Stealing the Dragon

me, Yan gave it to you?”

“Yeah,” said Cape. “Figured you’d get to that right away, with his name on it.”

“Still talking to Interpol, but they’re pretty excited, want to know why I’m asking about some dude who’s been dead for ten years.”

“What did you tell them?”

“Said he was busy running for mayor,” said Williams. “Want to know what else?”

Cape waited.

“Once the cops finally called us, we checked the dead girl’s prints.”

“And?”

“They were all over the ship.”

Cape nodded. “Case closed?”

“Kinda neat,” said Williams. “Don’t you think?”

“You mean everybody being dead?” asked Cape. “Seems kind of messy to me.”

Williams took another bite of bacon. “Remember when I said you weren’t all that interesting?”

“How could I forget?”

“Changed my mind,” said Williams. “Know what that means?”

“You started a file.”

Williams nodded. “Sorta have to, if I want to keep my job, but it’s no big deal. In your case, there ain’t jack shit to put in there ’cept random bits of information that seem to come to you from above.”

“You leading up to a question?” asked Cape. “’Cause I noticed you have this roundabout way, sort of like you’re sneaking up on me.”

Williams chuckled. “You gonna tell me how you came by this information on Harold Yan?”

Cape seemed to think about it. “Not today,” he said. “That alright with you?”

Williams pursed his lips. “Yeah, I guess so,” he said slowly. “You obviously ain’t one of the bad guys, and truth is, this case’d be nowhere if you hadn’t stirred things up.”

“You think I stir things up?” asked Cape indignantly.

“Don’t push it.”

“OK,” said Cape, holding up his hands.

Williams glanced at Cape’s plate, the eggs runny and frigid. “Sure you don’t want something to eat?”

Cape looked over at the waitress, then glanced back at Williams. “You buying?”

Williams shook his head. “Not a chance.”

“What the hell,” said Cape. “Maybe I’ll have some pancakes.”

Chapter Sixty-three

Linda’s hair was barely visible over the top of the newspaper, shifting back and forth as she read aloud.

“…believed to have died in the explosion, his identity being withheld pending notification of next of kin…the suspected gas leak was confined to Harold Yan’s offices…” Linda lowered the paper, her hair lurching forward as she addressed Cape across the table. “I thought you said he was shot?”

Cape shrugged.

“And that there wasn’t any gas.”

Another shrug.

Linda scowled and raised the paper, muttering under her breath. “The Chronicle never gets their facts straight.” Her hair nodded in silent agreement as she resumed reading. “…police later found Yan in his home with an unidentified female, both apparently the victim of foul play…blah, blah, blah…the mayor was quoted as saying ‘The city has lost a valued public servant, and I have lost a worthy opponent and good friend, unless it turns out he was a criminal, in which case I am shocked and deeply concerned…’”

Cape arched an eyebrow. “It didn’t say that.”

Linda held up a hand, calling for silence as she continued. “…the mayor’s aides later denied any statement had been made, saying a press conference would be called tomorrow.”

Linda lowered the paper just as their food arrived.

They were having dinner at one of the many restaurants with Hunan in the name, two doors down from Freddie Wang’s place. It was an understated restaurant with very little tourist traffic-most of the neighboring tables were filled with young Asian couples or families. Linda was surprised when Cape suggested it but didn’t object. She had an abiding passion for sizzling bean curd.

“I thought you’d had enough of Chinatown for one week.”

Cape broke his chopsticks apart and rubbed the splinters off them. “Just the underside of Chinatown, the part I never knew existed. This part,” he paused as he skewered a fried wonton, “this part I miss.”

Linda concentrated on her bean curd for a minute before looking up. “Thanks for telling me what happened.”

“Thanks for your help,” replied Cape. “Sorry the Sloth didn’t come.” His friend rarely ate out, eating so much slower than everyone else.

Linda nodded. “He’s counting on some leftovers, so try to restrain yourself.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Linda smiled, the lines around her eyes multiplying. After a moment, she said, “You left some things out, didn’t you?”

It was Cape’s turn to smile. “You always were a great reporter.”

“The messy parts?”

“Yeah,” said Cape, looking more serious now. “Very messy.”

Linda studied him. “You OK?”

“Ask me again in a week.”

They ate quietly for a while, the background chatter of the restaurant soothing, fits of laughter, snatches of happy voices, all sending a subliminal message that everything was normal again.

Linda broke the silence first, saying, “How’s Sally?”

“I can never tell, really,” said Cape. “And this was hard on her. She’s taking a few days off, going to visit some old acquaintances.”

“Really?” said Linda. “Where?”

“Hong Kong.”

Zhang Hui sat behind his desk, the only light coming from the small halogen next to the phone. It cast his face half in shadow, the left side pale, the right all but invisible. Both eyes were cavernous, the sockets dark pools, taking all of the light and giving none of it back. He raised his head idly as Xan stepped into the room and stood just beyond the shadows.

Hui asked, “Did you bring it?” His tone was casual, two old colleagues picking up where they left off.

“That’s what I said when I called.”

“So?”

“Your brother is dead.”

“So I heard,” Hui said indifferently.

“He was supposed to be dead ten years ago.”

“Was he?” asked Hui, leaning into the light.

Xan refused to be baited. “We were both here, with your father.”

The mention of his father got Hui standing, both hands on the desk.

“Don’t forget your place, Master Xan.”

“I never have.”

“Neither one of us is innocent.” Hui stood up straighter, his hands pressed in front of him.

“True,” said Xan. “I looked the other way when you killed your father, and I-”