf' because of how cut-throat he is. He cleans Haru's dirt: getting rid of witnesses, problematic associates, people that have become liabilities and assassinating rivals. He doesn't do the killing on his own because he has foot soldiers to do his bidding, but he sanctions the hits. The Yakuza is an army, and that's the General."

My insides turn into stone, anchoring me to where I stand.

"Uh, he's quite young for someone with such a top-tier position in a criminal entity." Dread crawls up my throat. "I wonder what he had to do in order to achieve it."

Simon huffs. "Irredeemable things."

I stroll to the left, busying myself, my insides in turmoil. "What are those places?"

"The schematics of Haru's operation. I believe," he disclaims. "Those are ports, harbors and shipping companies they used to traffic their illegal cargo through legal channels. A distribution network that requires him having to bribe a lot of dock managers, personnel, dirty cops and my personal favorite. Politicians."

I tear my gaze off the crime wall to meet his steely-eyed gaze.

"My cases fell apart because the Yakuza has been shielding him. His problems became their problems, but Haru won't protect him if he believes he is compromised."

I don't like where he's going.

"The more political power he garners; the more powerful Haru becomes. And I heard whispers that his end goal is looking at the senate. Imagine. A senator in the pocket of one of the most dangerous criminals on the planet."

"I can hear a request in your voice," I mumble.

"You're it."

My brow lifts. "What?"

"The key. The person he trusts that's on the inside—"

"You want me to spy on my own father?"

"Spy is such a devious word," he says with a mischievous smile tugging at his lips.

"Do you have children, Mr Mansfield?" He nods, but I don't give him time to answer. "Okay, imagine how you would feel if they betrayed your trust."

"Proud," he says resolutely. "If I lost my way so badly that my daughter was forced to make a difficult choice because I put her in a difficult situation to even consider such a thing. I would've deserved it. Just like the families of—" he speeds off to stab a finger at a collage of photos, "—those witnesses deserve justice for their dead. People who were brave enough to testify against a monster. But the monster got to them first and your dad was a part of it. He didn't do it, but he knew."

Angered tears well in my eyes, grief and resolution at war within.

The right thing versus my bloodbound duty.

"I won't betray my father," I whisper.

"You came to my door." He comes face-to-face with me. "Don't close your eyes because you don't like what you're seeing. I'm not asking you to betray him. I'm asking you to help me get to the truth."

"Then what?" I shriek, my emotions reach its boiling point. "You get your revenge on him for getting you fired and losing your family because of it?"

He shakes his head with surprising composure. "That's where you fail to get it. This isn't about me. I went after him long before I lost all those things. What I want is justice for all those that got in Haru's way, whose blood he profited from. I'm not targeting your dad. I'm after Haru. He just happens to be in my way."

My phone vibrates in my blazer. I pull it out, sniffing. Kelsey.

"Kels, how's it going?"

"Code: red. Vance showed up. And he's demanding to talk to you—fake you. He's just outside the bathroom and he refuses to leave, and this damn event runs for another three hours!"

"Whoa, Vance is there? Why is he there?"

"Do you think I know?" she snaps. "Get over here before he blows your cover!"

"Okay, okay, I'm coming."

Simon looks back at me with a knowing look. "It sounds like you have somewhere you need to be."

"Urgently."

He nods understandingly. "I can take you there right now. Under two conditions."

"You take my number. And you think about my proposition."

"Those are two things?"

"I'm bad at maths."

A shaky laugh escapes me, and I nod. "I can agree to the first. The second is a hard no. I'd never consider transgressing my father's trust."

He gives me this patronizing smile. "By coming here, you already have."

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