Henry Chang - Red Jade

She struggled against the ties that bound her, helpless. It only excited the men more. She screamed as the first group of men surrounded her, screamed as the first engorged erection penetrated her.

Yelling, she’d jerked herself awake. She was sitting upright in her own bed, her heart pounding even in the reassuring quiet of her basement apartment. She caught her breath trying to shake the fot mong , nightmare, from her head, clutching the jade charm in her fist.

Beware, it warned, beware.

She’d already transferred half of her bank account to the Vancouver branch of the AAE bank. She’d be able to transport the remaining gold and diamonds traveling overland by bus, or else by sea, on a ferry.

Gradually, her spirit calmed, but she could not find sleep, wondering how she could advance her plans.

Thunder over Water floated to the surface of the charm, tingling at her fingertips.

Find direction, it urged, make haste to go.

Jun bay , prepare.

She took the razor blade from the travel sewing kit and slit open the edge where the padded lining met the hem of the jacket, a cheap black barn jacket she’d bought at the Ming Wah Mall. All the old Chinese wore the same drab discount items from the Chinese mall stores and she wanted to blend into the mix when the time came.

She spread the seam open with her fingers, popping the thread work until the opening was more than the width of her hand.

She grabbed a plastic bag from the makeshift kitchenette, a clear Ziploc bag that was large enough to hold a magazine. She neatly inserted bank documents, a paper-clipped stack of eight one-hundred-dollar bills, and a mini zip-bag containing six diamonds wrapped in wax paper. She added the little red envelope with the key to the safe deposit box, and the Social Security card identifying her as Jing Su Tong.

Pressing the air out, she zipped the plastic bag and slipped it beneath the lining of the jacket. She inserted her hand and spread the plastic flat, patting it into place. From the sewing kit, she got a needle and ran six loose loops of thread and closed the edge at lining and hem. It will be easier to open when the time comes, she thought, remembering Make haste to go .

She kept the Seattle non-driver’s license in her pocket, the photo ID describing her as Tong J. Su: 118 pounds. Twenty-eight years old. She’d memorized the numbers 2, 11, 8: all auspicious.

At the foot of her bed, the black rubber “Prago” bag was a knockoff, a zippered shoulder bag big enough to hold travel necessities, and then some. She’d also found it at Ming Wah, where cheap copies of the world’s best designs were available. Into the shoulder bag she tossed a Chinese newspaper, a senior citizen’s discount bus voucher, a souvenir Chinatown letter opener. She clipped the travel brochures from Trans World Asia together, tossing them in. She’d made advance arrangements for Vancouver, a week’s stay at the Budget Hotel near Chinatown. She’d also booked a tour, a bus shuttle from Victoria to Vancouver.

Beware, beware .

She caressed the red bangle with her thumb, urging forth luck and courage.

She placed eight gold Panda coins into the inside zipper-pouch of the black carry-all. In her pants pocket was a thousand dollars in folded hundred-dollar bills. She’d still need heaven’s help, she knew, but at least the numbers were on her side.

A huge Chinese crowd thronged the lobby of the Westin, milling and mixing its way toward the music inside the ball-room. The gourmet-dinner portion of the event had concluded, the awards had already been presented, and the liquor was flowing freely.

Jack straightened his jacket and joined the shuffling, swaying procession heading toward the bright lights and raucous laughter. Inside the cavernous ballroom, a Filipino rock band was banging out “La Bamba.” The crowd near the stage bopped and hopped to the beat. Young Chinese-American ORCA interns were letting off corporate steam as Jack scanned the crowd for Alex. Lots of men in tuxedoes and old money all around, thought Jack.

All the sophisticated ladies wore jazzy gowns and the scene was loud, jamming, and everything looked fabulous. Jack made his way toward the stage. More women, shiny dresses, glittering jewelry, and coiffed hair. A flute of champagne in every delicate hand.

He heard quick exchanges of repartee everywhere. Everyone looked rich and carefree.

Alex suddenly emerged from a group of designer tuxedoes and shimmering outfits. She was radiant in a gold dress and heels, with all the fine accessories, reveling in her moment. She came toward him with a long lingering smile, followed it with a kiss on his cheek.

“ Finally ,” she said. “Glad you could make it.”

The group of CADS and ORCAs noticed Jack, and his familiarity with Alex.

“Ladies’ room calling,” she said, smiling. “I’ll be right back. Go ahead and mingle.”

“Sure,” Jack said, scanning the hundreds of exquisitely dressed Chinese. He watched her walk away, a gold sheath swaying to the music, until she disappeared into the masses. He wasn’t the mingling type, he thought.

One of the CADS greeted him with, “You must be the lawman Alexandra told us about.” Another lawyer-type turned and said, “Why don’t you regale us with some of your adventures?”

Jack was momentarily speechless, holding his thoughts but displaying a smile on his face. Regale? he mused. I’m here to entertain you? He bit down inside the frozen smile. Adventures? Murder and horrific brutality were adventures ? He wondered if it was too soon to dislike them, and decided to wait until Alex returned.

Abruptly, ADA Bang Sing stepped from the group and came to Jack’s social rescue.

“Detective,” Sing said, “I hate to talk shop but can I have a word?”

“Sure,” Jack answered, gratefully. “Excuse us, gentlemen.”

They stepped away, joining another crowd beside one of the mobile bars.

“Don’t mind them,” Sing explained. “They get a little obnoxious after a few drinks.” He paused, then grinned.

“You know how lawyers are.”

“Yeah, right,” Jack said, smiling. “But thanks anyway. Anything new with the Johnny Wong case?”

“No,” Sing replied. “He’s still cooling at Rikers. But he’s getting more calls from Hong Kong.”

“He’s allowed calls?” puzzled Jack.

“E-mails,” Sing said.

“About what?”

Bang Sing shrugged. “That’s all I know.”

Jack took a breath, saw the group of CADS from the distance. They were partying hearty to the booming beat, and oddly enough, he felt happy for them. They deserved it. For their time and commitment to righteous causes. Party on, by any means necessary.

At the bar, they pounded beers. “Thanks again,” Jack repeated, wondering now about Sing’s relationship to Alex. Relationship?

“Sure thing,” Bang Sing toasted, “sure thing.”

It seemed as if the crowd parted for Alex as she returned, a vision more lovely than Jack had recalled. She took him by the hand, led him away from ADA Sing and the crowded floor.

They lit up cigarettes near a side exit, refreshed by the cool night air.

“This is great,” Jack said. “But for the record, I did try to call you last night.”

“Last night?” Alex sounded puzzled.

“It was late,” Jack continued. “Some man answered.”

“Man? Who? ” she challenged.

“Don’t know,” Jack demurred, “didn’t ask.”

“Well, the bunch of us went room-hopping,” Alex recalled. “Drinking nightcaps. Why didn’t you leave me a message?”

“It was late. I didn’t want to interrupt.” Jack crushed out his cigarette.