Heads Will Roll Read online

  They were silent for a few minutes, Joey enjoying his joint, Brett deep in thought.

  Brett glanced at Joey. “I wish you’d grow up. When dad told Jim to take care of you, he probably didn’t mean your whole life, you know.”

  “Sometimes you don’t know what you’re talking about, do you? Dad’s only been gone less than two years, so give it a break.” Joey offered the joint to Brett, who shook his head.

  “Not until the job is done.” Brett sighed in exasperation when Joey joined him in repeating his mantra, again in a fake, heavy Italian accent for drama.

  “Jesus, you never change.”

  Joey took another toke as he rolled down the window to exhale.

  “Now, remember what I told you earlier,” Brett began, as he guided Maude around a slow-moving Ford Escape. “When we get there, you do what you’re told.”

  Joey flicked at Brett’s black chauffeur’s hat so it slipped to the back of his head. He chuckled. “No problemmo, brother. No fear, man.”

  “I’m serious bro. You don’t mess with this; it’s that simple. You don’t want to piss these people off. It’s easy money, and God knows we need money to keep this business ahead of the game, despite what Jim’s been pulling in.”

  “Well, if Dad hadn’t run the business into the ground—”

  “Shut up about Dad, Joey. You know he did the best he could.”

  “Aye-aye, Captain.” Joey saluted Brett. “Like I said—”

  “Joey, will you listen to me!”

  Not receiving a reply, Brett jerked the steering wheel as he crossed over a lane and swerved onto the shoulder, slamming on the brakes. They heard a thud as the coffin slid forward. Joey knew the joist bracket would stop the coffin and the poor bastard inside was dead, but he grimaced nonetheless. Joey’s joint flew to the dashboard and fell through the heater vent.

  “Shit!”

  Brett placed Maude into park and turned to his brother, grabbing the skinny, black, borrowed tie, winding the ends around Joey’s neck. When he pulled on it, Joey gagged, his eyes dilating with surprise. Whatever tokes he had taken only moments before were now forgotten. Brett tightened his homemade noose and Joey’s hands came up to his neck, his fingers frantic to work their way underneath.

  “Listen, you little shit! Don’t. Mess. With. This. You mess this up and my life’s shit! Understand? Don’t screw this up!”

  Brett’s breath was heavy, his face flushed and sweaty. He stared at Joey and couldn’t help but picture him as a snot-nosed kid who’d admired him and followed him wherever he'd gone for most of their childhood.

  “Damn it!” He released Joey’s tie and sat back in his seat, slapping his palm on the dash in front of him.

  Joey coughed, opened the passenger door, and swung his legs to the ground. He dry-heaved, gasping for breath. He could feel mist on his face and hair as fog engulfed him. He loosened his tie, but couldn’t untie the knot, so he yanked the tie over his head and threw it into the underbrush. He sat there for a minute, trying to catch his breath, shivering with nervous tension.

  “Come on! Get in, stupid,” Brett said after giving Joey several minutes to stew, staring straight ahead, his hands at the ten-two position on the steering wheel. He shook his head and grabbed his cell from the console and glanced at it. “We’ll be late!”

  Joey turned his head and stared at Brett, willing his brother to apologize. He sighed. He should know from experience Brett would never give in. Since they were kids, Brett had been beating the shit out of him. Joey attributed Brett’s bossiness to being the middle child, but most of the time he’d probably deserved it. What good were big brothers if they never whooped ass?

  Joey’s eyes caught their mother’s Jesus-on-the-cross rosary hanging from the rearview mirror. When they were boys, Brett and Joey had never attended church with her. They weren’t interested. But since she’d died, he’d felt a hole in his heart and missed her prayers for him and Brett. And yes, even prayers for Jim were missed.

  They all went downhill for a while after she died. Blame their sins on the devil, their own immaturity, stupidity, or drugs. Take your pick, Joey used to joke.

  A white limousine zoomed by, its rowdy teenaged riders standing up through the sun roof. Joey heard shouts and a beer bottle shattered beside him, splashing his dress pants.

  “Motherfuckers!” He stood and held his middle finger in the air.

  Brett reached into his inside jacket pocket and pulled out a flask. He unscrewed the cap and took a long swig. He stretched his right arm out, offering his flask to Joey, who finally decided to come back in. Joey slammed the passenger door and grabbed the peace offering. He took a long, noisy swig of the hard liquor, coughed and rubbed his throat.

  “Thanks for the sore throat, shithead.”

  “Anytime,” Brett replied. He flipped the blinker switch, glanced in Maude’s side mirror, and pulled back onto the freeway, getting back up to speed. He pressed the cruise control for the rest of the trip.

  Chapter 3

  Aiko’s Purchase - Tokyo

  Once Tanaka and Kaneko had gone, Aiko thought more about the problem at hand. His daughter had been the one who caused the rift in the family. She was the one who had driven a wedge between him and his wife.

  Kaneko was only conceived eight months after Leland was born. They were happy and excited for another boy, but then Kaneko had come along. Her name, Kaneko, meant “doubly accomplished child.”

  Yet, over the years, their hopes had been cruelly dashed. Kaneko loved to eat, showed by her double chin and muffin top. She didn’t excel at piano like her brother, and she struggled in math. They should have named her Kiwa, which meant “borderline.”

  It was a disappointment to Aiko’s wife to find out Kaneko was a girl, and she was jealous of her. Japanese cherished, almost idolized their little girls, but not in this family. At the same time, Kaneko’s chubbiness frustrated her. Aiko, over time, gave up trying to unite his family. He’d often thought his family resembled one of the fables his nanny had recited to him as a youngster; a sad fairytale with a cruel mother and a spineless father.

  It wasn’t a secret that in Japan women ruled the households. Aiko was a company man and had been all his life. He’d always handed over his paychecks to his wife. He was a pussycat at home, but a lion at work, leading meetings for years. When there was a problem, he was a solution-based CEO. He wanted to show the same professionalism in his family. His reputation was at stake.

  Kaneko was the problem. He’d had to find a solution, and thus came the reason they ended up in the bowels of Tsukiji Fish Market.

  Soon, he would meet the infamous Dr. Stefan Farkis. And buy a new body for Kaneko.

  Chapter 4

  It’s a Family Business - California

  Breathing in fumes from the smoking joint stuck in the heater vent for the remainder of their trip, the brothers were now mellow. They found themselves on a dark road off the freeway in the warehouse district of Oakland.

  As Brett drove slowly between the abandoned warehouses, he tried to reason with Joey. “Now, remember what I told you this morning. If you want the job, keep your mouth shut, your eyes closed, and your ears clear. Like those monkeys, you know? No see, no hear, no talk.”

  Joey thought the three monkeys meant something else, something deeper, but he didn’t push the issue. “Is this what Dad wanted with his business? Sneaking around in the dark with a body and a coffin?”

  “I told you to stop talking about Dad! This is our business now. Mine and Jim’s—”

  “What the fuck, bro? I’m a brother too, remember?”

  “You took your share in cash, remember? You’ve got nothing to say about how we run our business.”

  “Oh, you mean Jim’s business?”

  Brett’s face paled.

  “I’m sorry,” Joey said.

  “You never held a grudge before about me being an adopted brother. Why start now?” Brett mumbled, hurt. “You don’t know what it’s like to keep Ji
m on top of things.”

  “What are you saying? Is Jim drinking again?” Joey hesitated and started to say something clever to smooth things over with Brett. But the hell with him. He can’t pull the adoption card every time he’s stressed.

  When Brett didn’t respond, Joey exploded. “I knew it! He’s taking money away from our business, isn’t he? I told you!”

  “You told me nothing, and you’ll tell me nothing! You are the son who didn’t conform, who refused to fit in. Well, live with it!”

  A heavy silence stretched between them.

  “And don’t be acting like your stupid self once we get there. No sudden moves, either.”

  Joey shook his head, agitated. Brett always tried to get in the last word, like he’d done when they were kids. “Are these people jumpy or what? Aren’t we just dropping off a body?” Joey glanced sideways at Brett, second thoughts about agreeing to help Brett tonight creeping through his mind. He’d never wanted to join the family business. Dealing with death daily was morbid, he thought, and where was Jim in all this?

  “No questions. And remember, tonight never happened.”

  “Sure, Mr. Cloak and Dagger,” Joey said. “Fifty-fifty, right?”

  Brett turned to him and blinked, trying to follow Joey’s train of thought. He chuckled, despite their bickering. “Brother, you’re younger, and will always be younger. So it’s always a sixty-forty split between us. Remember that.”

  They stayed silent as Maude’s headlights flickered over a group of homeless people clustered around a burn barrel, warming their outstretched hands. They were passing around a wine bottle, but paused as they watched the hearse slide past.

  Chapter 5

  AK-47 Rifles - California

  Brett turned left between two warehouses, continued down a long alleyway, and then turned right. They passed another group of bums, sitting around a fire pit on crates and dilapidated lawn chairs, laughing as if someone had divulged a hilarious joke.

  Joey didn’t like to argue with Brett, but he had to draw the line somewhere. Brett’s decision to quit his growing computer startup to help Jim with the family business was his own damn fault. He had walked away from his friends and a nice condo in Silicon Valley, too. Joey didn’t understand Brett sometimes.

  He felt no obligation to the family business other than helping out now and then. Being in the business of death? Nope, not for him. He had his own life now; his repair and maintenance shop, a girlfriend, and his motorcycle. He was happy. Brett had made his choices in life, and now he had to figure out how to deal with them. Simple.

  He peered over at Brett as he navigated down the dark, narrow alleyways. The determined set to his jawline meant he was overthinking things again. While Joey and Jim had similar features, both under six-foot and blonde, Brett was six-two, and a brunette. Joey had even heard women call him “tall, dark, and handsome.”

  Whatever.

  Joey saw flickering headlights in the distance. Kevin, his teenaged helper at the shop, had told him Oakland was famous for car side shows where they “flipped bitches” and “drifted”.

  Ahh, to be young again, he thought. Of course, he was only twenty-four himself, although he acted younger sometimes. “Immature,” Brett would say to explain it. Joey liked to think he was “hip.” He rolled down his window and listened, hearing a mixture of shouting, music, and squealing rubber in the distance.

  Brett was oblivious to the distant lights and noise as he concentrated, his eyes scanning the roadway ahead. He slowed to a crawl, and stopped in the street.

  Before Joey could ask him why he had stopped, there was a sudden vibration and a whirring noise. Maude shook like they were in an earthquake.

  Joey grabbed his armrest in fright. “What the—?” He trembled, peered over at Brett and frowned in puzzlement when he noticed Brett didn’t seem concerned.

  The ground opened up without warning and they started to drop. Joey spewed out more expletives while Brett chuckled in amusement, shaking his head. He pulled his flask from his jacket and took another quick swig.

  Instead of falling into an abyss as Joey thought, they started moving downward. His eyes widened as he realized they were on a ramp of some sort. The rumbling continued until they jolted to a halt a few feet from the concrete floor.

  The vehicle was now fully submerged under the street. A half dozen bright search lights surrounded them, directed straight at them. Joey blinked, his eyes unaccustomed to the blinding light.

  Maude’s back doors banged open and he heard the coffin slide out, the frame’s legs extending and clicking into place. Brett clinched Joey’s arm before he could turn around in the passenger seat.

  “Stay still and don’t say a word,” he said out of the side of his mouth.

  There was a loud rap on the driver’s window and Brett pressed the power button. A hand reached in through the opening and Brett grabbed the thick white envelope before powering his window back up. His fingers rifled through the bills stuffed in the envelope before he slid it in the inside pocket of his suit jacket.

  Joey reached for the glove compartment but before he could open it, there was a loud shout from beyond the spotlights. Four masked men surrounded the car in an instant. They were each pointing AK-47 rifles straight at them.

  Chapter 6

  Cash for Deliveries - California

  “What the hell are you doing!?”

  Joey didn’t have a chance to answer Brett’s question. Not only did they have assault rifles pointed at them, but one of the gunmen had smashed in the passenger-side window with the butt of his gun. Joey froze, fragments of glass covering his lap.

  “Out!” a masked gunman ordered.

  Joey raised his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay, man.”

  “Shit!” Brett pulled on the latch on his door.

  “Not you; stay where you are!”

  Brett raised his hands in front of his chest. “Okay, okay, relax! I’m sure this is all a big misunderstanding…” He stopped short when a masked man on the passenger side stuck his weapon through the opening. Joey leaned as far back in his seat as he could to give the madman, and his gun, some space.

  The gun’s red laser beam shined into Brett’s right eye. “Shut up! Did I ask you to speak?” the gunman snarled.

  “N-no.” Brett took a deep gulp of air and held back a coughing fit he felt in his chest.

  Brett had worked with these guys for almost a year now, and there had never been trouble. Follow their instructions, do what they say. Never ask questions, never speak. They offered him and Jim cold, hard cash for the deliveries, and for all these damn rules. Jim knew more than he did, of course, since he set everything up, but Brett wasn’t one to rock the boat. He figured what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.

  A bead of sweat rolled down Brett’s face. His body was so tense he could feel his blood flowing, and his heart pulsed as if trying to break free from his chest.

  The masked man reached in through the smashed passenger’s window and grabbed the door handle, yanking it open. He dragged Joey from the car by the collar of his shirt as Joey tried to stay on his feet. His shuffling didn’t get him far and the man threw him down to the concrete floor. Shards of glass from the broken passenger window fell onto the concrete floor.

  “Ow, shit. This is so unnecessary!” Joey said, rubbing his throbbing elbow.

  The masked men remained silent as one of them opened the glove compartment and rummaged through it. He inspected the passenger side door storage area, under the floor mat, and last, felt around under the seat.

  “Clear!”

  “Where’s the gun?” The masked man grumbled at Joey and nudged the AK-47 at his chest.

  “Gun? I don’t have a gun,” Joey responded, confused.

  “What were you reaching for then, asshole?”

  “My sunglasses! Only my sunglasses! It’s fucking bright in here!” Joey gestured to the bright lights.

  Brett mumbled an expletive.

  The mas
ked man standing over Joey kicked him in his ribs. “Stand up!” he ordered.

  As Joey painfully climbed to his feet, he heard a soft rumbling behind a wall of crates. The rolling cart with the coffin came back through the tight aisle. The man pushing the cart was a huge Samoan, at least three hundred and eighty pounds, Joey estimated. His face wasn’t covered with a black mask like the gunmen, but tattoos instead. One of the gunmen helped him load the coffin back in.

  Slamming Maude’s back door, Tattoo-Face pounded a huge fist against it. “Loaded!”

  The gunman stuck the gun between Joey’s shoulder blades. “Move!” he demanded as he pushed him back into the passenger seat. After the gangster slammed the door, he glared through the shattered passenger window and again aimed his weapon at Brett.

  “Remind this asshole of the rules, pronto. This is on your head!” His lips formed a grim smile. “POW!” He bent over in laughter when both brothers jumped in their seats.

  The tattooed Samoan pressed a large red button on a metal post. The ramp was slow and steady and rattled back up to the street. He locked eyes with Joey and held his gaze as they disappeared upward. Joey shuddered. Tattoo-Face’s eyes were dark as a moonless night, and they shot daggers right through to his soul.

  The brothers were silent as the ramp jostled them back up to the street. After a final clang, everything was quiet again. A few blocks ahead Joey saw the burn barrel they had passed earlier and flames still flickered, but the group that had so jovially surrounded around the fire earlier had dispersed.

  Brett sighed and rolled down his window. With the shattered window on Joey’s side and his own open window, the fog-laden, early morning air blew through the cab. Within minutes, the dashboard, steering wheel, and their pant legs were damp. The brothers didn’t seem to care. They were in shock, not believing what had happened. Nor did they understand why.