Chapter Four: Voodoo Child
"Has it seriously been twenty years, Lei?"
Lei smiled weakly, standing patiently in the foyer as Kazuya descended the staircase. The man hadn't changed: he was still the handsome mystery man with the devilish charm that Lei remembered had attracted Jun to him years ago.
"Nineteen…actually,"
Kazuya reached the bottom and stretched out his hand to shake Lei's in a polite, yet cold, manner. A smile played lightly over Kazuya's stern yet well-shaped mouth. Unconsciously, Lei envied him. He matched up to every cliché that made up a woman's fantasy man: mysterious, deep-set, bedroom eyes; thick black hair and brows; a lean, muscular frame complete with broad shoulders, and, of course, not to mention tall, dark, and handsome.
"My son is currently out gallivanting with his new girlfriend," Kazuya informed him, starting out of the foyer and to the dinning room. "The other night he couldn't stop talking about her. He kept saying how her dark tresses held the November midnight sky complete with every constellations and that her eyes reminded him of… well…"
Lei snorted, though tried not to make it too evident. "Excuse my ignorance," he began, ignoring the fact that Kazuya had broken off, "but I never imagined any offspring of Kazuya Mishima's to be…romantic."
Kazuya smirked over his shoulder in a somewhat melancholy way as he opened the large oak doors leading into the magnificent dinning room. A gold and porcelain chandelier hung low from the ceiling and hovered over the long mahogany table.
"I'd say he was adopted—if he didn't look so much like me," he took a seat at the head of the table and directed Lei to take the seat on the other end. "And I don't know if I should approve of this girl he's been obsessing over; she's a hippie."
Lei chuckled, lacing his fingers beneath his chin. "The approval of a father…why does that sound so familiar?" Lei couldn't help but triumph over the distracted look that crossed Kazuya's face. He could so vividly recall a young Kazuya strutting around town and capturing every girl's attention in his dark blue Levi's, converse sneakers, and leather jacket. His hair was (just as it was now) slicked back giving him the label of a greaser even though he seemed more of a soc. Lei could call to mind all the times he'd watched Jun, complete with her wide sleeved tribal dresses, get onto the back of Kazuya's motorcycle and drive off only to return hours later being half carried and half dragged by Kazuya, high and partially drunk.
"My father never approved of the motorcycle…or the music I like back then,"
Lei almost choked on the wine he was tentatively sipping as the taboo subject of music came up. "You were into a lot of it even after you got hitched,"
Kazuya nodded, cutting slowly through the steak on his plate. "Robert Johnson, Elvis, the Four Tops, Bobby Darin, and the first musician I got my son into, Buddy Holly,"
"The devil's music," Lei added jokingly. "And I still have your Chuck Berry album."
Kazuya paused and looked up at Lei with a raised brow. "I don't remember ever lending you my albums," he replied, not in an accusing way, but in a mild confused one.
Lei mentally slapped himself. He'd been trying to avoid bringing up the subject ever since he entered the house, yet it seemed inevitable. He'd been thinking about her all night anyway. "Jun lent it to me," he answered softly. It was a wonder Kazuya heard him at all. "She told me to listen to Rollover Beethoven and Johnny B. Good just before she…. well…."
The invisible veil of calm that had been over Kazuya's face since Lei arrived lifted. The charade was up.
"I was wondering where that record went…"
His façade was destroyed. Lei stood up. "Let's end the game of old friends reunited, Kazuya," he said in an unyielding, yet shaky voice. "You must know why I'm really here despite the meeting yesterday."
Kazuya sat back against the chair and crossed his legs, tracing his chin with his hand. "The world's worst cover up. Do you honestly believe that I still have it?"
Jin rubbed his wrist, which was still slightly sore from his failed attempt at the Chinese Fire Drill moments ago. Hwoarang had gone to burn rubber faster than he would have playing chicken. He doubted Hwoarang would be stupid enough to take Xiao to his mother's old stash. He couldn't be so insensitive about Jin's feelings. Sure there were exchanged comments about Jin being a Panty Waist and Hwoarang being a flake, but neither actually meant it; at least Jin didn't.
Hwoarang glanced nervously into the review mirror, both monitoring Xiao's movements and looking out for any of the patrolling fuzz.
Jin glanced into the back seat in annoyance. Xiaoyu was hanging halfway out the window, part of her frilly shirt caught onto the lock on the door, which was sticking out, unlocked. She seemed to be singing—scratch that—screaming… that summer's national anthem: Light My Fire; by those Doors of perception. That weird ass band from L.A. with that stud, Jim Morrison, as front man. Everyone seemed to love them. Bedsides yanking Xiao back into the car before she hurt herself, he wished she'd sing San Francisco instead.
He'd rather hear about flower children any day.
"Lock the doors," he murmured to Hwoarang. "She's bound to end up swinging the door open while you're pushing on the gas pedal,"
Hwoarang complied silently. He seemed uncomfortable with making eye contact with him. And Jin could see why as they pulled up to the Mishima mansion.
"You really wanna jump bad with me, don't cha?"
Instead of responding, Hwoarang shut off the engine and stepped out, slamming the driver's door soundly. From his pocket, he withdrew a packet of cigarettes. Pulling out his lighter, he nervously lit one and took a long drag.
"Big place," Xiao commented, breaking the uneasy silence between Jin and Hwoarang. She jerked her thumb in the mansion's direction. "Do tell… are we here to stare at it or does Jack the Ripper reside inside?"
Hwoarang began down the path. "Justice Wargrave awaits you within," he replied.
In frustration, Jin kicked the side Hwoarang's car, leaving perhaps a sizable dent. He didn't bother to check. Surprisingly, Hwoarang didn't turn around viciously to tell him he'd have to pay for any damages done. Jin caught up with Hwoarang just as Xiao looked back at the car, slightly disturbed, saying: "I guess that wasn't your daddy's car."
"You're lucky I don't pound you now," Jin whispered loudly to Hwoarang. Hwoarang merely shook the ash off the end of his cigarette as they approached the front door. "Why're you doing this, man?" he asked, exasperated.
Hwoarang let Xiao in ahead of them and waited until she was well in front of them, admiring the house, before he shut the door. He grabbed tight to Jin's sleeve and yanked him down to level with himself. "Tell me honestly, brother man… what do you know about that girl?"
Jin frowned and pulled himself away from his friend's grip. "Is there something I should know?" he asked uncertainly. There was a smug, self-satisfied look on Hwoarang's face. Jin hated to admit it, but… it worried him.
Hwoarang crushed out his cigarette in a nearby ashtray as they made their way down the hall. "Realizing your obsession with her… I did my homework," as he spoke, smoke traveled slowly from his mouth. "Like I told you, man, she's a junkie. Every queer, alcoholic, and druggie around knows her. Though not in a pleasant way, I might add."
Jin stared after him as Hwoarang called to Xiao to make a left. "What are you saying?"
"Right, then straight down the hall!" He turned back to Jin, a new, unlit cigarette in his mouth. The smug look was gone. He followed Xiao hurriedly, and then opened the far door on the left.
Jin stiffened. He hadn't been in that room in four years, since his mother's death. At the beginning, he'd constantly been there. Lying on the floor and trying to find his mother's lingering spirit; overjoyed whenever he saw a butterfly float past the heavily draped windows. His father moved out of that wing the night his mother passed away.
Maids cleaned the house every week. The room was spotless, yet dark and had a foreboding feeling about it.
When Jin followed them into the room, Hwoarang was already kneeling down on the floor by his mother's old vanity mirror. He cursed. Jin smirked and strode to Hwoarang's side. Xiao lingered behind, starring into the closet door mirror. She tossed her hair over her shoulder, flaunting her prettiness. She spun lightly on her heels so that her image in the mirror appeared from behind with her neck craning to see herself. Jin slung an arm around his friend's shoulders. "Find anything?"
"Is it there?" Xiao suddenly called.
"What'd you do with it, man?" Hwoarang growled, his voice slightly above a whisper.
Jin shrugged. "My old man must've gotten rid of it. I never used it,"
"No…wait… false bottom, remember?" Jin sighed. He was hoping Hwoarang wouldn't remember.
"Red?" Xiao approached them from behind. There was a tinkle of her necklaces clinking together, then the sound of perhaps a snap or floorboard squeaking; Jin didn't stop to make out the sounds.
"It's all here," Hwoarang answered tightly. "But it's old… so…"
He trailed off. Jin couldn't blame him. He too froze at the cool kiss of a gun at the back of his neck. The pair slowly tried to turn their heads to look at the girl behind them. Was she that desperate? No wonder none of the low lives liked her.
Oh, damn.
She pulled out a badge from her pocket. The snap was a gun. Damn it. She was a cop? "You two have been found in the possession of illegal drugs. Kazama, I'm willing to let you off since you didn't seem to be too involved, but Red, you're coming with me."
Thanks to all the people who've stuck with this story so far! I feel it going downhill, but I'm overjoyed that they're people who do like it. I'm sorry I haven't been replying. There's so much to do and such little time to comply...