“You must’ve had an interesting childhood.”
“Life,” she sighed. “An interesting life.”
He knew that sigh included the current situation, and he wondered if the reluctance Grandma Luke spoke of had gotten the better of her. Was her support finally starting to waver?
He reached for her hand and squeezed it. “Don’t forget,” he said, “I’ve done this before.”
The smile she offered was small, but enough to satisfy him. He reached for the door. A bell tinkled as he opened it. Stepping inside, they found a middle-aged Asian woman looking up at them from the book she was reading. “May I help you?”
She sat at a counter littered with jars of various sizes, filled with the same unappetizing substances as those in the window. The wall behind her was lined with wooden drawers, each about the size of a shoe box, which Donovan assumed held various medicinal mixes of stuff from the jars. Dried herbs hung from the ceiling, permeating the air with an almost overpowering mustiness.
Donovan ducked under something brown and approached her, handing her the dog-eared business card Grandma Luke had given him. He was vaguely aware of music. A faint strain coming from a distant room.
It sounded like Jimi Hendrix.
The woman read the card, nodded. Handing it back, she flipped the book facedown, then came out from behind the counter and moved to a curtained doorway at the back of the store.
Donovan and Rachel followed.
Pulling the curtain aside, she gestured and said, “Last door on your left.”
They stepped past her, Hendrix’s guitar growing louder as they navigated a corridor with faded linoleum and drab green walls that were vaguely reminiscent of a fifties-era hospital. At least there weren’t any jars in evidence.
Donovan looked around. “Your grandparents bring you here, too?”
“It’s all new to me,” Rachel said.
The last door on the left was open just a crack, Hendrix really cranking behind it. Donovan knocked on the doorframe, but got no answer. He knocked again, louder.
Over the music, a voice called out, “Yeah?”
Donovan pushed the door open to find a twentyish, overweight Chinese-American man standing in the middle of a cluttered room. He was playing air guitar, a burning cigarette tucked into a corner of his mouth.
Donovan felt a momentary twinge. Was it a Marlboro?
Without stopping, the man said, “What can I do you for?”
Donovan glanced at Rachel. “I think there’s been a mistake.”
They were about to turn away when the guy snatched up a remote, silenced the music, and looked at Rachel. “You Mrs. Luke’s grandkid?”
Rachel paused. “You’re Mr. Wong?”
“In the flesh,” Wong said, looking her over. “Where you been all my life?”
Donovan glared at him, then took Rachel’s arm. “Let’s go.”
Wong held up a hand. “Wait a minute, wait-don’t get your panties in a wad. You’re the one picked up the stray hitchhiker, right?”
Donovan paused, looking at the guy. Had Grandma Luke really meant to send them to him?
Wong noticed the look and smirked. “What? You were expecting some wise, old kung fu master? You white boys are all the same.”
Donovan didn’t respond, but that was exactly what he’d been expecting.
“Sorry to disappoint you,” Wong said, “but nobody’s snatching any pebbles outta my hand and I sure as shit ain’t gonna call you grasshopper. But I will promise you one thing: I can get you where you want to go.”
He held out a hand to shake. “The name’s Jimmy, by the way.”
Donovan ignored the hand, taking in the clutter of the room: a desk piled with Asian girlie magazines, an ashtray overflowing with butts, a bookshelf full of hardbacks that hadn’t been dusted in months.
He didn’t try to hide his skepticism. “You’re saying you can help me?”
“If I can’t, nobody can,” Wong said, withdrawing the hand. “All I need from you is the answer to one simple question.”
“Which is?”
“Visa or MasterCard?”
He led them back down the hall to a set of double doors. “I inherited this place from my grandfather. My old man was a drunk, so the business skipped a generation.”
He pushed open one of the doors and gestured them inside. Donovan eyed him warily and Wong grinned right back. “Don’t let the youthful facade fool you. I’m an old soul.”
They stepped into a windowless room with an exam table at the center. The only other furniture was a chair, a counter and sink, and a large storage closet tucked into a corner. There were more jars on the counter, containing an unappetizing array of brown and green liquids.
“Take off your shirt and shoes and hop aboard,” Wong said, patting the table.
Donovan hesitated, then did as he was told, feeling a bit self-conscious as he pulled off his shirt and climbed onto the table.
Wong cracked his knuckles and rubbed his hands together rapidly, as if trying to warm them. Moving around behind Donovan, he placed his palms on his bare back and slowly worked them across it.
After a moment he said, “I’ve got one word for you: chaos. You got a lotta shit going on inside there.”
No kidding, Donovan thought.
“Like I said, I can get you where you want to go…”
“But?”
“There’s a speech my grandfather always gave his clients, full of fortune-cookie wisdom and metaphysical mumbo jumbo about chi and meridians and the manipulation of the body to release the soul… But the bottom line is this: I’m gonna stop your heart. And the condition you’re in right now, once I get it stopped, I might not be able to start it back up.”
“I knew this was a bad idea,” Rachel said.
“She’s right. It probably is. You sure you don’t want to reconsider?”
Donovan thought about Jessie and shook his head. What other alternative was there?
“I’m sure,” he said.
“You understand,” Wong told him, “if you don’t come out of this thing, I’m gonna be in a bit of a pickle. Cops’ll be all over me and I’ve got a reputation to think about.”
“You’re backing out?”
“I didn’t say that. Things get crazy, I can always tell ’em your ticker just stopped-without mentioning, of course, that I’m the one who stopped it.”
“Then what are you getting at?” Donovan asked, feeling impatience bubble up.
“Another couple grand would ease the pain.”
“Fine,” Donovan said. “Whatever you want.”
Wong grinned. “I take back every bad thing I ever thought about you.”
That was when Rachel turned and left the room.
She was halfway down the corridor before Donovan caught up to her. He grabbed her arm. “Rachel, wait.”
She stiffened at his touch, then turned on him, her eyes angry. “What are we doing here, Jack? This guy’s a joke.”
“You heard Grandma Luke.”
“I know, I know. I’ve been hearing stuff like that all my life. But how the hell do we know what’s real and what isn’t?”
He took her by the shoulders. “This isn’t just a grandmother’s story, Rache. I’ve seen it. I’ve felt it. And right now it’s the only reality I have.”
“But this guy’s talking about stopping your heart, for God sakes. Don’t you think that’s just a little bit
