* * *
When he tried to see, pain shot into his eyes as though a hot wire were delivering the agony. He blinked. More pain. His neck and shoulders felt swollen and cramped, maybe from Bill hitting him, maybe as a result of the contorted position in which Nick now found himself. He held his eyes open; the pain waited a moment before attacking again. Nick hissed, drawing in air as though that might relieve the pain.
He was on his right side. He sat up—more pain—and tried to decide where he was. It was a small storeroom, although he had no idea where in the city he might be. Wooden crates were piled in neat rows. There was a door, certainly locked. Tall bins of garbage, some mops and brooms and other items crowded one corner. One of the walls of the storeroom had a wide, single-pane window near the ceiling. An outside wall—if Nick could untie himself, he could squeeze through the window.
The only light was that coming through the window, but it was sufficient. He scooted toward one of the nearby wooden crates; nails and large staples held it together, but the workmanship was shoddy. Nick pushed against some of the loose nail heads to cut and tear his pants near the right pocket until he heard the sound he wanted to hear—his knife dropping on the wooden floor.
He positioned himself until he had the knife in his fingers and, sweating, managed to free the blade. As well as he could, he moved the blade back and forth and up and down. The fibers began to loosen.
Now he heard voices. They were not clear—the door softened their sounds. But Liu Kwong was certainly one speaker, and the other was—a woman? A young man? More likely a man, but with a voice Nick couldn’t identify. Someone else involved, now.
“No more. I am doing no more business with you,” Liu Kwong said. “You bring trouble.”
“I’ll bring trouble all right. Give me my cut.”
“Take your money and go. There. We will deal with you soon enough.”
“You don’t threaten me. I threaten you! Take what I’m offering you, or you’ll have more police down here than you’ll know what to do with.”
“That would not be intelligent. But you have shown me already that you are not intelligent, shooting your own police officers. Trying to kill Wong Kwai Ning—what was the point of that?”
“He doesn’t matter,” the small voice said. “You made the first mistake. How do you expect us to manage things when you start playing cops against us?”
“They are cops you sent to us.”
“Not the last one. He was simply nosy.”
“I have had enough,” said Liu Kwong. “Our business is ended. We can hire other police to assist us. Be aware of that.”
“And who’s going to keep the police in line?”
“We will make other friends.”
“Fine. You’ll be hearing from us.” Nick heard sounds, then footsteps moving away. “We appreciate the latest shipment,” said the small voice. “Thank you! Em goi!”
A door slammed.
“Em goi”—in bad Chinese.
A woman’s voice, after all.
Nora Tallmadge.
Nick continued working his knife up and down until the last strands of the rope holding his wrists came free. He then cut through the rope at his ankles.
Nora had killed those police officers and was involved with the opium in Chinatown. Was Harry involved, too? How could he not be?
Dirty cops, just as Harry had said. It was simply a business proposition. Like Al Capone and his warehouses full of illegal booze. The opium shipments come in, and the police try to cut in on it; a deal is made.
Harry Tallmadge had made the deal. His wife, too. That would explain the fine clothes and expensive fabric. Business. Like everyone else in Chinatown, they were trying to get rich as fast as possible—only they were trying to do it without working too hard.
Although from Nora’s argument with Liu Kwong, it sounded as though Liu Kwong was trying to get police involved to prevent the Tallmadges from being too greedy. Or maybe some other police found out and wanted in on it. Or the Tallmadges were making their own deals with the smugglers and trying to cut Liu Kwong out of it.
Whatever it was, the Tallmadges’ plans were falling apart, and Nora had made use of that .32 of hers to kill police officers to try to keep a lid on things. Tried to keep Nick quiet, too.
Things going out of control. Maybe that’s why Harry had asked Nick to look into it for him. Flush out some more cops or get information about Liu Kwong. Anything Nick could have come up with would be potentially useful. But why try to shoot him if he himself was potentially useful?
And Nick had given Harry the .32 round that would have implicated Harry himself, or his wife, in the attempted murder. No doubt the detective had already accidentally dropped that incriminating piece of metal into the Chicago River.
Nick was looking up at the window. Trying to make as little noise as possible, he pushed a single crate toward the wall. Whatever was in them wasn’t opium; that crate contained something heavy, and Nick was winded from the effort of moving it.
He was catching his breath, trying to figure out what he could put on top of the crate to help him reach the window, when the storeroom door opened.
Liu Kwong.
Behind him were the Malay and the driver of the touring car. None wore pleased expressions.
“Do not,” Liu Kwong said, pointing a ringed finger toward the window.
Nick told him, “I overheard your conversation. That was the detective’s wife.”
“You are correct.”
“Whatever she’s doing, Liu Kwong… my fear is that more murder in Chinatown will be more trouble for you and everyone.”
“Not for me. We will manage it.”
Nick was sweating powerfully now. “Do you intend to kill me, too?”
“No, Kwai Ning. You are here because your uncle asked me to keep you safe.”
“Really?”
Liu Kwong nodded. “We will tie you up again,” Liu Kwong said, “and more securely this time. But if you would first care for some food—”
Nick interrupted him. “Liu Kwong, we can do this without spilling more blood and bringing more of the police down here. Have you considered that? Less blood, more money.”
Liu Kwong said nothing.
“Help me save face, sir. Will you listen to me?”
Liu Kwong waited.
Nick told him what he was considering.
Liu Kwong smiled. Murder with a borrowed knife—one of the many tricks the tongs used to outwit competitors. “Young men,” he said. “Perhaps this one does indeed learn quickly. I will send my guard and my driver with you. They will be in the shadows.”
“Fair enough. Is there a telephone here?”
Liu Kwong bowed his head and stepped aside. So did the Malay and the driver.
Nick walked past them and saw that he was in the warehouse he’d been brought to the night before. He saw Liu Kwong’s office off to the left, hurried into it, pulled an old telephone directory out of one of the desk drawers, and used the phone there to make calls to the Chicago Examiner newsroom and some of the other papers.
“And bring cops,” Nick told the reporters. “But only if you trust them. Be careful with this.”
Then he called Harry Tallmadge at his station house and told him to meet him at seven o’clock at—Nick studied the map on Liu Kwong’s wall—meet him at one of the other warehouses farther up the river.
“Everything okay?” Tallmadge asked him.
“I told you I don’t want to be in the middle of this,” Nick told him. “But now I am. Liu Kwong wants me to make a peace offering. You keep the contacts you have now, but it stops with them.”
“How much do you know about this, Nick?”
“More than I want to. And you’ve disappointed me, Harry. But he wants no more trouble for Chinatown.”
“Smart of him.”
“He trusts me to do this. Do you?”
Tallmadge said slowly, “Yes.”
“Good. There will be a truck. Ke
ys will be inside. Take it and go. It is a settlement. He is a generous man. Do whatever you want with it. But after this, stay away from him and the others he works with. This ends it.”
“What’s on the truck?”
“All he says is that it makes you rich for life. You and your wife. But the truck leaves after ten minutes. Consider that you are paying me back the favor you owe me. Make your decision now, Harry.”
Tallmadge was quiet for a minute. Then he said, “You got it,” and hung up.
Nick glanced over at Liu Kwong and the others.
Liu Kwong smiled.
7.
In the Shadow of the Dragon
Nick’s borrowed knives—his reporters and the police officers they had brought with them—had arrived, like Nick, at six-thirty and hidden themselves well in the shadows on both sides of the warehouse, away from the small truck parked on the gravel in front of the warehouse’s big barn doors. Nick himself now stood quietly behind some tall elms nearby, toward the river bank, with the big Malay and Liu Kwong’s driver standing deeper still in the trees.
Insects swarmed in busy clouds. The scent of water came in the air as waves lapped against the edge of the river. Men looked at their watches, smoked, waited.
Five to seven—and car tires crunched on the gravel in the alley that led down toward the warehouse.
Nick kept his eyes on the car, trying to see for certain who was driving. It looked to be Harry himself—but Nick had become worried, during the long wait, that Tallmadge, despite his greed, would send someone else to pick up the truck as a precaution.
He hadn’t. It was Tallmadge himself.
What had Nick learned? Use your enemy’s weakness against him. And this was Harry Tallmadge’s weakness. He’d behaved just as Nick had anticipated.
The detective steered the car alongside the truck and let it coast to a stop, then put on the emergency brake. He removed himself from behind the wheel but left his door open so that Nora could get out from the passenger side and come around to the driver’s seat to take the steering wheel. She was in her fur stole and wearing an exceptionally pricey hat.
Maybe she’d already spent part of the money she thought she’d be seeing from the goods they were expecting to find.
Harry opened the driver’s side door on the truck, stepped up onto the running board, and looked inside. The keys were there. He grabbed them and walked around to the back of the truck, undid the lock holding the doors closed, and pulled them open.
Nora could see him from where she sat behind the steering wheel.
Nick watched her lick her lips.
Harry took out a wooden crate and removed some of the packages wrapped with twine that were inside. He sniffed them and nodded.
“Nora! It’s just like Nick said!”
From behind him, then: “Detective Tallmadge, you and your wife are under arrest!”
Tallmadge spun on the gravel and reached inside his jacket for the revolver in his shoulder holster.
A dozen detectives and police officers walked toward him from both sides of the warehouse, .38 barrels leveled at him.
The reporters were staring. One of them looked around his corner of the warehouse, whistled, and began scribbling in his notebook.
Harry stood where he was, revolver out, moving it at arm’s length from one policeman to another as if deciding which one to shoot first. He called to his wife, “Nora! Leave now!”
“No!” She saw two policemen approaching the car from the passenger side and nervously struggled to open her purse, resting on the seat beside her. She pulled out a weapon—
—and looked up to see, through the windshield, that Nick Wong was moving toward her.
“You!” Nora screamed. She jumped out of the car and brought up her gun.
The .32.
But just as she settled her aim on Nick, a flash appeared in front of her, something moving that struck her in the neck, choking her.
The kris knife. The big Malay had pulled it free and pitched it toward Nora. Now the red point of the blade protruded from the left side of her neck, and the polished curved handle rested on her right shoulder.
Her eyes remained open as her arm dropped, losing the .32, and then all of her crumpled onto the gravel.
Harry yelled her name—“Nora!”—and ran toward her, and when he saw Nick, he lifted his .38 directly at Nick’s head.
But Nick was close now. He’d run ahead as soon as he’d heard Harry’s voice, and he was faster than Harry, as he had proved in the gym, knowing already what Harry was going to do. As the barrel came at him, Nick spun around, arm out, and knocked the .38 from Harry’s hand. Then he leaned into Harry and pushed him back, knocking the detective into the gravel.
Just that fast, the police were on him, yanking his arms behind his back, standing him up, cuffing him.
Tallmadge was crying. “Why did you have to kill her? Did you have to kill her?” He was staring at Nora, who lay on the ground with the curved knife in her neck, all of her blood a lake around her head, expensive hat fallen off, and her eyes staring, staring.
Into what?
Paradise?
“Nick!” Tallmadge yelled at him. “You set me up! You lied to me!”
Nick shook his head. “Harry, think. Every time we boxed… you did not understand what I was doing. You put yourself in my trap. Why would tonight be any different?”
* * *
DETECTIVE ARRESTED
IN CHINATOWN
———
Led Opium-Smuggling Ring
Throughout City
———
Wife Accidentally Killed During the Arrest
———
CHICAGO, Apr. 15.—(AP)—Chicago Police Detective Harrison Tallmadge, 36, was arrested last night by police in Chinatown. Tallmadge was the prime suspect in a city wide opium smuggling ring that led to the deaths of three Chicago Police Department officers. Accidentally killed by a piece of falling glass during the melee was Nora Tallmadge, 32, whom a police officer indicated was the mastermind of the ring. A Chinatown informant assisted police in setting up the “sting” operation.
Over the course of the past year, several reports of incursions into the opium trade in…
“Interesting,” Nick said, “how they kept the Malay out of it. Him and all of us. ‘Accidental.’ ”
“They want no more trouble with Liu Kwong,” Kam Lung said to his nephew while they were at lunch in his back office. “You are a lucky young man. That is what your parents should have named you.”
Nick smiled, despite the proud bump on the back of his neck, set the newspaper aside, and looked over at Sue Ming.
She was perched on a stool and eating, as delicately as circumstances would allow, a bowl of noodles. The cut was doing better, Nick noticed—and perhaps there would be no scar at all, as her father had suggested.
“You are very lucky,” she agreed, saying to Nick, “This is not how most people’s relationships with Liu Kwong come to an end.”
“True,” Nick said, and then, to his uncle, “I owe that to you. Why does he hold you in such respect, Uncle?”
“That is a story I will tell you sometime,” Kam Lung promised.
“But I’m still disappointed that you knew about Nora and didn’t tell me.”
“What was I to say? That the detective all of us feared, that his wife spent money in my shop? Did I not try to warn you not to talk to that man?”
“You did.”
“Young men,” Kam Lung said. “Why does it take you so long to learn?”
Sue said, “I don’t understand why the wife shot at you, Nick. You were no threat.”
“I think that I might have been, potentially. If I asked people about the dead policemen, and if they knew that I was associated with the detective—that might have been something for people to look into. Maybe for the police to look into.”
“You’re right,” Sue told him. “It would have raised suspicion. But he didn’t think of that w
hen he talked to you?”
“I think they were in trouble with Liu Kwong and needed to straighten it out however they could. He probably thought I could help. But their secret was getting out of control, and his wife had a different opinion.”
Sue said, “Her gun—she killed those policemen?”
“Yes,” Nick told her. “I have to say, I never suspected her. She was very resourceful. In over her head, but very resourceful. Dangerous.”
Sue Ming smiled. “Yes… but she was no Anna May Wong.”
Nick rubbed his head. “I still have to settle some business with Bill Long.”
“Settle it with me,” his uncle told him. “He did as I asked him to. And Liu Kwong was generous enough to keep you out of danger.”
Nick laughed. “Liu Kwong keeping people out of danger? That will never happen again in Chinatown!”
“I have had enough of these people,” Kam Lung said, and stood as he heard the bell on his shop door ring. He left to see about his customer but turned at the last moment to say to Nick, “Lucky.”
“I don’t want to talk about them anymore, either,” Sue Ming told Nick. “I want to go dancing. Tonight!”
“Tonight!” he agreed. “Yes, I should get at least one night this week when someone isn’t shooting bullets at me or tying me up in the back of a warehouse so I can take my girlfriend dancing.”
“Now I’m your girlfriend?”
“A figure of speech,” Nick told her. “I don’t think your father would approve.”
“My poor father,” Sue grinned. “He’s no more comfortable with some of these American figures of speech than your uncle is. But he’s just going to have to learn how very useful they are—boyfriend.”
# # #
ABOUT THE AUTHORS
— :: —
USA Today bestselling author GIGI PANDIAN is the child of cultural anthropologists from New Mexico and the southern tip of India. After spending her childhood being dragged around the world, she now lives in the San Francisco Bay Area and writes the Jaya Jones Treasure Hunt mystery series (Artifact, Pirate Vishnu, and Quicksand) and the Accidental Alchemist mysteries (The Accidental Alchemist). Gigi’s debut novel was awarded a Malice Domestic Grant and named a “Best of 2012” debut by Suspense Magazine. She loves writing locked-room mystery short stories, and her short fiction has been nominated for Agatha and Macavity awards. www.gigipandian.com
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