Jade Dragon (23 page)

Most people didn’t even know exactly where the club was. There were no
advertisements for it, no address listed on the matchbooks. It was a
stealth venue, sandwiched between two equally nondescript buildings.
Rumour had it that there were even fake entrances dotted all around Hong
Kong, just to throw off the riff-raff and the uninvited. If you didn’t
already know where it was then you had no business being there.

The doorman was aptly named. He was as large as one, dark aged oak. He
held up a hand the moment he got a good look at Ko’s clothes. The AV
feed in his monocle had a programme embedded that served solely to judge
the fashion index of those who wanted to enter the club. “Name?” he
rumbled.

Ko thought himself clever when he told the wageslave what identity to
place on the guest list, but now it came to say it out loud, he felt a
little silly. “Uh. Hazzard Wu. ”

There was the very smallest raise of an eyebrow, and the man nodded,
ticking off an item on an embedded d-screen. “Good evening, Mr Wu. Nice
to see you again.” He beckoned Ko with one hand and warded off Fixx with
another. “And you are?”

“A gatecrasher.” The sanctioned operative stabbed out with a single
finger and struck a nerve point near the doorman’s clavicle.

“Ah,” was all the big man could manage, as his muscles seized up and
left him twitching there, rooted to the spot.

Fixx uncurled a hundred yuan note and slipped it into the doorman’s
jacket pocket as they walked past. “Thanks, bro.”

There were bars that dealt drinks and food, oxygen and pills. Boys and
girls in costume drifted through the clientele distributing orders in
stone cups or rough-hewn glasses that looked like cubes of ice. Music
and drugfog hazed the air, weaving around the flaps of ceiling fans
worked by nubile girls. Ko walked in deliberate slow motion, keeping to
Fixx’s right, working hard not to be dazzled by what he saw around him.
The club was modelled on the interior of a warlord’s grand hall from
ancient China’s feudal past, but in a weird neo-tech style that blended
lunar steel with resin statues and old tapestries. The “historic fusion”
look was very
now
among the PacRim in-crowd.

Some part of him, the core of his working-class streetkid soul, felt so
utterly and completely out of his depth that the tingle of a flight
reflex shuddered through his legs. One look at the opulence inside The
Han and Ko had never felt so
common
in his whole life.

“Can almost smell the riches,” Fixx said out of the corner of his mouth.

Ko nodded, watching men at the bar with yakuza electro-tattoos emerging
from their collars. No money appeared to be changing hands; the staff at
The Han obviously knew whom they were charging.

A girl, maybe a year younger than Ko, drifted up to them. She wore
stylised magistrate’s robes cut to reveal legs and cleavage. “Mr Wu? Mr
Lam will receive you upstairs in the gallery.” She pointed to a hooded
balcony on one of the upper levels.

“Lam, huh?” Ko glanced at Fixx. “He’s not expecting two of us. ”

The operative nodded, a curious, distant expression on his face. “You
settle what you gotta.”

“You just going to stand here and sniff the air?”

Fixx walked away like he knew exacdy where he was going. “Don’t worry
’bout me. I’ll be around.”

In the depths of the shadowed booth, Juno sipped her drink and gave
Frankie an artificial, purse-lipped smile. He met her eyes and
hesitated.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, leaning in. “If you don’t like it here, we can
go someplace else after—”

“It’s not that,” she said. “I’m just… just tired.”

Frankie’s expression didn’t change, and Juno felt cold inside, as if
something was pushing at the cage of her ribs but couldn’t get to her
throat. Why can’t I tell him? The question burned in her, the embers of
her dreams and the echoes of the conversation in the church still
drifting around her mind like windborne ash. Her mouth opened and
closed, but each time she tried to frame the thoughts, speech fled her.
Juno could not make herself tell him, as hard as she tried.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked you to come if you weren’t up to it.
”

She forced another smile. “No. No, this is a great club. The Han is one
of the few places I can go where I’m not hounded by drones and people
who want autographs.” Juno squeezed his hand. “Can we just not talk
about it? Just be together for a while?” The moment the words left her
mouth and she turned her mind’s eye from the darker thoughts, she felt
calmer, tension ebbing.

“Sure,” he said, a frown threatening to form at the edges of his
expression.

It was Juno’s turn to be concerned. “What about you? What’s bothering
you,
Frankie?”

He seemed on the verge of telling her, but then a screen set into the
top of their table lifted itself up and chimed. “Your guest has arrived,
Mr Lam,” it announced.

“I, uh, have to—”

She waved him away. “That’s fine, go ahead.”

He reached out and gave her hand a squeeze, as if he needed to make sure
she was still real. Frankie stepped out of the booth, straightening his
tie.

A boy cruised past, bearing a tray with dozens of small jewelled
containers. Juno caught his eye and he paused. She threw a glance to
make sure Frankie wasn’t looking back at her and beckoned the waiter
closer. “I need some blue,” she told him, the sudden need licking at her
gut. The words felt new and strange, as if she had never said them
before.

The boy gave her a beautiful cloisonne box in green and gold; inside
were dozens of dot-sized tabs, glistening like sapphires.

On the upper galleries there were rows of doors leading off to VIP
suites and chillout rooms. Frankie kept his attention away from them as
he passed, memories of the activities in the tower returning to him in
blinks of smell and sight.

There was a figure arched over the balcony, tapping the brass rail with
nervous energy. Turning to face him, the executive saw the youth’s
drawn, serious face and almost smiled. Hell. He’s a damn kid.

“Mr Lam?” he drawled, the affected sneer on his lips just failing to
give the effect of cocksure arrogance he was aiming for.

Frankie shook his head. “Steal any good cars lately?”

The thief’s face soured. “Fuck you, wageslave.”

He nodded. “Right. Guess that proves who you are.”

“You got the, uh, payment?”

He pulled two smartcards from his pocket. “Here. All-access flight
vouchers for Raumhansa Transcontinental. These’ll take you anywhere but
orbit.”

Suspicion bloomed on the younger man’s face. “Where’s the money? No
cash, no deal—”

“Relax,” said Frankie, as much to himself as to the youth. He produced a
ticket. “The money is in a case in the cloakroom. This is the check for
it.”

The kid began to back away. “That’s not what we agreed.”

Frankie stood his ground. “Hey, I got no reason to trust you either. How
do I know that what you’ve got for me isn’t bogus?” He wiped his hand
across his brow. The tension in the gallery was draining him. He sat
heavily in a chair. “Ah shit, look. Just give me the name and you can
take the stuff and go. I’m not interested in anything else.” He put the
ticket and the cards down on a table. “I don’t have time to play these
games, kid.”

“My name is Ko,” said the thief, with irritation. He stood his ground,
tense and ready to fight. Fists balled, shoulders set, ready to go to
the mat with anyone.

Frankie studied him, and saw the mirror of himself there, a decade ago,
standing in the corridor of a detention centre…

Brother, listen to me! If you don’t do this, you’ll go to prison, and
you know what will happen in there: indentured work service on the
mainland, maybe even sending you to the rad-zone reconstruction
projects! You won’t survive in there! Look, my supervisor at the academy
knows the judge and he’s willing to put in a good word for you. I
vouched for you, Frankie. I told him you didn’t want to be in a
gangcult, you just fell in with the wrong crowd! Come on! If not for me,
then for Mum and Dad! I have faith in you, I know you can be more than
this.

I don’t wanna be a damn corp, Alan! I’m not like you, the good boy with
the great grades.

It’s not about that, Frankie! It’s about surviving! You gotta trust me,
brother! Please!

“Why the hell should I trust you?” said Ko, and abruptly the executive
realised he’d been thinking aloud.

Frankie eyes him. “Because, I’m guessing here, that both of us have
something to lose. Am I right?”

“Yeah,” came the reluctant, distant reply. “I got someone… something
to lose.” Ko took the cards and the ticket. “The dead guy, his name was
Lam?”

“Family,” said Frankie, staring at the floor. He could hear the blood
singing in his ears.

Ko nodded gravely. “It was a couple of Wo Shing Wo hitters. It wasn’t
mistaken identity, an accident or any of that shit. They were paid to do
it. ”

“The name?” Frankie felt sick with anticipation and dread.

Ko told him.

The cool, crystalline hit was coming on strong when the apparition rose
into her vision. Juno stiffened with fright as he took solidity there,
at the mouth of the alcove. He blocked the light from the rest of the
club like an eclipse dulling the sun.

“Miss,” came a voice, rich and smooth. “Might I presume to take a moment
of your time?”

Juno nodded woodenly, and the man shifted into the booth with her,
taking the place where Frankie had been sitting. She felt very small in
his presence—or was that just the Z3N? The capsules were supposed to
make her feel better, make the shades and dreams go away. Lately they
seemed to do the opposite.

He said something and she caught only a little of it; was he asking if
something was broken, asking to share the hit? Looking for a, a
fix?

“But you can call me Joshua.” He took off his shades and studied her in
a caring way, a brotherly way. “You remember me, Juno? Newer Orleans?
Under the ’dome?”

She had that memory somewhere, but it shrank from her whenever she tried
to hold on to it. Confusion creased her face. “I… am not sure we’ve
met.”

“I know the feelin’,” he admitted. “That’s why I wanted to talk to you.
I won’t hurt you, you understand that?”

She nodded; the mere idea that he would harm her seemed laughable. It
seemed to her that she’d always known that about him. “Of course not.
That’s not why you’re here.” And if Juno thought very hard, she could
just about understand why he had come. What it was he wanted. What it
was he was offering her.

“The dreams, they happen in the day,” he said, careful and
matter-of-fact. “Angels in the glass and the snakes, sometimes.” He gave
a shudder. “Stronger now.”

Juno’s hand reached out and took his. It seemed like the right thing to
do. “The days… When I’m in the now it’s all so clear and vivid, but
the days before are cloudy and dull. The further back I try to see, the
darker—” Her breath caught. “I don’t want to look back.”

Fixx pressed a card into her hand. She ran her fingers over it. “The
High Priestess. Is that me?”

“Could be. You have the look of her.” He reached over and took the green
and gold box. “Will you do somethin’ for me, Juno? Make me a promise?”

“If I can…”

He rattled the box, the pills whispering inside it. “No more. Don’t take
the blue anymore. That’s where the dark is coming from. It’s not
helping.”

Juno heard herself speaking, as if someone else were animating her. “I
believe you.”

He smiled warmly. “That’s a good start. Now, you gave me trust so I’m
goin’ to give you a thing in return, okay?” He gently cupped his
mahogany fingers under her chin and met her gaze. Juno felt the material
real of the club become gossamer and faint. The depths of his amber eyes
held her transfixed. “I’m gonna give the past back to you, girl. It’ll
be slow and it won’t come easy-like, but in the end… You’ll know who
you really are.”

“I want that,” she breathed. More than anything, she wanted that.

“Then, child, listen to me. Listen to me. Listen. Listen. Just listen.”

Phoebe Hi, there under the glow of the lamps in Tze’s library. Her
plastic smile, the too-perfect face on the dumpy little body. I worked
closely with your brother. I hope to do the same with you.

“Bitch…” hissed Frankie, half in anger, half in shock. “Why? Why the
hell would she do that?”

Ko chewed his lip. “Happens all the time in HK, man. You’re a corp, you
know how it is.” He made a fist. “Like in history, when guys in the
palace did shit to each other so they’d look preem in front of the
Emperor, make the other sucker take the rap.”

Frankie got up in a rush and he wobbled, the revelation making him
dizzy.

Ko grabbed his shoulder to steady him. “You all right?”

He shook off the hand. “Don’t…” He tasted bile in his throat. “I… I
gotta think…” Frankie could barely hold the thought of it in his head.
His suspicions had been raging for days, and while he knew that YLHI
were no strangers to dirty tricks, it still hit him like a sucker punch.
It was one thing to sanction something on a rival or apply pressure to a
client—but to hire criminals to kill a high level executive in the same
corporate clan? On some level of denial, Frankie had been hoping that
the obfuscation of the truth was some attempt to protect him from a
darker threat, something that had cost Alan Lam his life; but now his
certainties rocked around him. Hi had ordered Alan’s murder! Had she
done it alone? Who else might be involved? Alice? The Masks? Even…

“Tze?”

A round of clapping came from the lower floor, drawing their attention.
The clientele were toasting a new arrival, a gaunt figure flanked by a
broad man in a dark green suit and a woman in a white strapless dress.
The man and the woman wore shimmering Peking Opera masks.