Instead he shook his head, trying for a moment to embrace the madness that had taken over his world. Cape tossed the bomb onto the body and closed the trunk, then walked around and got behind the wheel. As he pulled away from the curb he glanced in the rear view mirror, but the fog had grown so thick it was impossible to see more than a block away. He pulled his collar up and muttered to himself as he drove deeper into the fog, Freddie’s rasping taunt chasing him down the street.
“You alone now, gwai loh.”
Chapter Twenty-three
Hong Kong, 11 years ago
“He is yakuza.”
Sally’s eyes never left the photograph. When she finally blinked, the picture distorted, and Sally realized she must have tears in her eyes. Yakuza. The word seemed to reach Sally from very far away, as if she were swimming under water and Xan was calling to her from the shore. Only when Xan repeated himself a third time did Sally tear her eyes away long enough to return his stare, giving him a look of pure defiance.
“He’s in the Japanese mob,” said Sally. “So?”
“So,” replied Xan patiently, “that is something you should know. This folder was not given to you lightly, little dragon.”
Sally gritted her teeth and nodded, forcing herself to breathe through her nose. She’d waited ten years for this opportunity; she could wait another ten minutes.
“I understand,” she said. “Please continue, Master Xan.”
“He is not very important,” replied Xan, “but his uncle is-that’s why we know who he is-and also why he didn’t go to jail after his truck collided with your parents’ car.”
The room started to spin and Sally closed her eyes and tried to concentrate on her breathing, ten years of training and discipline struggling against a lifetime of pain and longing.
“We have an understanding with the yakuza,” explained Xan. “Sometimes we do business together, and other times we compete for the same business.”
Sally opened her eyes and nodded, not saying anything.
“But we do not attack them directly.”
Sally felt her heart stop.
“Then why did you show me this folder?”
Xan looked almost paternal. “I said directly, little dragon,” he said. “That means your task is to watch this man for one week, take photographs of his meetings-we are interested in one meeting in particular. And then…”
“And then?” Sally held her breath.
“Then this man means nothing to us,” said Xan, “or to anyone else.” He paused, watching her carefully as he spoke. “Then you must make a choice, little dragon.”
Sally didn’t hesitate. “I already made that choice,” she replied, “when I stepped through the black gate.”
Xan nodded. “We always have choices, Sally. Remember that.”
Sally bowed her head, her thoughts rushing by too fast to register.
“There is one more thing.”
Sally looked up, worried by the change in Xan’s tone. “Yes?”
“You have mastered most of the fighting arts,” said Xan. “But many will not be at your disposal on this trip.”
Sally remained silent but looked puzzled.
“The bow, throwing darts, even poison.” Xan’s tone was one of warning. “These all leave a signature, Sally, for those who know the signs.”
“What are you saying?”
Xan leaned across the desk. “If you want to kill this man, little dragon, you will first have to get close to him. Closer than you would like.”
Sally swallowed hard and stared at Xan for a full minute before answering, her eyes now completely dry. When she spoke, her voice was hoarse, as if she had aged a hundred years since this meeting began.
“When can I leave?”
Chapter Twenty-four
San Francisco, present day
“I’d like ten bags of ice, please.”
Cape had stopped at the Safeway in the Marina district, which was open twenty-four hours even though most people finished their grocery shopping by eight. At nearly eleven o’clock, Cape was one of five people in the store.
He smiled pleasantly at the young man behind the checkout aisle, who had been reading one of the tabloid newspapers they kept near the registers. Apparently Oprah had gained weight again.
The young man nodded at Cape, the beads woven into his hair jangling with the motion. His name tag said Rex.
“Havin’ a party?” he asked as he tapped the keys on the register.
“Something like that,” said Cape, glancing at his car through the glass front of the store.
“You want some beer?” asked Rex, his purple fingernails paused above the keys. “Maybe some chips? We got these sour cream ’n onion chips you wouldn’t believe, man, especially after you been partyin’ for a while.”
Cape turned back from the window, his smile evaporated. “They pay you on commission, Rex?”
Rex backed up a step, then snorted. “No, dude, just tryin’ to help you out.”
Cape nodded, grabbing a pack of gum from the rack beside him. “Just this,” he said, trying to keep an edge out of his voice. “And ten bags of ice.”
“Whatever,” said Rex, punching buttons. “You got a club card?”
Cape shook his head. “No, I’ll just pay cash.”
“It’s not a credit card,” replied Rex. “It’s a club card. You type in your phone number, and you get all sorts of free shit. Like, tonight, you might even get a discount on the ice.”
Cape stared at him, wondering if he should go back to his car and get the gun from his glove compartment. Rex stared back, confident in the flawless logic of his suggestion.
“Thanks, anyway,” said Cape evenly. “Just the ice.”
“You still want the gum?” asked Rex. “’Cause I already rang it up. I could void it, but then I’d have to call my manager, and-”
Cape held up his hands. “I want the gum,” he said emphatically, picking it up off the conveyor and handing Rex a twenty before he could say anything else. “Thanks for reminding me.”
Rex smiled and shrugged, pleased at his catch. “No sweat,” he said, handing Cape his change. “You need help out to your car?”
“No,” replied Cape-a little too quickly, he thought. “I’ll manage.”
“Peace,” said Rex, turning back to his tabloid.
Cape used a cart to move the ice to his car, then did a quick scan of the parking lot before opening the trunk.
The expression on the dead bodyguard had not changed. He looked just as surprised that Cape had bought ice as he had looked when Cape first found him. The bags almost filled the trunk, and Cape figured they’d keep things under control for at least a few hours.
Getting behind the wheel again, he fished his cell phone from his jacket and made a short call, then turned out of the parking lot and headed toward Golden Gate Park.
Chapter Twenty-five
Tokyo, 11 years ago
It was raining hard by the time Hideyoshi Kano left the nightclub.
Lighting a cigarette as he stepped under the awning, his face was lit by the blazing neon sign across the street. Fifty feet of blue neon twisted to form two giant characters in kanji above a red neon sign in English, which read “Happy Donuts.”