Chapter Seven
Adriana
I hope I’m not too out of practice. If I’m right, I’ve found us somewhere safe. If I’m wrong, well, I’ll be seeing my sister soon enough. My hand hesitates over the heavy door to the Jade Palace for only a moment before I rap my smelly knuckles against it.
A small slat slides open in the door, and a pair of suspicious eyes glances at me, narrows, and then a curious and angry voice filters through the door. “What do you want?”
I hesitate. Ready words on my tongue, feel nerves flutter in my stomach, and end up questioning everything I’m about to say. Not what I want to say, but how to say it.
“You smell. You look bad. Terrible. Are you going to just stand there all night, or are you going to tell me why you’re knocking on our door?
” says a voice on the other side of the door to the Jade Palace.
An elderly woman, from the sound of it. “This is a private social club, not a homeless shelter.”
“This was a fucking mistake. Let’s go. I’m sure we can find somewhere else to hide out,” Ricky whispers behind me.
But fuck him and his doubting. Even if this old woman turns us away, I’m going to show him that, at the very least, I know what I’m talking about.
Time to leap in with both feet forward.
“May we come inside?” I say in halting Mandarin.
The older woman blinks. “First tell me: why are you here?”
“My ugly friend,” I stumble over the word.
Not that I don’t know how to say ‘friend,’ but that I have no fucking inclination to actually call Ricky a friend, yet I don’t know the Mandarin word for ‘future revenge-killing victim,’ “and I are in trouble. Some men tried to rob me. We barely escaped, but fell into some trash. May we come in just for a short while just to rest and clean up?”
A doubtful moment passes. Then another. Finally, there’s the metallic sound of a lock clicking and the door slides open, revealing a woman barely five feet tall, with stooped shoulders, and a soft, sly smile.
“Come inside,” she says in perfect English, her eyes running over Ricky with a mix of approval and disapproval. After an abrupt gesture, she turns and walks away.
I follow her down a dark hallway lined with serene paintings of landscapes, photos of families and groups celebrating, and several banners decorated with golden embroidered symbols.
Ricky walks behind me, head turning on a swivel, as if he expects dangerous elderly women to jump out from every shadow.
But I’m reasonably sure we’re safe here. And reasonably sure I know where ‘here’ is.
“So why did you choose to knock on the door of our mahjong club?” the elderly woman says.
Further down the hall, an open door leads to a well-lit courtyard, and inside it, I see multiple tables occupied by women of all ages, and through that door spills the sound of clicking tiles, murmured chatter, and silence.
“There are other places on the street where you could rest and get cleaned. There is even a YMCA a block from here that offers free showers and beds to the needy.”
I hesitate, debating how much to tell her. Whether it’s safe to admit to her that one symbol I saw outside reminded me of a case I worked, a time I went undercover, the reason I learned Mandarin in the first place.
As I debate, Ricky opens his dumb mouth.
“We’re not here to play fucking games, lady. All we need is a shower, a chance to clean up, and duck our heads while trouble passes us by. We’ll be out of your hair in no time.”
I cringe.
Her eyes flicker wide for a moment. She leans her head toward mine and says, “What is the real trouble you are bringing to our door? Why should we put up with the danger you and your vulgar friend are in? He has the mouth and attitude of a drunken child. I should have you both kicked out. Or worse. All I need to do is say the word — we are not alone, and you are being watched.”
There’s an edge to her words. A sharpness that leads me to believe the symbol outside was right.
Behind me, I feel Ricky tense. Out of the corner of my eye, I see him clench his fists.
He sure as hell doesn’t speak Mandarin, but anyone with ears can tell tone, and this old woman’s tone is as clear as a bullhorn.
While Ricky inches closer to her, ready to do god-knows-what dumb thing that probably seems like a brilliant, violent idea in his primordial, neanderthal brain, I throw my eyes around the room, hunting for something, anything, while my brain scrambles in overdrive for the words to tell this old woman that she needs to let us stay.
Then I see it.
Something small, but enough to spark a flicker of hope. A faint spark, but it’s something.
A gamble.
That could go very wrong. If I’m not reading her right, she won’t just kick us out — she’ll have us both killed.
But what choice do I have?
I take a breath and open my mouth.