A different ending

It was, at first, almost imperceptible, like Mr. Tamaoki’s nod, but through the intoxicating odour of the green tea, I detected that unmistakable odour of acetone. But what could Mr. Tamaoki possibly want acetone for? In between sips of green tea and polite nods, I quickly glanced around the room. My eye was drawn to a table, partially hidden by a big red curtain. On it stood several basins filled with different coloured liquids, several large paper coffee filters, heating lamps, and bottles of what seemed to be chemicals, and flour, lots and lots of white flour.

I had been ill in the past, very, very ill. Cocaine addiction had nearly driven me out of my mind. But now I was in recovery. My therapist was a great help. In our next session, I would tell her how kind Mr. Tamaoki had been to me.

We smiled and nodded at each other, but that snow-white flour on the table was like a magnet to my eyes. Incandescent and glowing, it pulled me towards it until the shock of recognition came and it all suddenly fell into place. All those dawn deliveries of “vegetables” in the red van. The carrots, peppers, and the squash – they were all a smokescreen for Mr. Tamaoki’s real business – cocaine processing and trafficking.

Had he really left of his own accord? I couldn't keep my mind off the subject and, when I fell asleep that night, my dreams were flooded by Mr. Tamaoki's face behind bars. He was still smiling though, smiling and asking me to bring him some of that green tea...