Chapter 37
Chapter thirty-seven
Tom
I’m chained to the interrogation table. My wrists are handcuffed, hooked to an iron ring right in the middle. Fucking brilliant.
The AC is cranked so high the room feels like a butcher shop. Sixteen degrees, maybe colder. And here I am, dressed only in a tank top and shorts, same as yesterday.
They always make it colder than necessary. Intimidation tactic number one: freeze the suspect, see if he breaks.
Well, not this guy. My last name is McKenna. We break for no one, we escalate. Then we end up in green rooms like this.
Not the usual one backstage with alcohol and bad catering. This one’s government-issued. Moldy green.
I can feel my life expectancy dropping by the minute.
God, I could use a hot shower, something to wash the taste of steel out of my mouth.
Every muscle in my body is tight.
Could be the adrenaline. Or the cold. Maybe I got whiplash from hitting that tree yesterday. Most likely it’s the punch I took this morning.
Things had gone exactly as I’d planned. Well, almost exactly.
That fucking punch sent me flying a solid two metres.
Crashing into Yosh hadn’t been part of it. I’d meant to fake the fall, make it look dramatic enough that he had to give me first aid on the spot. Would’ve been the perfect move to swap the cups without too much fuss.
But hey, it worked. And honestly? Not the worst place to land.
I try moving my neck, it’s stiff as hell.
Great. Right now, all I really need is Yosh’s hands. His fingers pressing into my muscles, working out the knots, warming me up, melting away the pain.
The happy ending too. Obviously.
The door opens, two officers step in. They go and sit on the other side of the table.
The first guy’s a brick wall, the type you absolutely don’t want to fuck with.
He’s basically every bouncer at an Amsterdam coffee shop who throws you out for sounding too yankee.
The second guy looks more serious. He nudges his glasses up his nose as he opens a file.
Textbook Good Cop, Bad Cop.
It’s not my first time in a room like this. Small space, white walls, mirrored glass.
Feels almost nostalgic.
I lean back as far as the chain lets me, my eyes on the two of them. They stare back. Seconds pass.
Cute. Let’s see who cracks first.
Good Cop finally speaks. “Tom McKenna from Amsterdam, staying at Arcadia Resort—”
Bad cop interrupts. “Staying? They threw him out.”
His eyes lock with me. “You got something to say, Tom?”
“No,” I answer evenly. “Just…wondering.”
I glance around the room, taking my sweet time. Nothing rattles law enforcers more than a good, slow stall.
“Well?”
Bad Cop’s already annoyed. Short fuse, clearly.
“I was wondering if I need a lawyer.”
The two of them exchange looks.
“No, we’re just having a conversation.” Good Cop tries to sound casual.
Perfect. They’ve got nothing.
“Then why am I still in cuffs? Why am I even here?”
Good Cop sighs like I’m some teenager giving him a hard time. We’re trying to clear a few things up. Think you can help us out?”
“Oh, now you want my help?” I click my tongue.“Start by taking off these cuffs. After that, we’ll see how cooperative I’m feeling, gentlemen.”
Good Cop looks at his partner. Bad Cop gets up and unlocks the cuffs.
I rub my wrists, shifting my focus back to the pair in front of me.
“Alright then. Should I press charges? Just to be clear, I didn’t lay a finger on that security guard.”
I point at my bruised face, right eye nearly swollen shut.
“Rambo lite did this.”
Good Cop starts writing in his notebook.
“Do you want to press charges?”
Of course not. I needed him to hit me. That was the whole point.
I offer a lazy shrug. “Nah. Guy was just doing his job.”
They exchange a confused look. Good Cop clears his throat. “We were at Arcadia this morning for an ongoing investigation.”
“What kind of investigation?”
“We can’t disclose that.”
“Right. So how exactly am I supposed to help if you’re not telling me anything?”
“Fuck this guy,” Bad Cop mutters. “He’s wasting our time.”
“Easy. He’s already here. Let’s get this over with. We don’t have anyone else.”
Wait, what? I thought I’d seen it all, but what kind of tactic is this?
“Uh, gentlemen.” I lean a bit closer to them. “Maybe you can go argue over who gets the last donut somewhere else. Otherwise, I’d like to leave now.”
Bad Cop snaps. His fists hit the table hard enough to make it shudder. I catch a string of curses I don’t understand. He doesn’t need words to make clear he’s losing it. Good Cop tries to calm him down.
A muffled laugh floats in from the hallway.
So there’s an audience behind the mirror. Great. I've had enough.
I get up and head for the door to leave this circus behind, but Good Cop isn't done yet.
“We found traces of benzodiazepines in your sample.”
That catches my attention.
I turn back, taking my seat again, careful to keep my face neutral.
Good Cop switches to gentle, “What can you tell us about that?”
“I don’t have to tell you anything.”
He shrugs. “We know, Tom. We want to know where you got it. No consequences for you.”
Yeah, right. Like I believe that.
They want answers. So do I. Like what the hell is going on, and if this morning’s raid was about the same shit that ended up in Yosh’s drink. Maybe it’s smarter to play along. For now.
“I crashed at a friend’s place at Palm Oasis. Swiped them from his medicine cabinet. He has a prescription.”
Good Cop scribbles it down. Bad Cop cuts in.
“How about cocaine?”
No buildup, straight to it. I almost respect the lack of bullshit.
“Mate, that shit had me picking songs for my funeral three months ago. Not doing that again.”
“One more thing, and we're finished,” Good Cop says. “Did you notice anything unusual at the resort, or at their beach during your stay?”
I pause. Plenty of weird shit went down in that madhouse, but nothing that justifies the SWAT treatment they gave us this morning.
“Nah. Mostly been lounging by the pool. Bit of a holiday, you know? At least it was until you lot came barging in.”
I push back my chair and stand.
“I appreciate the hospitality, gentlemen, but I really need to find a dentist now.”
To my surprise they don’t stop me.
Ten minutes later, I’m in downtown Saint Luna, the Caribbean sun melting the cold out of my limbs.
I fish my phone from my pocket.
Yosh. I need to know if he’s alright. He was in bad shape this morning, and now, after hearing the lab results… God, I just need to know.
I scroll through my contacts. For Yosh, it’s easier to go straight to Z and scroll up
I tap his name, heart thudding as the phone rings endlessly. Then the automated voice comes: “The person you're trying to call is unavailable…”
Shit.
I cancel the call and check my messages instead. Notifications keep popping up.
Callie Coconut – 20 unread messages
I’m so so so os sosorry mate. Pls don’t give me the silent treatment. Come have pizza call me.
Baby Joan
What time u at Cal’s? Don’t leave me alone w him. He’s goin mental cos ur not replying.
Kimmy Kaczynski – 36 unread messages
Hey Cutie, how’s life in the tropics? When you coming back to AMS? Kitty is asking fr milk. Purrr.
Jay Ginger Spice McKenna
What the hell. Arcadia called me. You failed the drug test!? Why am I not surprised? You’re a fucking disappointment!
Gotta love notifications. Gives you the option to leave messages unread.
My eye falls on a text from Yosh. I do open this one:
Yosh
I need some time alone to clear my head, so I might go quiet for a couple of days. I’ll call when I can. I’m sorry, Sapphire.
My heart sinks. Time alone. What does that even mean? I get needing space after this disaster. I do. But right now I’ve got no idea if he’s safe, and that’s the part I can’t sit with.
What if I scared him off? I don’t want him to think I pick fights all the time.
I try again. Straight to voicemail.
Come on, Yosh. Pick up. Nothing. One more time. Still nothing. Shit.
I give up and call Joan instead. A sleepy voice answers on the third ring.
“Babe, can you come get me? I’m in Saint Luna. Just got out of the bloody police cell…”
“…”
“Yeah, it’s a long story. You wouldn’t believe what’s happened in the last twelve hours.”
“...”
“I’ll send you my location. Okay. See you in a bit.”
The line goes dead.
I look up and find myself surrounded by the daily life of Saint Luna.
Cruise passengers walk past the market stalls, taxi drivers play dominoes in the shade, waiting for tourists who need a ride. One of the vendors comes over, offering me a guava. A guava of all fruits! The universe is clearly taking the piss.
I decline politely and keep scanning the crowd, half-expecting Yosh to appear out of nowhere. He’s always there, I’ve grown used to that these past weeks.
God, Yosh… where the hell are you?
I roll my shoulder, like that might loosen the knots in my back. Nothing else to do but wait for him to call. Until then, I’ll head back to Palm Oasis.
Three days. Nearly 72 hours since I left Yosh at Arcadia. Three days of doing nothing but obsessively checking my phone. From bed to couch to sun lounger. Sometimes the pool, always with my phone within reach. Nothing else feels worth the effort.
I’ve got no desire to make music, no interest in hitting the beach with Joan.
It’s safe to say I miss him.
I miss his smile, his relentless optimism, which should be illegal before breakfast. I miss the jasmine scent I breathe in whenever I bury my face in his neck. And God, I even miss the way he calls me McKenna whenever I’m being a little shit, which is often.
I sigh as something warm and heavy curls in my chest.
I think I’m in love with Yoshiro Aoki.
Telling him is the only thing that matters now. But first, I have to find him.
“Still nothing?” Joan’s voice cuts through my thoughts. She climbs out of the pool and plops down beside me, splashing water across my chest.
“Mm, Lovely. I feel like a rotisserie chicken.”