Western Romance Collection: Rugged Cowboys Part 66

"Cut the s.h.i.t, old man. Complaining doesn't suit someone your age. Just tell me what you have to tell me about Lauren, or let me go get some sleep."

"Oh, fine," he said, letting out a long breath. He tapped on the table in irritation. "You young people, you need to learn manners, you know that? You've got to learn better manners."

"I'll take that under consideration. Please, continue."

"Manners, manners, manners."

"Anton Yurievich, I will walk right out that door."

"Your Lauren is getting worse. You know that she's sick, don't you?"

"What the f.u.c.k are you talking about, old man? She's not sick."

"Oh, so you didn't know, then. Well, isn't that interesting."

"What kind of games are you playing here? I talk to the girls every week, and they never said anything. Talk to Lauren sometimes, too, when she can get clear of that dope you've got her on."

"Oh, you poor, poor boy. So foolish, so foolish. What mother would let her little girls know something like that? Oh, they'd worry, wouldn't they? And what mother would want that for her daughters? No, n.o.body. No one would!"

Rubashkin's habits of circling around an idea like a buzzard was more than grating on Wes's nerves, which were at a razor-edge. He continued ignoring it, but it continued to dig a burr into him that wasn't going to ever quite go away as long as he sat at the table.

"Okay, so the girls don't know. What is it?"

"She's dying, my poor boy. You should come back with me. To be with her, in her final days."

"I'm not going anywhere with you, Anton Yurievich. But if I make it out of this fight tonight, then I'll find a way on my own. I don't have anything keeping me here any more."

"About that. You're working with Mr. Todd Bradley, is that right?"

"What about it?"

"An odious man. Those thick, sausage-like fingers, oh. I never liked him. No, I never did."

Wes closed his eyes and took a slow breath. "And?"

"And I tell you, if you don't fight tonight, you come back to New York with me-I don't expect anything from you. Just come back, for your sister's sake. My business, it needs someone to run it, and Ilya, he's not-"

Rubashkin started coughing hard, bracing himself against the table and hacking into the crook of his elbow.

"I'm not a gangster any more, Rubashkin. I'm not getting back into the life, and you really can't convince me."

"The men, they... things are different, Wes. People are different. When you were there, so young, you know... I miss those days. People like you, trying to get things to work. Respect, hard work. n.o.body cares about those things any more. It's all about how they can do things for themselves. How they can do things fast, for themselves. No sense of pride, no sense of the value of working hard for yourself. They just want to rush the job, finish it as quickly as possible, and then get out."

Wes didn't say anything, because as far as he was concerned there was nothing to say.

"Ilya, he moves too fast. He gets caught. You took the blame, because you're a good boy. But Ilya is just another symptom of the problem. He's just as bad as any of them, and I need you to make sure that it won't keep going."

"I'm not interested, Anton Yurievich."

Rubashkin looked like a husk of his old self, after the sickness had taken him. But now he seemed to collapse even further into himself, as if the only things that had been holding him up were taken away.

"I know you're not interested, Wesley. You're a good boy."

"Why don't you find someone else?"

"There isn't anyone else, Wes. I don't have time to find someone else. Three months, maybe four, and then... pfft." He snapped his fingers lightly.

Now that Wes listened closely, he could hear how the old man, every time he took a breath, wheezed. He could see the way that every little movement was a struggle. Three months looked, for all the world, like it might be an overestimate. Wes was no doctor, but it looked like three weeks might be pushing it.

"I'm sorry, Anton Yurievich, but I'm not going back to that life. I promised myself I wouldn't, and I won't. I'll starve on the street before I put myself back in those shoes."

"I know. Come on. Let me drive you home." Rubashkin rose, his arms shaking, and unfolded a fifty dollar bill from his wallet, dropped it on the table.

Wes swallowed hard. His head swam from lack of sleep and the prodigious amount of coffee he'd just finished, not quite wired enough to make up the difference in energy. Eight more hours, and he'd be in a ring, and fighting to continue a life he didn't know he could keep going any more. Not if Lauren was in trouble. Christmas cards and cash transfers didn't make up for having n.o.body to raise you.

Not when you're barely ten years old.

Thirty-Seven.

Minami Minami felt like a little girl as she walked into the room, her father hunched forward and talking to Kobayashi and his lieutenants. Her mother behind her was a simultaneous help and source of worry, a constant reminder that she was in this too deep.

She didn't speak for a minute, waiting for Father to recognize that they'd entered. When he didn't, she cleared her throat softly. A moment later, she cleared it more forcefully.

Father pushed himself upright and turned to look. "What is it? I'm busy, can't you see that?"

"I need to speak to you, Father."

He looked over at the men in front of him, who all looked ready to wait if he told them to.

"Can it wait?"

"Oh. Um." Minami swallowed. "Yes."

Mother's hands came down heavy on Minami's shoulders as she turned to go. "Darling, can you spare a few minutes of your time? Minami will be brief."

Father looked at the others again for a moment, then nodded to them and rose to his feet.

"Very well."

Minami guided him out of the room, and a little ways away, to the first empty room she could find, and when they entered, Mother closed the door behind them.

"What is it? This isn't about that boy, is it?"

"Father," Minami started, her heart already beating hard in her chest. "I'm not going to be a Yakuza. I don't want to marry someone who's going to keep doing... this."

"So this is absolutely about him, then."

Minami could feel herself wavering again, her eyes starting to sting with the threat of tears always at the edge of her mind.

"No, Father. It's not. It's about me. Forget about other people for a moment, and think about your daughter."

He shifted unpleasantly at that thought, his feathers a little ruffled. "I have always thought about you, Minami."

"No, you haven't. You don't know what I want. I just wanted to be out of this world, and I went all the way to America to get that. So you brought it here."

"I thought-"

"I know what you thought, Father, and I'm sorry that I lied to you. I shouldn't have. It's disrespectful."

His eyes shifted to Mother, who didn't give him any hints on what to do next. He was going to have to figure this out on his own.

"If you are so opposed to my business-"

"It's got nothing to do with you, Father. I just... you must understand, somehow."

"Well..."

"I'm pregnant," she said, the dam breaking as the words tumbled out of her mouth, the conversation having given her enough momentum.

She saw his nostrils flare in anger.

"And that American is the father, I'll a.s.sume?"

"Yes."

"He took advantage of you."

"No, Father. He didn't."

"Stop lying to defend him, Minami. Kobayashi will get a confession out of him-"

"No. I don't want that. I-Father, I don't want you to hurt him. I want..." The words stopped all of a sudden, like someone had turned the tap off in her brain. She hadn't needed to put words to it before. Wes didn't ask her to, and things had moved so quickly, she hadn't really had time to think about any of it, except when there was too much time, time to do nothing but think. "I love him."

Minami's father's face softened for a moment, from 'severe' to an expression that could only be called 'stony.'

"So you've made your decision, then?"

"I have."

He let out a breath and sat back a bit.

"Sarah, our daughter's leaving me."

"I know," Mother answered.

"I'm-" Minami swallowed the rest of her response, not sure what to say any more.

"Very well, Minami. You want him, go get him."

Minami swallowed hard. This was exactly what she'd hoped to hear, but in the moment of truth it almost seemed as if it were another test, and if she were too excited, she would fail.

She pushed herself up from the chair she'd taken by the table and pulled her father into a tight hug.

"I love you, Father."

He didn't answer, but when she pulled away, though his expression was as stoic as ever, his eyes were wet.

"You're a good girl," he said, softly, and pushed his chair back as he stood. "Go find him, and get yourself out of this old Yakuza's life."

"I don't want to leave you alone. I just-"

Mother spoke for him. "Go on, Minami. Your father wants some time to himself."

Minami turned back as she left the room, no small amount of uncertainty still remaining, but her father had turned away from the door, her mother with her hand on his shoulder. She stepped out the door and closed it behind her.

She had to find Wes, and if she was lucky, she'd find him before he went to that d.a.m.ned fight.

Thirty-Eight.

Wes Wes's warm-up on fights he thought might actually cause trouble for him wasn't exactly the stuff of legends. That being said, it was more complex than just walking over to the promoter and introducing himself. The sound of his feet pounding onto the pavement sounded through the parking structure as he turned back inside it, a light layer of sweat already worked up on his forehead. He took the sweatshirt off and threw it into the back seat of the Fiero, then went to see Bradley.

He was sitting with Higa, who was all smiles. Bradley wasn't. "Wes, I don't know if this is a good idea."

"What's wrong?"

"Wes, you look like h.e.l.l."

"It's a little late to back out now, Mr. Bradley."

The words came out of Wes's mouth, but from Higa's expression, he might have said them himself. The look of surprise on his face, on the other hand, told Wes that he hadn't expected not to have to say it.

"Exactly so, Mr. Bradley. The fight's going to be starting in, what, ten minutes? Five? We're past the point of letting sleeping dogs lie."