Kenji stood in his room in his underwear, thinking about what he was going to do. He stared at his collection of weapons on top of his dresser. He had a katana, a wakizashi, two wooden practice swords, a stack of four-pointed shuriken, throwing knives and nunchucks. He looked at his black gi hanging in the closet. He was tempted to put it on, but he knew black stood out too much at night. He needed something that would blend in. He rummaged through his closet. There it was: a faded gray sweatsuit and a pair of Chuck Taylors. That should work. Beside them was a pair of thin, elbow-length black gloves and a balaclava he had found at a thrift store.

His mother and grandmother had gone to the funeral home first, then to the police. They did nothing. Every time he visited his grandmother, he could tell she was upset about the situation.

Kenji clenched his teeth. Like Dad said, sometimes you gotta take care of shit yourself. He would go to the cemetery and hang out and see what he could see. Whoever the assholes were might be there.

He was about to take a quick shower when his mother walked in, wearing a short pink nightgown that hid nothing. Her eyes went from his face to the clothes on the bed.

“Hey, honey,” she said. “What are you doing?”

“Oh, hey Mom. I was about to take a shower.”

“Well, I can see that, but why do you look so pissed off?”

“It’s about Grandpa’s grave. I decided I’m going to go over there and keep an eye on it.”

She walked around his bed until she was standing in front of him. She reached up and put her hands on his shoulders, looking him in the face.

“Honey, are you sure about that? I mean, give the authorities time. They’ll...”

“Mom, you know better than that. If they haven’t done anything by now, they’re not going to. They don’t give a fuck.”