neighborhood seemed to be marked. Sally was beginning to suspect they were lost when Li Mei cried out and pointed to a solid oak door set deep into the wall and painted black. Carved into the center of the door were Chinese characters that had been painted red. Next to the door, set on a nail, was a hand-held gong and mallet.
Li Mei took the gong and struck it three times. In the enclosed space of the alley the sound carried, each new strike bringing another wave of energy to the summons.
They didn’t have to wait very long.
The door creaked loudly as it swung outward, revealing a young woman of no more than fourteen. She spoke rapidly to Li Mei in Cantonese, too fast for Sally to follow. Sally spoke Cantonese well for her age, thanks to Li Mei, but was most comfortable with Japanese, her mother’s language. English had been spoken whenever her father was home. Sally moved naturally in and out of each language depending on who she was with, not differentiating as an adult normally would. She just knew words, and which words went together to express her ideas, and that seemed to work fine. But when adults talked quickly, she sometimes found herself getting lost, only tracking every third word or so.
Whatever Li Mei had barked did the trick, because the young woman bowed before leading them to a small courtyard. With the door closed behind them, all sounds of the city seemed to disappear. As Sally looked around at the sandy ground of the courtyard, it felt as if Hong Kong was a world away. Small trees and bamboo lined the walls, effectively blocking any view of the city. At the far end of the courtyard stood another wall maybe ten feet in height with another heavy wooden door at its center, through which the young woman now disappeared.
Li Mei shifted nervously as they waited, looking from Sally to the closed doors, the one behind them as well as the one directly ahead. Sally had never known Li Mei to be antsy and wanted to ask why she was fidgeting, but just as Sally opened her mouth the door in front of them swung open.
A man was walking toward them. He wore black cotton pants bound tightly around his calves, his ankles exposed above thin black shoes. His black shirt was loose in the arms and the waist, held in place with a broad red sash. He was on the tall side, but Sally’s impression was more of girth. Even from a distance he seemed thick, especially in the shoulders and chest.
He stopped a good twenty feet away, still partially covered by the shadow of the wall behind him, and gestured toward Li Mei, who made a cursory bow and then turned toward Sally.
“Wait here, little one.”
Li Mei walked slowly toward the man, looking over her shoulder and forcing a smile. From where Sally stood, she couldn’t make out the man’s features, but she thought he was smiling at her, too.
Li Mei and the man stood close together, their voices soft and insistent. At one point, Li Mei pointed at Sally and raised her voice. The man took a small pouch from his belt and gave it to Li Mei. Days later, Sally would reflect on how strange it was for the school to be giving Li Mei money, and not the other way around, but she was too young to grasp what was happening. After almost ten minutes of discussion, Li Mei called to Sally and asked her to join them.
Sally bowed as she came upon them, as she had been taught. She kept her eyes on Li Mei, looking for cues to her behavior.
“This is Sally,” said Li Mei. “She knows some Cantonese, Japanese, and even English.” She smiled proudly, adding, “And she is a dragon.” Sally had heard Li Mei say that before, referring to the year of her birth. Every child in Asia learned about their animal, compared its strengths and weaknesses with those of other children.
“A dragon, heh?” said the man, his voice like rolling gravel. “So am I, little one. Twenty-four years before you, but still a dragon.” He reached out and grabbed Sally by the chin, turning her head toward him.
Sally gasped as she saw his face.
A jagged scar marred his features, starting above his right eye and running zig-zag across his cheekbone down to his jaw. As he smiled it jumped like an electric spark, the raised tissue livid in the morning light. Sally had the sudden urge to hide behind Li Mei, but she held her ground, twisting her head to free her jaw from his coarse grip.
“And what is it you want, little one?” the man asked, a mischievous or malicious light in his eyes, Sally couldn’t tell which. “What is it you want when you grow up?”
Sally looked at the ground for a moment before turning to Li Mei. When she spoke, her voice was so soft that her aged guardian had to lean close to hear the question. Sally remembered the god in the temple, but she couldn’t remember his name.
“What did she say?” demanded the man with the scar.
Li Mei glanced at Sally before answering. She knew her reasons for bringing the girl here, but she would be lying to say she had no doubts.
“Justice,” said Li Mei simply. “She wants justice.”
The man smiled broadly and barked out a laugh, the lightning scar jumping from his eye to his mouth. He bowed deeply toward Sally and waved his arm toward the heavy door behind him.
“Very well, little dragon,” he said. “Time for you to go to school.”
San Francisco, present day
Cape called Beau the next morning and said he was hoping to see Sally later that day. He didn’t mention that he’d already tried to see Sally the night before, so technically he wasn’t lying. He really did hope to see Sally later in the day-he just didn’t think he would.
“So why are you calling?” asked Beau. “To tell me you’re gonna call later?” Cape thought he heard a mildly suspicious tone in his friend’s voice. “Since when did you become so responsible?”
“I need someone to talk to,” replied Cape.
“You want the name of my therapist?”
“About the case,” said Cape. “I want to talk about the case.”
“What case?” asked Beau. “I don’t have a case anymore, remember?”
Cape sighed, realizing that asking Beau for help this week might be a bad idea. “The boat,” he said. “I want to talk about the boat.”
“You mean the ship.”
“Whatever.”
“OK, talk to me,” replied Beau, suspicion turning to certainty. “But since you haven’t talked to Sally, I’m not sure what there is to talk about.”
“Look,” replied Cape, “you’re saying you have a hunch, that Sally might know something.”
“Go on,” said Beau, his voice noncommittal.
“So I’m checking it out,” said Cape. “You already said there would be more leads than you and Vinnie could handle, not to mention the feds.”
“Don’t mention the feds,” groaned Beau.
Cape ignored him. “So I want to get in front of this thing.”
There was a long pause, and neither one spoke. Finally, Beau broke the silence with a loud sigh into the phone.
“You’re gonna talk to Sally,” said Beau. A statement, not a question.
“Absolutely,” said Cape. Well, eventually, with any luck, if she hasn’t left town, and if she’s still alive. “Fair enough,” he said. “But will you help me?”
“What do you want to know?”
“I want to talk to someone who was on the ship,” said Cape.
Beau paused again before answering.
