Chapter Six: The Phoenix and the Dragon
�92.9 Dave FM traffic brought to you by Willy�s Mexicana Grill. It�s a nice warm morning today, you�re gonna be seeing about a 29 minute ride from Wade Green into downtown Atlanta��
�Nobody but soccer moms gives a shit about Wade Green,� James told the car stereo in his shining black Mustang. �I�m just trying to get to the airport!� He had an incredibly long day looming ahead. First, he would have to check in with his supervisors, who would tell him what flight he would be on, where it would be going, and when it would be leaving. Normally, the newer air marshals were thrown onto the longer flights with layovers, just to get them acclimated to the whole routine. Once he was told where he would be flying to, he would have to wait inside the airport until the flight was called. On some days, he would go into work and receive no assignments for that day. Those were his favorite days of all.
And of course, traffic was bumper to bumper. The airport was so close by that the roadside billboards were advertising different carriers, from the innocuous AirTran to the much more mature Hooters Air. Shuttles offering cheap airport parking advertised their wondrous services wherever they could get room. If anyone stuck in their car looked up, they could see airplanes flying low as they took off from the airport. James yawned. He forgot to pay a visit to the Starbucks before he left his apartment, and now he was coming to regret that. Finally, the traffic accelerated far enough that he could take the exit that would whisk him off to the airport using shortcuts. It was a relief for him to go more than 15 MPH, and he relished being able to go fast enough to necessitate a gear shift or two. The back roads he used were never crowded, not even during Atlanta�s dual rush hours, and James found himself in the employee parking lot of Hartsfield-Jackson International Airport within a matter of minutes. He popped the trunk and took out a stylish leather suitcase, slinging it over his shoulder. Whereas most airport employees were dressed in official Transportation Security Administration uniforms, with white shirts, blue pants and jackets, and insignia everywhere it could be stuck, James was a plainclothes air marshal. He was told by his boss to dress like a normal person would when going on a plane, but always keep his badge just in case anything happened and he needed to use his gun. He had seen his female co-workers dress in skimpy outfits before and be okayed by the boss, so he was pretty sure that a black shirt advertising The Clash, worn blue jeans, and black Doc Martens were all right as well.
TSA employees, including the air marshals, were provided with a whole office situated inside the bustling airport, but the only way James knew to get to it was by going through the south terminal�s ticketing area. The south terminal was always crowded because of Delta�s presence, so James found himself jostling for walking room along with what seemed like thousands of people, many of whom probably didn�t speak much English.
�Ford,� a woman said very loudly. James whirled around to see the source of the sound and saw Maya Patel, a short but surprisingly strong Indian woman with long, endlessly wavy black hair and deep brown skin. �Nice shirt.�
�Thanks. I hope the boss likes it.�
�He might, he might not.� Maya had a nose ring herself, a kind of body jewelry usually not allowed on TSA employees, but she cited religious beliefs and was allowed to wear hers. On this particular day, she wore a crimson red tank top, jeans, and sneakers. �I hate to say it, but the boss is really sexist. If you were a woman, he wouldn�t give a crap about what you wear at all.� She laughed. �You know, there has to be a better way to get to the office,� she grumbled as she and James reached a door marked �TSA EMPLOYEES ONLY� in ten languages. She took out her key card and slid it through the reader attached to the door. A small light on the reader turned green and allowed her in. When she was gone, James slid his own key card and was allowed entry.
�Good morning!� came the cheerful shouts of the other plainclothes air marshals and uniformed security personnel sitting in the common room. There were a few tables, a lot of plastic chairs, a set of cabinets with a microwave and a coffee maker, a refrigerator, two vending machines, and a TV mounted to the wall that constantly played CNN. On one of the tables was a copy of the morning�s Atlanta Journal-Constitution and a half-eaten bagel.
�Morning, James, Maya,� another air marshal, a buff military-loving fellow named Robert said with nods to each person as they seated themselves. �Boss should be coming in here shortly. Wonder where you two are going today.�
�I got a bad feeling Boss is going to place me on a flight out to Dubai, just because I�m Indian,� Maya said glumly. �I really don�t feel like intercontinental travel today.�
�Tell me about it,� James said with a sympathetic smile as the boss entered the common room. He was a rotund little man, his hairline receding faster than he could help, always wearing crazy ties in an attempt to bond with his younger employees that hadn�t worked for years.
�Good morning, Mr. Gilbert,� the entire room sang out as he entered, all rising from their seats and standing at attention until he gave them a hand signal to sit down.
�Good morning, everyone,� he said sternly. �Terror level�s at yellow today.�
�When isn�t it?� James muttered, making Maya giggle.
�Got some assignments today for the marshals among us. I�ll get to you security folks in a minute. Okay, Abram, you�re on the Delta 650. Bates, Aeromexico 95. Cook, British 347. Daniels, United 289. Eggleston, Delta 304. Ford, Delta 918��
�918? That number sounds familiar,� Maya whispered.
�You�re taking the Atlanta to Tokyo route, son,� Robert told James.
�Oberlin, Northwest 104. Patel, Delta 526��
�And you�ve got the Cozumel flight,� Robert told Maya.
�All right! I knew I packed my bathing suit for something!� she said sarcastically, rolling her eyes and glancing over at the coffee pot throughout the rest of Mr. Gilbert�s flight assignments.
�If you don�t know which concourses your flight gates will be at, please come talk to me. New people especially, don�t be embarrassed! Heh-heh!�
�I already know we�re both at Concourse E,� James said.
�Yeah, they stick all the international flights there. Come on, let�s go over there. If our flights don�t leave for a while, how about some coffee? The stuff they brew here isn�t fit to wash my dishes with.�
James and Maya boarded a shuttle train from the expansive security area bound for every concourse in the airport in order. Being a gentleman, James offered a seat on the train to Maya, who gladly accepted and daintily sat down as a chime sounded.
�The doors are closing and will not reopen,� a robotic voice cautioned as the doors slid shut.
�I hate how it has to state the obvious,� Maya said, rolling her big brown eyes at the warning.
�Some folks are just dumb,� James replied, shrugging. The rest of the short train trip was silent between the two of them, though Maya spent a good portion of the trip slyly checking out James as much as possible. She knew that crushes like the one she had were so high school, but she honestly didn�t care. She was so deep in a daydream that she almost missed the call to get off at Concourse E, and James had to nudge her to get her up. �C�mon, Maya, don�t quit on me now!� he cried, joking. �We�ll get some caffeine into your system ASAP.�
�Ah, sorry,� Maya replied, smiling and feeling her face get hotter. James made a little impatient noise and got off the train, Maya following behind him. They found their gates�E15 and E16�and located the nearest Starbucks, just a few gates down. Maya acted as giddy as a schoolgirl at the prospect of getting coffee, and she ordered two different drinks. She asked for a venti vanilla latte and a tall spiced chai.
�Two drinks? What�s wrong with you? Shit, I�m the one who should be gettin� two drinks. I�m gonna be sittin� on the same plane for �bout sixteen hours. I dunno if I�ll make it to Tokyo without sleepin�.�
�Yeah, that�s true. Come on, have some of my chai.�
�What�s chai?�
�It�s like a kind of tea, oh but it�s really good, trust me. Just try it.� Maya watched with a grin as James sipped the chai, paused, and then downed a large gulp of it. �Hey! I didn�t say you could drink all of it!�
�Tough break! I�m drinkin� it!�
�No!� Maya groaned, but it was too late, because James swallowed the final drops of the drink. �Aww, man, there goes my three-fifty!�
�That was pretty tasty. I think I�ll order �nother. My long-ass flight isn�t scheduled to leave for a little while.� James left Maya at the table for a minute to go get another chai, and while he was gone, she stared at the cup he just drank from longingly. He came back with another chai, this one in the grande size, and started to drink from it immediately. Only when he was done did he suggest that the two of them go towards their gates.
�You know, James, I�ve been thinking for a while,� Maya began nervously, wringing her hands.
�Did it hurt?� James asked as a joke.
�Did what hurt?�
�Thinkin�. Did it hurt?� James grinned brightly, making Maya angry for a moment.
�No! It didn�t. Humph! Anyway.� She sat down in one of the plastic chairs provided at gate E15, and he sat down next to her, looking over in deep concentration. �You know, we�ve been friends for a while now, ever since training began. That was a lot of fun.� She shyly looked down at her nails. �Anyway, after all this time, I�ve come to realize something.� She sighed. �I think I really like you.�
�I like ya too, Maya, you�re a real good friend to have around.�
�No, James, I don�t think you get it. I like you.� Maya paused. �Get it?�
�Oh, you like me like me. I gotcha.� James pressed his lips into a straight line. �Maya, I don�t want you to be hurt by this, but I don�t know if I feel the same. I mean, how would we spend time together? We just get on whatever plane the boss wants us on. Shit, I�m goin� to go to Japan and you�re off to Mexico. The two of us have addresses and homes, but that�s just where TSA sends our checks, junk mail folks can get to us real easy, and where we got a bed we know we will always like sleepin� in. TSA tells us where to go, TSA gives us a place to stay when we get there, TSA keeps me fed and lets me drive my Mustang around. Plus, I ain�t sure TSA lets employees date each other.� James sighed loudly. �Maya, I would like to still be your friend, though. Like I said, you�re real cool. I mean, come on, chai! That�s not the only thing, it�s just the first one I could think of. Please don�t let this affect you, Maya. I mean, I�ll always be here for ya on the phone, but I�m not sure I could be with ya in real life whenever ya need me.� He saw Maya trying to hide being sad, so he leaned over and gave her a purely platonic hug. �I�m sorry.�
Shortly afterwards, James said goodbye to Maya and boarded a plane bound for Tokyo. When he got there, he was given three days to recuperate from jet lag and perhaps tour the city, but three days was not nearly enough for him. A call came in from the boss, who requested his presence on Aloha flight 714 the very next day, and the rest, as they say, is history�
Upon hearing a rustling nearby, James woke up rather violently, disturbing Reiko, who was asleep with her head on his shoulder.
�You sleep too much,� he grumbled, and she woke up slowly.
�Kiss my ass,� she muttered, saying the only English curse word she knew.
�You�re so cute when you�re angry,� he replied. �Hold on, I�m gettin� up.� She reluctantly moved to allow him to stand all the way up. He bent down and grabbed his gun, allowing her another view of his phoenix tattoo, before standing up again and creeping towards the razor branch, his gun pointed. She had a slight fear of that gun because of what happened the last time she saw it, so she tensed up in her seat while he gently moved the razor branch aside and saw Masaharu and Stephanie standing there.
�What do you two want?� he asked gruffly. �I was tryin� to sleep.�
�Sorry to interrupt you, Sleeping Beauty,� Stephanie replied, rolling her eyes. �We were just wondering if you know anything about the luggage.�
�Stephanie,� Masaharu said, clearing his throat and nudging his head in the direction of what could be seen beyond the razor branch. Only a few bags were completely visible, but it was enough to confirm the suspicions Masaharu and Stephanie had. They barged in, almost being hit by the razor branch, and started forcefully looking through the suitcases.
�My bags!� Stephanie exclaimed, pointing to a set of red suitcases.
�Why did you take these?� Masaharu asked very loudly in Japanese, with Stephanie acting as translator.
�No need to yell there, doc. I think I can explain. I jus� didn�t feel safe �til I had all the bags. Nobody here but Reiko saw me take the bags. I thought it was the perfect heist.�
�The perfect heist? Partly because of you, someone died!� Masaharu roared, and before Stephanie had time to translate, Reiko jumped in.
�No! Don�t blame him! He can�t read the medicine labels! It�s my fault!� Reiko screamed. �You hear me? MINE! Damn it!� She started crying again.
�What the hell did you say to her?� James growled defensively, advancing on Masaharu with his gun.
�Stop it, both of you!� Stephanie demanded, stepping in between James� gun and Masaharu. �We have a big language problem here! Let me recap this for James. Okay, so Masaharu said that it was your fault, James, that the girl died. Reiko said that it was her fault. That�s what made her cry.�
�So you did say something to her! If you could be a dear and please translate this for me, just so the good doctor gets my drift. You do not say anything to Reiko to hurt her. She�s hurt enough as it is. Take whatever the hell you need. I don�t care anymore. You�ve gone and hurt her. Thanks, doc.� James scowled and pocketed his gun, waiting for any possible reply while Stephanie translated. Masaharu looked like he was racked by guilt as he heard Reiko crying, and then he thought of another question. He voiced it to Stephanie.
�Where did you get the gun?� Stephanie quietly asked James.
�I�m a federal air marshal,� he replied, showing his badge. The badge was enough for Masaharu, who nodded respectfully and asked yet another question.
�Can he take the medicine?�
�He can take every bag in this place if he wants to. I�ll point out which one are mine and Reiko�s, though. But make sure to tell him that if he thinks we�re such bad people, then he can just stay the hell away from here.� Stephanie made sure to courier the message along and helped Masaharu collect bags. When they could carry no more, they left with the promise that they would soon return.
�I hate myself so much right now,� Reiko sobbed into her arm, which she was using to shield her face. �I�m a dirty, rotten murderer.�
�Reiko, that whole issue is the most complicated, the toughest issue I�ve ever had the �pleasure� of dealin� with. I honestly think the girl was to blame for not tellin� you at least her name or the name of her pills. I�m gonna tell you somethin� I don�t tell most people. I used to be a junkie.�
�What�s a junkie?� Reiko asked innocently.
�A junkie is a person who is addicted to drugs. They can�t stop taking them. I used to be like that. Wasn�t too long ago, actually. But that�s neither here nor there. I once saw a guy just shoot another guy in cold blood over drugs, and that was my turnin� point, when I realized I couldn�t do this crap anymore and here I am today. That�s the reason for my tattoo. It�s like the old me died and the new me came out of the ashes.�
�I used to be bad, too. I would sleep with boys for the attention. My family, they�re very rich, but we don�t love each other like we should. I used to look for the attention I should get at home from teen boys, and what a mistake that is! I got hurt many times, and I hurt myself, too.� James noticed a collection of faint lines on the underside of Reiko�s left arm. �But, I am thinking we are all new people now that we came here. We are all like the tattoo now. I don�t want to hurt or be hurt again by a boy.�
�I�m not a boy,� James declared, grabbing Reiko and hugging her. �I know it�s early, we didn�t meet too long ago and I�m not too good at this whole thing�� He propped his chin up on the top of Reiko�s head. �But, I think I love you, Reiko.�
�I know I love you,� Reiko told James, wishing that every boy who had ever hurt her in the past could see her now.
Reiko�s sexual self-discovery abruptly began with an incident at the age of twelve, when her mother�s live-in boyfriend crept into her room one night after far too many drinks and molested her. When she threatened to tell her mother, he laughed it off and asked if she would really believe a twelve-year-old over the man she was planning to marry. Reiko tried her best to call the marriage off, even writing notes in fake curly handwriting to make it look like Yukio was having an affair, but nothing worked and her mother married Yukio the summer of Reiko�s thirteenth year.
With him in the house all the time, Reiko knew she needed to get out somehow. She turned to an older girl, Namie Fujiwara, and became her friend. Namie introduced her to the seedy underworld, but not the yakuza one, that being a rich teenager in Tokyo had to offer. At the weekends, they would storm Shibuya, armed with their parents� high-limit credit cards, and buy expensive designer clothes and handbags. At school, they would strut around the halls, skirts rolled up to the limit and shirts suggestively unbuttoned. At night, Namie acted as a mama-san for Reiko, introducing her to boys from other private schools and letting them go off on their own.
At fourteen, Reiko started the practice of enjo kosai, or dating for compensation. Once again using Namie as her gateway, she gave her cell phone number to a telephone club and started to receive calls from men all over Tokyo and all over the age spectrum, ranging from high school boys to men in their 40s and 50s with positions of power at mid-size to large corporations. Reiko quickly discovered what each kind of customer had and was willing to give. High school boys would only give sex and a small amount of money, owing to their own financial situation. Men in their 20s and early 30s would give sex and a larger amount of money, and sometimes a small gift like a piece of jewelry, while older men would give the largest amounts of money and gifts, but sometimes no sex at all. It seemed that the older men just wanted a cute young thing to pamper and adore.
Reiko was adept at hiding all the money and gifts she got from enjo kosai, but when it came to getting access to birth control pills, she was completely at the mercy of her mother. Her mother naturally asked why she would need birth control and Reiko lied, saying that, during the confidential part of her last doctor�s visit, her doctor expressed concern over her irregular periods. Her mother would only believe her if she went and got a prescription filled out, so she did, told the doctor what was really going on, and begged her not to tell her mother, just to write down a prescription and sign it with a doctor�s signature. Reluctantly, the doctor did so, and Reiko was effectively able to stop using condoms with her enjo kosai clients. It was nothing but a miracle that she was able to avoid contracting any STDs for nearly three years.
In the present day, Reiko shut her eyes for a moment and reflected upon every one of her enjo kosai clients, from the youthful, vigorous high schoolers up to the graying men who were old enough to be her father. Each of them gave something to her, whether it was a large sum of yen, a designer handbag, makeup, or even sex. The core problem that she saw with this was that all she got were material things or physical contact that she forgot about later. All of these items were forgettable, and some of them were even in her luggage.
She leapt up and went for her luggage, which was a collection of black bags designed by Louis Vuitton and given to her by her mother expressly for the trip. Because these bags themselves were from her mother, Reiko decided she would keep them, but their contents would be scrutinized. First of all, she found a pale pink Chanel purse, a gift from a client. She scowled at it and opened it, pouring its contents out on the ground and pawing through them. Inside was a set of Lancome lip glosses, a pair of large Fendi sunglasses, some assorted Dior eyeshadow tins, and a charm bracelet with some charms made from Swarovski crystals. All of these were gifts from clients, and all of these things were no longer Reiko�s. Next, she opened the suitcase containing her clothes and discarded a few of them because they were also gifts.
�The hell are you doing with all this designer crap?� James asked, looking down at the pile.
�Gifts,� Reiko explained. �Gifts from people I don�t like anymore. Or �omiyage�. I don�t want the �omiyage� anymore.�
�What�re you gonna do with this stuff?�
�I think I will give it to the other women.� Reiko scooped all of the gifts up in her hands and left the hideout, reaching the beach and searching out any of the women around. First, she went towards Akina, who was busy writing in a notebook. �Excuse me, would you like any of this?� She laid her pile out on the sand and Akira put down her notebook to look at all of it.
�Mm, the clothes won�t fit me�I eat too much�� Akina moved the clothes aside. �But, I like the color of the lip gloss.�
�Take it!� Reiko insisted, and Akina took it, giving her an odd stare as if to ask why she was doing this. Reiko went along the beach in the same way, offering her wares up to everyone of the female persuasion. Haruka took the sunglasses, Kaori took the charm bracelet, and the other girls in the school group took the eyeshadow tins and clothing as they saw fit. As Reiko was leaving to go back to the hideout, Stephanie and Masaharu returned, carrying a bounty of medicines.
�She�s been hoarding all the stuff!� Stephanie yelled, pointing to Reiko. This statement raised a buzz among the group, who all wanted to know more. �She and this one guy have been hoarding everything away from us! Hasn�t anyone else wondered where she got all that stuff from? All of our suitcases are in the jungle!�
�In the jungle?�
�Why don�t we go get it?�
�What are we waiting for?�
�They had our stuff?�
�Someone tell us where our stuff is!�
�If you want your things, follow me!� Stephanie cried out, waving her arm to rally the troops behind her. Reiko heard Stephanie�s battle cry right as she pulled the razor branch aside and entered the hideout.
�She say somethin�?� James, who was right back to reading Japanese for Dummies, asked when he heard the yell and saw Reiko.
�She told everyone that we have their bags. I think they are coming to get them now.� Reiko sighed. �I guess we should just give them their things. They hate us enough already.� She hung her head.
�Let them hate us, then! They�ll get over it.� Reiko looked at the calm, cool, and collected James, who was lighting up another cigarette, as if to say that he was crazy. A few seconds later to the adrenaline-filled Reiko, but a few minutes in real time, Stephanie and her crew arrived.
�Be careful, now, there are razors in this branch,� she told her crew, gently pulling it aside and coming in. �Well, hello there, Sleeping Beauty and Cinderella,� she stated loudly in Japanese, but the words �Sleeping Beauty� and �Cinderella�, being of foreign origin, were said in English.
�Do you want the bags back?� Reiko asked. �If you do, I have one request. Take turns! I have claustrophobia and I will beat you guys up if more than�� She counted people and considered the size of the area. �If more than eight people come in here at a time.�
�She wants only eight people to come in,� Stephanie told the crew. �Does that sound good?� She received some nods and affirmative phrases. James only understood the word �eight�. �Okay, you�ve got a deal. Who wants to go first?�
One at a time, groups of eight entered the hideout and looked for their bags amongst the luggage of 108 people. In order to prevent people getting greedy and taking things that weren�t theirs, James stood there, frowning, with his gun out but not drawn. When people left with their things, Stephanie would release more people into the hideout to find their belongings. Using this controlled method, everyone got their bags, and nobody got into any fights. Stephanie took her bags last, and as she left the hideout, she turned around, frowned, and raised her middle finger like a flag.
CONTINUE to Chapter Seven: A Thousand Years
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