Lemon Soju

The Docks are as far east as you can go in the city of Iguthu Lake before falling into the river. The poor sap they just dredged out of there learned that the hard way. He's been dead for at least a day.

Hiroshi Yamaguchi. A high-ranking yakuza in town from Tokyo. Tattoos cover his arms and back. His suit, while ripped to shreds and soaked from his one-way underwater sightseeing trip, must have cost more than my fee.

Good news is that someone hired me to find him. Bad news is that he was supposed to be alive when I did. I got close, but lost him at the casino two days ago.

Two uniformed policemen and two detectives in suits converse on the pier where they fished the body out of the water. One of them, Officer Lorkin, scribbles in a notepad. It's hot, even at five o'clock in the morning, especially when you're still drunk on cheap soju from last night. A bead of sweat runs down my neck and under my bra.

An ambulance pulls up. There's nothing they can do but call it. The medical team takes over and the police wander my way. Officer Lorkin laughs, taps the other on the shoulder, and approaches me.

He's a tall, aging pitbull of a man with an ugly mustached face that only a mother could love. If the rumors I heard growing up are true, several did.

"Na-Young," he says, his voice harsh and gruff. "You smell like cheap vodka and window cleaner."

"I put on my best perfume for you," I say. We walk over to a plain brown car together. His partner and the detectives disappear into a corner bodega.

"That mouth of yours is going to get you in trouble." Officer Lorkin opens the passenger side door like a gentleman and shuts it behind me. He gets in the driver's side, turns on the AC, and unzips his blue trousers. "Don't get any on the seat. This is my wife's car."

My hand roots around in his pants until I pull his limp cock out. "You better hope she never hires me to investigate you."

"With you on the job, as long as I don't do anything in a dive bar she'll never suspect a thing."

Officer Lorkin puts his mirror sunglasses on and leans back. My hand makes squishing noises as his dick hardens and gets slippery with precum. Within a minute or so, he's fully at attention and as slippery as an eel.

"Fucking hurry up," he says, as he gets closer. "They'll be back soon."

It doesn't take the horny old man long to hit the point of no return. I lower my head into his lap and take him into my mouth right before he explodes. Four big spurts followed by a few weak ones, until my mouth tastes like cock and cum.

It's an improvement over unflavored soju and Chinese take-out.

Officer Lorkin whips his pad out of his shirt pocket and drops it in my lap. He nudges a lollipop sized paper packet towards me and then stuffs his dick back in his pants. "That's so you don't get my notes sticky."

A lemony scent comes from a wet napkin inside the packet. It lingers as I wipe my hands clean, and dab around my mouth for good measure, and take pictures of the last three pages of his notes with my phone.

They already know Hiroshi's name, and even Officer Lorkin can figure out that he was yakuza. Throat crushed. Rope burns, plural. Strangled before knifed, question mark.

"Think it was gang related?" I hand his notebook back to him and reach for the door.

He shakes his head and starts to nod off. "Our friends in silk suits weigh them down so that they never come back up."

So not a pro, unless it's a message.

I get out of the car as his partner saunters back with a tall coffee in one hand and a hot sandwich in the other.

"Is it my turn next?" He leers at me and reaches for the passenger side door.

"Sure, just give him time to recover before you get started."

His leer melts into a scowl.

My phone's almost dead, but it's only a dozen blocks to my office. This heat's already sucking the life out of me. Another July scorcher.

Fifteen minutes later, I'm climbing the stairs to the 3rd floor of the thin red brick building and unlocking a thin wooden door with "Na-Young Park, Private Investigator" written on the frosted glass.

The door swings open and bangs against the far wall.

A green bottle of cheap soju lies on its side on a metal desk. It's empty but I check it anyway. Crumpled napkins and a plastic take-out box complete last night's crime scene. A yellow, white, and teal Hopi blanket bunches at one end of a couch against the far wall, next to an empty filing cabinet where I keep the emergency soju stash, currently depleted.

My stomach demands food, but more than that I need to sleep. I plug my phone in to charge and dive onto the couch in the corner. I'm gone in seconds.

The office door bangs against the wall and jolts me upright. A statuesque blonde woman with a long black dress and longer legs closes it and walks across my office to the mess on my desk. Her hair frizzes out around her long face like a European supermodel.

"I see you've been hard at work," she says, leaning on an empty corner of my desk.

"Michelle, I was about to come see you." I rub my eyes. How long was I out? "I just needed some sleep. I've been up all night."

"Please, call me Miss Gunwhal, and it looks more like you passed out than fell asleep."

She reaches for the shade on the window. A fine indentation in her left ring finger in the place where a wedding band would go says that she's not Miss anything. Michelle Gunwhal is certainly not her true identity. Whatever her real name is, she snaps the shades open. Needles of light pour into the room.

I cover my eyes from the afternoon sun and stand up. "They fished your guy out of the river this morning. Sorry I couldn't find him in... ah, yeah. I'm really --"

"Nonsense. You did your part." She takes her phone out and taps it twice. So the story about being Hiroshi's mistress was a lie, too. "There you go."

My phone says I just got paid. A thousand dollars from "Joong Gun, Inc." Making my current account balance nine hundred and fifty dollars. The number instantly drops to less than thirty as my late phone bill, some overdraft fees, and the rent for this little office get taken out.

Held onto it as long as I could, I guess.

I want to wonder why she's paying me for a job that didn't work out, but something something something never miss a good chance to keep your mouth shut, right?

"That was a nickname my father used to call me," she says. "So I used the name for one of my companies."

I wasn't going to ask, although the question did cross my mind. That name sounds familiar, although I can't place it.

"Wow, thank you," I say. "Is there anything else I can do for you?"

"Just don't tell anyone I asked you about him," she says on her way out.

If people actually asked me anything, I wouldn't be sleeping on the couch in my office. I have this place for another month, but that doesn't solve the problem of being hungry. Who would buy me breakfast?

I scroll through my contacts. Dave Fuckboi? No, he started dating the mohawk chick. Ed Fuckboi? Nope, moved. Gary Fuckboi is hooking up with guys these days. Harlan Fuckboi?

I dial Harlan's number. He picks up.

"Don't you text like a normal person, Nyan?"

We met in middle school and he couldn't say "Na-Young." The name stuck.

"I wanted to hear a friendly voice," I say. It's not a lie, his voice is mellow and chill

"You wanted to hear a voice that was gonna say 'yes' to whatever you needed to ask for. Just spit it out," Harlan says.

"I'll tell you over breakfast." I'm sure I can think of something to talk about by the time we get there.

"It's four pm, Nyan."

"Perky's has twenty-four hour breakfast."

Silence. Silence. A sigh.

"Only because their hash browns are slammin'," he says. "Alright, see you soon?"

"You got it." I end the call.

Perky's is a cheap diner on the corner of Market and Wumpus, a mile and a half from my office. I've walked down Market Street hundreds of times. It's the busiest street in town. A thousand times, for sure.

And of all of those walks, today's is the hottest, muggiest, thickest one. I let my mind wander to keep it away from my sweating body.

Why did "Michelle" pay me? I hadn't held up my end of the bargain. Or had I?

Something about "dead yakuza" said that this might not be the end of the story.

Was Hiroshi even the job at all? And why would she pick the drunk slut investigator to track a foreign gangster? I'm going to need to find out more about Michelle, or Joong Gun Inc. Where have I heard that name before?

Searching for the company name online while I walk doesn't tell me much. A filing says that Joong Gun, Inc, is owned by another company, Green Tea Holdings, which is itself owned by another company that turns out to be owned by Joong Gun, Inc. A perfect financial ouroboros of companies with addresses that would put them in the middle of the Iguthu River.

The diner's not far from Harlan's place, so he's already shuffled his tall, lanky self into an orange booth by the window. He waves once as I cross Wumpus Street.

Bells jingle when the door opens. The black and white tile floor seems to swim as cold air blasts my face. Across the orange table from Harlan is an empty orange and green bench, big enough for two.

He's fully stretched out, back against the window, and his clean new kicks stick over the end of his side.

I flop into the empty side, press my back against the window the way he does, and stretch out my legs over the long green seat cushion. My beat up sneaks are still a foot or two away from the edge.

"You look like shit," I say to Harlan. It's a lie. He's toned and solid under his clothes. His wavy reddish-brown hair is cut close, and his face is handsome and clean-shaven. Freshly shaven, in fact, given the reddish hue on his cheeks and neck. He still cares.

A grumpy old Indian man brings us two cups of coffee and two menus. With a meaty brown hand, he swipes my feet off the green cushion. "No feets on the bench."

"We're ready to order," I say, unperturbed.

The waiter looks disappointed at having to deal with customers, and, with a great sigh, takes out his notepad from the pocket of his grease stained white apron. "What do you want?"

"I'll have the lumberjack with waffles instead of pancakes," I say.

The waiter grumbles and writes something down, his left hand curled awkwardly so he doesn't smear the ink as he's writing.

"Just gimme the same thing," Harlan says.

Without a word, the waiter scoops up the untouched menus and stomps through the shiny silver kitchen door where he yells loudly in another language.

"So what's up, Nyan? What is this?"

"It's a booty call. You're going to buy us breakfast, and then we're going to go back to your place and fuck in the shower. I feel like we established this routine years ago."

He takes a sip from his coffee but pulls away quickly because it's too hot. Something's bugging him.

"Wait, do you have someone back at your place already?" I ask.

"What if I did, what would you say?" Fire burns in his voice. He's surprised at how much emotion slipped out and brings his coffee cup in front of his face.

"Your shower's big enough for three."

"Come on, Nyan. Routine? I don't hear from you for a month, then you come by three days in a row but never stay the night, then you disappear for six weeks. Sound familiar? We're getting too old for this." Harlan spins his body to face me, but then looks out the window, irritated.

I'm more heated than I expected. "What do you want, Harlan? A girlfriend? You want to spend Friday night on the couch watching a boring movie with a half eaten pizza on your coffee table? Then we come here the next morning, to our usual table and get our usual Saturday morning breakfast? Come on, Harlan. That's not us."

The waiter returns with two plates of food that he slaps down in the middle of the table. I take a sip of coffee while I pull myself together. The waiter gives us a moment of silence, then stomps off to another table where another group of customers can ruin his day.

"Why can't that be us, Na-Young?"

"You know why."

He's silent for a moment. "Is it because --"

"Yes it's Because," I say.

Because you got me pregnant when we were teenagers, it went really wrong, and now I'm damaged forever. And I know you've always wanted to be a dad.

He picks at his hash browns with his fork, and I feel like an ass. I came here asking for help and only managed to dredge up the lowest point Harlan or I have experienced in the twenty years we've known each other.

The truth is, we've been in each other's lives so long I don't think either of us could imagine settling down with anyone else.

We eat in silence for several minutes. I feel like I should apologize, but for what? The guilty look on his face says that he's sorry for making this unpleasant.

I put my fork down. "Look, Harlan. Give me some time to pull my life together, to get on my feet. Then let's have this conversation."

Harlan hacks at the last pieces of waffle on his plate with the blunt knife. "One day, Nyan, one of us is going to want something more out of the time we have left, and everything's going to have to change for us both. I'd rather face that day with you... than for one of us to have to leave the other behind. Whatever you need to do to feel like you're stable, why not work on it together?"

My instinct is to disarm the whole conversation with a sarcastic comment, but Harlan's face is fixed and firm, and not at all in the mood for that kind of thing. "Okay, let's talk about it. Do you mind if I take a shower first? I got kicked out of my apartment two months ago. I've been sleeping in my office and showering at the gym since then. You sure you still want to have that conversation?"

"Finish your food," he says with a victorious twinkle in his eye. His plate is empty. With as many calories as he burns in his day job, he's always done before I'm halfway through.

We're back at his place less than twenty minutes later. The rest of the conversation in the diner was casual, neither of us wanting to dampen the mood, and both of us distracted by the conversation we've put off for two decades.

His apartment looks like the one the real estate company would use to show off their building. Stylish white sectional couch, big TV, elegant metal and glass coffee table. And his bedroom is spotless, the bed made, and a small prism dangling from a string in the window sends rainbows shooting across the room.

We take off our shoes and put them in the hanging shoe rack that my parents gave him as a high school graduation gift.

My sweaty black t-shirt's off before I get to the bathroom. It starts a pile near the sliding glass shower door that my jeans, black bra, and black panties fill out. It feels good to be out of those dirty clothes.

The water's as hot as I can stand it. My body relaxes, my muscles unwind for what feels like the first time in weeks. I let it run through my hair and down my back.

"Are you coming in?" I yell.

Harlan pokes his head in the doorway. "Are you... I mean, is that a good idea if we were going to..."

"No, it's not a good idea. It's an amazing idea, now get the fuck in here and remind me why I called you to begin with."

He's in the shower with me in just a few seconds. There's not an ounce of fat on his body. He's all muscle and sinew, and, even naked, he moves with the confidence of a man who knows that he owns everything within his grasp.

And I'm within his grasp when I step towards him and his arms close around me.

Our first kiss is a passionate, tender crush. It's safe here, under the hot water, in Harlan's arms. Safe enough for my guard to come down.

I separate from his embrace and take a bar of soap from the shower caddy. My problems seem to melt away like the suds I rub into his chest, his arms, and his shoulders. I watch his muscles ripple.

My hands move down and he jumps when they close around his dick. His eyebrows relax and his lip curls, his breathing starts again and he licks his lips even though steam has fogged the glass to the point where the rest of the world doesn't exist.

I wash his body, soaping his chest and hips. We both giggle like kids when I get to his crotch and balls.

He gets so hard when I get down on my knees and wash his legs and feet. I give the tip of his cock a playful kiss, and then another. And one more for good luck before I stand up again.

His whole body is soapy and he pulls me close. We've done this a hundred times and I love it every time. I writhe against him and get sudsy, myself. His dick rubs against my belly, hotter than the steam and much, much harder.

I turn around so my back is against him. He gropes my breasts and I rub my back and butt against his shaft.

It's not long before I can't take any more. I bend forward, putting my hands against the ceramic wall. The water rolls down my back and ass, my legs part enough for him to get inside me.

There's no need to tell him what I want. His hands take my hips and he slides into my pussy. He takes me hard. My body shakes and nothing comes out of my mouth but whimpers and whines.

I want to cum so bad, but I know he's close. I can feel him getting frenzied, berserk. He fucks me hard, pounds me hard. I'm going to be sore after this, the good kind of sore.

He roars and cums inside me, and I let my body go. I shake and twitch, he grunts and holds the back of my neck. I float.

Hot water splashes down my back and then stops. Harlan pulls me against his chest. It's awkward for him to do because he's so much taller, but we've done this many times and his legs are so strong. He holds me tight.

After a minute or two, he pulls himself out. My legs are wobbly but he holds me up until they work on their own.

Harlan cleans his dick off and gets out of the shower, leaving me alone to clean myself and turn the water off. He left a folded towel just outside the shower door.

"Nyan, I'm not happy about this but I have a whole drawer full of clothes you've left over the years."

"You have my underwear?"

"You're usually still drunk when you leave."

Apparently I never left a matching set of clothes, so it's going to have to be a pink Mr Bubble t-shirt and the black cargo pants with the hole in the knee that I thought were gone forever. There are no good bras, but Koreans aren't known for being chesty and I'm no exception, so I do without one. My hair is wet but clean.

I sink into his couch. Harlan sits across from me.

"You sure you want to have this conversation?" I ask.

"Yes. I do."

"You know I've never been exclusive with just one guy my entire adult life, right?"

"Yes, I'm aware."

"Okay, then," I say. "Let's talk."

"Why don't you just move in here, Nyan?" He holds his palms up like it's the simplest thing in the world and he can't understand why I'm not getting it.

"And, what? Then we're boyfriend and girlfriend?"

"Who knows? We can figure it out together. Let this place be where you get back on your feet," Harlan says. He leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees. "Look, the Taekwondo school is doing well so we don't need to talk about money."

Taekwondo! That's where I heard it before!

I leap to my feet in a flash. "Joong Gun!"

"What?"

"Joong Gun! The Taekwondo form!"

"What about it?"

Getting Harlan mixed up in this would be a bad idea. No one in Iguthu Lake is squeaky clean, but Harlan's clean enough

"Does your federation post tournament results?" I ask him.

"Yes, on our website, but what is this about?" he asks.

"A client. She did something that didn't make sense and it's been bugging me."

"Are you okay? Did she hurt you?"

"No, nothing like that."

"Then what did she do?"

"She paid me," I say.

Harlan looks defeated. Poor guy. He just wants a quiet life teaching martial arts to little kids and instead he's stuck on me.

"I gotta go, but I promise we will pick this up tonight. I'll stay over and then we'll have all the time we want to talk, if you want."

"Okay, Na-Young." He uses my name when he doesn't believe me but doesn't want to fight.

Maybe I should let Michelle Gunwhal go. She paid me, I could be done with her. Harlan's a good guy, and maybe some stability would be a good thing.

But I know I can't. It just doesn't make sense. Why would she hire me, of all people, and then pay me for a job where I got drunk at the casino bar and lost Hiroshi? I wouldn't pay me for that.

That loose thread bothers me more than Harlan's offer entices me.

I leave before I can change my mind, and I feel like a jerk as soon as the door shuts.

He doesn't deserve this. Once I'm able to convince myself that this Hiroshi-Michelle deal is over, I'll be better to him. He's the only one who's been there through everything.

But first I need to pull this thread and see whether it's attached to anything. And the best place to do that is where I left off, at the casino.

A big white and red bus picks me up on Market from the stop a few blocks from Harlan's apartment. The casino's just outside of town, and it takes more than an hour to get there making all the stops. While the bus moves, a cool breeze brushes my face and the heat is tolerable for ninety seconds. But each time the doors open fire pours in.

On the ride over, I have the AI assistant on my phone read all the Taekwondo tournament results from the area for the last few years, and come up with a list of women who placed in black belt divisions.

By the time the bus drops me off at the casino, I have twenty names. Some quick searches turn up social media for fifteen of them, and none of them look like Michelle.

The casino is a converted factory on the bank of the river downstream from the bright city. A house sized steamboat, lit up with ribbons of neon, chugs at a small dock in front. Two strings of light, alternating red and white, draw me towards the sliding glass doors of the old factory building.

The blast of air is so cold I wonder if it's possible to get frostbite in hundred-and-five degree weather.

I pass by the card tables and slot machines where people who are bad at math lose their money, and head to the bar where people like me who are bad at everything else lose our money.

Two shiny bar counters glitter under bright hanging light bulbs. I take one of the several red swiveling bar stools at the bar where I'd parked myself a few nights back. There's an eerie vibe sitting in a nearly empty casino, the lights and sounds of the slot machines as festive as if it were Friday night.

"Lemon soju, right?" The bartender's round face and brown, piglike eyes bear down on me from across the bar. He seems familiar, but all the casino employees wear the same white shirt and black pants.

"Sure, I'll have one. Just one though."

"Coming right up." He slides a shot glass in front of me and fills it up with a milky white liquid from a green bottle. He leaves the bottle next to the glass.

"I'm trying to be a better person, so I'll be straight with you. I'm not really sure how I'm going to pay for this shot, so there's no way I can afford a whole bottle."

"It's on me."

"Why?"

"You were having a tough night the other night, and it seemed like it had been a while since someone did something nice. Also, no one's drank that shit in a while except for you."

"If no one drinks it, why take up space on your wall?"

The bartender smiles and picks up a pile of receipts from inside the register drawer. He starts skewering them, one by one, onto a metal spike.

"The bar manager met a few Korean girls last year who introduced him to flavored sojus, and he acquired a taste for them."

I'm not sure if he means soju or Korean girls.

The shot tastes like candy, and hits like a masseuse.

"If you really want to do something nice, you can tell me where the Japanese guy went after he left here that night."

"Oh, Hiroshi? I don't normally talk about customers' business, you understand. But he was pretty proud of that envelope he had in one hand and the blonde he had in the other, so I'd bet he went down to the Red Lantern club near the docks. Sometimes the casino comps invitations to big spenders."

I'd heard of the Red Lantern. A sexy, invitation only place on Bellow Street. Hiroshi wasn't the usual type of invitee, if what I heard is true.

"Frizzy?" I ask, my hands going to my own hair. "The blonde?"

"No, wavy. Like a cornfield."

So not Michelle.

"I can't pay you for this information, or for this soju, really. But I see that the place is pretty empty, so if there's a quiet place in the back I could... you know." I make a motion with my hand that he can't mistake.

He shakes his head.

I move my hand towards my mouth.

He shakes his head again. "My wife is not a jealous woman, and that makes life a lot easier. I'd like to keep it that way. If you want to do me a favor, take that lemon soju with you when you leave. Seriously, no one has asked for that stuff but you."

I stuff the bottle into a delightful pocket in my cargo pants and take the bus through the evening heat back down to Market Street. The lights on the street and in the stores are starting to come on when I get to the Bellow Street stop.

The Red Lantern is easy to find. A literal red lantern hangs out front. It's a bit on-the-nose, but who am I to judge?

A big guy in a black collared t-shirt stops me at the door because I don't have an invitation. I try to explain that I just have a few questions for someone who works at the club, but it's like talking to a brick wall. I'm about to give up when he opens the door and escorts me into a red room.

Red carpets bleed into red walls. Two Asian women, one in a gold cheongsam and one in a black and red kimono, look my way from behind a long L-shaped wooden desk. Savage dragons of embroidered gold prowl the far wall though a bamboo forest of green.

Beyond a large archway near the desk come the sounds of a festive party that I wasn't invited to.

"She doesn't have an invitation, but I thought maybe she should talk to one of you," the large man says.

The girl in the kimono bows slightly, and the man goes back outside and shuts the door behind him.

"Welcome to the Red Lantern," the kimono girl says to me in heavily accented words. "I am Kimiko. How may we help you?"

"I am looking for a man who was here two nights ago, his name is --"

They look at each other and Kimiko interrupts me. "You'd better discuss this with Miss Lee. Please, come with me."

The woman in the cheongsam nods to Kimiko, who leaves the desk and goes through the arch.

On the other side, I find that the rumors were, indeed, true. The women all look like me. Not exactly, but they're all Asian. And the men are all white. And handsome.

No one looks at us, they're all too busy entertaining each other. Casual, flirtatious kisses turn into something more passionate. Pairs separate and reform anew in whatever arrangement feels right.

It's an orgy without the sex. No, wait, there's definitely sex. Two girls in shorts kneel in between a man's spread legs.

The other girls are all dressed so fancy and slutty. I feel like an awkward teenager in my mismatched clothes.

Kimiko leads me around the edge of the room to a small wooden door that blends into the wall around it. We climb creaky stairs to another door, and she knocks three times.

A minute later, one of the most beautiful women I've ever seen opens the door. Lush, wavy brown hair rings her round face, and a casual blue dress hugs her petite, slender physique. Brown, almond shaped eyes look upon me with warmth and curiosity.

"Miss Lee." Kimiko bows deeply. "This woman was asking about the other night."

"Thank you," the woman says and gives a slight nod.

Kimiko bows deeply again and descends the stairs.

"You can call me Jennifer, that's my English name. Come in. This is my office."

Her office is also her apartment, so she lives at work, too. A desk and four chairs sit near the door, and a four-poster bed, nightstand, and several bookshelves cluster in the far corner.

"What did you want to know?" Jennifer Lee asks. Even her voice is beautiful. An imperfect scratchiness to it puts me at ease.

"Do you know Hiroshi Yamaguchi?"

"I heard about what happened to him," she says. Her expression is still warm and open, but I sense a cautiousness.

"Was he here that night? I heard that he had an invitation, maybe one comped by the casino."

"It wasn't comped. It was a private party, and Hiroshi was the organizer. He came to me directly and asked if I could close the club for a night," she says.

"You know he's yakuza, right?"

"I know it's rarely a bad thing to have a yakuza clan honor bound to return a favor. You're asking about Hiroshi, but you haven't said why. If you want, I can get us a drink."

She waves towards the chairs near her desk, then opens a drawer and takes two small red tea cups into her hand and sets them out.

"I brought my own, although it's apparently not popular." I pull the green bottle out of my cargo pants pocket and set it on the desk.

Jennifer's eyes get wider than the river. Her voice goes up an octave. "Oh shit! Lemon soju! That's my jam!"

She comes around to my side of the desk and sits near me. She opens the bottle and pours some into each of the tiny cups. We clink them together and drink it down.

"Mmmm," she says, holding the bottle up and swirling the milky white liquid inside. "This is, without a doubt, proof that the universe wants us to be happy."

She pours two more shots. "I want to trust you because of the lemon soju alone, but you're hiding so much that I can't."

"A woman hired me to investigate Hiroshi while he was in town, to follow him and see where he went."

"And then he turned up dead," she says.

"And then he turned up dead," I say. "And she paid me."

"She paid you?" Jennifer says. "Are you sure she wasn't just being honorable and fulfilling her end of the bargain?"

I shake my head. "She gave me a fake name, and I could see she had taken off her wedding ring just before she came to see me. She had no reason to hide her identity from me. Not unless..."

"Unless she expects you to get into a situation where someone wants to know who hired you." Jennifer finishes my sentence. She catches on fast. With a graceful move, she swipes up a shot of lemon soju. "Have another. If you share it, neither of you gets hung over. My dad used to say that."

We drink another shot. The Korean way of doing business.

"She might have been there that night. She's blonde, and I heard Hiroshi left the casino with a different blonde lady," I say.

"There were lots of blondes here that night. Asian guys love them. Hold on a moment." Jennifer takes out her phone and taps on it for a minute, and then sets it face down on the desk.

"You live nearby?" she asks.

"Sort of. My office is a few blocks away."

"It's hot lately, right?"

"Yeah."

I'm not sure why she's talking about the weather when I came in asking about a dead yakuza. Suddenly I wonder if I'm being set up.

The door opens behind me and it's all I can do to avoid leaping out of my chair. Kimiko hands Jennifer a pile of light green invitations, bows from the waist, and leaves, shutting the door behind her.

"This is every woman who was here that night," she says. "I'm not sure if the names will help, since you said she gave you a false one. But I assure you, there are no secrets here in the Red Lantern."

She holds out the invitations but pulls them away just when I reach for them. "If you recognize a name in here, you're not going to try to keep a secret from me, right?"

"I'll tell you if I see her name."

She hands me the stack and I start looking. There must be four dozen of them. Halfway through, a name jumps out at me. Trista Harry.

I check the list of names from the Taekwondo tournaments, and sure enough, Trista Harry. She's competed in town for three years as both a second and third degree black belt, and she's won the women's black belt board breaking competition almost every time she's been in it.

I hand Trista's invitation to Jennifer. None of the rest of the names match my list. Trista's my best guess.

"I remember her. You think she was with Hiroshi when he was killed?"

"No idea. I traced him as far as here. The woman who hired me paid me from a company that had a Korean name. I didn't recognize it until my friend reminded me that it was the name of a Taekwondo form. I thought she might practice, so I checked the winners of all the tournaments in the area and this lady's name came up a lot, Trista Harry."

Jennifer's hand touches her chin. She looks to the side, lost in thought. Her beauty disarms me, and I find myself being drawn to her despite not knowing what she wants.

"I think we can get to the bottom of this," Jennifer says, sliding her phone back into her hand. She taps out a message. "If you'd like to explore the club, you're more than welcome. We like to keep the ratio as balanced as possible, so if there's someone you'd like to invite just tell me his name and I'll make sure they let him in."

"Harlan Parker." I say, taking out my phone to text him.

Jennifer stops texting. "Park and Parker?"

"I never told you my name."

"No secrets at the Red Lantern, Park Na-Young" She smiles as she says my name with perfect Korean intonation, way better than mine. "Just kidding. I knew who you were. I make it a point to find out about the neighbors. I looked you up when I saw another Korean business owner downtown. I'll send a car to pick up Mister Parker."

"Harlan," I write on my phone. "This is going to sound strange, but would you join me at the Red Lantern?"

His response comes less than a minute later.

"The sex club?"

"Yeah."

"Nyan, please tell me this is not some kind of passive-aggressive thing."

"I, Nyan Park, do hereby swear that this is not some kind of passive-aggressive thing."

"... Okay. Give me twenty."

"A car should pick you up at your place."

Just a thumbs up emoji after that.

"Trista will be here in an hour," Jennifer says. "When she gets here, Kimiko will bring her to me and then will get you. Don't knock, just come in. If Trista isn't the woman who hired you, just apologize for disturbing me when I have a visitor, bow, and leave."

"And if it is her, how should I let you know?"

"I think we'll all realize it right away. I'll wait in the lobby with you for Harlan. Steve and the girls are more forgiving when one of us asks to get in without an invitation than when it's a guy. Although if he's cute he'll get no trouble from Kimiko."

Harlan's there half an hour later. Jennifer looks at him appraisingly. "This is your boyfriend?"

"Er...," I say.

"Um," Harlan says.

"Still figuring things out." Jennifer's eyes narrow for a second like she's sizing me up. "Mind if I kiss him?"

"What?" Harlan's mouth snaps shut and his eyes widen, but don't leave Jennifer's face.

"Sure," I say.

He looks at me in a panic, then looks at Jennifer again and back to me.

"It's not a trap," I say, touching his hand. "Please, let's blend in."

Really I want to see how I feel if he does it.

He licks his lips and his eyes dart around the room. Finally he gives me a long look and says yes.

Jennifer steps up to him, her face upturned towards his. They're both so good looking. She looks like she was shaped from the ether, his face is chiseled marble and flesh. Their arms encircle each other, their embrace chaste at the beginning but grows tighter when their lips meet.

Something flickers in the pit of my stomach. Is this jealousy? It goes away almost immediately, but does not pass unrecognized.

It's hot watching them kiss. Like two movie stars that started dating on set, and I fucked one of them. Harlan enjoys it, and seeing his excitement, well, it doesn't so much as excite me as satisfy me.

They part, but their eyes are still locked on each other. A real chemical reaction happens between the two of them.

Kimiko, bless her heart, cuts the tension like a samurai. "Can I be next?"

Jennifer and Harlan both laugh and look away from each other. Harlan's goofy grin turns to guilt when his eyes meet mine.

I smile and touch the back of his hand with my fingertips, and he relaxes into a grin again.

"Welcome to the Red Lantern," the girl in the cheongsam says, eyeing Harlan from head to toe.

"You two have fun," Jennifer leans back against the front desk. She chews her lower lip.

Harlan's fingers weave between mine and we walk into the main room hand in hand.

We're approached almost immediately by two identical twin girls. They both have narrow, mysterious eyes beneath jet black bangs, and perfect tanned cheeks and necks wrapped by straight shoulder length hair. Each of them wears a plain white t-shirt and red shorts that show off their slender, petite physiques. Four identical nipples poke against the simple tops.

"So handsome," one says, her hand running down the front of Harlan's shirt.

"So pretty," the other says. The backs of her fingers come to my face and hesitate. Her nails glitter, and, when I don't flinch, she touches my cheek with cotton hands. "I'm Binh Tran. This is my sister Minh. New here?"

"Yes, first time. Are there, like, rules that we should know about?" I ask.

Minh's eyes stay on Harlan but her hands reach the top of his pants. She undoes them. "The only rule is 'if you like what you see, you belong here.' Do you like what you see?"

Harlan grins.

Binh slides next to me and looks out over the room. "What about you? Do you like what you see?"

"Yes."

"I like what I see, don't you Minh?" Binh turns to her sister.

"I want to see more." Minh opens Harlan's pants. Her eyes hold his. She takes the top of his underwear in her hands, waiting to see if he objects.

"I want to see more, too," I say.

"Me, three," Binh says, although she whispers it in my ear.

Minh tugs at his underwear. "Can we see more, please?"

Harlan looks at me for reassurance and I smile. Binh's lips brush my neck and I crane my head to the side to let her.

He closes his eyes in embarrassment, although he still nods.

Minh finally pulls Harlan's underwear down enough for his already-stiffening dick to spring out. "I'm going to need to sit down for this."

Binh and Minh each take one of Harlan's arms and ease him back into a bench.

"Show us how big it gets when it's all the way hard," Minh says to me, motioning to the empty spot next to Harlan.

I sit down, my leg touching his. Minh holds his cock in her hand and motions her chin towards it. I get her meaning and my head lowers into his lap. One of Harlan's hands touches my back.

His dick is hot in my mouth, and swells quickly. Soft hands pull my hair off my face and neck. I take my time, going slow the way Harlan likes. His groans turn to muffled smacks. When I steal a glance upward, he's kissing one of the twins. It's Minh, since her hand is still around the base of his shaft.

I want him to enjoy this. I certainly am.

He's soon rock hard, as turned on as I've ever seen him. I come up for air and Minh strokes and squeezes his stiff wet cock.

Binh straddles me, and pulls my pink Mr Bubble t-shirt up and over my head. I'm not ashamed, although I look around quickly but everyone else is too busy to pay attention to us.

"Kiss me," Binh says.

I freeze. I've never kissed a girl before.

Her hands run down my back and then up my sides. She takes her white t-shirt off and pulls me close to her. Her perky breasts brush mine. Harlan watches.

"Kiss me," she says again, and this time I do.

It's soft and tender, with deep understanding. Our souls connect through our lips. It's not a sexual connection, although it's intensely sexy. I feel as if some part of me has known some part of her for longer than either of us have been alive.

I miss it when she pulls back. Her eyes. So dark, so deep. Such beauty.

Harlan stares, his mouth open and his tongue out in disbelief and excitement. Minh flashes a secret smile and squeezes the tip of his dick until her hand gets slick.

Binh climbs off of me and unbuttons the top of my jeans. She slides them down and I move to let her. The air is warm and comfortable against my skin, and I've never felt more at peace with my body.

Binh turns my head towards Harlan and nods to Minh, who guides Harlan's face to me. I wrap my arms around his neck and his mouth crushes against mine. This might be our thousandth kiss, but it feels like the first one.

Harlan moans and tightens his arms around my waist. I feel fingers between my legs, nimble and skilled fingers that know right where to touch. One of the twins rubs me over my panties, opening my body and legs up. I take her hand and slip it under the thin fabric. Another hand brushes my breasts and chest while Harlan and I kiss.

Our embrace seems to last a lifetime. Binh's hands are the hands of an artist, and Harlan's grimace says that Minh's are no less skilled.

They switch, and Minh is rougher, more demanding. She plays my body like a zither until I'm spasming and sweating in Harlan's arms. He grunts and groans and squeezes me tight. Our lips meet again and again. His body tenses while we both climax.

Here, in this place, in his arms... I belong.

We separate, both panting for breath. Binh's head rests in Harlan's lap. She pulls back and swallows. Minh takes my hand, placing it on Harlan's cock as it twitches and throbs. Together we rub it for a couple of minutes, until his leg shakes once.

"Thank you for that," Minh says to me.

"Holy... wow," I say, still trying to catch my breath. "That was something else."

"Uh, huh." Harlan's almost asleep.

"Let's go get cleaned up," Binh says to Minh. They both wave to me and leave together.

"I would come back here," I say to Harlan, pulling my pants back on.

"Uh, huh." He puts his dick back in his underwear. Harlan splays on the bench, his head rolled back and his eyes closed.

I put my pink top on again, and Kimiko shuffles over. She nods and waves one arm towards herself.

Let him relax here. He earned it for putting up with me. I'll just see if that's Michelle, which it's probably not, and be back here before he wakes up.

Kimiko leaves me at the bottom of the stairs.

At this point, I hope it's not Michelle. I shoulda just let go of this and moved on. But now Jennifer Lee's involved, and she seems like the kind of person it's unwise to let down.

The stairs are silent beneath my feet. I hear voices through the door, but can't make out words. Someone laughs, though. A woman.

I open the door without knocking. Jennifer leans against her desk and Michelle sits in a chair in a sharp black pantsuit. Her frizzy blonde hair barely moves when her head snaps towards me.

"Michelle?" I say, and her face drops.

"What's going on here?" Jennifer demands.

"What are you doing here? How are you even...?" Michelle stands up and turns to Jennifer while pointing at me. "Why is she here?"

"She came to me with a story that was difficult to believe, yet seems very plausible now. How about we all sit down and discuss this over soju?"

"What do you want, Na-Young?" Michelle asks, ignoring Jennifer's request.

"I want to sit down and discuss this over soju," I say, mirroring Jennifer's words and making us seem like a united front to Michelle.

"Fine," Michelle says. She pulls a chair away from the rest and sits down.

Jennifer goes around her desk and gets three more red tea cups and pours the last of the lemon soju into the three glasses. She hands one to me and one to Michelle.

"What is this?" Michelle asks, sniffing at it. "Smells tangy."

"Lemon soju," Jennifer says, holding up her tea cup and then drinking it all.

"Lemon soju," I say, copying her like it's a toast. My head swims a little.

"Lemon soju?" Michelle says, and drinks hers. She picks up the bottle and inspects it. "This is good."

"Are you Michelle, or are you Trista?" I ask her.

"What's going on here?" she asks Jennifer, letting the bottle drop onto the desk.

"What's going on here is that the yakuza are about fifteen minutes away. I told them that if they get here in time, they'll find out who killed their boss."

"What," both Michelle and I bleat at the same time.

"I don't know what's going on here," Jennifer says. "And I'm not sure that I particularly care. What I do care about is that my place was used in someone's intrigue against a client. I'm not opposed to letting the yakuza sort it out how they want to."

Michelle folds her arms. "They're going to remember this drunk hanging around Hiroshi that night and think she did it for money."

Neither Jennifer nor I say anything.

"She was here that night. I'm sure I saw her out front." Michelle points at me. "She was following Hiroshi."

"I never made it here," I say. "I passed out in the casino."

"You useless bitch."

"Enough of that!" Jennifer says, thumping the heel of her palm on her desk.

It's silent for a moment. Michelle lunges at me like a coiled spring, her chair scraping along the wooden floor. Before I know what's happening, her fist hits my face.

The world spins and I fly out of my chair, landing with a woof.

"Stop it!" Jennifer yells.

Michelle puts her high-heeled shoe against the seat of one of the chairs and flicks it at Jennifer, sending her diving and covering her head. Then Michelle turns back to me.

I crawl on my back, trying to get away from her.

She stalks towards me until I'm against the wall. Michelle lifts her foot, the light glinting off her stiletto heel.

This is it. There's nowhere to go and I can't stop the board breaking champion from driving that thing into me as many times as she wants.

I should have stayed at Harlan's and just agreed to move in.

The door to Jennifer's apartment clatters open, even louder than the one to my office. As if hearing my thoughts, Harlan crosses the space between us in two giant steps. His foot catches Michelle's as her heel flashes towards my eye. Her shoe slams into the wall next to my head and gets stuck.

Harlan's momentum sends him crashing into her. They both tumble to the ground but roll to their feet like panthers. Michelle kicks her other shoe off, sending it whizzing toward Harlan, who slips to the side and closes with her.

Hands and feet fly at each other faster than I can follow. Harlan grunts as her foot slams into his stomach and then shoulder, but recovers and kicks at her.

She's too close to get out of the way and his kick sends her flying back into the wall. All the air rushes out of her lungs and she staggers.

Harlan seizes the opportunity and spins as he steps forward. His hips and body whip around with brutal momentum and his leg lifts to deliver a side kick with the power of a sledgehammer.

"Harlan, no!" I yell.

His foot flashes out, stopping an inch before her unprotected throat. This is probably how Hiroshi died, a side kick to his exposed windpipe from a Taekwondo champion.

"Let her go," I say to both him and Jennifer. "This is over."

"If she leaves the city tonight," Jennifer says. "And doesn't come back."

"Are you sure, Nyan?" Harlan brings his foot back to his body and then lowers it to the floor with controlled precision.

"I'm sure. This is over unless we make it worse. I'm trying to believe in second chances right now... I'm sure."

Michelle, or Trista, picks up her shoes from the floor and the wall. She pads to me, stopping less than two feet away.

Harlan's hands curl into fists but I shake my head and he stays where he is.

"I owe you, Na-Young Park. Thank you for this second chance. I don't deserve it."

She leaves, passing by Kimiko lurking in the doorway. Kimiko does not bow.

Harlan embraces me as I stand up. "Are you okay, Nyan? Binh woke me up and said you were in trouble."

"I'm fine, I'm fine." Fear flashes through my mind. I pull back and turn to Jennifer. "But what about the yakuza. What are we going to tell them?"

"Yakuza?" Harlan asks.

"They're already on their way back to Tokyo to pick a new boss." Jennifer says. Her hair waves when she shakes her head. "I lied. But I knew that whoever did it would know that the yakuza aren't the sort to spend a lot of time naval gazing over details like which one of you is responsible."

"I'm sorry to have brought this into your club," I say.

"You didn't. She did. But now I know something about her that she doesn't want the yakuza to ever find out. When life hands you lemons, make lemon soju."

"Still, we should stay out of your --"

"Nonsense, you're both welcome back. Kimiko will set you up with a silver invitation on your way out. It's for couples. She'll explain how it works."

"Are they leaving now," Kimiko asks pointedly.

Jennifer taps Harlan on the chest with one index finger and looks him in the eyes. "I got the sense that this one's been waiting for Na-Young to be ready to accept a second chance. They have things to talk about."

===

Outside, the sun is long gone and it's cool enough to stand. We go back to Harlan's place to finally have that talk, but not before stopping by my office to pick up my clothes, enough to fill up the drawer in his bedroom.

THANK YOU: to BryanRichardson for helping to refine this work, and to ChloeTzang for hosting this Hammered challenge and helping me at every step of the way.