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

them that I’ve gone?” Shiro was totally petrified now.

“A secret location. It’ll be obvious that the Yakuza was behind the hit because we’ll make it obvious. There’ll be a lot of speculation. You can handle this, okay?”

“I’m glad you’re so sure. Why are you so sure when I’m not?”

“Because you’re a good man.” Jerrell pointed to the door. “Off you go.”

Shiro stepped out of the vehicle.

“Kono has good taste.” Jerrell grinned at him. “Now shut the door.”

The car sped away and Shiro felt his knees shaking. The morning was bright and sunny, a cool breeze on the air. He felt in his jacket pocket for the gun. There was a crowd at the end of the other side of the park. Everyone was held back by police barricades.

He walked past the throng, ignoring shouts and calls. Ahead of him was Kono standing at the foot of a ladder. Shiro felt everything happening so fast, his panic so acute he could feel bile rising in his throat. Kono turned and saw him. He waved him back, but Shiro kept moving. As Kono glanced up at the guy on the roof, Shiro stopped. He was utterly shocked to realise the crowd held back by the cops was yelling, “Jump! Jump! Jump!” to the man on the roof.

Who were these fucking people? Shiro felt a stillness in him. Thank God the bullets were blanks because he wanted to murder the crowd. He lifted the safety and took the gun out of his pocket.

And pointed it at Kono’s back.

* * * *

Alia woke up when she heard somebody saying Shiro’s name. She must have fallen asleep. She’d dozed fitfully, upset when she realised her plan wasn’t working. Now Nobuo and the other man were standing in front of the TV.

“He did it,” the first man said. What was his name?

“Shit. I didn’t think he had it in him.”

Nobuo took his cell phone out of his pocket and began jabbering in Japanese.

She understood his words. “The gay traitor is dead.”

Alia pushed the men aside, appalled when she saw that CNN had images of Shiro on the ground hog-tied, his face bloodied, being led away.

“…yes, David,” the TV news reporter said. “About half an hour ago, twenty-three year old student Shiro Kanake shot and killed a highly regarded New York homicide detective, Kono Takumi.”

Alia gasped, her trembling hand moving to her lips.

“No….oh…no. Shiro.”

“He has no history of violence…no problems. According to law enforcement in Honolulu where he is from, he’s never even had a traffic ticket. We have no motive for this unspeakable crime at this time.”

She turned to Nobuo-san. He grinned at the TV. How she hated him.

The first man excused himself. She heard a door close down the hallway and assumed it was the restroom.

“Why?” she asked Nobuo. “Why?”

“Retribution in blood is the honourable way.”

“You killed my daughter?”

“She made her own troubles.”

Alia would have asked him more except that blood had begun to trickle from his nose. He seemed oblivious until it splashed on his hand.

“What the…?” He swiped at his nose but the trickle grew stronger. Blood came out of the corner of his left eye. Suddenly, he grabbed his stomach.

“Kutabare!” he shouted, falling to his knees.

He stared at her. She was impressed with how fast the damned poison acted once it got going. He was a mess. She could smell his bowels evacuating in his elegant pants.

“Is my daughter dead or alive?” she asked.

He panted, falling to his side.

She darted to the bathroom, where the other man wept, kneeling with his head over the toilet bowl.

“Was it the tea?” he asked.

“No. The stuffing for the chicken.”

“Please…help me.”

“I’ll help you. Just tell me…my daughter…please…is she dead or alive?”

He vomited up blood. He didn’t have much time. Nobuo was screaming in the other room now.

The man kneeling before her wept and it wasn’t a pretty sight. He freaked when he realised blood ran down his cheeks.

“Son…what is your name?” she asked.

He began to moan and scream. He fell over and his shirt opened. She was shocked to see festering needle marks all over his torso.

“Keizo,” he sobbed. “Nobuo-san forced me to come here. My name is Keizo. Please tell Shiro…tell Shiro…”

He let out a blood-curdling yell and she decided death would bring him peace.

She held his hand until the end.

* * * *

It all went down the way they planned. Shiro tried not to be frightened when he saw the news crews and the crowd cheering him on. As they sped away from the cameras, the officers in the van began beating and kicking him. As they arrived at the holding cell in Far Rockaway, Inspector Jerrell asked them why they had kicked him in the face.

“Resisted arrest,” one said.

“Take him to cell number two.”

The officers who threw him in the cell spat in his face removing the cuffs. His whole body ached. He was petrified something had gone wrong and that he’d really hurt Kono. He was worried one of the cops would take it upon himself to come and finish him off. He paced the room for a while and finally sat down. He might be here for a while.

Two more officers arrived, screaming at him to get up. He got up. They dragged him out again and he was hauled to another room where he was finger printed, photographed and Jerrell asked him why he did it.

“To save my mom,” he said. “The Yakuza ordered the hit.”

In an interrogation room, Jerrell and another officer asked him the same questions over and over. He told them the same answers and started to worry that something had gone wrong. Jerrell acted as if he didn’t know him.

Then suddenly, another officer fitted leg shackles onto him, leading to a pair of handcuffs. He could barely walk in them. He was led to a van, a crowd of onlookers jeering and cheering him. The van peeled away with Jerrell in back with him. They stopped several blocks away.

Jerrell knocked on the