Casey.What about Casey?Our rules are quite clear, always have been. She set them: If I have a date or she has a date, we have dates and no questions and no recriminations.Then why is it I'm all uptight now that I've decided to see Orlanda without telling Casey?He glanced at his watch. Almost time to go.There was a half-hearted knock on the door and instantly it opened and Nighttime Song beamed at him. "Missee," the old man announced and stepped aside. Casey was approaching down the corridor, a sheaf of papers and a notebook in her hand."Oh hi, Casey," Bartlett said. "I was just going to phone you.""Hi, Line," she called out and then said, "Dohjeh," in Cantonese to the old man as she passed. Her walk was happy as she came into the two-bedroom suite. "Got some stuff for you." She handed him a sheaf of telexes and letters and went to the cocktail bar to pour herself a dry martini. She wore casual, slim-fitting gray pants and flat gray shoes with a gray silk open-necked shirt. Her hair was tied back and a pencil left there was her only decoration. Tonight she was wearing glasses, not her usual contacts. "The first couple deal with the GXR merger. It's all signed, sealed and delivered, and we take possession September 2. There's a board meeting confirmed at 3:00 P.M. in L.A.—that gives us plenty of time to get back. I've ask—""Turn down bed, Master?" Nighttime Song interrupted importantly from the door.Bartlett started to say no, but Casey was already shaking her head. "Urn ho, " she said pleasantly in Cantonese, pronouncing the words well and with care. "Chaz'er, dohjeh. " No thank you, please do it later.Nighttime Song stared at her blankly. "Wat?"Casey repeated it. The old man snorted, irritated that Golden Pubics had the bad manners to address him in his own language. "Turn down bed, heya? Now heya?" he asked in bad English.Casey repeated the Cantonese, again with no reaction, began again then stopped and said wearily in English, "Oh never mind! Not now. You can do it later."Nighttime Song beamed, having made her lose face. "Yes, Mis-see." He closed the door with just enough of a slam to make his point."Asshole," she muttered. "He had to understand me, I know I said it right, Line. Why is it they insist on not understanding? I tried it on my maid and all she said was Va?' too." She laughed in spite of herself as she aped the coarse guttural, "Wat you say, heya?"Bartlett laughed. "They're just ornery. But where'd you learn Chinese?""It's Cantonese. I got a teacher—fitted in an hour this morning —thought I should at least be able to say, Hi, Good morning, Give me the bill please . . . ordinary things. Goddamn but it's complicated. All the tones. In Cantonese there are seven tones—seven ways of saying the same word. You ask for the check, it's mai dan, but if you say it just a little wrong, it means fried eggs, they're mai dan too, and one'll get you fifty the waiter'll bring you the fried eggs just to put you down." She sipped her martini and added an extra olive. "I needed that. You want another beer?"Bartlett shook his head. "This's fine." He had read all the telexes.Casey sat on the sofa and opened her notepad. "Vincenzo Banas-tasio's secretary phoned and asked me to confirm his suite for Saturday an—""I didn't know he was due in Hong Kong. You?""I think I remember him saying something about going to Asia the last time we saw him … at the track last month—at Del Mar —the time John Chen was there. Terrible about John, isn't it?""I hope they get those Werewolves. Bastards to murder him and put that sign on him like that.""I wrote a condolence note for us to his father and to his wife Dianne—you remember we met her at lan's and at Aberdeen-Jesus, that seems like a million years ago.""Yes." Bartlett frowned. "I still don't remember Vincenzo saying anything. He staying here?""No, he wants to be Hong Kong side. I confirmed the booking at the Hilton by phone and I'll do it in person tomorrow. He's on JAL's Saturday morning flight from Tokyo." Casey peered at him over her glasses. "You want me to schedule a meeting?""How long's he staying?""Over the weekend. A few days. You know how vague he is. How about Saturday after the races? We'll be Hong Kong side and it's an easy walk from Happy Valley if we can't get a ride."Bartlett was going to say, Let's make it Sunday, but then he remembered Taipei on Sunday. "Sure, Saturday after the races." Then he saw her look. "What?""I was just wondering what Banastasio's about.""When he bought 4 percent of our Par-Con stock," he said, "we ran it through Seymour, the SEC and a few others and they're all satisfied his money was clean. He's never been arrested or charged, though there're a lot of rumors. He's never given us any trouble, never wanted in on any board, never turns up for any shareholder meetings, always gives me his proxy, and he came through with the money when we needed it." He stared at her. "So?""So nothing, Line. You know my opinion of him. I agree we can't take the stock back. He bought it free and clear and asked first, and we sure as hell needed his money and put it to great use." She adjusted her glasses and made a note. "I'll fix the meeting and be polite as always. Next: Our company account at the Victoria Bank's operating. I put in 25,000 and here's your checkbook. We've established a revolving fund and First Central's ready to transfer the initial 7 million to the account whenever we say so. There's a confirm telex there. I also opened a personal account for you at the same bank—here's your checkbook with another 25 grand—-20 in an HK treasury bill on a daily rollover." She grinned. "That should buy a couple of bowls of chop suey and a good piece of jade though 1 hear the phonies are hard to tell from the real ones.""No jade." Bartlett wanted to look at his watch but he did not, just sipped his beer. "Next?""Next: Clive Bersky called and asked a favor.""You told him to blow it out of his muffler?"She laughed. Clive Bersky was chief executive of their branch of the First Central of New York. He was very meticulous, pedantic and drove Bartlett crazy with his need for perfect documentation. "He asks that if the Struan deal goes through, we put our funds through the . . ." She referred to her pad. ". . . the Royal Belgium and Far East Bank here.""Why them?""I don't know. I'm checking them out. We've a date for a drink with the local chief exec at eight. The First Central's just bought his bank—it's got branches here, Singapore, Tokyo.""You deal with him, Casey.""Sure. I can drink and run. You want to eat afterwards? We could go down to the Escoffier or up to the Seven Dragons or maybe walk up Nathan Road for some Chinese chow. Somewhere close—the weatherman says more rain's expected.""Thanks but not tonight. I'm going Hong Kong side."