The Scratch on the Ming Vase

by Caroline Stellings

  “So what are you going to be studying?” the second girl asked Nicki.

  “I’m, uh…I won’t be taking classes,” she said. “Not here.”

  “York?” the girl asked Nicki, referring to another university in Toronto.

  “No, I’m not planning on university.”

  “Oh, that’s too bad,” said the other girl, with a hint of insincerity in her voice that Nicki detested. “It’s going to be great.”

  I don’t have time for it, Nicki told herself. Not now. I want to focus on my training.

  The two girls chatted and pointed and went on their way, so excited about their future at the university, their feet hardly hit the ground.

  That’s not for me.

  Mac’s door was open, and he was working at his computer. A large bandage taped neatly under his eye and an even larger bottle of pain medicine next to his bed could only mean one thing.

  “Margo been to see you?” asked Nicki from the hallway. She wasn’t going to make the mistake of entering Mac’s room until invited to do so.

  “Hi. Come on in.” Mac swiveled his chair around to face her. “She was here earlier today. Quite the nurse, isn’t she?”

  Nicki nodded.

  “Sit down,” said Mac, pointing to the end of the bed.

  He flipped his computer screen off, but not before Nicki got a glimpse of the web page he’d been on. It was a gaming site.

  And he wasn’t winning.

  “I came to see how you were doing, Mac,” said Nicki.

  “And to ask a few questions?”

  “Maybe.”

  “I wish I could answer them, but I can’t. You’re a nice person, and so is Margo. I don’t want to drag you into this. It’s my problem.”

  “By not telling T’ai what’s going on with you, Mac, you’re going to lose a friend.”

  He picked up a pencil and broke it in half.

  “Do you think I don’t know it?” He hurled the pieces against the wall. And then, under his breath, he mumbled something that said it all. “I’ll get out of this mess one day. Things are going to change.”

  “You won’t solve your problems by gambling. All you’re going to do is make somebody else rich.”

  Mac said nothing.

  “It’s none of my business, though,” added Nicki.

  “Right.”

  Mac turned his chair back to face the computer, which Nicki read as her sign to leave.

  “I have to get some work done,” he snapped. When Nicki got up to leave, he grabbed her sleeve. “I’m sorry.”

  “For what?”

  “I don’t know.” He rubbed his eye with the back of his hand. “For everything.”

  “I’ll see you around.”

  Nicki stood in the hallway for a minute. She could hear him roll back to the computer and start tapping his money away again.

  Then he stopped abruptly.

  “No!” he screamed.

  Nicki figured he must have maxed out his credit card. Nothing else would make him quit.

  He took his anger out on the desk, bashing it with his fist.

  He kicked the door shut.

  Nicki took the stairs down and sat for a minute on a bench near the front entrance to tie her shoelace. When she looked up, she saw Mac heading across the grass.

  He must have used the back stairway. She jumped up to see where he was going. Under his arm he carried a manila envelope, folded over and taped down. He’s in an awful rush, she thought.

  She followed him to the subway platform and watched as he stood there, hesitating, trying to decide whether to board the train or not. Twice he held back as everyone pushed through the door. Finally, he boarded the third train to pull into the station.

  Nicki followed suit.

  She buried herself in the crowd, observing Mac as they rumbled along. The expression on his face was one of worry, fear—and dread. He got off two stops later.

  Nicki followed.

  He looked at his watch and then picked up his pace.

  He crossed an intersection before the signal had changed and dashed through a park—the same park through which Nicki had followed his attackers the night before.

  Down a side street he rushed, until he came to the narrow alley.

  He’s heading straight to Quon!

  Nicki kept on his heels, waited for him to enter through the back door of the apartment house, then she headed down the alley.

  The door was broken, and through the jagged glass, she could hear Quon’s threats.

  “So you finally came to your senses,” he said, his voice cold, his words blunt. “If you expect to leave here with both arms attached, MacDonald, those better be the discs.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Quon led Mac up a flight of stairs.

  Nicki looked up and saw a window being propped open by a piece of wood. She scrambled down the alley and found an old crate to stand on. She dragged it to the window and jumped up on it. She wasn’t quite high enough to see inside, so she grasped the cement window ledge and pulled herself up, with nothing but her arm muscles to hold her in place.

  She was peering into someone’s kitchen, but it wasn’t Quon’s.

  A woman and her son sat with their elbows resting on a table. Surrounded by the supper dishes and deeply engrossed in a board game, they didn’t see Nicki’s face at their window.

  She lowered herself down.

  Okay. His place must be on the second floor.

  Nicki looked up again. There were two windows, both open, and one of them had a platform beneath it with a steel railing around it. Too small to be a balcony, but big enough to stand on and hopefully get inside the room.

  But she had to climb up there first.

  Running down the side of the building, not far from the window with the platform, was a metal downspout that led to the eaves trough along the roof. It was secured into the brick with bolts.

  Pushing her feet into the wall and propelling herself upward along the spout, she managed to make it to the second-floor level.

  Then came the difficult part—jumping to the platform without falling two stories down to the alley.

  She swung her feet and got a toehold on the outside edge of the tiny balcony, then pivoted so she could grab the metal rail with one hand. Once she had hold of it, she managed to spring across and climb over the top.

  She pushed back a pair of filthy curtains, leaned through the window, and checked out the bedroom.

  The bed was unmade, clothes were strewn everywhere, and beer bottles were left on every conceivable surface at various stages of consumption.

  She clambered in and crept through the room and into the hallway.

  From her vantage point, she could see into the kitchen.

  A young man and woman sat at a table with Quon and Mac; she recognized the man as Phil from the dance, and Nicki heard Quon call the woman Rita. Two gold rings pierced her left eyebrow, and a tattoo of a noose graced her upper arm.

  “Okay, MacDonald,” said Quon, “you’d better not be yanking my chain this time.”

  Quon ripped open the manila envelope, shook out several computer discs, then went to the fridge and pulled out a beer. He twisted the cap off with his teeth, took two swigs, then stuck one of the discs into his laptop.

  “Where’s the hard copy?”

  “Everything I have is on disc.”

  Nicki positioned herself perfectly, turned on her cell phone camera, and aimed it for the table.

  Quon put in another disc.

  “This is it?”

  “Those files represent the findings of the best minds in the world. My professor and his team have been working on this for eighteen months.”

  “What’s it abo
ut?” Quon rubbed his lips.

  “We’ve found a way to create a 3-D photonic crystal that is both electronically and optically active.”

  “I don’t know,” mumbled Quon.

  “What don’t you know?” Mac’s voice resounded with both anger and fear.

  “It’ll have to be cleared with the boss.”

  “Who is your boss anyway?” asked Mac.

  Quon laughed.

  “Yeah, right.”

  “Is he in Beijing?”

  “Let’s just say he travels quite a bit.” His voice trailed off as he got up to open a bag of potato chips. He took a knife out of his pocket, slashed the bag, then slit it down the middle. “How about a round with my friends here. Double or nothing. If you’re lucky, you’ll win and be able to clear the rest of your debt.”

  “I’ve cleared my debt. I’ve just handed China enough intellectual property to satisfy a thousand debts.” Nicki heard him bang his fist on the table. “They’ll jail me for the rest of my life for this.”

  Quon laughed again.

  “How about a little game of five card draw, Mac?”

  Nicki could hear Mac get up and push out his chair.

  Phil grabbed him and thrust him back down. “You don’t go anyplace until Quon says you do.”

  Quon took another gulp of beer. “I’ll loan you the cash to play. Maybe tonight is your lucky night. Everyone has a good night now and then, right?”

  “Maybe,” said Mac.

  No! thought Nicki. Don’t give in!

  “Okay then, everyone,” said Phil, “let’s deal.”

  Nicki heard the slap, slap, slap of the cards. She bent her wrist as far back as she could to allow her camera to get a full shot of Quon and his guests. When she did, her foot hit the baseboard.

  “What was that?”

  Quon jumped up.

  Nicki quickly rolled herself against the wall.

  “I heard something,” he repeated.

  “Me too.” Rita got out of her chair and looked around.

  Nicki’s heart started to pound. She felt beads of sweat forming on her forehead and rolling down her cheeks.

  “Forget it, Quon,” said Phil. “Let’s play.”

  Slap, slap, slap.

  Nicki sighed in relief as she positioned her phone back in place.

  “Okay, Rita, here comes the jack. You deal, baby.”

  “Cut,” said Phil.

  “Done.”

  They dealt until they each had five cards.

  “Okay.” Phil pushed his chips to the center of the table.

  “I’ll straddle,” said Quon, moving even more chips in.

  “Pass,” said Rita.

  Mac turned to Quon.

  “I’ll see you and double the ante.” He shoved in a mound of chips.

  Oh, Mac, thought Nicki.

  “I’ll see you and raise—” Nicki couldn’t make out his exact words, but by the number of chips he sent to the middle of the table, it was clear the blackmailer’s bet was huge.

  “You’re bluffing,” said Mac.

  Quon took a swig of beer and belched in his face.

  Phil threw down his hand and passed.

  Mac raised the stakes again.

  Showdown time.

  “Full house,” said Mac, laying out three tens and two threes.

  Quon smiled.

  Then he fanned his cards in front of Mac.

  “Sorry pal,” he mocked, spreading out a straight flush—ace, king, queen, jack, and ten of hearts.

  He stood up.

  “I guess that’s another grand you owe me, MacDonald. Unless you care to go double or nothing?”

  No! Don’t do it!

  Slap, slap, slap went the cards for another hour. Nicki’s cell phone memory had maxed out, but it didn’t matter. She had enough evidence to send Quon away until his crew cut turned gray. Maybe longer.

  The only problem was that T’ai’s best friend would be going with him.

  They played until Mac could stand the defeat no more. Now owing more than six thousand dollars, he hurled the cards across the room.

  “I’ll be in touch, Mr. MacDonald,” declared Quon, “to make arrangements.”

  “I’ve given you everything. There’s nothing left to take.”

  “Oh, come on,” said Quon. “You must know a few more professors in the engineering department. My boss would love to know what kinds of things they’ve come up with for smartphones. And you’re the man to give it to him.”

  “I can’t do that.”

  “Figure something out.”

  As he got up to leave, Nicki could hear Mac moaning something to himself.

  “I’ll kill myself first.”

  And by the expression on his face, the look of a completely destroyed individual, Nicki knew he wasn’t kidding.

  Mac was about to commit suicide.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Nicki watched as Quon and Phil followed Mac downstairs and Rita went into the washroom. She knew she had about thirty seconds to get the discs and get out of the apartment.

  She ran into the kitchen. They weren’t on the table.

  Quon didn’t take them with him—they had to be there someplace. Frantically, she scoured the room.

  At last she spotted the envelope on the far counter, on the opposite side of the room.

  Quon was on his way back up the stairs.

  And she heard a toilet flush.

  She took a chance.

  She darted across the room and grabbed the envelope, but it was too late.

  Rita spotted her.

  “Quon!” she hollered.

  Quon’s eyes turned black with rage. “You’re that chick from the dance. How the…how did you get in here?” He grabbed his knife.

  Nicki dashed to the bedroom and fired the discs out the window. They flew out of the envelope and, like Frisbees, shot in every direction. The alley had no illumination whatsoever. Everything, other than a dull yellow light coming from the apartment below, was pitch black.

  She threw her leg over the windowsill.

  Quon grabbed the sleeve of her shirt and started pulling her back in. He hollered down the alley to Phil. And as he wrapped his arm around Nicki’s shoulders, he held his knife to her throat.

  Savagely, he ripped the gold chain from her neck, and her good-luck charm fell to the floor.

  “Give me that!” she screamed.

  He laughed, snapped it up off the ground, and starting examining it. “It’s a piece of junk.”

  “Get your hands off it.”

  With a pressure point thrust to his ribs and a ridge-hand strike to the jugular, Nicki disabled him long enough to grab her charm.

  He came back at her with the knife.

  Four reverse punches in a row and several full-out kicks to his midriff rendered him powerless.

  She leapt out to the platform.

  There wasn’t enough time to swing to the downspout, and it was too far to jump.

  Phil was running up the alley. She had to get to the discs before he did.

  She climbed over the metal rail, slid her hands down the rungs until they were almost at her ankles, and hung from the balcony. Then she let herself drop.

  Nicki raced onto the subway and headed straight to Mac’s residence room.

  When she got there, the door was closed.

  “Mac!” She banged it with her fist. “Mac, let me in.” Nothing.

  Oh, no.

  “Mac! Mac! I know you’re in there. I’ve got to speak to you. Please, Mac.”

  Still nothing.

  “I was at Quon’s tonight.” There was no time for beating around the bush. Ni
cki was blunt. She lowered her voice and put her mouth right up to the crack in the door. “I know what you did, Mac, and I’m here to help.” Nicki put her ear to the door and heard a moaning sound.

  “Mac!” she cried.

  Another student came out of his room when he heard her shout.

  “What’s going on?” he asked.

  “I think Mac’s in trouble. He’s hurt. I need to get in there immediately.”

  “I’ll get the hall supervisor. Hang on.”

  They had the door open within minutes.

  When Nicki stepped in, Mac was lying on the floor along the side of his desk, his head pushed against the base of his chair.

  Beside him was the bottle of painkillers.

  And it was empty.

  “It’s not your fault, Margo,” said Nicki. “You had no idea that Mac had a gambling problem.”

  “It wasn’t up to me to give him those pills.” Her face was streaked with red lines where the tears had stung her cheeks, and her body was limp. “I’m not a physician. Not even a pharmacist.” Her bottom lip trembled uncontrollably. “Some nurse I am.”

  “Those were over-the-counter pills, Margo. Anyone can buy them, and in any amount.” Nicki took her hand. “Nursing is a profession that has to be learned over a long period. By the time you finish your training, you’ll be the best nurse in the city.”

  The charge nurse summoned the girls to her desk.

  “They’ve pumped Mr. MacDonald’s stomach. His tests don’t show any brain damage, but the lining of his stomach is severely inflamed. He’s weak, but he wants to see you both.” She looked at her watch. “It’s late. But under the circumstances, I’ll let you girls talk to Mr. MacDonald for a few minutes. A few minutes. By the way, he’ll be staying with us for a few days.”

  “Why, are there complications?” Nicki asked the nurse.

  “No, I don’t believe so. But your friend shows signs of stress-induced depression.”

  “I don’t doubt it,” said Nicki.

  The girls sat with Mac for a while before Margo was called away to help on another floor.

  “Well, I guess I should thank you,” said Mac, his voice so weak it was almost a whisper.

  “But you don’t want to, because you wish I hadn’t shown up. You wish you’d been successful, right?”