White Ginger

by Thatcher Robinson

  When she looked up, she realized Shan was still staring at her. He looked angry.

  “Are you sure it’s a good idea to let this woman read the reports? Our sources are confidential.”

  Shan’s question was directed at Jason, though his baleful stare remained fixed on Bai. She ignored him and continued to read the material. He wasn’t the first sexist pig she’d run into. He might, however, have been the largest sexist pig she’d ever run into. The man seemed to fill the compartment of the limo.

  When she was done, she handed the reports wordlessly back to Jason, who then proceeded to put them back into the briefcase. He hadn’t bothered to answer Shan’s question. His was a silent rebuff that hung in the air between the two men like a lingering stench.

  Jason broke the silence, his voice sounding tired. “Do we know where Sammy Tu is?”

  Shan answered reluctantly. “There’s been a sighting. He showed up at the Palace Hotel a couple of hours ago and was seen entering an elevator. It stopped at the twelfth floor. Our contact in the hotel lost him, and he’s not registered there, at least not under his own name. We have a man posted on the twelfth floor. We’re waiting for a visual confirmation.”

  “Have you checked the register for all of the floors?” Bai asked.

  Shan ignored her question.

  She tried again. “If Sammy knows we’re looking for him, and he does, he’ll attempt to avoid us. If the elevator indicator said twelfth floor, he’s probably somewhere on the eleven floors below that. He wouldn’t walk up when he could walk down.”

  Shan folded his arms across his chest to stare straight ahead. “‘A bride is like a horse; you break her in by constantly mounting her and continually beating her.’”

  In the silence that followed, Bai felt her face grow red, not from embarrassment but from anger. She turned away to look out the car window at the scenery—trees, snow, buildings, darkness.

  Just when she thought Shan’s insult would go unanswered, Jason spoke. “She’s right. Check the register again. Also, look under known aliases.” His voice was calm but steely. “As a matter of fact, let’s save time by going there now. The Palace is a nice hotel, and we might as well be comfortable while the search is under way.”

  Shan’s jaw clenched at the rebuke. He shot Jason a look that bordered on insolence. Bai glanced aside at Jason to read his reaction. He stared straight ahead, his face inscrutable.

  Shan was disrespectful in an organization where face was everything. Loss of face, more often than not, meant loss of life. The two men sparred with words and unspoken insults. Bai had seen the signs before. Jason and Shan were locked in a complex and deadly dance for power.

  Shan turned around to slide open a partition at his back so he could speak with the driver. Sticking the upper half of his body through the opening, he motioned insistently with his hands, the hammering gestures an indication of his anger. She noticed Jason smiling at the exchange. His grin quickly slipped away as Shan turned back to face them.

  “We’re only a few minutes from the hotel,” said Shan. “A suite is being reserved for you under the name of John Wang.”

  A small, self-satisfied smile played across Shan’s lips at one of the oldest jokes in existence. Jason didn’t return the smile.

  “Your predecessor made a point of ridiculing me in public.” Jason’s voice was controlled and calm. “He didn’t like the fact I was young for such a position of authority. He didn’t like that I kept my own counsel and did things my way. You’d do well to keep in mind what happened to him.”

  Jason let the silence endure as he turned to look out the window.

  Intrigued by the exchange, Bai studied Shan. His eyes glittered with anger and his face hardened. He turned and became aware of her silent scrutiny. She recognized the malevolence on his face and smiled, a gesture that only seemed to make him angrier.

  Jason addressed Shan without turning to face him—another slight. “Drop us at the front entrance of the hotel, then wait five minutes before following. I don’t want to be seen with you. I’m not well known in Vancouver, and I don’t want to attract any more attention than necessary. Call me in my suite when you’ve narrowed down Sammy Tu’s whereabouts.”

  Shan didn’t reply. He sat rigidly in the seat like a ticking bomb. With a barely perceptible movement, he nodded to acknowledge the directive.

  The limousine came to a stop under a lighted hotel portico. A man in red livery walked toward the car to open the passenger door. Jason slid out of the limo, briefcase in hand. When Jason’s back was turned, Shan took the opportunity to put his hand on Bai’s knee and squeeze. His grip was painful.

  She backhanded Shan with a balled fist. The sound of smacking flesh resounded like a rifle shot, twice—once when Bai’s knuckles met Shan’s jaw and once when his head slammed back against the glass partition. He sat stunned as she scooted out of the car.

  As she bounced out of the limo, Jason closed the door and turned to her. “What was that all about?”

  “He put a hand on me. I put a hand on him.”

  Her anger was controlled but no less virulent. Jason nodded silently and took a deep breath. He put his hand on her elbow, ostensibly for support. She suspected it was to keep her from jumping back into the limo and having another go at Shan. Her hands shook with anger.

  The driver retrieved the luggage from the trunk and would have given it to the bellman had Jason not intervened. He grabbed the two small bags and took Bai’s arm to walk with her into the brightly lit, opulent lobby of the hotel. At the registration desk, she stood to one side while he spoke with the clerk.

  When everything was in order, they walked to a bank of elevators. “We’re on the twentieth floor, Mrs. Wang.”

  “You know, of course, you’re going to have to put Shan in his place.” She spoke while they waited for the elevator. “His disrespect for you is a challenge. His disrespect for me is an affront.”

  Jason’s reply was resigned. “He’s one of the reasons I’m here in Vancouver. You don’t have to concern yourself with him. He’s already signed his death warrant.”

  She was curious. “What’s the other reason you’re here?”

  She turned to face him. He reached up to touch her face gently with his fingertips. “You,” he said, his eyes searching hers, “I’m here for you.”

  Jason slid the key card into the slot on the door, and the indicator light turned from red to green. He pushed the door open and ushered Bai into the room. She flipped on the light switch as she walked past him, entering a sitting room furnished in hotel chic—beige couches, brass and glass coffee tables, and a wall of windows overlooking the city.

  The view drew her across the room.

  “It’s beautiful,” she said, staring out over a tapestry of lights, the night bright and clear.

  Jason came to stand behind her. He put his arms around her shoulders and pulled her into him. His strength folded around her like a comforting blanket. The embrace made Bai feel safe, protected. Turning around in his arms to hold him closer, she pressed her face into the curve of his neck.

  He whispered in her ear. “How tired are you?”

  His lips brushed her earlobe. Bai tilted her head up to kiss him deeply as she reached up to put her arms around his neck. She needed him with a sudden urgency. She’d spent the day surrounded by danger and death, and she wanted desperately to feel alive. A leg wrapped around his. He grabbed her thighs to lift her as she wrapped both legs around his waist while he carried her to the bedroom.

  The next couple of hours were spent rolling each other from one end of the bed to the other. It was exhausting but fun. When she had nothing left to give, she lay on the bed, a little light-headed but blissfully sated. He lay on his back to catch his breath. He wasn’t going anywhere in a hurry.

  She reluctantly decided it was time for show-and-tell. “There’s something I need to show you.”

  Jason propped himself up on one elbow and raised a finger to ensure her silence.
He then roused himself to pad back to the sitting room. His slender, muscular body moved with the natural grace of a feline.

  When he returned, he put the black box, the electronic scrambler, on the nightstand and turned it on. “I thought we might need this.”

  Bai got out of bed without replying and went into the living room to retrieve her bag. She pulled out the assassin’s passport, phone, and money to drop them on the bed.

  “I took these off of the woman at the airport, the one who tried to kill me. I was hoping you might be able to use them to find out who she was and who hired her.”

  She seated herself next to Jason, leaning her head against his shoulder as he picked the items up to inspect them.

  “You really killed her?” His tone held a professional curiosity.

  “She didn’t give me a choice,” she said bluntly. “She was determined to kill me. The woman had a garrote. The whole thing was like something out of a spy movie.”

  He closely examined the passport, then the bundled money, and finally the phone.

  Jason spoke to her as he examined the phone. “You said she used a garrote. Can you describe it?”

  “I suppose so. Why? Does it matter?”

  She was hesitant to go over the attack in detail. The memories were still too fresh and too disturbing.

  “Assassins have favorite tools,” he explained. “If we can identify the weapon, we may be able to identify the assassin. If we can identify the assassin, we may be able to trace her back to the person who hired her. It’s a chain, one link leading to another.”

  She nodded in understanding. Closing her eyes, she visualized the woman holding the garrote, trying to focus on the instrument and not the assailant.

  “She disguised the garrote as a belt. The buckle was two interlocking plastic rings. A heavy nylon string, maybe fishing line, sparkled when the light caught it.”

  “What an interesting choice of weapons.” Jason seemed intrigued. “My guess would be a diamond-encrusted filament. Excellent for removing limbs cleanly. A bone saw. Cuts through skin and bone like a hot knife through butter. It’s also good for chopping off heads.”

  Bai’s hand went instinctively to her throat. The thought of being decapitated sent cold shivers through her. She trembled. The assault suddenly seemed real, and terrifying, and sickening.

  “I think I need a hot shower.”

  Jason reached out and put his arms around her. “You did well. You did what you had to do—survive. It’s not your fault.”

  “I killed somebody.”

  Tears ran down her cheeks and along her nose. She snuffled and reached up to wipe her nose with her hand.

  He turned her to look at him “‘Dead songbirds make for a sad meal.’ All of us have a song—some prettier than others but none without purpose. The woman you killed would have silenced you if you hadn’t silenced her first. You acted in self-defense. Don’t beat yourself up.”

  “Give me a minute,” she said as she disentangled herself and stood up to stumble into the bathroom.

  She closed the door behind her and stepped into the shower. Her hand fumbled at the handle on the faucet valve. She swiveled it to hot and adjusted the water until it burned her skin. Turning her back on the streaming water, she braced her hands against the ceramic tile and cried—gasping for air between convulsive sobs, keening as her chest heaved. She let the emotional floodgates open. It was the only way she’d be able to function. She couldn’t carry her feelings around all bottled up the way Jason did.

  She lost track of time. She didn’t know how long she stood in the shower and sobbed. It must have been a while because when she raised her head to look around, the bathroom was swamped in thick steam. She soaped and rinsed quickly before turning the faucet to cold to let the spray wash over her face to take the swelling and redness from around her eyes. She didn’t want the world to know she’d been crying.

  When her teeth started to chatter, she turned the shower off and reached for a towel. The heavy bath sheet felt good against her chilled skin. She scoured herself with the soft, fluffy cloth then wrapped it around her waist.

  With her bare hand, she wiped a swatch of fog away from the steamed mirror. She ran her hands through her coarse hair to pull it away from her face and studied her reflection in the mirror. The image staring back at her didn’t look any different than before. But she could feel she was changed, and the change was irrevocable.

  She shook her head in sorrow. The image in the mirror mimicked her. She forced a smile onto her face. She was alive, she rationalized. That mattered.

  Drawing a deep breath, she turned away to open the door to the bedroom. She expected to find Jason in bed waiting for her. He wasn’t. The sitting room was empty as well, but the phone at the desk blinked, flickering orange in the dark. She picked up the receiver and pushed the button to retrieve the message. Jason’s voice, clear and precise, let her know he was in the coffee shop, and she should join him when she felt able.

  She took about five minutes to get dressed. She pulled on her leather jacket and made sure she had everything she’d need. A key card to the room was in her pocket. Jason must have put it there.

  Bai opened the door and checked the hall, wary, out of habit, of strangers. It was around two in the morning. The corridor was deserted. Pulling the door closed behind her, she stood in the alcove and considered taking the elevator at the other end of the hall. A door directly across from her led to the stairwell. She decided, on impulse, that what she needed was physical exertion to clear her head.

  She pushed open the heavy fire door and stepped into the stairwell. The air was cold in the unheated shaft, courtesy of the wintry Canadian night. Littered with cigarette butts and smelling of tobacco, the cement landing obviously served as the unofficial smoking room. Steel railings spiraled down the concrete steps while round, matching handrails lined the unfinished concrete walls. Muted light came from caged glass fixtures shaped like beer cans that protruded from the walls overhead.

  Once again, she stopped to listen. When she was satisfied she had the stairs to herself, she started running. Taking the steps two at a time, she ran down the stairwell until she reached the bottom. Turning around, she started running up the steps. Thighs burned as she raced up the stairs. Her breathing became deeper, her mind more focused as she ran. When she reached the top of the stairwell again, she stopped to lean against the cement wall, drawing cold air into her lungs as she let herself cool down, her face hot and flushed.

  Shoes scuffed against concrete stairs. The sound echoed as a door slammed shut. Bai had no way to determine how far below her the sound originated. As she listened, a second door on a landing below opened and closed. She pressed herself against the exit with one hand on the door breaker.

  Steps receded as someone started down the steps while the first set of steps grew closer. She stayed where she was out of curiosity. She wanted to know who else felt compelled to use the stairs in the middle of the night. It didn’t take long for the footsteps to converge.

  “I told you to wait in the room.” The reedy tenor surprised Bai. It was Shan. “You could have been seen.”

  A second man replied. “Relax. Nobody uses the stairs in the middle of the night.”

  Click. Bai recognized the sound of a lighter flicking then a deep inhalation.

  The second man continued. “I need to know what’s taking so long. When do you plan on killing them?”

  “Soon. I want them together. I want Jason to watch his whore die. I need to see his face. I’ll make it slow and painful. I’ll make the snooty bitch scream.”

  She froze. Common sense told her it was time to leave, but curiosity kept her in place. Her shoulder rested against the steel door as she leaned back to listen.

  “I didn’t sign up for any triad killings.” The other voice was decidedly unhappy. “This was just supposed to be a decoy job. We get the woman out of town and let someone else do the dirty work. The whole idea was to avoid involving Sun Yee On.
This shit is most definitely not what I signed up for.”

  “The woman’s not the problem,” said Shan, dismissing the other man’s qualms. “I’ve told you I’ll take care of her. I don’t know why Jason’s here, but this may be the opportunity I’ve been waiting for. I can kill them both and make it look like a contract hit. The woman’s death will look like collateral damage—she was in the wrong place at the wrong time. But you’re going to have to disappear afterward. The Shan Chu won’t let this go. He’ll be looking for answers. He’ll be looking for you.”

  Silence followed. She suspected the other man wasn’t satisfied with Shan’s response.

  “Have it your way,” the other man said begrudgingly. There was defeat in his voice—and perhaps fear. “When this is over, I’m done here. My house is gone anyway. That crazy bastard burned me out. I’m going south. So far south nobody will ever find me.”

  “Then we don’t have a problem, Sammy. You go your way. I go mine. Both of us will be a little richer.”

  Bai’s eyes widened. Could it be Sammy Tu that Shan was conversing with? She was confused. What did they have to do with each other?

  The voice corrected Shan before she could speculate further. “A lot richer!”

  “Maybe by your standards, Sammy, but then you have small expectations. That’s why you’re a gutter pimp, and I’m about to move up to Hung Kwan of the brotherhood. There are going to be some changes in Sun Yee On.”

  “Sure, sure. Whatever you say. Just don’t try and pull me into your war. I don’t want any part of it. Like I said, when this is over, I’m gone. You never saw me. I was never here.”

  “It’s better for everyone if you disappear.”

  Shan’s voice held a note of finality. He’d just pronounced Sammy Tu’s death sentence, and Sammy was such a tool he failed to recognize the peril. She could almost feel sorry for the man.

  A door opened and closed. Thinking the men had left the stairwell, Bai reached for the breaker bar on the door. Her hand rested on the handle when she heard the sound of footsteps on the stairs again. She froze, afraid to even breathe. Time seemed to pass slowly as the footsteps faded. She waited until she heard the sound of another door opening and closing before she pushed the door to the stairwell open and sprinted for the elevator.