Her bow and smile to Harry were gracious. There was a bit of stiffness that translated to chill when she saw my low faan face. Harry matched her graciousness in both bow and smile. I did my best to keep the shivers from rippling my clothes.
Harry spoke to her softly in Chinese, while I took in the silk-suited dude at the carved mahogany desk across the room. He was about the age and cut of the Ming Tree’s Dick Clark. If scorpions came with slick black hair and manicured fingernails, I’d have looked for his stinger.
His perusal of Harry seemed almost nonchalant, but there was a distinct toning of the senses when he spotted me.
It was also hard to ignore the bulky six-footer standing by the wall to the left of the desk. He had one of those muscle developments that prevented him from fully dropping his arms or bringing his knees together.
As nearly as I could follow, the woman introduced herself to Harry as Mrs. Woo Yo-Si. Harry became Wong On-Lee, which I think was actually his Chinese name. I was getting used to the Chinese custom of placing the family name first.
Harry introduced me as Peter Frathing, which was the name of one of our classmates at Harvard, who never, to the knowledge of either of us, said more than three words in an evening. I got the hint.
Mrs. Woo brought us over to the desk and graciously introduced us to Mr. Sun Yu-Ming. Everyone ignored the stack of muscles to Mr. Sun’s right, which suited me fine.
Mr. Sun addressed me first, in English.
“Mr. Frathing, we see so few Occidentals in our humble establishment. How did you happen to hear of us?”
I did some fast computing. I knew I was supposed to be an associate of Harry’s, but I didn’t have a clue as to what business we were supposed to be in. I tried to lead something neutral to avoid finessing my partner.
“On-Lee has told me many times that there is no beauty on earth to compare with Chinese beauty. He kindly invited me to accompany him on his business.”
The Chinese Batman flew to my rescue. “Actually, Mr. Frathing is too modest. He has been of immense assistance to our Boston family in helping us with the guidance of our children. We would be hard put to function without his wise advice in certain matters of their up-bringing, such as the one that brings us here. In that regard, I bring you greetings from our Mr. Liu.”
The name “Liu” cracked a polite smile of recognition from Mr. Sun and slightly flared his pencil moustache. He waved an invitation to two chairs in front of the desk.
“Ah, yes. Mr. Liu and I have had many mutually beneficial dealings. I trust he is well.”
“He is, and wishes the same for you. As a matter of fact, I’ve come in regard to your most recent dealing. I believe you received a flower from Mr. Liu by special delivery. It was a very delicate flower. Mr. Liu is very grateful that you would give it room in your house.”
“I was honored to be able to accommodate Mr. Liu. Is there a question about this particular flower?”
“Only the desire to see and learn what we can from this unique specimen. As I mentioned, Mr. Frathing is instrumental in guiding Mr. Liu’s children. If we could see this flower, we might learn something essential to furthering their education.”
I stood there with a knowing smile, totally clueless. I figured the flower was Mei-Li, but who these children might be escaped me entirely. It was like playing a tennis match when you can’t see the ball.
All I knew was that Mr. Sun was unflustered. He was also making no apparent move to produce Mei-Li. He played with a tiny piece of ornamental jade sculpture on his desk for a moment before speaking. I was moving from seriously concerned to seriously terrified that my white presence was shooting the plausibility out of Harry’s cover. Mr. Sun opened the center drawer of his desk to check something before picking up the telephone.
“I’m sure you appreciate what a delicate flower this is, Mr. Wong. I’m certain you’ll understand my checking carefully before exposing it to sunlight.”
Panic bubbled close to the surface, but we both held it in check. Harry must have been as sure as I was that the silk scorpion was dialing up Kip Liu, who would probably give the execution order on the spot.
He pressed enough digits for long distance, the first three of which were “617”-Boston area code-and then swung back in his chair. I counted the rings. By the third, my pulse hit one hundred and eighty. Each ring after that brought it down ten beats. When it hit six, he placed the receiver back in its cradle, and I breathed “Thank you, Lord”-not necessarily out loud.
The scorpion swung back to look at us. He was talking to Harry, but in my honor, he kept it in English.
“I’m afraid we’ll just have to wait. In the meantime, you’ll be my guests. May we bring you tea or whatever you desire?”
Harry was on his feet with his right hand in the breast pocket of his suitcoat. “Muscles” was beside him faster than I thought that much bulk could move. He eased off when Harry took out his wallet. Harry pulled out a hundred-dollar bill and a pen.
“That is not acceptable, Mr. Sun. My time is not limitless. I come representing a certain gentleman who requests a courtesy of your er pao. If your er pao wishes to deny or delay the courtesy, I’ll return that message to the gentleman.”
Harry inscribed three small digits with a felt pen on the hundred-dollar bill. I figured the hundred was some multiple of something significant. The digits were “489”-the symbol of the Dragon Head of the tong.
Harry folded the bill and handed it to Mr. Sun, who looked quickly at the digits. He rose immediately and bowed. The greaseball polish had dropped out of his tone of voice. He sounded like a man who had been on the verge of making a colossal mistake and had pulled back in time.
“Mrs. Woo will escort you to a suitable room. The flower will be brought to you immediately.”
Harry bowed curtly, not to lose the momentum. We followed Mrs. Woo through a door in the back of the office to an expensively and tastefully appointed sitting room toward the back of the building. The white silk brocade in the upholstery matched that of the wallpaper, and the tapestries looked authentic and ancient.
I noticed the lack of a bed. Mr. Sun apparently took us seriously about being there for information.
I caught Harry by the arm as soon as Mrs. Woo closed the door with the promise of an immediate return. I whispered.
“Can we speak?”
“Do it quietly. I don’t think they have the gall to eavesdrop on the Dragon Head’s business, but don’t broadcast it.”
“Right.” I kept it low. “Who are these children I’m supposed to be guiding?”
Harry leaned close. “One of the things that keeps these bozos in business is that it does no good to plant microphones or tap their phones. They always speak in code. Sometimes just the way someone sets down a pair of chopsticks means he has a shipment of hot money to exchange.”
He glanced at the door, but nothing yet.
“The word ‘children’ usually refers to a shipment of narcotics. Like, ‘I’m happy to say my fourth son is home,’ means ‘I just received a shipment of pure number four heroin.’ When I told Sun that you help guide our children, I was saying that you help the tong bring shipments of narcotics across the border.”
“I’m impressed that you speak the language, On-Lee.”
“You’re impressed, Mr. Frathing, because you don’t know what they’d do to us if we make one slip. We’re not back in Cambridge yet, Toto.”
There was a slight knock on the door before it opened. Mrs. Woo walked in ahead of a young Chinese woman of about twenty.
I thought that I’d never seen beauty to compare to that of Xiao-Wen, the girl we first thought was Mei-Li; but the real Mei-Li-on a scale of one to ten, you could forget the scale. No finite number that I could think of came close.
The grace with which the jet-black silk of her hair flowed into the long, deep blue sheath that outlined her flawless form was arresting; but the indefinable beauty of every perfect facial feature from eyes, nose, mouth, to chin actually constricted the breath at first sight.
Features and form aside-although they were the absolute apex of everything desirable in a woman-there was something far more striking. Xiao-Wen’s beauty could have been captured in a wax doll without losing anything but motion. She had been molded into a sort of Stepford consort, where every word, look, and gesture was a preprogrammed answer to the desires of the client. Nothing human, nothing that was “Xiao-Wen” showed
