Gold Mountain (17 page)

Do your best not to grow too attached to the child, Miss Cameron had warned, and we had done our best, only our best wasn’t good enough. Even after a few days it would be very difficult to say good-bye to the little girl with the shy smile and sparkling black eyes. If Suey Wah stayed much longer, saying good-bye would be impossible for all of us.

Later in the week, I received a hasty message from 920, asking me to accompany Miss Cameron on a rescue. I immediately hurried to the mission, bursting through the front door and nearly colliding with Frances Thompson, who took in my disheveled appearance with one glace and pointed down the hall.

“She’s waiting for you in her office.”

Miss Cameron showed me the anonymous note she had received, written in English in big, black letters: “Help me. In very bad place. Help me home. Or I die.”

“But where—”

“One of Woon Ho’s young residents delivered it. ‘Not for me,’ she said, to be sure I understood she had no desire to be rescued, ‘but for Chu Hua. She will not last. Too weak. Too afraid.’” At my uncomprehending look, Donaldina explained, “Woon Ho runs a high class parlor house, Dinah. There are no little girls there, and we never have success convincing the inhabitants to leave their lives and come to 920.”

“Why not?”

“You’ll see when we get there, but the girls are waited on and live in relative splendor. They cannot imagine why they should trade beautiful clothes and plenty to eat and days free to sleep in luxury for the cotton dresses and daily chores we offer at 920. The men who frequent Woon Ho’s establishment are mostly well-to-do Chinese and the girls, poor things, imagine they will be young and—more importantly—healthy forever. They don’t understand how quickly youth disappears in their line of work, and then there’s disease. The girls are examined daily and as soon as anyone shows any symptoms of ailment or pregnancy, she disappears. Of course, they all think it won’t happen to them and of course, it will.” I followed her into the hallway as she murmured, “But when we’re asked, we go. Maybe this will be our first success.”

I recognized Sgt. Jesse Cook waiting for us on DuPont Street and felt my pulse quicken as I looked around for Colin. He was absent, however, replaced by a man introduced as Detective Dan O’Brien.

“You know we’ve never had luck with this kind of visit, Dolly,” Sgt. Cook said.

“I know, Jesse, but I can’t ignore this.” Miss Cameron handed over the crude note she had received.

“There’s something not right,” the sergeant observed, frowning over the paper, then repeated, “It doesn’t feel right.”

“I agree. If you’d rather Dinah and I go in on our own, I’d understand.” Jesse Cook handed the paper back to Donaldina, who folded it carefully and thrust it into a pocket.

“No, Dolly, I wouldn’t do that to you. Besides, Dan said he was feeling the luck of the Irish today. Didn’t you, Dan? Let’s go see if we can find this Chu Hua of yours. I’d give a week’s pay to shut Woon Ho down. Maybe Dan’s right and this will turn out to be our lucky day.”

Miss Cameron’s and Sgt. Cook’s instincts, however, were correct from the start. The two policemen shouldered through the front door and when an old woman confronted them in the hallway, they demanded that she present Chu Hua.

She gave an exaggerated shrug and responded in Chinese, “There is no one here by that name.” When I translated her words, she shot me a dark, appraising look that was devoid of surprise or panic or fear. She knew we were coming, I thought, and better understood Miss Cameron’s and Sgt. Cook’s misgivings. I could tell from the woman’s glance that something was definitely “not right.”

“We’ll see for ourselves, Woon Ho,” Cook answered tersely. “Where are your girls?”

“Gathered in the front parlor, Sergeant. Come this way.” Donaldina shared another puzzled look with the policeman, and we all followed the old woman down the hall where Woon Ho threw open the doors to a room.

I saw what Miss Cameron had meant about the luxury of the surroundings. This was nothing like the dank, rough interior of Wing Chee’s establishment, and the room’s inhabitants bore no resemblance whatsoever to Suey Wah’s emaciated, mistreated body. The walls were covered in sumptuous red silk and the young women seated on cushioned teak couches looked unalarmed and contented, their eyes clear, their complexions fashionably pale from rice powder, and their gleaming black hair perfumed and coiled. When we entered, all faces turned toward us.

“We are looking for Chu Hua,” I announced. When no one responded, I added, “If you know where Chu Hua is, please tell us so we can help her, and if you would like to leave this place, you may come with us, too. No one will stop you.”

“These girls do not wish to leave,” Woon Ho said, smiling in a way I’m sure she thought made her appear fond of the room’s inhabitants but only succeeded in giving her the appearance of an old, thin she-wolf. “They are happy here. Their parents sent them to me so I could find husbands for them, respectable husbands from honorable families. I take good care of these girls.”

“What nonsense you talk, old woman,” I said, purposefully disrespectful, hoping to discredit Woon Ho in front of her charges so they might feel more willing to confront her. “We know why these girls are here.” I turned my back to Woon Ho and spoke directly to those seated around the room. “This is not a good way to live. You will not have long life. Koon Yum cannot help you here. Her mercy cannot reach you here. You are abandoned. Come away with us to a house where you can be safe and healthy. Come.” But I could tell my appeal had no effect on my hearers. The faces looking back at me held dark, expressionless eyes. Two girls shook their heads in disbelief at my preposterous invitation. The others maintained still, almost indolent, postures.

“The prostituting of children is against the law,” Jesse Cook told Woon Ho sternly, and she repeated her shrug in a way that made my palms itch to slap her.

“So I am told, but what has that to do with me? These are virtuous girls, who trust me to find them virtuous husbands.” Then, slyly, “Virtuous
Chinese
husbands. I must look among the Chinese because I fear I would not be successful finding virtue among other men living in San Francisco.”

“Watch your tongue, old woman,” I snapped without thinking. “You are not indestructible.”

She turned to face me and gave me a long, leisurely, very disparaging look before answering, “I have heard of you, I think. The red-haired woman who speaks our language with a sharp tongue. Be careful it does not get pulled out by the roots.” I didn’t know if she meant my hair or my tongue.

Donaldina, wordlessly following the exchange, finally spoke. “Come along, Dinah. We can accomplish nothing here. We were expected, I think.” Without another word she turned and exited the door we had entered. I followed her and the two policemen came after me. Once outside, we stopped to face each other.

“I don’t mind saying that that visit puzzles me, Dolly. Puzzles me a lot. What do you think was going on there?”

“I don’t know, but I feel a sudden urge to get back to 920 as quickly as possible. Thank you, Jesse. I’m sorry for the wasted time.” Donaldina’s disquiet showed in her face as she headed toward a waiting cab. As I followed her, I heard someone call, “Miss Hudson!” and turned, thinking it was either Sgt. Cook or Dan O’Brien with a last minute comment. To my complete surprise, Jake Pandora walked quickly toward me.

“You said you wanted to accompany me when I next visited Wing Chee,” he explained without preamble, “and now is the perfect time.”

“Hello to you, too,” I said dryly. “Why now?” Behind me Donaldina called my name and I went over to the cab to explain, “Apparently I’m needed here, Miss Cameron. I’ll return to 920 as quickly as I can, but I have something urgent to do first.” She looked past me to observe Jake Pandora’s clearly impatient figure.

“All right, but be careful. Something’s afoot, and I’m very uneasy about what just transpired. We’ll talk when you get back.” She drove away as I walked back to Pandora and picked up the conversation.

“Why now?” I repeated.

“Your little visit to Woon Ho’s here is already knowledge throughout Chinatown, and I have no doubt that Wing Chee thinks he’s safe for the time being, that you’ve spent all the time you’re prepared to spend chasing villains today. I want to catch him with his guard down. This way.”

For the first time, I noticed Casey and his cab waiting at the curb and threw him a wave before climbing into the carriage behind Jake Pandora.

“You think we have the element of surprise,” I observed, “but I’ve found it very hard to surprise anyone in the Chinese community, whatever side of the ocean you’re on.”

“It’s worth a try.”

“Yes, Mr. Pandora, it’s worth a try.” I recalled when I’d last seen him and wanted to ask why he had been on Nob Hill and whom he had been visiting there but decided that would be unwise for the present and contented myself instead with, “Have you found out anything new about who used your vessels to smuggle Chinese girls into the city?”

“No, but maybe I can convince old Wing that it’s worth his while not to keep so many secrets.”

“The Chinese keep secrets well, Mr. Pandora.”

“Unlike women.” My puzzled glance caught a small grin on Pandora’s face. “Women like to talk too much.” With a sinking feeling in my stomach I wondered if he were slyly taunting me that he had found out Suey Wah’s name because I had foolishly let it drop during a conversation. Was Jake Pandora capable of such deep and calculating deception? We shared a queer, silent, strained moment as I tried to determine what kind of man sat across from me.

“What is it?” he asked finally, all traces of humor and teasing gone. The moment passed and I settled back against the cushion.

“It’s nothing,” I responded. I think he wanted to say more but thought better of the impulse. We traveled the rest of the way in silence.

I didn’t recognize Wing Chee’s establishment but read his name in the Chinese characters painted on the sign over the door. Pandora didn’t knock, just pushed the door open and stepped inside, I following on his heels. We passed several rooms filled with men oblivious to our presence because they were bent over tables covered with what looked like small tickets made of thin paper. Their concentrated attention had the universal look of gambling about it. Over everything hung a pall of smoke and a sickeningly sweet smell I didn’t recognize. Too busy peering into the rooms we passed, I bumped ungracefully into Pandora’s back as he halted abruptly.

The man who had stepped in front of him and caused the sudden stop asked, “What do you want?” I translated the brief question.

“Tell him I want to talk to Wing Chee. Tell him he’s an old friend of mine.”

As I spoke, the young Chinese man looked at me with a flicker of something—curiosity, perhaps?—briefly kindling in his eyes.

“He doesn’t believe you,” I told Pandora, then directed the man, “Go tell your master his betters are here, and it would be to his advantage to hear what we have to say.”

The man spoke one clipped word that indicated without misunderstanding that he did not think we were anyone’s betters before he disappeared into a room at the end of the long hall.

“You don’t have to translate that,” Jake Pandora told me. “It’s a universal phrase.” His tone made me laugh despite our serious purpose.

“Good. I’m not sure I could say the words out loud in English.”

“No false feminine modesty, please. I thought the language of the docks didn’t bother you.”

“For the most part that’s true, but it doesn’t mean I enjoy throwing around coarse obscenities. I’m as morally pedestrian as any other woman, Mr. Pandora, and at the mercy of the same strictures of society.”

“I’m disappointed to hear that, Miss Hudson, because despite myself I’ve begun to hold you to a standard of intelligence higher than that of most other women I know.”

Curious to know if he was serious or teasing, I would have responded to his remark, but the quick clip of soft soles against the wooden floor interrupted our discussion. The man approaching us must be Wing Chee, I thought, and was surprised that he looked so ordinary. I may not have expected horns and a tail, but I certainly didn’t anticipate that he would have such a conventional face, genial smile, and eyes that beamed a welcome that seemed to indicate we were exactly the people he had hoped to meet in this very hallway. How could evil appear so ordinary? I had to adjust all my expectations.

When he stood before us, Wing Chee bowed respectfully, both palms tented under his chin. “Mr. Pandora, what a pleasant surprise to see you again.” He said the words of greeting in halting English before lapsing into quick Chinese, the gist of his meaning being that he had thought all their business had been handled at their last meeting and confessing that he could not think of one solitary reason that Jake Pandora would visit his humble establishment again. He spoke too quickly and then stood waiting. The man knows that Jake’s Chinese is rudimentary at best, I thought with a flash of understanding, and he’s mocking him. Somehow, with nothing to support my conclusion, I was absolutely certain that Wing Chee could speak and understand English very well, certainly much better than his first faltering sentence indicated.

With Jake looking at me, impatiently waiting for me to tell him what the man had said, I addressed Wing Chee in his own language. “You are pitifully unconvincing, sir. Despite your little amusement at our expense, I know you speak English very well, as well as I speak your language. We will talk privately, immediately, and in English, and we will include Mr. Pandora in the conversation.” To Jake I said, “Mr. Wing Chee has had a sudden epiphany of language. A miracle almost. He is now quite conversant in English.” I concluded with a mocking disdain Wing Chee could not miss, “To think that so lowly and ignorant a man would believe he could fool us!” Chinese men were proud and very conscious of their own dignity, and I wanted to be certain this man understood that we—and especially I, a woman!—found him laughable and weak. That a lowly female had the temerity to ridicule him before another man would be deeply offensive, no matter if the audience was friend or stranger. The man’s expression did not change, but despite the satisfaction I’d felt on Suey Wah’s behalf, I wondered if I’d just made both a mistake and an enemy. Wing Chee nodded briefly and turned, indicating that we were to follow him into the room at the end of the hallway where the first man had earlier disappeared. The lion’s den, I thought, and felt a moment of doubt, even fear, a moment so strong that I stood frozen to the floor. A surge of memories rushed over me and the familiar feeling of being terrified to the point of immobility threatened to overwhelm me.