My Yakuza by A.J. Llewellyn (books for 6 year olds to read themselves TXT) 📕

which became hot zones at night without heavy police presence. The rotating pairs of homicide and violent crime units were off doing their thing. Two drunks lolled in holding cells and the front desk crew was watching a UFC fight on TV.

All was quiet on the Far Rockaway front.

He lay back on the narrow bed staring at the blank walls. He was safer here than anywhere, besides there was coffee here and, thanks to the Loo’s thoughtfulness, Chinese food. He ran over everything in his mind. The D.A. in charge of the Harada trial had been informed of the sting operation. Shiro had been briefed.

They’d even found a young cadet to pose as a jumper. Everything was set…except Kono worried about Shiro. He tried not to think about something happening to him. He’d picked up his message about his grandma but the Loo had nixed the idea of having an officer call the old lady.

This had happened because they’d lost track of Shiro. At least he’d spoken to her. I still did the right thing losing the trace on his phone.

He turned over, facing the wall. If the old lady was in trouble, she’d have to help herself...for now. Too many other variables put the whole operation in jeopardy. He believed Shiro when he said something was wrong, but there wasn’t much he could do.

Jerrell called, interrupting his thoughts. Kono reached to the floor for his cell phone and sat up to talk.

Never one to mince words, Jerrell said, “I organised money for a hotel and food for two. Just make sure you watch your expenses, though. No two-room suites and all that. You’ll stay in touch with me, only. No more calls to grandma. If the old lady is in trouble, we can’t have cops swarming her house. I’ll have someone swing by her house after we do the kill. I’m the only one who will know your location. We’ll assure her that her grandson is in custody unharmed. She can’t know it’s a sting. Old ladies talk. We have to maintain tight operational security on this one.”

“Gotcha.” Kono paused. “How’s the date going?”

He could hear the smile in Jerrell’s voice. “I’m about to get lucky, guy. She went to slip on something more comfortable. When will women learn comfortable to us is a warm, naked breast in one hand, the TV remote in the other?”

He ended the call before Kono could give him his opinion on the topic. He got a sudden, swift and tantalising image of Shiro’s dick in one hand, a remote in the other. Only, in his mind, the remote was an optional extra.

* * * *

“What’s in this tea?” the second man asked, smacking his lips.

“Why? You don’t like it?”

“No…no. It’s very good. It’s sweet.”

Alia smiled. “It’s my special blend. I grow all my own herbs and flowers. You know, you never did tell me your name.”

“You may call me Nobuo-san. I am a good friend of Shiro’s.”

She smiled. “You don’t say? My Shiro is a lovely boy. Do you know his mother?”

“Siono?” Nobuo paused and the old lady topped up his tea. He was on his second cup. The first man who’d helped her with her groceries was flicking through TV channels. They’d told her they’d be staying the night. She wasn’t very happy about that. She watched some woman on TV hand a giant clack spider to some chubby guy who started eating it. She turned her face away.

“What have you got to eat?” the first guy asked.

“I have some chicken and vegetables.”

The two men looked at her. She hastened to the kitchen. She wished they would just leave, but they’d be gone soon enough. She took the chicken out of the fridge.

“Don’t do anything stupid,” a voice said, startling her and making her drop the package.

“It’s just chicken,” she said, picking it up.

She saw the dangerous look in Nobuo-san’s eyes. She took the chicken to the sink and he watched her. She rinsed it, removing the bag of giblets from the cavity, stuffing it with a selection of herbs.

“You’re putting flowers in there?” he asked. “You’re an artist.”

She shrugged. “I try.”

“What are the red bells?”

“Small peppers. Very sweet.”

She dressed the top and sides with herbs from a glass on the windowsill. Nobuo either grew bored or tired, and sat on one of the two chairs in the breakfast nook. Forty years she’d owned this house. She’d never had a home invasion before, unless you counted some of the goofy guys Sino dated before and after her too-brief marriage.

Alia chopped vegetables and arranged them around the chicken, which she drizzled with homemade shoyu sauce. Her neighbours next door were having a barbecue. She could see them from here. They were oblivious to her predicament.

“Thirty minutes in the oven and it will be ono,” she said.

Nobuo scratched his chin. “Ono means what?”

“Delicious.”

“Yeah, well, I’m too hungry to wait for delicious. You have something I can eat now while we wait?”

“I have pastries.”

“That sounds good.”

Nobuo reached across the table and she saw the gun peeking out of the gap in his suit jacket. For the first time, she was frightened. She watched him open one of the grocery bags and extract a box of Twinkies.

“Western crap,” he said, eagerly tearing into the package.

The first man strolled in, yawning.

He sat on the other side of the table. They each demolished a few of the cakes. She offered them more tea, but they declined.

Nobuo helped himself to some sodas at the bottom of the fridge. He passed one to the first guy. She pulled the chicken out of the oven and she split it in two, heaping the vegetables around the meat. The two men ate in silence.

“May I go to the bathroom?” she asked.

Nobuo waved her away. She darted out of the room. This time she really did need to pee. For the first time in her life, she knew the truth of the expression I almost peed my pants. She washed her