“You fight with one hand, you will be defeated,” Kaga intones.
“Jesus Christ,” I complain. “You pull that zen shit out to mock me. It’s a wonder Buddha doesn’t smite you.”
“I pull out the zen shit to mock everyone, not just you. I can’t fathom why you think you’re special like that,” Kaga replies.
He stops at a large door with a bar across it. He pulls the heavy sucker open and gestures for our prisoner to step inside. There’s a chair, a water spigot, and a bucket in the corner. The floor is damp, as if it’s been freshly washed. The assailant balks at first but as we stand around him, arms folded, he walks in. Kaga secures the door behind him.
“Do I even want to know why you have this room?”
Kaga shakes his head. “Not really. Let’s get you a different jacket.”
“And pants,” Steve interjects.
My pants look fine. I turn to tell Steve so, but then notice a rip down the side. “And pants.”
Upstairs in Kaga’s office, Priya has a suit over a chair and a table full of makeup. I stick my finger in some sticky shit and grimace.
“Do I really need this?”
Priya looks at Kaga, who’s leaning against his desk. “What will you tell Tiny?” he asks.
“I fell at the office?”
“She’s going to think you’re cheating on her.”
“How so?”
“Because no one falls at his office,” Kaga replies drolly. “If you make up a story she’ll automatically assume you’re cheating on her. It’s either you got in a fight or you’re cheating. I guess you’ll decide which one she’ll forgive faster.”
“Kaga, if you don’t shut up, I’m going to stick my boot up your ass.”
He shrugs and opens his mouth to deliver another platitude while Steve snickers in the background. Sighing, I give in. “Make me beautiful, Priya.”
“I’m only skilled enough to minimize your bruises. I can’t work miracles.”
Her snarky comment leads everyone to laugh. Even me.
After Priya works her magic, she leaves the three of us alone.
“I feel like a goddamn clown.” I pat my face lightly.
“You look scary enough to be a clown,” Kaga observes.
I give him the finger, while busily looking up the number to the Champagne Bar. “Who’s the manager of the Champagne Bar at the Plaza?”
Kaga knows every important bar manager in the city. “DeWight Jones.”
“Champagne Bar, how can I help you?” a pleasant voice intones.
“Ian Kerr. I’d like to speak to DeWight Jones.”
“Certainly. Please hold.”
Muting the volume on my end, I ask Kaga, “What are you stocking over there?”
“Ordering something to appease the old man?”
I nod.
“The twelve-year Subu.”
“Mr. Kerr, so kind of you to call us. What can I do for you?” DeWight Jones has a baritone that would rival Barry White.
“Mr. Jones. Tadashubu Kaga conveys his regards. Thank you for taking my call. I’m in need of your assistance. My fiancé Victoria is there, and she and her companion are waiting for me to arrive. I’m running very late. I wondered if you could deliver food as well as a bottle of the twelve year Subu for the gentleman and a Singapore Sling for my lady. She’s got golden blonde hair and wears it very straight. Likely she is the only female under thirty in your establishment wearing pants.”
“I see them. They’re sitting by a window and appear to be thirsty. I will remedy that immediately.”
“Fantastic. I’ll be there shortly. Please start a tab and I’ll cover it.”
“Certainly, Mr. Kerr. Please tell Mr. Kaga that it would be a pleasure to serve him soon.”
“He’ll be in within the week,” I promise recklessly. Kaga glares at me, but I’ve committed him now and he’s far too honorable to back out.
“We’ll be delighted to see him.” DeWight sounds downright giddy. “And you, of course,” he tacks on.
“I’ll be there in thirty minutes.”
“They’ll be treated as our most important guests,” he says. “They won’t even realize the time is passing.”
“Thank you.” I end the call.
“Why is it we’re friends again?” Kaga is annoyed.
“Because I’m one of the few people who can afford to sit down at the poker table with you,” I say, stripping out of my ruined suit pants.
“True.” Kaga hands me the replacement pair and Steve sits impassively, watching the bar floor start to fill up. “What do you want to do with our guest?”
The suit pants are slightly short and the shirt is a bit too billowy for my taste, but after I shrug on the jacket, I decide that it’s better than showing up looking like I’d been in a bar fight over in Queens. “No torturing without me,” I instruct.
I signal Steve that I’m ready and we head out. Kaga follows behind. “It’s called Chinese torture. I’m Japanese, or did you forget?”
“Your people have been oppressing the East for centuries. I think you know plenty of good torture techniques.”
“Only a couple. And Genghis Kahn was the one who oppressed the East for centuries. We only did it for a couple of them. Khan was Chinese. Or Mongolian, if you want to get technical.”
“By all means,” I reply dryly while climbing into the car. “Let’s be precise and accurate. I’ll be over in the morning. Treat him well. Maybe a good night’s sleep and a full belly will loosen his lips.”
ELEVEN
STEVE BREAKS A HALF DOZEN traffic laws to get me to the Plaza by 8:15. I’m over an hour late and starving. Hopefully DeWight has brought over a lot of food. It’s a good thing Big Guy didn’t take my money because I’m going to need the bills for tipping. DeWight, as any high end manager would, recognizes me when I walk in. These guys live and breathe the society pages because they don’t want to make the mistake of offending someone who might be powerful enough to get them fired.
“Mr. Kerr, your table is right over here.” DeWight directs me to three club chairs situated by the window overlooking Fifth Avenue.
I slip him a hundred dollar bill. “I need a steak, medium-rare, and another glass for the whiskey.”
“Of course,” he says and smoothly secretes the money into his pocket.
“Sorry I’m late,” I say as I reach the table. Leaning down, I inhale the lemon scent of Tiny and all the shit of the day drifts away. She has that perfect calming effect on me. Everything is going to be fine so long as we’re together.