Stealing the Dragon

parties.”

Xan smiled and leaned over Cape, getting in close. Cape could see the raised scar tissue coursing its way across Xan’s cheek, making one eye seem larger than the other.

“Cut yourself shaving?”

Xan gently squeezed Cape’s left shoulder.

Cape jerked backward, his body spasming as if struck by lightning, knocking his head back as a scream caught in his throat. He coughed violently, wheezing as air rushed from his lungs, bile rose, and his eyes started to water. His head struck the tiles again, hard, as vertigo hit like a sledgehammer.

An eternity that lasted only a few seconds passed and Cape opened his eyes, relieved to see the roof wasn’t spinning. Twisting his body, he managed to sit up and saw Xan standing ten feet away, idly passing something from hand to hand.

It was Cape’s wallet.

“The cards in your wallet say your name is Cape…?” He made it sound like a question. “Except, of course, this card.” Xan held up a brown card with a red triangle. “This card doesn’t seem like the others, does it?”

Cape took a deep breath, knowing Xan was only a step away from squeezing his other shoulder. “One of these things is not like the others?” he asked. “Who are you, a Muppet gone bad?”

Xan’s jaw clenched, but he didn’t move. “Where did you get this card?”

Cape looked at Xan and said nothing. He couldn’t move his left arm at all but tried to roll his shoulders to keep some blood circulating to his hands. He wondered if he could roll to the edge of the roof and… what? A five-story drop onto hard pavement was starting to sound pretty good.

“Do you have any other cards like this?” asked Xan patiently.

“Go fish.”

Xan took a step forward but his manner remained calm, unthreatening. “I have no interest in hurting you.”

Cape almost laughed, but it came out as a cough. “Gee, that’s reassuring. I’d hate to know what it feels like when you are interested in hurting someone.”

“One-eyed Dong,” said Xan. “You’ve met him?”

Cape nodded. “Charming guy, treats his guests much better than you,” he said, seeing no reason to lie. Xan wasn’t about to believe Cape found the card on the street.

“And what business does a gwai loh have with One-eyed Dong?” Xan held up another card. “This says you are a ‘licensed investigator’ in the state of California.”

“I’m considering another line of work,” replied Cape. “And how about you-a massage therapist?”

Xan raised his head slightly, and said with a hint of pride, “I am a teacher.”

Cape squinted, blinking his eyes dry. “Reading, writing, or arithmetic?”

“Life and death.” Xan’s eyes were two pieces of obsidian.

“Let me guess,” said Cape. “A girls’ school.” It was out of his mouth before he could stop it. Fuck it-maybe it’ll get him talking-more time to think, less time to writhe in agony. He sat up straighter, shaking his head to clear it.

Xan’s eyes grew wider as he studied his captive. After a long moment, he started to walk in a slow circle around Cape.

“Did you know that more than half the assassins in the world are women?”

“I dated a girl who tore my heart out.”

Xan ignored the remark and kept circling, making Cape think of a shark.

“It’s true,” said Xan. “What better way to get close to a man, especially a dangerous one? Women make men stupid, careless. Even a dangerous man is vulnerable when he’s with a woman.”

Cape thought of Sally, wondering how far back the two went. Keep him talking. “That can’t be easy, turning women into killers.”

“They are weapons,” said Xan. “But you miss the point-it’s impossible to teach women anything. They are stones, worn hard and smooth by waves of disappointment and years of sorrow, as predictable and stubborn as the tides.”

“Was that a haiku?”

Xan’s eyes flashed a warning, but he never broke stride. “But girls-girls are made of clay. Especially girls who lost their childhood to broken homes or tragedy. Start young, fuel their anger, and you can mold them, teach them, make them anything you want.”

Cape again thought of Sally-the Sally he knew. “One problem with your theory.”

“What?”

“Girls tend to grow up into women.”

Xan scowled. “By then they’ve chosen a path,” he said. “You can’t change who you are just because you’re old enough to drink. No one, not even a woman, can change their past.”

“Maybe not,” said Cape. “But they can make their own decisions.”

Xan waved his right hand dismissively. “Free will is an illusion, gwai loh.”

“Our fate is set?”

Xan nodded.

“Then why do you keep looking over the edge of the roof?”

Xan stopped circling and looked impassively at Cape.

Oh, swell. You pissed him off.

“He’s got a point, Xan.” The voice was muffled slightly, making it hard to pinpoint the location, but it seemed to come from directly behind Xan.

Xan whirled and thrust his right arm forward, his hand open and turned sideways.

Cape watched as a chain twenty feet long shot from Xan’s sleeve, its barbed tip flying through the air toward the bamboo stand at the edge of the roof. By its speed alone, it would impale anyone in its path. The sound of wood splintering was followed by a sudden clang of metal against metal, and Xan lurched forward, suddenly off-balance as the chain was torn from his arm.

Xan grunted and peered into the darkness as he rolled sideways, changing his position before a counterattack could begin.

He was too slow.

Three shuriken whistled through the air, the first two spinning over Cape’s head, their sound the only way to track them. The third throwing star also made a sound as Xan bellowed with rage. Turning his head, Cape saw why.

The six-pointed star, three inches in diameter, was embedded deeply in Xan’s right knee. He staggered and brought his left arm up in a swinging motion as he struggled for balance. Metal darts glinted in the half-light from the moon as they flew from his hand. Xan strained his ears for sounds of impact, but as he shifted his weight onto his left leg, a shape darker than the shadows materialized behind him.

The wooden sword swung low and wide, knocking Xan’s legs out from under him. Even as he fell, Xan managed to pull a knife, a tanto, from his belt, but the sword caught his wrist on the backswing with a loud crack. The knife slid across the roof, coming to a stop between Cape’s legs, the point of the blade barely penetrating the crotch of his jeans and nicking his thigh.

Cape’s breath hissed through his teeth in a mixture of primal fear and relief. With an effort, he tore his eyes from his crotch and saw the cloaked figure had dropped the sword to bring both hands down in a chopping motion, so fast that Cape never saw the impact, but Xan’s head jolted sideways. The hands came up again, repeating the strike, Xan slumping face-first onto the tiles.

From where Cape was sitting, spread-eagled at knife point, he couldn’t tell if Xan was still breathing. He didn’t need Sally to remove the black cloth from her face to know who had come to his rescue and almost castrated him in the process.

Sally shook out her hair and looked from Cape to the knife and back again.

“Oops.” Sally winced apologetically. “A couple more inches and that would have really hurt.”

“A couple more inches…you referring to the knife, or was that meant to be ambiguous?”

Sally smiled and shrugged her shoulders.

Cape exhaled loudly. “Thanks.” He nodded with his chin toward Xan. “I take it you know him.”