says, ‘Honey, your doctor called, and said Pabst Beer is normal.'?”
Porter slapped his desk, laughing hysterically.
“Keep your day job,” Valentine told him.
Driving away from The Bombay's valet stand, Valentine found Sinatra on the radio and jacked up the volume, remembering when there had always been Sinatra on the radio.
He headed south on Atlantic Avenue. He needed to find the European and guessed he had twenty-four hours before the flyers were distributed in the casino. Several ideas came to mind. But before he got started, he had to get a grip on a few things. The first was that he'd embarrassed himself at The Bombay. He'd spent the last eighteen months in the comfort of his living room, getting paid to watch casino surveillance tapes. His instincts had faded, and he hadn't realized it.
The second was that the European was smarter than him. Twice he'd gotten the best of him, and Valentine had a feeling that the next time they squared off, the European would beat him again.
Which was why he drove straight to Madison and parked in front of Master Yun's School of Judo & Self Defense. If anyone could help him get his head screwed on straight, it was his teacher. Entering the unheated stairwell, he went up.
On the second-floor landing he halted, seeing no light beneath the door. A piece of paper was thumbtacked to the door.
He trudged downstairs. He'd come here three times a week for the better part of twenty years and couldn't remember Yun ever pulling a sick day. Which meant something was
He supposed there was only one way to find out.
He'd been to Master Yun's house only once, and that was the night he'd won the New Jersey heavyweight judo championships for a fifth time, and Yun had wanted to show him off to his relatives, a pair of toothless old hens with cackling laughs. The place looked the same—manicured yard, rock garden, shaded windows—and he pushed the doorbell and waited.
Lin Lin, Yun's agelessly beautiful wife, cracked the front door. Her eyes were puffy, and he guessed she'd been napping.
“What do you want?”
“Mrs. Yun, I don't know if you remember me. I was here many years ago . . .”
A look of recognition spread across her face. “Of course I remember you. Tony Valentine. One of my husband's favorite students. Come in.”
He entered and Lin Lin took his coat. She wore a green bathrobe and pink slippers. On the couch a toy poodle cracked an eye, decided he was harmless, and fell back asleep.
“Yun told me you retired, moved to Florida,” she said.
“That's right.”
“You like it there?”
“Can't beat the weather.” He drifted across the living room. On the mantle over the fireplace he spied a curled snapshot of him and Yun at the state championships, the big moment. “I went to the dojo and saw the sign. I figured it must be serious, so I came over.”
“They have judo in Florida?”
He nodded and put the photo back in its place. “Not a dojo like Yun's, but I get a good workout, and that's all I care about.” He turned to face her. “How bad is he?”
Lin Lin flopped down on the couch. “I don't know what I'm going to do. It gets worse each day.” She pointed at a rocking chair across from where she sat. “Please.”
“I know it's none of my business,” he said, the rocker moaning as he sat in it, “but what's wrong with him?”
She sighed heavily. “He stays in bed all day, only gets up to eat, use the bathroom. I tell him, it's no big deal, what this girl has done to you, but he doesn't see it that way. He
“A student?”
“Yes. One he took off the street, single woman with a kid. Got fired from her casino job. They accused her of cheating. Of course, she said it wasn't so. And she had an abusive boyfriend. Real sob story.”
“Cheating how?”
“Something with the tray.”
“Dumping the tray?”
“I think so.”
Dumping the tray had turned more than one casino into a garage. A dealer would overpay a player, or secretly pass chips to him. If caught, the dealer would pretend it was an honest mistake. It went on constantly.
“Which casino?”
“The Bombay.”
He realized he was getting off track, and said, “So Yun took her under his wing and trained her, huh?”
She nodded. “One day, Yun invites her over. Over dinner, she tells me, ‘Your husband saved my life.' I think, wow, Yun has helped many people, but no one ever says this. It makes me happy all over. Yun too.”
Lin Lin pushed herself off the couch. “I'm being rude. How about a cup of coffee?”
“That would be great.”
“Cream and sugar?”
“Black, please.”
She glided past, her feet making no sound. He listened to her grind the beans, then let his eyes drift down the hallway leading to the back of the house. His eyes snapped open.
At the hallway's end stood Yun in his skivvies, his gaze cold and unfriendly. He'd lost weight and looked like a bantam rooster, all skin and bone.
“Hey,” Valentine said.
Yun stared right through him.
“It's me, Tony.”
“I know who you are,” his teacher growled.
Valentine started to get up from the rocker.
“Don't,” Yun told him.
“I was in town, thought I'd drop by, see how—”
“Not interested,” his teacher said.
“I need your help.”
“Doing what?”
“Catching a killer.”
That got his teacher's attention. The scowl momentarily left his face and his voice softened. “I thought you retire.”
“I unretired.”
His teacher considered it. “I let you know.”
Yun went into the bedroom and shut the door. Valentine felt a mug of hot coffee being put into his hands. Sitting on the couch, Lin Lin petted the sleeping poodle, then continued her story.
“Couple weeks ago, Yun hears this woman is really a pro wrestler. He goes to the armory, and she is on the show. Judo Queen. Yun tells me she fights in the uniform he gave her, with the sacred crane stitched to her bosom.”
“You're kidding me.”
“No.
Yun had come to the United States with the shirt on his back and his family's traditions buried deep in his soul. The sacred crane, a symbol of grace and hidden strength, had been in his family for centuries. Only in competition had Valentine worn it on his uniform, and only with Yun's permission.
“Did he talk to her? Ask her to take it off?”
“She told Yun to get lost. ‘Girl's got to make a living,' she says.”
