The Ripper of Blossom Valley Read online

  "Surely they could have found another place for you?"

  "It was...my choice. I did not feel welcome or happy there. I am looking for a home, Mr. Teske, somewhere I feel I truly belong, as I did early on." Loyalty does not work as a selling point in Silicon Valley. We both know that. So why did I say it?

  He smiles anyway, and nods. "So, what do you feel were some of the biggest challenges that kept these projects from running...smoothly?"

  No mistaking his tone this time. He could not even hide it. Stay calm, try to stop the spasms. "Well, everyone we work with has different priorities, and is working on multiple projects, so one hurdle—"

  Twitch,

  "—is getting people to want to help you clear a blocker before moving onto other things. I am very capable—"

  Spasm

  "—of building personal bonds that help me when I need to move things along."

  Now he looks at his notes, refusing to make eye contact. He does not want to give away his discomfort, his disgust. But I have seen this reaction countless times. He has already decided he is not going to hire me. I can see this. Because I am a freak. A freak who cannot control his own body, his own muscles. Or this ringing in my ears, which has returned along with it, per usual.

  "And if someone pushes back, because they have another deadline that is more urgent than yours?"

  "Then I politely loop in some of the others on each of our teams, and see—"

  Ungh

  "—if there is someone else who could help. And if not, I coordinate with my product owner, and facilitate the reprioritization of one team—"

  OUCH!

  "—or the other. I try not to step on too many toes, but sometimes you need to be more aggressive. Only when appropriate, of course." He has not even looked at me again. I wager you are a terrible poker player, Mr. Teske.

  "So, why do you want to work here, Mr. Yamamoto?" The twitching increases, as does the ringing.

  I take a deep breath. And exhale. "...I do not."

  He looks up, finally. "I'm sorry?"

  "I believe you have heard me. I can already see that my...condition is making you—"

  Twitch

  "—uncomfortable. It is the same everywhere I go lately."

  "Well, that's not—"

  "It is alright. I am used to it. If you are—"

  Tweak

  "—curious, this is the real reason I have had such short tenures recently. As you saw from my prior work, I always delivered, on schedule and with limited loss of scope. But lately, that fact is overshadowed by—"

  Shudder

  "...this."

  "Well...I'm sure it wouldn't affect your work."

  Fool. "I used to think this, too. Now, I am not so certain. Good day, Mr. Teske."

  I get up to leave. I can see him fishing for the words to make me stay, but they never come. I have given him an easy way out, and he has taken it, as I expected. And why not? I would not fit in. They would regret hiring me. And I would be back in this same place in a few months' time, if not sooner, just as before.

  ----------

  As I drive home, I wonder what my options are. I have either been politely let go for "performance issues" before my probationary period has expired, have burned bridges after outbursts, or have stumbled through interviews at nearly every major company and startup in the Valley. I suppose I could relocate, but what would be the point? Different setting, same result, I suspect.

  Another option is to return home, but this is no real option at all. It is true that I still have family there, some of whom would welcome me with open arms. Not all, but a few. Mother, Yuki, Keiji, they would be most pleased. But father. When I refused to come home after my schooling, I believe that door was closed for good. And he is strong in our extended family. He has turned most of them against me. It is no matter. I have been gone for so long, it would not even feel like home. No, this is my home now, for better or for worse.

  I only wish I knew where this illness came from, what caused it, and how it can be contained. The first doctor could find nothing wrong with me. Another had me try different drugs, but some of them made me feel awful, and those that did not also stopped helping after a short time. Even natural remedies like rhino horn had no effect. A desperate measure, indeed. Simple southeastern Asian "medicine." Damn Chinese and their "traditions."

  The seizures by themselves would not be so terrible. They are few and far between, and most people sympathize, understanding that they are beyond my control. But these ticks. To me, they are one and the same, also out of my control. But others, for some reason they find them unbecoming, as though they are intentional. As though they are of my own conscious doing. As though I can stop it.

  Indeed, if I cannot stop these nervous twitches, I cannot work my magic. I cannot make them see that it is not meant as an insult, or to make them feel awkward, but simply something that cannot be helped. Well, there is one thing that helps on occasion, but it is highly unreliable, and most unprofessional. As it stands, there is no harm in partaking in it now.

  ----------

  As I walk into the lounge, I look around. Save for a brunette and redhead speaking quietly at a corner table, I see merely a smattering of male patrons. This is not surprising, given it is the middle of a weekday. Other poor souls out of work, perhaps, or avoiding it. But their purpose here is of no concern to me. I prefer to focus on drowning my own sorrows away for the time being.

  "What can I get ya?" The bartender is friendly enough, and quite pretty. I must not stare.

  "Sapporo, please."

  "Comin' right up." She smiles, possibly to be polite, but perhaps also to increase her chances of a tip. I know I am somewhat attractive, but I do not fool myself. She looks to be ten years my junior.

  I sit on the barstool and ponder my next move. I do not wish to return home, but a move to a new area might prove promising after all. Seattle has a large tech industry, and the area is quite beautiful. But the months of gloom may not be suitable. Even the rainy season here is often too long for my taste.

  New York always has work available for my skill set, and it has plenty of other appeal, as I recall from a prior trip many years ago. One is the quality of food that cannot easily be found here, such as bagels, pizza, and Italian food in general.

  Then there is the musical theater, some of the best in the world, I am led to believe. Another superfluous yet intriguing activity that I enjoyed more than I expected. Some of them, I admit, I could not follow, the singing occasionally too fast for me to understand, the stories strange by my standards. But others were truly gripping, stories of honorable deception and revolution, of unrequited love and the true beauty within. The only one I did not find any merit in was Cats. I have since learned it was no longer showing, and I can understand why.

  And of course, New York has the women, so many of them, in such a variety of shapes, sizes, and colors, and so many of... questionable morals. Surely many were models, and many more could have been, as though the most attractive females of all other cities and towns across the country descended upon this one place. I would never speak of it, but I truly felt a thrill when I would walk behind an attractive fair-haired woman wearing a short dress, allowing me to voyeuristically focus on her long, fit legs, without her noticing. Then there was the time I caught a glimpse of one woman while she emerged from a taxi, wearing a short skirt with nothing beneath it, briefly showing all of herself to the man who was in the right place at the right time. I could not believe there existed a city of such vice, and I was ashamed, at first, of how much I enjoyed it.

  There are beautiful women here, too, but they do not often expose so much of themselves, and seem much more reserved overall. San Francisco, perhaps, is as free, but it is different, somehow.

  The negatives of living in New York would be too great, though. There is not as much of a Japanese community as there is here, which I found surprising, given the cultural diversity of the city. There is a Chinatown, Koreatown, hav
ens for Russians, Jews, Italians, Puerto Ricans, but not the Japanese. What they call Little Tokyo amounted to little more than a row of restaurants and shops selling collectibles. It pales in comparison to Japantown.

  The humidity would also be a problem. I visited in the summertime and found it to be sweltering. Even the hottest days here are much more bearable by comparison. The American phrase for this is "dry heat."

  The stunning bartender returns. "Here ya go, darlin'. That'll be five." This word, I do not recognize it at first, but if I am correct, her accent is from the American south, so it must be a term of endearment, for a new acquaintance. Ah, she may perhaps mean "darling," though with her accent, she does not annunciate the "g."

  "Thank you...darlin'." I smile, unthreatening. Hopefully this is interpreted as charm. It works so often with colleagues.

  She smiles back, thankfully. "You're funny. And sweet. My name's Jessica. If you need anything else, just holler."

  "Thank you, I—"

  Ah!

  "...I will."

  How embarrassing. She simply smiles again and goes about her business. Too kind, this lady. How I wish others were like her.

  There is Los Angeles, I suppose. When I have traveled there on occasion, there were a few positives. The weather is even more consistently sunny and warm than here, without much rain at all. The women there are as beautiful and dress as freely as New York, though I found them to be less real, somehow. In Los Angeles, they all wear masks, and so many are made of plastic and speak of things of little consequence. There also is less of a technology industry to tap into, and the video game companies that are there are notorious for overworking and underpaying. Perhaps if I were just out of school, but now...

  No, here is where I belong, this place I know so well. Perhaps a change of scenery is not in order, but rather a new field of work altogether. Something where I would not need to interact with so many people, somewhere that my troubles would not impact others or reflect poorly on myself and my work. I do love the energy that comes from pulling a team together and getting the most out of them. I am an extrovert at heart, a facilitator. Working alone, independently, would drain me. I would find no joy in it, no sense of accomplishment. And what would I do? I have done this one thing for so long, starting over would be most difficult.

  Within my own industry, there would be some options, I suppose, with little or no extra schooling. I could work as a developer, isolated, writing code all day, and likely all night. No one would mind my spasms, as there would only be minimal interaction required. No, I have not written a line of code since college, and even then, I did not enjoy it. There is not much calling for Pascal developers these days, in any case.

  There is QA, which I understand fairly well, and wouldn't require any further education. I have even done my fair share of testing over the years, helping where and when they permitted. They were usually skeptical, but sharing my methodologies would sometimes persuade them, as they were often understaffed at crunch time. But their work is rarely solitary, and they can be a difficult group to work with.

  I sigh, perhaps too audibly. Jessica turns her head to me from further down the bar. "Everything alright, darlin'?" I smile and assure her it is. I am a good liar, another skill that has served me well in my profession. My former profession.

  I should see it as a challenge, a new chapter in life. I am 35 years old, and I have dedicated the last decade and a half to my career, at the expense of...what, exactly? A life, a wife, family? Yes, I do wonder about those things sometimes. Do I want all of it, some of it, or none of it? I can never seem to decide, so I dive back into work.

  What is stopping me? I have accumulated a modest amount of wealth, which I am frugal with. I have no hobbies or close friends that occupy my time. My work has always done that. I have always kept friendly colleagues at a distance, always feigning prior plans, or a load of work waiting for me, to avoid socializing. I have always felt this would weaken my position among them, bring me down to their casual level, make me ineffective back in the office. This, in turn, limited any chances to meet a potential match.

  Of course, I made sure my needs were satisfied in other ways. My ample salary and limited financial obligations always allowed for an adequate amount of time spent with various members of the opposite sex. Impersonal, yes. Dispassionate, certainly. A contract, nothing more. This is all I needed, never desiring anything complicated or long term. Staring at this blonde bartender, I wonder if this is still true. Or perhaps I am wondering what her price is.

  "Need another, or you doin' alright so far over here..." She snaps her fingers, as though this will jog her memory. "Sorry, I never got your name, did I?"

  "My apologies. My name is Takehiko." I lean in, "But my friends call me Tim."

  "Oh, so we're friends now, are we, Tim?" A smirk, a wink, and she has me hooked. I can see I am not the only charmer in this establishment today.

  "Thank you, yes, I will have another."

  "Sure thing."

  As she turns and walks down the bar, I cannot help but direct my eyes downward. Yes, she is quite attractive, indeed. I only noticed in passing earlier, though I now gain a thorough appreciation of her lean legs, round bottom, and toned physique. I wonder briefly if the Sapporo is enhancing my vision, but lately, it takes far more than one bottle for my senses to begin to go astray.

  Much like my obsession with work, I have had this lack of any real connection with women since I left school. Not since Julie. Looking back, I suppose we could have stayed together after graduation, though she still seemed a bit immature, not ready for anything more serious. Perhaps neither was I.

  Even if we were, Father never would have approved. Now, I would not care about such things, but back then, I was taking a sizable risk simply dating an American girl. I dared not inform him of my courtship, which in and of itself was a sore spot for the girl I believe I may have loved.

  It is, after all, what my parents always wanted for me: a strong education, a lucrative career, and a family. Except that it had to be a traditional Japanese family, and Julie would not have fit into their equation. I still recall how angry she was with me when Father and Mother visited, introducing her as my "friend." By then, we were dating exclusively for two years, all but living together. Things were not the same after that. I believe it was at that point that she knew I would not broach the subject with Father. It took some time, but we slowly drifted apart, the disappointment nearly permanently etched on her face each time we met, any hope that I would change my mind fading at every turn.

  I thought I could live in two different worlds. It was an important lesson. It is a shame that she did not benefit from it, but this incident with Julie directly led to my final decision to resist Father's wishes for me to return home. It was the best decision of my life, and I wished at the time that I could share it with her. But she had moved on. I was too late.

  It took some time to move past Julie, and there are moments when I wonder if I ever have. I felt no desire to replace her for some time, and once I considered it, I would always find a reason why the next girl was not good enough. Eventually, it was easy to remove emotion from the equation. It was easy to make a businesslike exchange of money for services. It was simple, temporarily satisfying, uncomplicated.

  The only negative was having to deflect the persistent pressures from Father and Mother to find a good Japanese girl, and return home. The order of operations did not matter to them. Perhaps it is time to tell them of my career woes as well. Then my failure can be complete, in Father’s eyes.

  Enough about them. They are not here. They cannot help me. I hope that Jessica can, if I can convince her. When she comes by again, I am compelled to strike up a conversation, hoping that my body does not betray me once more.

  "I sense that you are a transplant, like myself."

  "A what kinda plant?"

  "Ah, a peculiar word, to be sure. A transplant, not originally from here. You were born and raised elsewhere, moved h
ere more recently. From the deep south, perhaps?"

  "Oh, yeah. I'm from Alabama, how'd ya guess? It’s the accent, right?" I nod and smile, and she shakes her head, embarrassed, perhaps. "I been tryin' to kick it, but I only been here less than a year. I'm gettin' better, though, I think."

  If it was much worse, I wonder if I would have even understood her when she first came here, though I dare not tell her this. "What brought you here, if you do not mind my prying?"

  "Not at all. I moved here for a guy. I know, such a cliché, right? It didn't work out, big surprise. But I love it out here. No way I'm movin' back to that nothin' town. Even if I wanted to, my brother and cousin would kill me. I dragged them out here with me, ya see, after my daddy passed."

  "Oh, I am so sorry for your loss."

  "Thank you, darlin'. It's taken awhile to get used to, but this change of scenery helped big time. I still miss him, for sure, that'll never go away. But each day gets a little easier. Well, most days. Anyways, what's your story?"

  "My...story?"

  "Yeah, ya know, where you're from, what brought ya here. You did say you was a transplant or whatever." Her eyes grow wide, seemingly excited by this idea. "Ooh, let me guess. You're from China."

  "...Japan."

  "Japan, right, near Hong Kong or somewhere like that. Your family moved here after World War II, after your home was bombed, lookin' for a new life."

  How old does she think I am? It is alright. I am well versed in hiding my disgust at American ignorance, another important trait for my profession. I smile politely. "Sorry, no. My family is still back home, in Kyoto. I came here on my own, for university. Stanford. I intended to return home afterward, but the opportunities here proved to be too great. And the beauty."

  She touches my forearm. "Aw, that's real nice. It is beautiful here, ain't it?"

  "Yes, it is. In this particular establishment, especially."

  She smiles, but notices another customer who needs her attention. The timing is terrible.