Li Mei took a deep breath, trying to relax. “Your father was a great man.”
A great man. Sally’s brow furrowed, as if the phrase were an oxymoron.
“He treated everyone with respect,” continued Li Mei. “He was honest. He loved your mother, and he adored you.” She smiled at the memory. “At that time, America was held in high regard by many people-and your father, with his blond hair and blue eyes-I think, to me, your father always seemed very American. Of course, I’ve never been there.”
Neither have I, thought Sally. “How do you know he was honest?”
Li Mei’s eyes darted away but came back. There was no lying left in her. “Because they tried to buy him off, get him to stop his investigation. But the first time a gift was left at the house-money in an envelope, left in the mailbox-your father walked into the middle of the street and tore it to pieces. He knew they would be watching the house.”
“And my mother.”
Li Mei smiled sadly. “Smart, beautiful. And she was never afraid-of anything. Just like you. Your parents were…” Li Mei’s voice trailed off, unsure of what to say.
Sally worked the muscles in her jaw again. She could put this off another hour or just say the words. When they came, she almost spat them across the table.
“My parents were murdered.”
Li Mei’s face broke apart, the tears running down gullies of age too deep to measure. “I…I never knew anything would happen to them, Sally,” she sobbed. “Someone in the society made a deal with the yakuza-they worked out an arrangement for the guns. The next thing I knew, your parents had been driven off the road by a truck. I…never really knew it wasn’t an accident.”
Sally nodded, feeling the puzzle pieces lost in memory take shape. None of it surprised her, but it came with a sickening, awful finality that confirmed she was completely and utterly alone. Since the age of five, she had been a pawn in someone else’s chess game, and there was nothing she could do to knock the pieces off the table and start over. All she could do was leave the table.
Sally stood up, looking down at the woman she’d loved as a child but feeling nothing but disdain. Even pity was beyond her reach now.
“I’m leaving.”
Li Mei looked up, snot running down her nose, her eyes red. “But…they won’t let you.”
Sally laughed, a short barking sound that surprised even her. “You forget where I went to school,” she said simply. Then she turned and walked out the door, leaving the old woman alone with her guilt, her house, and the view of the boats where she used to live.
Chapter Forty-two
San Francisco, present day
The address on the card wasn’t on a map, and Cape knew better than to ask around Chinatown for directions. He’d followed the street numbers to a dead end and assumed at first it reemerged a few blocks later, like so many streets in San Francisco that disappeared into hills or landmarks and showed up a mile away.
But that would take him out of Chinatown, which didn’t make sense, so fifteen minutes later he found himself back at the end of an alley, looking at empty boxes, broken vegetable crates, and shadows, wondering when the genie was going to appear and tell him the secret word.
The alley was half a block deep, with a grocery and tobacco shop flanking either side of the entrance, but the stores and the cross street seemed a world away. This far back, all Cape could hear was the wind and maybe the scuttling sound of a rat eating its way through the trash.
It was a rat. Pulling a pocket Maglite, Cape shone the light along the brick walls on either side, careful to keep the beam tight and his body between the light and the street. As it passed over a wooden crate, two red eyes glared back, followed by a rustling glimpse of a long tail. Based on the spacing of the eyes and the length of the hairless tail, Cape figured the rat must outweigh him by about forty pounds. He focused the light on the ground as he stepped forward gingerly.
This was starting to look like a dead end. Cape considered turning around when he saw it: a manhole cover, the grated kind, set into the corner of the alley. Shining the light through the top, he saw a ladder running down the side, disappearing into the darkness.
Panning the light over the nearest wall, Cape saw a blood red triangle etched into one of the bricks. Squatting down, he put his thumb in the center of the triangle and pushed.
He jumped as the manhole cover swung open with a muffled clang.
You’ve got to be kidding.
Turning off the flashlight, Cape lowered himself down the ladder, feeling for the rungs with his sneakers as he gripped the cold metal bars. His instinct was to make as little noise as possible, though he suspected an alarm had sounded somewhere once he triggered the trap door.
Fifteen feet down the hole, the darkness softened to a gray haze. Twenty feet down he could see the floor, light spilling into the tunnel. Thirty feet and he touched bottom, almost blinded by the sudden glare coming from an opening on his left. Blinking, Cape looked into another world.
Colored lanterns hung from the stone ceiling, brick walls were adorned with tapestries in muted reds and golds, and the cloying smell of incense permeated the air. Sofas, chairs, and cushions of different periods and styles crowded the small space, along with the occasional sculpture or desk, making it impossible to take in the entire room at once. Thick carpets had been piled on the stone floor, sometimes layered, giving Cape the feeling that the floor undulated beneath his feet. Toward the back of the chamber, the light dimmed, but Cape could see another tunnel leading off to the right, no doubt connected to other chambers and more holes cut beneath the city. A low grinding sound emanated from the center of the room, like a ball bearing rolling across a sheet of glass.
Taking a deep breath, Cape stepped forward.
Two sets of hands grabbed him from each side, pulling him forward gently. He let himself be frisked, surprised at the soft touch. These guards were a cut above Freddie Wang’s goons. As his eyes adjusted, he saw two men dressed in suits, Chinese in their midthirties, moving in an efficient, practiced manner as they checked him for weapons. Both released him at the same time, returning to their positions by the entrance. The one on the right nodded at Cape politely before pointing over his shoulder, indicating he should keep going.
Stepping around a folding screen, Cape stopped short as he came upon a man sitting behind a large desk. Next to him on a small tray was a silver tea service, steam coming from the pot. The man’s face was in shadow, his arms spread as he rolled a white marble back and forth across the desk. The grinding sound rose and fell as the marble spun from hand to hand.
“You’re late, old chap.”
The man raised his head and Cape’s eyes went wide, causing the man to chuckle softly. Smiling, he tilted his head back, letting the light spill across his face as his right hand came down and trapped the marble in his palm.
Gray-black hair sprouted from a high forehead, pulled back in a ponytail behind ears that looked two sizes too big. Deep lines ran from his forehead down his cheeks, underscoring his smile. His right brow arched over a dark brown eye as he returned Cape’s stare. His left eye, however, was missing.
A ragged black hole flanked by scar tissue marked the missing orb, and Cape found his eyes drawn morbidly to that side of the man’s face.
“Sorry,” said the man pleasantly. “Just need to clean it.” Bringing his right hand up, he popped the marble into his mouth and rolled it around like a gumball before spitting it back into his hand. Pulling his ravaged eyelid up with his left hand, he popped the marble into the hole with his right, jabbing himself with his index finger until it settled. Cape now found himself looking at a man with two brown eyes, the left only slightly askew.