Brian Beneventi

FOUR AND TWENTY BLACKBIRDS (Novel)

Logline:

American lawyer Thomas Crowe is framed for a murder he didn’t commit while taking a case in South Korea, a country where the death penalty is still legal. To solve the murder and clear his name, he teams up with a street thief girl who is hiding a terrible secret.

EXCERPT

CHAPTER 15: CLEANING UP

12:33 p.m. 

              I wake the next day with a pounding headache.

              I try to sit up, but there’s a weight compressed on the end of my coat. A small person is lying on top of it in the fetal position. My heart is racing. I begin to panic. First, I fall off the mattress. My coat is wrenched from under the body, a girl by the look of the tangled dark hair. It’s not Mer, so who could she be? She bolts upright, equally surprised. She’s young and Asian and she’s wearing a black hoodie sweatshirt and torn jeans.

             “Mr. Crowe?” she asks. “Are you alright?”

She looks young, no older than fourteen. She must have shared the mattress because she was cold.

            I try to remember her name. “Sam?”

              “Are you playing a game?” the girl says uncertainly. “Because you’re scaring me.”

              I shake my head. “Your name.”

              The girl looks disappointed. “Su.”

              The mattress squeaks as Su moves close. She lays a small hand on my shoulder. “Mr. Crowe, it’s alright. I’m here to help.”

              “What can you do?” I say through my hands. “You’re a child.”

              “I’m thirteen,” Su chides. “More important, we’ll get through this together. One step at a time. I’ll hide you from the police. I know my way around the city.”

              I shake my head. “I hate this city. I need to get home.”

              “To tell you the truth, I don’t think that’s possible.”

              “I need to see my wife again,” I groan.

              Su pats my shoulder. “Like I said, let’s do this one step at a time.”

              I take a deep breath and stare into her kind eyes. “OK. What’s next?”

              “We should get breakfast,” she says, looking around the room. “But not here.” She grabs my hand and helps me to my feet. “Come on, I’ll show you where there’s good food.”

              I sigh and follow her to the door. “You’re wearing different clothes,” I note.

              “I had to,” Su explains. “I retired the schoolgirl look now that the police are after me.”

              She leads the way downstairs and I limp behind her. At the bottom of the landing, she unlocks a metal door on to the right with a key. She opens it for me and I find myself inside what looks like a restaurant. It’s eerie. The tables and booths remain, each one ketchup red and mustard yellow. Even the vases on each tables have withered, crumbling flowers, but the place is deserted. I imagine it was a popular establishment in its heyday. Now it’s just an empty shell. Even the large windows are covered in brown paper, blocking out all sunlight.

              Su brushes past me, heading straight for the kitchen. She tells me to sit down wherever. I pick a table in the center of the seating area. It seems less empty that way. I blow a layer of dust off the surface and place my elbows on the table top. I hear Su bustling and clattering around the kitchen. What is she doing? It isn’t long before she’s back with two plates and an enormous jar. She unscrews the lid with some difficulty, grabs a ladle and spoons a heap of kimchi onto my plate.

              “Dig in,” she says, serving herself.

              Using the fork she provided, I do. My eyes bulge as I taste the flavor.

              “How fresh is this?” I ask.

              “Kimchi is fermented, so it can last,” Su replies happily. “Time strengthens the flavor. This jar is…hmm...about three years old at this point.”

              “Are you sure this is safe to eat?”

              She looks offended. “Of course it is. This is Appa’s recipe.”

I’ve forgotten what appa means. I need my coffee. I take another bite of kimchi out of politeness. “Really? Because this is excellent.”

“Mr. Crowe, you don’t have to lie.”

“Well, I am a liar for a living. A lawyer, I mean.”

It’s a dad joke, I know.

Su doesn’t laugh. “Funny.”

              I ladle more kimchi onto my plate. “What, do you have something against lawyers?”

              Su shrugs. “I don’t know.”

              I wave a hand at the air. “It’s alright. I don’t like them either.”

              Su squirms in her chair. “They get in the way of life.”

              “Your life? Or anyone?”

              “Mine, especially.”

              “Can you explain...?”

              Su’s shoulders slump. “I was evicted this year. I found a house to live in and it was mine. But some college students moved in and I was thrown out. They—”

              “You were living rent-free in someone else’s house? For how long?”

              Su shrugs. “Six months.”

              “That’s not right! You can’t take what doesn’t belong to you.”

              She glares. “No one was living there when I moved in. It was mine first.”

              There’s that word again: mine. I’m not going to argue with her.

              “So you were kicked out. What happened then?”

              “The police put me in custody. Then a lawyer showed up and made everything worse. He made sure the college students didn’t press charges. He said I was young and wasn’t a criminal.”

              “He sounds nice to me.”

              Su looks venomous. “He wanted me to live in foster care.”

              “Did you?”

“Some old couple took me in, but I left after a month. It wasn’t my lifestyle.”

              “Don’t you think they’re worried about you?”

              Su shakes her head. “I left them. It doesn’t matter.”

              “Sure it does. Aren’t they your family?”

              “I’ve told you. Appa is my family. And this is his restaurant.”

I watch as she puts her hand inside her jacket and pulls out her pet mouse. She cuddles it close to her chest, grabbing it too tight. The mouse struggles against her affection.

I’m still not understanding her meaning. “Appa means ‘family’?”

Su looks impatient. “No, appa is the korean word for ‘father.’”

I’m thoroughly confused. “Your father lives here? Where is he?”

Su giggles. “He’s right here.”

I turn around, fearing that the girl’s father is right behind me, but I see no one. I’m unnerved. Have I stumbled onto the set of some ghost movie? I turn back to the girl.

“Does your father know that I’m here?”

              Su nods. “Yes, he knows.”

              “Did you ask his permission to have me here?”

Su looks embarrassed. “I forgot. Hang on,” she says, “I will.”

              Thoroughly confused, I put down my fork. She elevates the mouse close to her mouth and then cups her mouth and whispers something I can’t hear. Then she raises the mouse close to her ear. She pauses as if listening, while the mouse nibbles a spot on its hind leg. Su nods again, as if in agreement.

              “Appa says it’s OK.”

              My mouth is agape. “What?”

              Using her hands as a small platform beneath the mouse, Su extends it toward me. Its long, bald tail hovers inches above my food. I move my plate out of the way.

              “Mr. Crowe,” she says seriously, “meet Appa. Appa, this is Mr. Crowe.”

              Is she insane?

              Su smiles sweetly at me. “He says it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

              She must be joking. I wait for her to laugh, except she doesn’t. A contented smile crosses her lips as she strokes the mouse’s head with her thumb. Maybe this is a Korean joke I don’t get. It could be one of those cultural barriers. I’m at a loss for what to do next.

              “Well?” Su says.              

              “Well, what?” I reply.

“Are you going to acknowledge him?”

This is so odd. What do you say to a mouse? How’s the cheese been lately?

“Uh, it’s nice to meet you,” I tell it.

              In her hands, the mouse simply nibbles at its belly. Su nods happily. To my horror, she places her pet on the table. I uncomfortably watch the mouse as it scurries about. I pick up my plate as it gets too close.

              “Could you not? I’m trying to eat.”

Su giggles. “When I was growing up, Appa was worried about cleanliness too.”

              I force a smile. “How can a mouse be worried about cleanliness?”

              “I told you,” Su says and I detect irritation in her tone. “Appa owned this restaurant, remember?”

I decide the best avenue is to play along. “How can a mouse own a restaurant?”

“He was human once, like you and me,” Su says matter-of-factly.

              I still don’t get it. “Are you saying he was turned into a mouse?”

              A solemn look is fixed on Su’s face. “Yes.”

I don’t like where this is going. She seems a bit too invested in this game. Either she’s a good actress or she believes what she’s saying is true. But she’s providing me a place to stay and food to eat, so I’ll humor her.

 “Alright,” I ask. “How did he become a mouse?”

              Su settles into her chair, like I’m in for a long story. Her eyes widen.

“One winter night, an old woman came here for dinner,” Su begins. She points across the room toward a table. “She sat over there. She came in just before closing and ordered the special. When the food arrived, she wouldn’t eat it. She said there was a dead mouse in it, but it was strange. Appa’s restaurant had passed its health inspection. The restaurant staff thought the woman had planted it there just to spite my father. She waited until all the other customers and most of the servers had gone before she asked to speak with Appa. He thought she wanted to complain about the food. And right then and there, she turned him into a mouse. Then she left without paying.”

              I don’t buy it. “That’s some story.”

              Su looks down at the table, as though mourning. “She was a manyeo—a witch. We never saw her again. The restaurant was forced to shut down without an owner. All the waiters and cooks left. With my father in his condition, there was no one to pay them.”

              “Did anyone actually see this woman use her…um, magic?”

              “The spell?” says Su. “Yes, I did, because I was sitting at this very table when it happened. So did Mrs. Kwon, who served the witch her dinner. But she ended up quitting like everyone else. I don’t think she told anyone about what she saw. She was spooked.”

              I feel like I’m being told one of Mer’s stories she made up about her adventures during recess. She and Sara Vance would catch ladybugs on the playground and pretend to be princesses of the bug kingdom. The stories changed every day. Sometimes they were veterinarians, sometimes teachers or even attorneys like Daddy. I used to humor her imagination. But that was when Mer was in first and second grade. Su is much older. A teenager. And here she is, making up kids’ stories about witches and mice. Maybe she’s on drugs.

              “Did you ever talk to this woman about it…Mrs. Kwon, was it?” I ask.

              Su shakes her head. “I never heard from her again.”

              If there’s someone who could confirm Su’s story, maybe there’s some truth to it. But the part about her father becoming a mouse? Nope. Su’s behavior reminds me of kids I’ve worked with in the past. They reject reality in favor of a simpler, more pleasing one. The realist in me is telling me to disagree. The parent in me is less willing, but I’m not Su’s father. I doubt the mouse on the table is either. I’m wondering if she knows where her father really is. Maybe he’s dead.

“How old were you when this happened?” I ask.

              Su pauses to think. “That feels like so long ago. I think I was ten.”

              The pause tells me that she’s been alone for quite some time. When I discovered her, she seemed so feral. It’s amazing to see what a hot meal and some kindness did for her.

“That’s pretty young. That must have been hard for you.”

              Su sighs. “It was awful. A lot of people told me I was crazy for believing what I told you, but I don’t care. I know what I saw.”

              “What about your mother?” I ask. “Where was she for all of this?”

              I hope to God that her mother isn’t a cockroach.

              “My mother died when I was a baby. Car crash.”

              I feel like a jerk now. Su is all alone. She needs me.

“I’m sorry,” I tell Su.

Su smiles weakly. “Thanks.”

“So your father raised you?” I ask.

              “Yes, it was just the two of us,” says Su. She looks at her mouse on the table. I expect her to pick it up and cuddle it, but she doesn’t. She just looks miserable. “We were very happy. It may not look like it, but Appa’s restaurant was very successful at one point. He used to buy me new dresses every Chuseok. Then we would take a train north to our ancestral village and visit my mother’s grave. I miss that. I miss being able to hug him and hear his voice.” She sighs. “Things sure have changed.”

              So this holiday has special meaning for her. That’s nice.

              “What did your father look like?” I ask. “When he was…human?” I add, out of respect.

              “He was a little shorter than you. And bald.”

              I smile. She hasn’t noticed that my hair is thinning.

              “So after your father became a mouse was when you lived in the college house?”

              Su shakes her head. She looks troubled. She looks like she’s trying to forget a nightmare.

“No.”

“Oh. So what happened after that?”

Su looks down at the table. She scoops up the mouse in her hand and cradles it next to her heart. She stares at the table and becomes very still. It’s a long time before she speaks again. She takes a great, shuddering breath.

“Agmaui haldeul.”

I lean forward. “What does that mean?”

Su looks at me with glistening eyes. “Demon Days.”

Oh. I imagine she’s seen her share of horror living on the streets. She’s had to provide for herself the past few years without her father. I decide not to question Su further. She needs to forget those days. I’m the one who can help. So I’m going to help Su in any way I can.

I have a flash of inspiration. “If this is going to be our new home, why don’t we fix it up?”

              She looks hopeful. “How do you mean?”

              The place is filthy. I look around the room at the red and yellow tables and chairs. Each one is coated in a fine layer of dust. Underneath our table is the largest dust bunny I’ve ever seen. Iris would have a heart attack if she saw it. The brown paper covering the windows is peeling in places where the tape has worn out. The paper will have to stay though if I’m going to remain out of the public eye. We’ll need some candles to light this place at night. I haven’t asked Su yet about electricity or plumbing.

“For starters, the room could use dusting and sweeping,” I say. “Why don’t you show me how your father’s restaurant looked in its prime?”

              Su beams at me. “I’ll show you where the cleaning supplies are.”

We use the supplies Su finds in a closet in the kitchen. I find an ancient sponge covered in hair and black mold in the closet. Thank God there are rubber gloves on hand too. There’s a broom and dustpan and a mop. All the cleaning supplies are in bottles with hangul writing, so I have to ask Su what each one is for. We check the kitchen for available food. There are several large jars of kimchi for our use in the fridge. Good thing the jars are sealed so the kimchi does not spoil.

We continue searching the kitchen for food. There are a few cans of beans in the cabinets and nothing else. Su begins looking through drawers and, to my delight, finds a sealed package of coffee grounds. There’s a coffee maker, but no electricity. Damn.

We spend the next couple hours sweeping, brushing, and scrubbing the place clean. A musty, rotting smell coming from the kitchen turns out to be a broken jar of kimchi under the refrigerator that has been there for years. Both of us get on our hands and knees and scour the floor. My ankle is still smarting from when I sprained it, but the swelling has gone down. I hope it heals soon because I can’t visit a doctor right now.

              We finish cleaning and sit down for ‘lunch.’ Su finds a can opener and serves us beans and more kimchi. This time, I don’t complain. Food is food. Until my name is cleared, it’s all I’ve got. Time strengthens the flavor, Su said, so I try comparing the intense taste to a fine wine.

              “It’s all we’ve got for now,” Su says, finishing her plate. She doesn’t seem to mind the flavor. “I can steal some food tomorrow.”

My Catholic upbringing says otherwise. “No, you have to stop stealing.”

              Su looks at me like I’m crazy. “Why?”

“You’re young,” I tell her. “You don’t have to live this rough lifestyle. Take it from someone who has, I made quite a few enemies that way when I was your age.”

Su looks surprised. “You used to steal?”

I nod, feeling guilty. “I was young and desperate.”

              “What do you mean?”

              “I stole from a lot of people. Cash, food, you name it, I would take in the blink of an eye. I networked my way into people’s homes and then made off with their valuables.” I look at Su sternly. “You’re better off walking away,”

              Su crosses her arms. “How do I do that?”

              “You find a way out. But it involves leaving something behind.”

              “What did you leave?”

              “I left my home and my family.” That’s only half of it. I took Ma’s suggestion of going to a college out of state to avoid the enemies I made back home.

              Su makes a face. “I’m not leaving Appa.”

              I sigh. “Listen, you’re capable. You’ve just got to find your out.”

Su doesn’t look interested in what I’m saying. She glances at the kitchen. “We’re going to run out of food eventually. We have enough for a couple weeks. I’m going to have to get more food somehow and it’s not like you can get a job.”

She’s right and I hate it. With my current status, I can’t get a job to support us. I don’t know what to say.

“Maybe you could get a job?” I suggest.

Su laughs. “Like that’ll happen. The cops know my face just as well as they know yours.”

I don’t know what else to say. We’re in this together. I guess I’ll have to ask God for provision. It’s what Iris called ‘faith building.’ I always hated it, but it keeps a man humble.

Su glances at my wedding ring, which glints in the hazy afternoon light.

              “So…you’re married, huh?” she asks.

              With my other hand, I touch my ring. It’s a marvel I haven’t taken it off in six months. I guess I’m still holding out hope that things will work out between Iris and me.

“Yes.”

Su leans into the table with interest. “Where’s your wife?”

I look away and repress a sigh. “We’re separated.”

“Sorry,” Su says, looking forlorn. “Did she divorce you?”

She says it like I deserve it, which is only partially true. I glance at Su, then the table. Shame prevents me from making eye contact.

“We haven’t signed any papers, so nothing is official.”

Su can only nod. “That sounds difficult.”

That’s one way of putting it. I chuckle. “It’s funny. I was supposed to fly out yesterday morning so I could visit her, but instead I’m here.”

“I’m really sorry, Mr. Crowe.”

A silence washes over us as I mourn my marriage. I have to make amends. I have to clear my name and return to Iris. But how?