Legacy of Fear

by Ryshia Kennie

  “You’re kidding!”

  “There is a trend, more a rage really, seeming to circle the globe, and it’s all powered by preteen girls and their demand for a replica of this doll.”

  “Which all leads to my birth mother?”

  “Precisely,” Max provided. “When the doll arrived in my office, it had a note attached in Nushu. As you know, it is a unique language in that it is written and not spoken, but more importantly, it is the language of women.” He shrugged. “That’s what brought me on a journey around the globe to find you.”

  “But you didn’t know you were looking for a lost girl at first, so what led you to believe you were?”

  “Andra,” he said simply. “The idea was second nature to her.”

  Andra looked at him and smiled. He took her hand as he continued to tell M.J. what they had agreed she needed to know.

  An hour later, M.J. was pale. “I can’t believe this!” She wrung her hands as she digested all that they knew to that point. “The children at the orphanage, will this endanger them?”

  “No,” Max replied firmly. “There’s nothing you have at the moment that anyone wants.”

  “Max is right,” Andra agreed, thinking of Le. There was no way he would let anything happen to M.J. But they had promised to keep his existence quiet. She wouldn’t break that promise.

  The night before, she and Max had covered every angle of what they knew of the mystery and what Le had guessed. They had finally agreed that Le’s guess was the best bet. Lotus was as simple as that, a name of the only bank that Fu would trust, one owned by Le.

  “One other thing,” Andra said to M.J., “I think the identifying number of the safe-deposit box can be found from the words ‘my heart.’ I’m not sure but I suspect a direct letter-to-number application, using the numbers of each word separately and distilling the numbers of each word down—two away from the lowest possibility.”

  “Two?” Max asked.

  Andra shrugged. “No scientific explanation, only that there are two words so that option feels right. I can switch it up if it’s wrong but . . .”

  “You have a feeling.”

  “Exactly. The only way to prove any of this is to go to the bank. But we don’t have the combination number for the box. Do you have anything in your possession that might have a number on it for seemingly no reason?” Andra asked.

  M.J. was quiet for a moment and then reached in a drawer and took out her purse and removed the worn photograph. “This is me as a child with the doll, like I told you.” She flipped it over and handed it back to them. “I never gave much thought to this before.”

  The number 6897 was printed on the back of the photograph in precise black ink that was crisp despite its age.

  “That may be what we’re looking for,” Andra replied.

  “The combination for a safe-deposit box? I can’t believe it. It could have been so easily lost,” M.J. said.

  “You’re right, but fortunately it wasn’t.” Andra reached into her zippered inside pocket and pulled out the picture Le had given her. “I don’t know if you have a baby picture of yourself, M.J.”

  M.J. shook her head. “I don’t.”

  Andra flipped it over. “Here’s our backup plan. The same numbers as on the picture you have.”

  “Fu gave that to you?” M.J. asked.

  “In a manner of speaking.” Andra glanced at Max. “Yes.”

  “Are you ready to see what else your mother may have left?” Max asked as he stood up.

  “I’m ready,” M.J. said softly.

  At the bank an hour later, the manager opened the vault and handed the safe-deposit box to M.J. and then directed the three of them to a small conference room. Then he left, locking the door behind him. Despite the locked door Andra expected Le to appear at any moment. She had become used to his brand of stoic elegance and intimidating presence. She looked over at Max and realized that with him here she felt safe. He might not carry a gun but Max would defend them to the death. And the thought of that made her nervous, nervous for him.

  Her attention turned back to M.J. as she entered the combination of numbers, opened the box and lifted a thin envelope from the top.

  “It’s addressed to me,” M.J. breathed. As she read, tears filled her eyes and her hands shook.

  “She wanted me,” she said as she laid the paper to the side. “Would never have given me up, and she mourned me for the remainder of her life.” M.J. choked. “That means everything.”

  M.J. lifted out a second thick manila envelope. “It’s sealed with a heart.” She hesitated before she slipped a fingernail under the seal and opened the envelope. Inside were sheets of drawings.

  “Drawings of dolls,” she said, and there was a question in the words.

  “May I see?” Max asked.

  M.J. handed the papers over to him. She turned back to the safe-deposit box and pulled out a ledger. “I can’t believe it,” she whispered after a few minutes. “Look at this.” She handed it to Max.

  “A quarter million U.S. dollars cash on hand. The rest is invested in various markets—upwards of fifty million,” Max reported as he quickly scanned the ledger.

  She drew in a breath. “That will buy quite a few swing sets.”

  “Unbelievable,” Max said after a long moment. He’d turned his attention back to the drawings. “These”—he sifted quickly through the plans—“appear to be a future blueprint. “She’s given you not only the marketing plan for today’s doll but a plan to continue the empire, a way to evolve the doll to impact more than one generation of girls.”

  “I don’t know if I’m ready for this.” M.J. looked completely overwhelmed.

  “I don’t think this is anything you have to dive into,” Andra assured her, remembering Le’s words. “Don’t forget that Fu has been gone for, we believe, over a month. And besides the closing of the Hong Kong factory, the remainder of the operation seems to be running smoothly.”

  It was only Fu’s note and the future plans for the doll that they took with them, all tucked in M.J.’s backpack as they stepped back onto the semi-congested street. The remainder M.J. planned to go through once she’d acquired professional advisors to help her deal with the scope of both the business and the wealth it generated.

  They walked in silence. But as they turned the corner onto a quiet back street something changed. Andra could feel it—she wasn’t sure, but it was like a shift in the air, a presence, as if they were being watched.

  “Let’s go back,” she began after they had gone no more than a quarter of a block.

  But a half block away a man stepped out from an easement between the corner of one building and the beginning of another. Even at that distance they could see the revolver glinting. The street they were on was a dead end, and that knowledge curled in Andra’s gut—there was no traffic, no one to see them.

  “Stop right there.”

  The voice was harsh, one neither Max nor Andra had heard before, and while they had hesitated he’d closed the distance another ten feet.

  “Drop it, bitch. That belongs to me.”

  “Bao?” Andra guessed as M.J. swung a puzzled look in her direction.

  “Shut up, bitch!”

  “Get back.” Max eased in front of them. “Try to inch away—put some distance between us and stay down.”

  Instead, Andra moved beside him as if to provide a shield for M.J.

  Whipcord slim and angry, Bao waved the gun, taking them all in. His eyes were narrow slits, his pupils almost nonexistent in a face that was oddly baby smooth, like that of a teenager rather than the almost thirty-year-old man they knew him to be. The shaggy black hair reminded her for a split second of the man who had attempted to break into her apartment. Maybe even the man who had killed Margaret. They might never know for sure.

  “Is she right? Are you Bao?” M.J. asked softly.

  “Bitch!” he growled.

  Max pushed Andra back into M.J., causing both women to take a few steps bac
k. “Bao . . .” he began.

  “Shut up!” Bao snarled. The gun waved across his chest. “I was Fu’s son. I inherit. Fu knew that. And her husband made sure of it until these fucking gwei showed up.”

  Max took a step forward. “I think if anyone is a ghost, skin color aside, it’s you. I’d like to see you disappear again.”

  “Shut the fuck up!” Bao snarled.

  “I wouldn’t steal what belongs to you,” M.J. said. “This belongs to both of us.”

  “M.J., no,” Andra said through gritted teeth. They should never have told M.J. about Bao. But at the time she hadn’t realized how naïve, how giving the girl was. For Le’s daughter she had a lot to learn.

  “The bitch is right. There will be no sharing. It’s mine.” Bao fired a shot into the air and M.J. screamed and jostled into Andra, who put an arm around her.

  “Move.” He motioned with the gun, indicating that they were to go with him.

  “I don’t think so,” Andra said. “You killed my neighbor.” She threw the statement out as a crude diversion, but in a way she wanted to know.

  “It’s you who should be fucking dead,” Bao snarled and waved the gun. “You, him and especially her—” The gun locked on M.J., who backed up with a startled gasp. “If I had my own triad instead of the clowns I hired, I wouldn’t have to be here now. Now move.” He motioned with the gun to a silver sports car at the end of the street.

  Andra dug her nails into her palms, trying to stem the shaking, to calm her nerves and get her jumbled thoughts in order. They couldn’t be taken from the area. It was one of the most basic rules of self-preservation for a victim of crime. Quietly, she reached into her pocket and grabbed the only weapon she had, her phone. Without another thought she threw the phone as hard as she could. It glanced off Bao’s temple.

  It wasn’t much, but it was enough diversion for Max. He’d been inching his way forward as Bao’s attention had been fixed on M.J. Now, he dove for Bao, getting him around the knees and bringing him down.

  “Run!” Max shouted at them.

  Andra grabbed M.J.’s hand but hesitated. She couldn’t leave Max. He wouldn’t stand a chance, not unarmed against a killer. And as she hesitated, a black Audi slipped around the corner like a dark angel. It all happened so quickly. She pushed M.J. to the side, backing up, and still hesitating because of Max.

  There was scuffling and then Bao was free and Max was on the ground.

  “Stop, bitch!”

  He was thirty feet away now, too close. With horror she realized that it was M.J. who Bao had targeted. It was M.J. who would die.

  Her frightened gaze went up the street to where Le had been. He was gone.

  A flicker of movement and she could only hope that it was Le making his way covertly to them.

  The gun was aimed at M.J. now. Something clicked—a trigger, a prequel to firing?—she didn’t know.

  “No!” she screamed, and even as she considered shielding M.J., Le was there. Everything was a blur as he slammed a hand into her shoulder, pushing her sideways and into M.J. He was so close she could smell the tangy scent of his aftershave. Gunfire erupted, Le’s, Bao’s . . . it was all a blur of noise and action. Her heart pounded through it all, fear tainting all of it, fear for Max.

  Andra lurched out of her inertia and grabbed M.J.’s hand. “Run,” she said and pulled the girl with her backward and toward a juncture of another street.

  But they’d gone only a few feet as the crack of gunshots again seemed to merge and Andra looked back as both Le and Bao fell. Someone screamed and Andra didn’t know who it was or even if it had been her that screamed. It was all a thick muddle of confusion.

  M.J. quivered beside her.

  Behind them, not twenty feet away, were the two downed men. Instinct told her to run, logic told her to find Max in the midst of the mayhem. And as she thought of him he was there.

  “There’s nothing we can do,” he said as he put an arm around her waist. “We’ve got to get out of here.”

  She shook him off, took a step forward and then another. She couldn’t leave them there, no matter who or what they were. “Call for help,” she commanded.

  “No!” It was Le’s voice, rough-edged, trembling and yet still commanding.

  “Le,” she whispered.

  “Leave him. We need to get out of here.” Max reached for her and she slipped away. Drawn to them, to help, despite what had just happened, despite any personal danger. “Stay with M.J.”

  “They’re hurt.”

  “For God’s sake, Andra.”

  She ran forward, her head low, bent as if dodging potential bullets. It was craziness but she couldn’t leave them. She leaned down over the first body, Bao, felt for a pulse, nothing.

  “Leave him,” Le commanded, rising weakly, pushing his upper body off the pavement. “Leave me too. He is gone and I soon will be.” Blood seeped from his lips and his shirt was blood-soaked. “Go.” His voice was a whisper now. “Get my daughter out of here. Protect her. Give her what belongs to her. The women will guide her.” His voice gained volume and authority. “Get her out of here.”

  “I . . .”

  “Now . . .” His voice was weak now but there was no denying the command.

  “Get her out of here,” he repeated as his gun dropped to the pavement with a clatter.

  Then Max had a hand on her elbow, dragging her backward to where M. J. waited.

  “Oh, my God,” Andra breathed. “The police, ambulance.”

  “They’re dead, Andra.”

  “Dead,” M.J. murmured. Her face was white and Andra put an arm around her, thankful she hadn’t heard what Le had said. “There’s nothing we can do for them.”

  Max nodded. “I sense their reputations will cover this. It will be seen as a matter of violence in the underworld. Our involvement won’t be a consideration. Not to the authorities.”

  “What do you mean? We need to report this.” M.J. looked stressed.

  “And we will,” Andra said. She pointed to Max, who was in the midst of a phone conversation. “Max is handling it now. Look, M.J., what happened here was because of a triad. Bao belonged to a triad—he’s killed many people. His death, well, it’s not something you want to mention—the police will contact us if necessary. Otherwise it is as if it didn’t happen.”

  “I don’t understand.” She looked behind. “And I know there’s no time now for explanations.”

  Andra shook her head. “No, there’s not.”

  Regret swept through her as they ran from the scene. In normal circumstances they would never have run. They were witnesses. But their flight was not something to be questioned, not here—not considering all that had happened.

  A block later, Max hailed a cab and then a second. He deposited Andra in the first and opened the door of the second, giving the driver instructions to take M.J. the orphanage. He got into the first cab with Andra.

  “M.J.?” she asked with a quiver in her voice.

  “She’s shaken up but she’ll be fine. I told her about the secrecy of the village and she understands the reason, or at least thinks she does, for remaining silent on the murders we witnessed. Bao and his thugs would threaten what her mother created even in death. Justice was done—or at least so she believes.”

  “Le died to protect his daughter. Despite everything that happened, in the end he was there for her.” Andra wiped the corner of one eye and reached for a tissue.

  “It’s a bond you don’t lose, do you?” Max said thoughtfully. “Adopted or otherwise.”

  Chapter Thirty

  “It’s a relief to know that M.J. will carry on Fu’s legacy,” Max said as they walked home from supper the following evening.

  “I loved the fact that her mother is coming over to help,” Andra replied. “And that M.J. had an immediate and almost instinctive feel for Fu’s vision.”

  “Liberating disenfranchised women while the dolls give pleasure to girls around the world. A legacy that she’ll carry forw
ard. Fu couldn’t ask for more.”

  “I can’t believe Le is dead.” Andra shivered. “I keep thinking of the baby picture of M.J. He must have carried that for years. Regretting that she was given up and in the end dying for her.”

  They’d made an anonymous call to the authorities minutes after the tragic incident. The local news had already reported the incident as a shootout between two men, one a known small-time hood. From Bao’s identity they assumed it was more than likely a turf war that resulted in the death of both men. It was a stretch and not the truth, but it enticed readers.

  “You’re turning him into a more romantic character than he deserved, Andra. Don’t forget he was a killer.”

  Andra shrugged. “One way or the other he saved M.J.’s life. But I still can’t help feeling bad that Le didn’t live or that we can’t tell her about him.”

  “Interesting that he never blew up the path to the village like he threatened,” Max said. “I wonder why?”

  “I suppose we’ll never know,” Andra said.

  They stopped at a corner and waited for a break in traffic before bolting across the street. They dodged one bicycle and then a second as a businessman pedaled with hard rhythmic strokes, making no effort to veer around them, his tie tucked within his shirt and his too short pants showing glimpses of white skin that flared like a beacon in the darkness.

  “I was thinking of contacting my brother and sister,” Andra said once they were safely on the other side. “You’ve made me think that maybe I’ve been a little unbending.”

  “Family is important,” he replied solemnly.

  He opened the glass-plated door to the hotel.

  The quiet was thick as the elevator crawled to their floor. The door opened to the scent of disuse and dust that rose with the mildew out of the age-dulled carpet.

  “I won’t miss this place,” Andra said, but there was something that sounded like regret in her voice.

  Max leaned one hand against the doorjamb as he waited for Andra to unlock the door to the room.

  The door opened with a small squeal of unoiled hinges as she flicked on the lights and stood quietly in the soft pool of light that filtered lightly into the hallway.