Stephen Knight - White Tiger

“Just needed some air,” Morales said.

“It’s allowed,” Ryker said. “I should have asked-how’d your court case go?”

“Liquor store owner changed his mind. Local gang threatened to put a cap in his ass, you can bet on it.” Morales crushed his cup. “Two punks walk free and start planning their next hold-up. I just hope I’m there when it goes down. Ah, fuck it. What’s happening with you?”

“Bet you wish you were in Chee Wei’s shoes. He’s with the Chinese girl we brought in. Camped out in her living room.”

Morales grinned. “You gotta be shitting me. Whose ass do I have to kiss to pull that kind of duty?”

“Mine, but I’m not in the mood right now,” Ryker said. “Tell you what, next good-looking girl comes in, she’s all yours. Reason I’m here, Sandra Raymond’s still at the Mandarin, she could do with some help. I’m heading over there. Wouldn’t mind having you along.”

“Sure. Gets me out of this place.” Morales dunked his crushed cup into the bin, his mood brightening visibly. They returned to the squad room and Ryker briefed Debbie on Chee Wei’s assignment and his half-hourly check-ins. She assured him she’d be there till six, as soon as she took that call she’d let Ryker know and pass the baton to him. The flicker of interest in her eyes as she glanced at Morales didn’t go unnoticed by Ryker, though Morales seemed unaware, as he cleared his desk and grabbed his coat. Ryker collected his Glock from his desk and Spider gave them a nod and wave from his office on the way out of the squad room.

Ryker quickly brought Morales up to speed with the rest of the stuff while they cut a path through the city’s late afternoon traffic.

“There’s a rumor going around,” Morales said. “I dunno who started it. You and the widow-woman Lin got the hots for each other. Anything to that?”

“Jesus.” Ryker shook his head. “Chee Wei loves his soap opera, doesn’t he?” Morales laughed, confirming the source of the “rumor.” Ryker wanted to knock it on the head instantly, since at least half of it was true. He decided attack was the best form of defense. “I’ll tell you this, Luis, she’s damn fine-looking. I’d go so far as to say ‘sizzling.’ It’s beyond belief that Danny Lin would rather pay for pussy when he’s got a sex fantasy waiting for him at home.”

“She impressed you that much, huh?”

“The day I end up in bed with someone like Mrs. Danny Lin is the day I get religion.”

“You’re not a religious man.”

Ryker was only too glad to change the subject. “Not in the church-going sense. Do I believe in God? Sure, it was drilled into me as a kid. And it feels good to know there’s a higher being responsible for everything-and someone to blame when things turn to shit. It gives me my place in the universe, you know?”

Morales nodded, taking it seriously. “Yeah. Yeah, I know exactly what you mean.” He leaned forward to look up at the imposing structure that was their destination. “Sometimes I think that’s what all churches should look like. So high they touch heaven. People should be able to step in an elevator, go right to the top, and step out into God’s waiting room. Make an appointment with His secretary. Sit down and talk to the Man Himself. Feel His love. Know His purpose.”

“Pull over, Morales,” Ryker said. “You’re under arrest for driving under the influence.”

Morales was still laughing when they turned into the entrance to the hotel’s parking lot. Ryker showed his shield to the guy on the barrier, who let them through. There were plenty of empty spaces. Ryker assumed most guests must arrive and depart in chauffeur-driven limos rather than in beat-up Fords with municipal license plates that needed a wash and wax.

Ryker called Sandra Raymond and asked her to meet them in the lobby. There she introduced them to the duty manager, an impeccable middle-aged man with a pencil mustache that was so precise it must have been trimmed using a microscope and surgical scissors. Ryker assured the manager they would keep as low a profile as possible, and only disturb guests if and when it became absolutely necessary. As soon as the manager went on his way, Raymond vented her anger. “Every time I tried to talk to someone, that oily little dick shooed me away and put his tongue up their ass.”

“As long as none of them were female, between five zero and five-six, we’ll let it pass,” Ryker said. “Have you had a chance to look at the lobby tapes?”

“This way,” Raymond said. She led them to a room just round the corner from the elevators and out of sight of the entrance. She knocked on the door and entered. A big man whom Raymond introduced as Duffy turned in his chair and nodded to Ryker and Morales. Besides his uniform he wore a lightweight wire headset and mike. In front of him were eighteen flat screen monitors arranged in three banks of six. Ryker counted as many tape machines stacked to one side and numbered. The monitor images changed constantly, cycling through various floors and hallways, some empty, some not.

“You’re ready to go,” Duffy said, pointing to one of the tape decks. Raymond offered Ryker a second chair, which he declined like a true gentleman. Morales grabbed it and pretended to sit down, then laughed and offered it to Raymond.

“Thanks,” she said, dropping into the chair with a sigh. “Been on my damn feet all day. I’m claiming for shoe leather, and Lieutenant Furino better okay it.”

“So what’s on TV?” Morales asked. “Spongebob Squarepants?”

“This,” Raymond said, leaning forward to press the Play button. She pointed to the lower-right TV monitor, which showed a view of the hotel lobby and reception desk. The time stamp said 08:17. Ryker felt a tingle of anticipation in his stomach. She’d found something! Six customers stood at the reception desk, attended by three hotel clerks. Further back, a woman of around sixty sat on a couch reading one of the pamphlets scattered on the coffee tables, which advertised tours of the city, trips around the Bay, restaurants, attractions. Pedestrians and street traffic were visible through the glass doors. The uniformed doorman stood in profile, one eye on the street and one on the lobby. The time stamp changed to 08:18 and from somewhere off to the left, a woman wearing a long black coat over black pants and shoes appeared. She strode to the entrance without pause. The doorman saw her coming, opened a door for her, and smiled pleasantly. She went down the steps, turned left and was instantly lost in the stream of passers-by.

“You think that’s her?” Morales said.

“She knew the position of the camera,” Ryker said. “Didn’t turn round, just kept walking. We saw her hair, that’s all. Same length and style as the woman we saw on the suite hallway tape.”

Raymond’s nimble fingers worked the tape deck controls. The tape ran in reverse. The doorman opened the door and the woman back-stepped into the lobby. She’d almost vanished off-screen, returning to the point where she’d first appeared, when Raymond hit Play again. The woman walked toward the entrance. Her reflection showed in the glass doors. Just before the doorman opened the door for her, her reflection became more solid, almost equal in quality to a low-resolution digital camera picture. The doorman’s uniform jacket, behind the door, darkened the glass and somehow gathered sufficient light to show her face, clearly enough for Ryker to realize she was Chinese. Raymond hit a button and the face swelled to fill the TV monitor. The edge of the screen flickered uncertainly while the center of the picture remained stable, giving them a blurry but almost-distinct mug shot. To Ryker’s relief, she looked nothing like Valerie Lin whose features were softer and more feminine. Not that this woman was by any means ugly. He thought of Michelle Yeoh, whose strong features had mesmerized him throughout Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon .