by Tim Maleeny
“That’s not what I was going to say.”
“But it’s true,” replied Hui.
“Yes.” Xan looked into Hui’s eyes, wondering where the pupils were hiding.
“So how are we any different?”
Xan bit his tongue. “Who was killed ten years ago?” he asked. “Who died in the fire?”
“Does it matter?”
“I’m curious.”
“This trip to America has made you nostalgic, Xan.” Hui paced back and forth. “You’ve had ten years to ask this question.”
“Seeing your brother surprised me.”
“How did he die?”
“The first time or the second?”
“The first time was a sze kau,” said Hui testily. “A foot soldier assigned to guard the guest house. My brother killed him, then took his clothes and fled.”
“He killed one of our soldiers,” said Xan evenly. “One of my men.”
Hui scowled. “Men like that were deserting all the time. Did you miss him?”
Xan didn’t say anything for a minute. “You helped your brother?”
Hui stopped pacing. “Of course.”
“Your father would not have approved,” said Xan.
Hui gave a bitter laugh. “You think the old man was killed by poison darts because he approved?”
“He told you and Wen the combination to the cabinet.”
“We were his sons.”
“You’re ruthless.”
“Thank you.”
“And you changed the combination so he would trigger the darts.”
“Wen did that, as well,” said Hui. “My brother lacked charm, but he was always thinking.”
“And you sent the heart to him, so he could win his election?”
“Think of the possibilities, an alliance with the mayor of San Francisco.”
“It’s against our laws.”
Hui shrugged. “That’s why I told you it was stolen.”
“You tortured men to find it—our men,” said Xan. “And I helped you.”
“It had to be convincing,” said Hui with a note of pride. “Would you have gone after it?”
“You lied to me.”
“You sound surprised.”
“Then why send me to bring it back?”
Hui spoke as if talking to a child. “It was lost, you fool. It didn’t arrive on time.”
“So you saw an opportunity to settle an old score.”
Hui nodded. “I heard Dong was in San Francisco.” He smiled, delighted with his own genius. “I knew you would assume he’d stolen it and kill him—if, indeed, he had the heart.”
“He did.”
Hui’s eyebrows shot up, though his eyes were still too dark to see. “You killed Dong?”
“No.”
Hui’s hands slapped down on the desk. “Why not?”
Xan ignored the question. “Your brother betrayed the society.”
Hui waved his right hand dismissively. “Nonsense. He forged alliances, made us stronger.”
“I’m a soldier,” replied Xan. “I don’t deal in semantics.”
Hui studied Xan as if he had just walked in the room, a complete stranger. “I thought we had an understanding ten years ago that none of this—none of this—is personal. You were always stubborn but never naïve, Xan.”
Xan didn’t answer.
“What has changed?”
Xan shrugged. “Perhaps I have.”
“You…change?” Hui gave a short laugh and sat down. “I’ll die before that happens.”
“Perhaps you’re right.”
Hui narrowed his eyes, catching something in Xan’s tone he didn’t like.
“Where is it?” he asked impatiently. “Where is the heart of the dragon?”
“Right here.” Xan moved to one side.
Hui saw two legs step into the faint pool of light beyond the desk, right then left. Another step and the torso appeared. It was a woman. He couldn’t see the face, but a flash of light revealed the curved blade of a sword.
Hui glanced toward Xan but saw nothing but shadows. As he reached for the phone, Sally stepped into the light.
***
The taxi Linda had called was sitting at the curb.
Cape opened the passenger door and Linda stepped down from the sidewalk, resting her right hand along the top of the door. She turned toward Cape and asked, “You sure you want to walk?” He nodded and she ducked her head inside the cab, telling the driver to wait.
Linda stepped back onto the sidewalk and hugged Cape, her head against his chest, hair tickling his nose and almost making him sneeze. When she let go, he asked, “What was that for?”
Linda smiled as she got into the cab. “I’m glad you’re not dead.”
“Me, too.” Cape gave a quick wave as the taxi pulled away.
***
Xan reached into the dragon’s mouth and pulled its jaws apart.
The lid of the three-legged incense burner opened with a rasp of ancient hinges, the elaborately carved dragon’s face lifting to reveal the velvet-lined interior. The bronze legs seemed to twist and change position as Sally studied the carvings, coils and scales intertwining above clawed feet that bit into the wood of the desk. A dozen eyes watched as she slowly unwrapped the cloth around the heart.
The stone felt warm in her hands, as it had the first time she held it. The dragon that looked like a heart studied her, glowing red eyes daring her to steal the heart, keep it for herself. The bloodstone seemed to glow from within as Sally placed it carefully inside the bronze stand.
“Here’s your rock,” she said unceremoniously.
Xan sighed. “That rock saved your life.”
“I took a man’s life,” replied Sally. “That’s what saved mine.”
Xan closed the lid, the dragon’s mouth leering back at him.
He said, “You don’t believe in anything, do you?”
Sally smiled sadly. “That’s the difference between us.”
“What?”
“I believe in myself,” she said. “Not this.” She gestured toward the incense burner.
“This is tradition,” said Xan. “It is—”
“Sin ka lan,” said Sally. “Bullshit—it’s an excuse.”
“For what?”
“For not starting your life over again.”
Xan’s eyes narrowed, his scar twitched.
Sally asked, “How long since your family was murdered?” Xan’s face reddened, but Sally spoke again. “Killing other men for the Triad hasn’t brought them back. They’re as dead as my parents.”
Xan’s voice was as quiet as the grave. “Do not presume you know what’s in my heart, little dragon.”
Sally nodded in acknowledgment but didn’t back off. “Everything inside these walls was a lie, from the time I was a child. Nothing has changed.”
“Things could change now,” said Xan. “Zhang Hui is in hell, where he belongs. There will be an election.”
“You think Dong will come back?”
“Of course.”
“He had fled the tunnels when I got there,” said Sally. “He is a coward.”
“He is a survivor,” said Xan. “And he is not an animal, like Hui or Wen.”
“Lay yow mow low gah?” asked Sally. Do you have a brain?
Xan clenched his teeth. “It could be different. You could come back.”
“You could leave, Xan.”
It sounded strange, even to her, saying his name without Master preceding it. Xan looked at Sally with a tired expression, the lines around his eyes deepening.
“You’ve grown up, little dragon.”
“I had to,” said Sally. “A long time ago. Maybe it’s time you did, too.”
Xan shook his head. “Where would I go? You don’t just leave—”
“I did.”
Xan frowned.
“You could be a teacher,” said Sally.
“I am now.”
“Someplace else.”
> “Where?”
Sally gestured at the incense burner. “Where did that come from?”
Xan looked puzzled. “What?”
“The dragon’s heart,” said Sally. “Your precious relic. Didn’t it come from the five ancestors?”
“Yes, but—”
“Five Shao Lin monks.”
Xan nodded.
“Not criminals,” said Sally. “Not smugglers, bookmakers, or murderers.”
“No, they were—”
Sally held up her hand. “Patriots. Yes, I know the story. They were honorable men, warriors—not thugs pretending to be those things.”
“That was a long time ago,” said Xan. “Different times.”
“There is a Shao Lin monastery near the peak,” said Sally. “With roots stretching back hundreds of years.”
Xan shifted uncomfortably. “Why would they accept me?” he asked. “It is a closed order.”
“They would welcome someone with your training.” Sally picked up the incense burner, pushing it into Xan’s hands. “Especially if you came bearing gifts.”
Xan stared at the dragon’s face in his hands, then looked back at Sally. “You’ve put a lot of thought into this.”
“It’s a long flight.”
Xan nodded. “I’ll give it some thought.”
“Just do it.”
“You sound like one of those American commercials. You’ve spent too much time there.”
“It’s home,” said Sally. She stepped away from the desk and bowed deeply, keeping her eyes on his.
“Goodbye, Xan.”
Xan returned the bow. “Goodbye, little dragon.”
***
Cape started walking. It was still early and the street was busy. Across from the restaurant, two old men sat playing mah jong on a folding card table, the same two he’d seen the other night. Young couples crowded both sides of the street, some Asian, many interracial, their faces lit by the glare of neon from above. Cape looked at the signs, the strange characters and symbols that never became more recognizable no matter how many times he studied them. A few days ago that had bothered him, but now it just made him smile.
A few blocks and a left took him past Sally’s loft. The grocery downstairs was open, but the second floor of the building was completely dark. Cape wondered when he would see Sally again but no longer worried if he would. He realized that he could no more keep Sally safe than control the weather. But he could be there when she called, as she always had for him.
At the corner, Cape came to a manhole cover and stopped. He looked down into the darkness, thinking about places long forgotten, a side of the city rarely seen, and a part of himself he wished would stay hidden, as dark as the hole beneath his feet. He stepped over the manhole and crossed Broadway, the demarcation line between Chinatown and North Beach, an asphalt border between two different worlds. At the far corner, Cape turned and looked back, a wistful smile on his face. He knew he’d return, he just didn’t know when.
That night Cape slept like a dead man and didn’t dream at all.
Acknowledgments
Though it would be impossible to list them all, I would like to thank some of the people who helped make this book a reality.
My agent, Jill Grosjean, for faith and stamina when I almost ran out of both. My amazing wife, Kathryn, for her positive energy, insight, and willingness to read every word, even the ones I misspelled the first time around. My two beautiful and smart daughters, Clare and Helen, for keeping me young at heart. My brother, Bob, and Jody Dempsey for never doubting this would happen. Mike, Suzanne, and Michael Bloom for always being there for my entire family. All the folks at FFS for keeping a dream alive. The Marshalls, for being such great friends and neighbors. Orest Stelmach for paving the way. The Zinns for staying close. Everyone at the Book Passage Mystery Writers Conference, especially Tony Broadbent and Kirk Russell, two great writers and mentors. The extraordinary team at Midnight Ink: Barbara Moore for realizing the potential of these characters; Gavin for a perfect cover; Karl for his patience and critical eye; Kelly, Alison, and the entire sales, marketing, and promotions team. The many people who read early drafts of this novel—without your generosity and support, Cape and Sally would never have existed outside the restaurant where I wrote the first draft.
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Table of Contents
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Acknowledgments
More from this Author
Contact Us
