Alex recognizes the man. Harry Ueno. An outspoken and very popular figure in the camp. When his Block 22 was short on cooks, he signed up to be a cook’s assistant even though he had zero culinary experience. He became renowned for his snacks: oil-fried and oven-dried rice snacks that became a hit, especially with the kids. And in the hottest month of the year, July, with temperatures soaring over a hundred, he built a rock pond right outside the mess hall. It gave people something to look at during the long waits outside, restored some of their dignity.

“Alex Maki,” he says. “My name is Harry Ueno.”

“I know who you are.”

Ueno gives a small smile. “Good. We can dispense with the formalities then. Allow me to cut to the chase. We need to ask you a favor.”

Curious and cautious at the same time, Alex says, “Yeah?”

“You’ve heard the stories? About all them babies dying these last few months.”

He has. Speculation’s been all over the place: germs in the hospital delivery room, or the water’s gone bad. “I’ve heard a few things.”

Harry Ueno takes out a cigarette, lights it up. “Yeah? What kind of things?”

Alex looks at Frank then back at Ueno. “Just that babies are dying for no good reason.”

“Alex,” Ueno says patronizingly. “Babies don’t die for no good reason. There’s always a reason.” He lowers his voice. “Somebody’s been mixing something into the milk formula.”

Alex shakes his head. That didn’t make any sense at all. “What kind of stuff?”

“Saccharin.”

“Why would anyone do that?”

“The milk formula’s supposed to have sugar in it. Except, with the price of sugar skyrocketing, somebody’s been stealing our sugar to sell on the black market and replacing it with saccharin.” He snorts with disgust. “And our babies are dying because of that.”

Alex shakes his head in disbelief. “Who would do such a thing?”

Frank turns to Alex. “That’s why we brought you here.”

“Me? What can I do?”

“We have a couple of suspects. Joseph Winchester, the guy in charge of all the kitchens and warehouses. But we think it goes even higher up than him. We think the real kingpin is Ned Campbell.”

Alex’s head spins to Frank. “The number-two guy in command? No way. I mean, he’s the Assistant Project Director.”

“And it’s not just sugar he’s stealing. He’s filching meat as well. And milk. And kitchen knives. Then selling it on the black market outside the camp. Making a pretty dime while our babies die.”

Alex is stunned. “That’s … that’s a pretty big accusation. You have evidence to back it up?”

Ueno’s eyes cut to Alex. “That’s where you come in.”

“Me?”

“You work at the WRA mess hall. Serving all them staffers.”

Alex swings his eyes to Frank. Then back to Ueno. “So?”

“We need you to find out stuff.”

Alex stares at Ueno incredulously. “You want me to ask around? They’ll never give up their own boss—”

Frank steps in. “No, knucklehead. We want you to look around. They’ve got to be hiding the stolen goods somewhere. So peek into the commercial refrigerators. Check under the mess hall for any secret cellars.”

“Frank, you can’t expect me to snoop around—”

Frank’s face hardens. “This is how you redeem yourself, Alex. This is how you show where your loyalties lie: with them, or with us.”

“Redeem myself? What the hell, Frank?”

Frank sighs with hot anger. “There are things happening in this camp that you have no idea about, Alex. You’ve got blinders on. You think everything’s just fine, that we’re all singing around a campfire holding hands.” He jabs a finger at Alex. “You have no idea how angry most of us are. How upset we are at being taken from our homes and unceremoniously dumped out here.”

“I’m upset, too, Frank. You’re not the only one who’s pissed off. But some of us think it’s pointless to just go around sulking and making a nuisance of ourselves. Because we’re better than that. And we need to show America that we’re good Americans—”

“That’s bull, Alex! We need to hold America accountable for what it’s done to us. And simply playing nice isn’t the way to do that.” Spit flies out of his mouth in disgust. “It’s time to pull your head out of the ground and open your eyes. It ain’t all peaches and rainbows around here.”

“Yeah, well, maybe you’re the one who needs to open your eyes! You see what you’re doing to Mother? How she’s so sick with worry over you?” His voice reaches a fevered pitch. “Have you even looked at her? She’s got a limp now. She’s wheezing all the time. She’s not sleeping. Have you seen what you’re doing to her?”

“What I’m doing to Mother? How about what America’s doing to her!”

“I’ll take it from here, Frank,” Ueno says, stepping between the two brothers. He gives Frank a squeeze on the shoulder and turns to Alex.

“We’re asking, Alex. We’re not making you do this. But we hope you can come around and see our point of view. This has nothing to do with patriotism. And everything to do with infants getting sick. At some point we have to speak up against corruption, don’t we?” He puts a hand on Alex’s shoulder. “Just think about it, okay, Alex?”

His hand is warm and affirming, his eyes sincere.

Alex turns around, walks out.

Frank catches up with him three blocks away. “Alex!”

Alex keeps walking. A moment later, he feels Frank’s firm hand on his shoulder, turning him around. “Alex, hear me out.”

“I’m not doing it, Frank!” He squirms his shoulder away from Frank’s hand. “I’m not snooping around for you.”

“Come on, Alex!”

“If I get caught, and then branded an agitator and Jap sympathizer, you ever think what that’ll do to Father?” He stuffs his hands into his pockets. “Whatever slim chance he might have of being released, poof, it’ll be gone just like that.” Alex takes a breath, tries to steady his breathing. “So we both need to stay out of trouble.”

Frank shakes his head angrily. “You’re an idiot if you think staying quiet and a model citizen will achieve anything.”

Alex looks away. Leave. Just go. But he can’t. “You ever consider something, Frank? You ever think that maybe Winchester and Campbell aren’t the ones stealing the sugar? That maybe someone else is?”

Frank’s eyes narrow. “Like who?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe any one of ten thousand people who wouldn’t mind a little more meat and milk for their kids, or maybe sugar for their coffee? Or heck, maybe sugar for the bootleg sake they’re distilling?”

“Who’ve you been talking to?” Frank’s voice, harsh and accusatory.

“It’s common knowledge, Frank. Everyone’s cooking up some of their own sake. In hidden cellars beneath the barracks—”

“Why are you so quick to side with them?”

“And why are you so q

uick to accuse them?”

Frank suddenly reaches for Alex, unzipping Alex’s jacket and flinging out his security badge. “They got to you, didn’t they? Made you all sympathetic so you can’t see past their blue eyes and white skin and shiny white teeth. Serving them, kowtowing to them all day and night, it’s gotten to you.”

“Frank, you just—”

“They took Father away, they took us from our home, they threw us into this hellhole, and you’re still kissing their white ass—”

“Shut the hell up.”

Frank laughs mockingly. “Oh, I like your tough-guy act. Your imaginary French girlfriend would be so impressed.”

Alex’s punch more grazes than catches Frank on the nose. But it’s still enough to draw blood. A small drop that trickles out of his nostril.

“Wow,” Frank says, in mock praise, wiping his nose with the back of his hand and examining the faint smear of crimson. “What do you know? Little brother’s finally grown a pair.”

Alex turns and walks away.

“Remember, Alex,” Frank says, serious again. “We need you to look around. We need you to find crates of milk, boxes of meat, anything hidden away.”

Alex stops. Turns around. “Who’s we, Frank?”

He doesn’t answer.

“Are you a Black Dragon? Frank? Did you become one of those ultranationalist, pro-Japan fanatics?”

Frank blinks as if those words have struck him harder than the earlier punch. “What the hell you talking about, Alex? I ain’t no America-hater, you got it all wrong.”

“You should know something. The Dragons threw rocks at Mother when she left work the other day. Right outside the camouflage-net factory. They said no one should be working for the U.S. army. You’re part of that group—?”

Tags: Andrew Fukuda Historical
Source: readsnovelonline.net