Free Death in Little Tokyo by Dale Furutani

Matsuda or else they wouldn’t have taken the time and effort to slice him up the way they did.”
    “It must have been a mess,” Mariko said.
    “It was. They didn’t show me all the pictures, but I’m sure the entire room must have been splattered in blood. Whoever did it must have been covered in it. In fact, it’s amazing that they were able to get out of the hotel without someone seeing them covered with blood.”
    Mariko touched my cheek. “You’re shaking.” We kissed. Her lips were cool and moist. I sank into their softness and, after a time, I stopped shaking. I’ll spare you the active details of our sex life. Just think of pounding surf, rearing stallions, heavy rain, and any other sexual cliché you like from old movies.
    When we were done with our lovemaking, during that period when women like to cuddle and men just want to drift into unconsciousness, Mariko said, “Did you forget about tomorrow night?”
    That snapped me awake. Women and men sometimes have trouble communicating, but even the dullest man learns when a woman is broadcasting a signal. This was not a question; it was a test. Men hate these tests, but women keep giving them because we men seem to keep failing them. “Of course not. It’s your first time speaking at an AA meeting, and I will be there for you,” I said with aplomb.
    She snuggled closer to me. The test was not only passed, it was aced.

10
     
    T he phone rang. I picked it up and recognized Mariko’s voice. It was unusual for her to call me early in the morning.
    “There’s a big write-up about your murder in the L.A. Times,” she said.
    “My murder? If it’s about my murder, then like Mark Twain said, my death has been greatly exaggerated!”
    “Gee, the wonders of a sixth-grade education.”
    “Never mind the sarcasm. What are you talking about?”
    “There’s a big write-up in the Times about Matsuda’s murder,” Mariko said. “It talks about Matsuda and then discusses how other Japanese businessmen have been victimized by crime in Little Tokyo. You know, muggings and things like that.”
    “Why don’t you read it to me?”
    “Read it to you? It’s about half a page long. It wouldn’t kill you to go out and get a paper.”
    “Ever helpful.”
    “Well, I’m trying to be,” Mariko answered. “I thought you might be interested in it. Besides, you’re mentioned in the article.”
    “I am?”
    “Sure, I’ll read you that part, at least. ‘The police say they are following up on various clues and checking out the stories of suspects.’ I figure that’s you,” Mariko announced.
    “You’re not going to think it’s so funny if it turns out to be true, and you end up bringing me gift baskets at some maximum security prison. Remember ‘Bubba’?”
    Mariko’s voice was much less animated. “Do you think that will actually happen?”
    “Well, I hope not. But it has happened in the past, and I certainly don’t want to put it to the test in this case. You know the cops can start feeling the heat just like anybody else. And if there’s a lot of pressure being put on Hansen to make an arrest, there’s no telling what he might do.”
    “I was kidding.”
    “I hope you’re kidding, too. I just want you to know you shouldn’t go around joking about me being a suspect because it’s probably true.”
    “Now you’ve got me worried sick,” Mariko said.
    “About me?”
    “Of course.”
    “I thought you were worried that I might say that you were the mastermind behind the whole thing.”
    “Don’t tease about this, Ken.”
    “I’m like you. I sort of vacillate between macabre humor and outright hysteria. I’ll go down and read what the Times has to say about the case, then I’ll call you back later this afternoon. Will you call your lawyer cousin and set up a time for me to see him? I want to get rid of the package as soon as possible.”
    “Okay.”
    “Oh, Mariko?”
    “Yes.”
    “I love you.”
    “Finally some sense comes out of