Tim Maleeny - Stealing the Dragon

“It’s colloquial Chinese for someone who is white-an outsider,” said Sally. “It means devil.”

“White devil, actually,” added Dong. “Nothing personal, of course.”

“Of course,” said Cape. “But Yan is expecting someone who’s Chinese, not me. Someone connected to the heart is supposed to walk through the front door.”

“What do we do?” asked Dong.

“Come through the back door.” Sally turned to face Dong. “You’ll be relieved to know I want you to stay here.”

“With the heart?’

“Not a chance,” said Sally.

Dong looked crestfallen. “And the guards?”

Xan shook his head. “ Sei chun .”

Sally glanced at Cape. “He said ‘stupid.’”

Cape looked at Shen, who seemed oblivious to the remark. He had a pistol holstered on his hip, which Cape pointed to as he addressed Dong. “Mind if I borrow that?”

Dong barked something in Cantonese, and Shen came over and handed Cape the gun, an H amp;K 9-millimeter semi-automatic, black metal and composite with a contoured grip. Cape got the same sensation he always had holding a gun, an almost primal fear mixed with an undeniable sense of power. It sickened him to admit how good the weight of the gun felt in his hand. He glanced up to find Sally looking at the gun, a somber look on her face.

Cape caught her eye. “We can’t all leap tall buildings.”

“You should try sometime.”

Sally walked toward the south tunnel and came back with a sword slung across her back. She was still wearing the black clothes she’d had on the night before.

Xan stood. “How far away is this bakery?”

“Five blocks,” said Sally. “But if we take the tunnels, we can cut it to three.”

“Don’t forget what was in the box,” said Dong. “This man is dangerous.”

Cape looked at Sally, then at Xan. “So are we. Besides, I might be able to distract him.”

“How?”

“I know something about him.” Cape patted the pocket where he’d put his notes.

“What?” asked Xan.

Sally said, “We don’t have time.”

Cape slid the gun into his belt and pulled out his shirttails. “I’ll tell you on the way.”

Dawn was breaking as Cape walked down Ross Alley. The sun was still asleep, but it had yawned and stretched enough to crowd the darkness, turning the sky a deep blue.

Ross Alley was about as short as its name implied, a minor twist in the Chinatown maze barely a block long. The Golden Gate Fortune Cookie Factory was tucked between two small storefronts, the metal and glass doors incongruous next to the old wooden sign at the entrance. 20,000 fortune cookies made daily. Visitors welcome. Admission free.

Cape stopped a few feet from the door and looked around, but the street was empty. Xan and Sally had circled around the back of the alley. Xan’s job was to find Lin. Sally didn’t say where she would be, but Cape took comfort in that. He was used to her being invisible. His job was to distract Yan for as long as possible.

You’ll think of something. With his right hand, he casually brushed the back of his shirt and checked the position of the gun, which he’d moved to the small of his back. Satisfied it wasn’t going to fall out of his pants the moment he stepped across the threshold, Cape took a deep breath and tried the door.

It was unlocked.

The front room was crowded with boxes, rolls of plastic mounted on metal spools, a long counter, and a cash register. Cape moved his head slowly, scanning the room, but no one jumped out and pointed a gun or yelled in Chinese to get lost. But looking up, he noticed the small video camera mounted above the door at the far side of the room, its red light blinking.

Cape raised his right hand to his lips and blew a kiss.

Three steps later he was through the door and inside the factory. A low humming sound came from fans overhead, recessed into the ceiling. It was an L-shaped room, and Cape found himself in the short section, surrounded by stacked wooden barrels and blind to the rest of the factory floor. Several barrels near the door were open, revealing thousands of fortune cookies jumbled together, waiting to be wrapped in the next room. Unable to resist, Cape took one from the nearest barrel and cracked it open.

You will live long and prosper.

Cape popped the cookie in his mouth and took another.

The future is uncertain.

And another.

Trouble awaits you just around the corner.

Cape threw the last cookie onto the floor. “Should have quit while I was ahead.” Crunching quietly, he stepped past the barrels into the open, holding his hands out from his sides.

Two large conveyors sat side by side, throwbacks to another age, when bakeries were not massive factories outside the city but small assembly lines in tiny storefronts like this one, the machines feeding the dough to workers who shaped the cookies. Next to the conveyors sat two metal chairs, where each day two old Chinese women would sit, pressing paper fortunes onto the flat dough, then using a metal rod to fold the dough by hand before it cooled. At the end of the machine was a pile of fortune cookies almost eight feet high. Cape walked halfway down the conveyor before he could see the rest of the room.

The first thing he saw was Harold Yan.

He was standing next to the mountain of cookies looking at Cape. He wore a white button-down shirt with no tie, a blue blazer, tan slacks, and loafers. A local politician making the rounds in his community. Cape noticed a small water stain on his pants, just below the crotch. Maybe he’s nervous, too .

Behind Yan was a rolling cart holding two video monitors, the one on the left obscured by Yan, the other showing the view from the security camera in the front room. To Yan’s right and standing maybe fifteen feet behind him was another man, someone Cape had never seen before. He had short black hair and a thin mustache drooping on either side of his mouth, scar tissue around his eyes. His trapezius muscles had taken the place of his neck, and his shoulders were stretching the fabric of his black jacket. Cape didn’t bother asking what he did for a living. He locked eyes for a minute, figuring prison logic applied in this case, then turned his attention back to Yan.

“Thanks for inviting me.”

Yan was nonplussed, even though he’d seen Cape on the security camera.

He said, “What are you doing here, detective?”

Cape shrugged. “Jackie Chan wasn’t available.”

Yan forced a smile, but his left eye twitched. “This doesn’t concern you.”

“I got your finger in the mail,” said Cape. “And it pointed in this direction.”

Yan’s eye twitched again. “What are you talking about?”

“I thought you wanted the dragon’s heart,” said Cape nonchalantly, turning toward the entrance. “I must have the wrong address.”

“Stop.”

The tone was half command, half plea, Yan still not sure how to play this. But his pants were down and there was no turning back. “You have the heart?”

Cape nodded.

“ You , a-”

“-white devil?”

Yan stared at him. Cape reached into his left-hand pocket very slowly, conscious of the thug in the corner. He raised his cell phone. “I call and it’s here in five minutes.”

Yan studied Cape for a minute, then seemed to make a decision. He didn’t know how, but Cape had something he wanted, and that was enough.

“You say you have the heart, but of course you don’t have it with you,” said Yan, gesturing toward the man with no neck. “You don’t mind if Shaiming checks, do you?”

“Yes.” Cape put the phone back in his pocket. Shaiming didn’t move, waiting for a sign from Yan.