“You can take it if you want,” Mai said, holding it out to me. “The only local paper around. No one buys it anymore though. Look, my pile.” She pointed again to the stack on the shelf. It was higher than the others. Clearly, the others were more in demand. “I’ll buy one for myself,” I said, and took an issue from the pile. “Paul, you want one?” I called. We should support his cousin. He said he had a subscription, as every member of his family did.
“Too bad this didn’t happen all those years ago,” Mai said, and sniffed again and finished tallying the items in our baskets.
Paul and I argued about who would pay until Mai, looking distressed, offered to give us a discount, which we refused. Then we realized we hadn’t brought bags to carry the items we’d purchased. Mai went into aback room and emerged with a couple of cardboard boxes and a large bag stuffed with other bags. Some had disintegrated from age, but there was a sturdy black canvas bag large enough for the bulky items, so we accepted it from her. It had a working zipper. I ran my finger across a streak of bright yellow hardened paint on one side of the canvas.
She smiled as she filled the bag with our purchases. “These were left upstairs after Kent moved. I never throw anything out. I told him not to worry, I’d take care of those few things. Not many. He’s Korean, too. Very polite, respectful, clean, careful man, not like the one who lives there now.” Mai paused. “Why do you look like that?”
There must be a million men named Kent, I told myself, but I recoiled from the bag. Paul spoke for me.
“I heard Kent Cho lived out here while his house was being built. Do you mean that Kent?”
Her jaw dropped. “Of course you know him. Everyone knows Kent Cho.”
I began to take items out of the black duffel.
“I think the boxes will be fine,” I said.
“It’s just a bag, Dahee,” Paul said.
“Keep it, yes, Kent Cho. He’s very rich now. Maybe the bag will bring you good luck,” Mai said, and added a bag of mango candy from below the register and zipped the bag closed. My reaction didn’t faze her one bit.
I thanked her and carried a box of our groceries as quickly as I could out the door.
Chapter 36
Afterward, when we were in the car heading back to East End, I saw that Paul had put everything back into the bag I had removed and carried it and the other box to the car. As he drove, he said the weather was turning colder and that he was experimenting with yuzu in his baking. I clasped my hands together in my lap until the prickling ceased. My reaction to the bag was outsized. It was easily explained as wanting to distance myself from anything having to do with Kent, but there was something else there, as well. I pushed it out of my mind. After a minute I found myself able to speak again and was urging Paul not to add yuzu to his cinnamon rolls when he received a call from Ames.
“Channing is going to get herself thrown back in jail,” she told him. “You have to get Dahee to talk to her.” He put the phone on speaker so I could hear for myself.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“Jack Wire has no experience on cases like this; you need to get someone else. He handles real estate, not serious crime. Just come meet us. I’m with Channing, and she refuses to listen to me,” Ames said.
I gave him Channing’s location from my phone. He took another route so we could intercept them on Middle Street. Channing and Ames were a block from the police station. We pulled up alongside them. They were shouting at each other, and I looked for an opportunity to jump in.
“You’re losing it. You need Kent’s help whether you like it or not,” Ames insisted.
“Are you demented?” Channing shouted. She towered over Ames. Her hands were clenched into fists by her side.
“For whatever reason, he thinks he loves you,” she said. “You can persuade him.”
“No,” Channing screamed at her.
“At least talk to him, see what he wants. Give him something,” Ames said. “You need people on your side, Channing. Everyone is saying you slapped him, stole his watch, and he’s still trying to help you.”
“How does any of this make sense? If he’s so good to me, why is he pressing charges? I’m the one who should be charging him for assault because that’s what he actually did to me,” Channing yelled. “You know I never took anything. And I told you he attacked me.” She turned to me, “Tell her, Dahee!”
“Then you should press charges against him. Why haven’t you? That’s the only way out—that or negotiate with him. East End is too small a town for you to do this on your own,” Ames shouted back.
I got out of the car and joined them on the sidewalk. “Who’severyone?” I asked Ames.
“Everyone in town. Listen, Wire can’t beat Kent, face that fact,” Ames implored. She pivoted to me. “Look, the devil you know is better than the devil you don’t. Isn’t that a saying? The legal system is hard to get out of once you’re in it. There was a woman I covered last year who really suffered. It took years for her to get out, and she was innocent.”
“Could you do that? Press charges against him?” I said to Channing.
“I have no witnesses, and no one will believe me,” she replied.
“It would still be better than this, whatever it is you’re doing, which I see is nothing,” Ames snapped.
