Sayonara Slam by Naomi Hirahara Read Free Book Online

affection in public, even under the cover of night and on the quiet front porch, was uncomfortable for him.
    As he returned to the Impala, he felt bad that he hadn’t mentioned anything about his new “job.” But how to explain his relationship with Yuki Kimura? Genessee was like Chizuko in that she enjoyed digging for details. Inevitably Akemi’s name would come up, and how to describe their childhood friendship? Would she sense in a catch in his throat that something had happened between them in the past? It was only a kiss between teenagers, but it had been his first. And one that had never been forgotten.
    The next day he was again awakened by a phone call. It was even before the noise of the Jensen family, so he knewit was early.
    â€œLet’s go, Ojisan .” To hear the familiar term “uncle” once again caught Mas off guard. He had surprisingly missed it.
    â€œWheresu we goin’?”
    â€œGoin’ to where Itai- san was staying.”
    â€œWhere?”
    â€œRelative’s house. Sunny Hirose. In Soteru.”
    Sawtelle. Mas frowned. That was practically where UCLA was located, on the other side of town. Another long drive. Think of the money , he reminded himself. One hundred dollars.
    â€œRight now?” He brought his Casio watch to his nose. It was six o’clock in the morning. No time to be knocking on people’s doors.
    â€œAround ten o’clock. I’ll have a US cell phone by then. And then a press conference at Dodger Stadium.”
    When Mas arrived at Yuki’s hotel, the boy was waiting at the curb with a piece of clothing in his hands.
    â€œCan you wear this polo shirt?” Yuki said after he was in the passenger seat and they’d exchanged niceties. “You’d look more professional.”
    Sonofagun. First Lloyd gets all high-tone with his expensive sunglasses and expensive haircut. (Mas had volunteered to mow down his hair with an electric shaver for free, but for some reason Lloyd declined.) And now this from the Japanese boy wonder.
    When they reached a traffic light, Mas pulled the polo shirt over his T-shirt. The logo for Nippon Series —a largeN and S—was stitched on the front left of the shirt. The light changed to green; with the polo shirt still scrunched up above his belly, Mas stepped on the gas pedal. Yuki was fixated on his cell phone, as all people, including his own family members, seemed to be these days. It’s a wonder that they even know what each other looks like. Their gazes always down on the screen, not on faces.
    Yuki tapped on his screen, unleashing a robotic female voice telling him to make a left turn on Olive Street.
    â€œI knowsu how to get to Soteru.” Mas frowned. “Once we getsu closer you can let the phone talk.”
    As he went from the 110 to the 10, Mas wondered what they would say to the relative. Wouldn’t this be the ultimate jama , or bother, to barge into a stranger’s house after a loved one was murdered? The police—maybe even the detectives who’d questioned Mas back at Dodger Stadium—probably had been there. I just drive, I just drive , Mas told himself. Maybe he could just stay in the Impala if Yuki didn’t need translation assistance.
    As Mas guided the car from one lane to another, he gradually began to feel better. The LAPD would find out who killed the Japanese journalist. Yuki didn’t have the know-how to tackle something like this.
    â€œGet off where?” Mas finally asked when he went north on the 405.
    â€œSo you’re allowing my phone to speak now?” Yuki gave a slip of a smile and tapped on his phone again. “Let’s see what Akemi tells us.”
    â€œAkemi?”
    â€œThat’s what I decided to call my phone. So my grandmother is still close to me.”
    Mas grimaced. He had heard of mama’s boys, but a grandma’s boy? That was carrying it too far.
    â€œYou can talk to her