were back in the city that she finally tuned in. He had just finished telling her about his arrival in Las Vegas five years before, as an acrobat in a Cirque du Soleil show, when they pulled up in front of Wynn’s. “I injured myself, and I’ve been driving cabs ever since,” he said.
A Wynn’s doorman knocked on the driver’s-side window to tell Au he was blocking traffic. Ava opened her door. “Are there any Chinese restaurants you’d recommend?” she asked him.
“Go to Chinatown, on Spring Mountain Road,” Au said.
“Anything closer?”
“There’s a noodle bar at the Venetian.”
“I’ll go there for lunch,” she said. “How about dinner? Are there any good Japanese restaurants outside the hotels? I can’t stand paying those prices.”
“Ichiza,” he said.
“Where is it?”
“It’s on Spring Mountain Road as well, just past the Chinese mall, on the second floor of a strip mall.”
“So far again?”
“It’s worth it,” he said. “That’s where all the Chinese chefs from the hotels go at night when they’ve finished work. It costs two-thirds less than Japanese on the Strip, and the food is great. You’ll save enough on the food to pay for a taxi, and then some.”
“I’ll try it,” she said.
He passed her a business card. “My cellphone number’s there. Call me whenever you need a cab. I’m usually no more than ten minutes away from anywhere.”
Ava walked back to the Venetian and into the noodle bar. She sat at a Formica table that would have felt at home in any American diner. All the chefs and servers were Chinese but the customer base was nearly all gweilo. Ava’s waiter fussed over her in English until she responded in Cantonese. He responded in Mandarin. Ava made a mental note that she wasn’t in Toronto anymore, where Cantonese was dominant because of the influx of Hong Kong immigrants.
She ordered baby bok choy and har gow noodle soup. When the soup was served, Ava grimaced. Two shrimp dumplings and a sprinkling of chopped green onion floated in cloudy chicken broth. The waiter noticed her reaction. It’s one thing to stick it to the gweilos, she thought, and another to take advantage of a fellow Chinese.
When she had finished eating, the server asked her how her meal had been. “Adequate,” she said. As he picked up her bowl and plate, she asked if he had heard of a restaurant called Ichiza.
“I go there all the time,” he said.
“Good food, good value?”
“Better than here,” he whispered.
It was almost two o’clock when she strolled back into Wynn’s to wait for Douglas. She leaned against the wall directly across from the room’s entrance and took in the action. There were twenty-six tables and fifteen were in play, most of them on the ground level. The upper level, where she assumed Douglas played, had only three active tables. Ava searched for a silver halo but didn’t see one.
She had a thing about being prompt, even early. Marian shared the same characteristic; she said it was in reaction to a mother whose idea of being on time was within two hours of a scheduled appointment. Ava was thinking about her mother when she caught her first glimpse of the Disciple. He was taller than she had thought, well over six feet. His belly was particularly prominent and his hair had receded since the photograph, the afro more wispy than wiry. He walked slowly through the casino, greeting patrons who had left their tables to approach him. She watched as he stopped to chat, shake a hand, sign a cocktail napkin. In this place he was a celebrity.
She waited until he was ten yards away from the host’s desk before she intercepted him. He looked down at her with eyes that were a watery, washed-out blue. “And what can I do for you?” he asked.
“My name is Ava Lee,” she said.
“And what can I do for little Ava?”
“You can talk to me about The River.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“I believe you’ve been involved, perhaps inadvertently, in a fraud perpetrated by some people playing on The River. I would like a chance to talk to you about it.”
He twitched, turning his head away from her. “Get away from me,” he said.
“Mr. Douglas, that isn’t helpful. If you can give me fifteen minutes of your undivided attention I’m sure we can sort this out.”
“What’s your name again?”
“Ava Lee.”
“Get away from me, Ava Lee.”
“I’m afraid I can’t do that,” she said.
He stared down at her. “Don’t make me call security,” he said, lowering his voice. “I can have you carted off.”
“If that’s necessary, then do it,” she said.
He hesitated and looked up at the ceiling. “Where are you staying?” he finally asked.
“Here.”
He looked at the host, who was pretending not to listen. “Is my seat open?”
“Waiting for you, sir.”
“Ms. Lee, I play poker for a living, and that’s what I’m going to do right now. I’ll be finished around midnight. If you’re still here, then maybe we can talk.”
She thought about her options. “Okay, I’ll be here.”
“See you then,” he said with a nod.
(22)
Ava wandered the casino floor for fifteen minutes and then found a spot where she could watch the poker room without being seen. Douglas was on the upper level, looking completely relaxed. She left again, this time for half an hour. When she came back, Douglas hadn’t moved. She headed for her room.
At six o’clock she came back downstairs and saw that Douglas was still holding court. Ava decided it was safe to leave the hotel. The Disciple, true to his reputation and his word, wasn’t going anywhere.
Ichiza was only ten minutes away by cab. Ava hadn’t known there was a Chinatown in Las Vegas, and when they drove past it she knew why: it was basically one mall with about thirty restaurants and stores. Ichiza was exactly where Au had said it was, on the second floor of a strip mall next to Chinatown. She climbed the stairs, past a Chinese bakery and a Korean barbecue restaurant, and entered sashimi heaven.
The restaurant was small and unassuming. It held maybe sixteen tables that were strictly mix and match. There were no shoji screens or tatami mats, no pictures of Mount Fuji on the walls, just a poster advertising Kirin beer and colourful notices about special dishes handwritten on oddly shaped pieces of paper. The young Asian servers were in jeans and T-shirts, and the six young chefs wore baseball caps.
One of the servers tossed a menu at her that listed more than a hundred items, and that didn’t include the specials. She ordered a glass of Chardonnay, seaweed salad, red snapper carpaccio, and a sashimi platter with yellowfin tuna, surf clams, octopus, and salmon. That’s enough, she thought, until she saw that chawanmushi was on the menu. She couldn’t resist adding the steamed egg custard served with soy sauce, dashi, mirin, boiled shrimp, and shiitake mushrooms.
By seven o’clock she had finished her meal, which was truly exceptional. Ava called Au as she settled the bill; he promised to be there in ten minutes. With time to kill, she went into the Chinese bakery and bought two coconut buns for breakfast. As she descended the stairs she noticed a man wearing a black T-shirt and jeans standing off to one side in the shadows. His large head almost disappeared into his barrel-shaped, muscular chest. A steroid user, she thought as she passed.
As she neared the bottom of the stairs, the man began to edge after her. She turned left, towards the parking lot. Sensing that he was following her, Ava turned, just in time to see his right fist heading for her face. She
