Stealing the Dragon (3 page)

Chapter Five

Hong Kong, present day

“The snakes are poisonous, you know.”

The man behind the desk seemed calm as he spoke the words in Cantonese with practiced ease, his voice deep and resonant. His black hair shone dully in the subdued lighting of the office, slicked back from a high forehead that was smooth and unlined. The corners of his mouth curled into a smile as he talked. It was only his eyes that betrayed anger. They were utterly black, each pupil indistinct from the iris, two bottomless wells that threatened to swallow anyone who met his gaze. That was one of the reasons Chan did not look him in the eye.

The other reason was that Chan was hanging upside down, a heavy, braided cord wrapped around his right ankle. Directly beneath him a trap door had opened in the hardwood floor, revealing a hole roughly four feet square. In the dim light it was difficult for Chan to see the bottom of the shaft, but every few seconds
something
stirred in the darkness, the reflected light betraying sudden animal movement.

And if Chan ever doubted what lay beneath him, the sound made it all too clear. When the hatch opened, a reptilian susurrus flooded the room. To Chan it sounded like the rasp of silk sheets being dragged over a corpse, and in his mind’s eye he saw his own face revealed.

A heavyset man of around forty, he swung awkwardly above the opening. His hands opened and closed reflexively as he tried to stop turning in circles.

“You’re positive it’s missing?” The man’s voice was calm but insistent. The same question had been asked several times already this evening.

“The case was empty,
lung tau
,” Chan cried, his voice unnaturally high.

The man behind the desk did not acknowledge the title,
lung tau
.

Dragon Head.

He’d carried the appellation for so long, at times he forgot his real name.

“I see, the cabinet was empty,” he said pleasantly. “And who was guarding the room?”

Chan jerked frantically, trying to face his captor. “I was on guard,
shan chu
,” he said, trying to sound respectful. “But I swear—” He gasped abruptly as the rope lurched downward three feet.

Chan’s inquisitor took his finger off a button set into the wide teak desk. As he did, a figure standing in the shadows behind him leaned forward and spoke quickly in his ear. The second man faded into the shadows almost as quickly as he appeared, but not before Chan caught a glimpse of the ragged scar running the length of the man’s face. Even from his inverted position, Chan recognized his accuser and knew, at that moment, there would be no escape.

“I will find it!” cried Chan. “I will bring it back—
it is my responsibility
.”

The man behind the desk pursed his lips as he placed his index finger on the button. When he spoke again, his voice was almost friendly.

“Not any more.”

As he pushed the button, the rope slipped through the pulley and released. He watched impassively as Chan disappeared from view, and the slithering became a dull roar, the movement of the snakes like a crashing wave.

The trap door snapped shut, cutting short Chan’s scream and chasing the liquid sound of vipers from the room.

The Dragon Head leaned forward, his hands steepled in front of him. Without turning, he spoke to the man in the shadows, his voice sounding loud in the sudden quiet of the room.

“A bit melodramatic.”

“But there is something to be said for tradition.” The man with the scar stepped from the shadows. His black hair was cropped close to his skull, the scar starting just below the hairline on the right side and zigzagging past his eye until it ended at the corner of his mouth. As he smiled, it twitched like a lurid bolt of lightning trapped in his skin, the scar tissue catching the light at odd angles. “He talked quickly, wouldn’t you agree?”

The man behind the desk nodded. “Too bad he had nothing to say.” He sighed deeply. “You will find it and bring it back.”

The lightning bolt danced in the shadows. “Of course,
lung tau
.”

“And you will find the one who took it from us.”

“And bring them back, also?”

“Only the heart,” came the reply. “I only want the heart.”

Chapter Six

San Francisco, present day

“Are you trying to take advantage of me?”

Cape Weathers sat behind his desk and tried to think of a suitable answer. The man asking the question was supposed to be his client, after all, so he should take the question seriously. On the other hand, the man in question was a pretentious prick, a subspecies found crawling around the upper echelons of San Francisco society. They were known to consort with unctuous assholes and pseudo-intellectuals, two other life forms common to the Bay Area.

“Actually, I was trying to decide whether or not to shoot you,” replied Cape pleasantly. He leaned forward in his chair and began rummaging through his desk drawer.

“I beg your pardon?” Richard Choffer was clearly used to being in control. He pursed his lips menacingly as he tried to force Cape to make eye contact with him. The scion of a famous publishing magnate from New York, Richard had moved to San Francisco fifteen years ago to start his own publishing empire with Dad’s money. Now he had a successful line of titles that the critics liked to call picture books for adults—a series of heavily art-directed books on photography, music, and pop culture.
Batman, Pez Dispensers, Diners Across America
. Every photo was given its own page and two lines of copy, then bound into a handsome volume suitable for gift-giving when you ran out of ideas for gifts.

Cape had no problem with the way Richard made his living. It was arguably more respectable than the way Cape made his. And the books were undeniably successful—he’d even bought one or two himself over the years. He could even look past Richard’s insistence on being called Richard Choffer,
Esquire
, or the fact that his business card said “Literary Director,” even though most of his books had barely fifty words from cover to cover. It must have been hard growing up in Dad’s shadow, which obviously stretched all the way from New York to San Francisco.

But Cape couldn’t abide being lied to, especially by a client.

“Ah, here it is,” announced Cape cheerfully. In his right hand was a matte black revolver, a Ruger .357 Magnum that held six cartridges. It had a size and heft that made it intimidating, especially if you weren’t used to guns.

“Wh-what are you doing?” demanded Richard, his thin lips drained of color. Cape casually dropped the gun onto the desk, causing Richard to jump in his seat.

Cape looked up from the desk as if he’d forgotten Richard was sitting across from him. “What?”

“Explain yourself, sir,” said Richard. The words came out in a rush, but he was secretly pleased he’d been able to keep his voice under control.

Cape leaned forward and looked at Richard for a long minute before answering. Without realizing it, Richard leaned back in his chair and drew his knees together.

“I agreed to take you on as a favor to Bob Grecken,” said Cape. Mentioning the name of a well-known San Francisco lawyer would matter to someone like Richard. “And you hired me to determine if your chief financial officer was embezzling from your company.”

“I know why I hired—” began Richard, but Cape raised a hand to cut him off.

“But what you really wanted to know was whether or not your wife, who also works at your company, was having an affair with your chief financial officer.”

“I said it was a possibility,” said Richard. “I didn’t mean—”

Cape’s hand rose up again.

“Bullshit.”

Richard blinked but didn’t say anything.

“You didn’t want to come out and say it, or maybe Bob told you that I don’t take divorce cases anymore,” said Cape. “But you probably figured in the course of another investigation I might notice a few indiscretions along the way, and then you’d have what you wanted in the first place.”

Richard’s eyes narrowed. “What are you implying?”

“I’m not implying anything,” said Cape, his voice taking on gravel. “I’m telling you that you’re a moron.”

Richard’s eyes doubled in size.

“Here’s how it breaks down,” said Cape. “You’re boffing your secretary, a seemingly nice but hopelessly naïve twenty-three year old with literary aspirations. And your wife—who is not nearly as naïve as your secretary—is on to you.”

Richard’s mouth dropped open.

“And you signed a prenuptial agreement that would make Bill Gates fear for bankruptcy,” continued Cape, “since there was an infidelity clause in the document. I guess your wife knew enough about your past indiscretions to protect herself or at least guarantee that she could tear your balls off if you ever fucked her over.”

Richard’s mouth started working but nothing came out. With his eyes bugging out, Cape thought Richard looked like one of those bobble-head dolls.

“But the best part,” said Cape, his tone softening as he smiled, “is that
you’re
embezzling from your own company.”

Richard’s right eye started to twitch.

“Apparently those cocktail parties the local news is always mentioning cost more than you thought they would,” said Cape. “Or maybe you’ve got a gambling problem—you’ve been to Reno three times in the last two months and Vegas five times. It’s probably the gambling.”

“H-how…?” stammered Richard.

Cape ignored the question. “Then you cooked the books to frame your CFO, who, as far as I can tell, is a perfectly nice guy. He is a bit friendly with your wife, but not nearly as friendly as you are with your secretary.”

“We…we’re a privately held company,” Richard protested. “I showed you only portions of our financial reports. What you’re talking about is…is…” he trailed off lamely, realizing too late that protest was the quickest path to confession.

Cape shrugged. “I had someone hack into your network,” he said matter-of-factly. “And the rest was straightforward detective stuff.”

Cape briefly wondered how that would look on his business card:

But then decided against it. Too many words.

“Bob…the lawyer…he said I could trust you,” said Richard. His voice had dropped to barely more than a whisper.

“I talked to him myself,” said Cape. “He said I was honest—there’s a difference.”

Richard didn’t know what to say to that. Either that or he didn’t understand the distinction.

Cape shrugged. “Just goes to show, you can’t trust lawyers.”

As he waited for his future ex-client to say something, Cape absently took note of footsteps in the hallway outside his office. A heavy tread—either someone big or a Clydesdale, he couldn’t be sure. Finally, Richard broke the silence.

“What are you going to do?”

“I told you already,” replied Cape. “I’m going to shoot you. Given the litigation you’ll be up against, I’m practically doing you a favor.”

Richard smiled tentatively, one last attempt at charm. The lower classes were like animals—you had to demonstrate command of the situation at all times. Smile at the lunatic behind the desk and maybe this nightmare would end.

Cape picked up the gun. “You’re an arrogant asshole who thinks he’s smarter than everyone else, Richard,” he said evenly. “And you lied to me.” He pointed the gun squarely at Richard’s chest and thumbed back the hammer.

Richard stopped smiling. He started to raise his hands in protest just as Cape pulled the trigger.

Click
.

“Shit,” Cape muttered. “Forgot to load it—gimme just a second.”

Setting the gun down, Cape started rummaging through the desk drawer. A moment later he produced a box of cartridges and set them next to the gun. “Be just a minute.” He didn’t look up as he cracked open the cylinder and started inserting one bullet at a time.

The screech of wood against wood was followed by the crash of a chair as Richard bolted toward the door. He let out a yelp as he collided with Beauregard Jones, whose massive frame almost blocked the exit entirely. Richard bounced off Beau like a pinball and ran, his footsteps echoing down the hallway.

Beau leaned into the office and smiled. “Another satisfied customer?”

Cape shrugged. “Wait till I send him a bill.”

“Got a minute?” asked Beau, taking a giant step into the office.

Cape stood and shook hands, then gestured toward the toppled client chair.

“As of that meeting you just witnessed, I’m currently unemployed.”

“Glad to hear it.”

“Thanks,” replied Cape, trying to put some hurt into his voice. “And here I thought we were friends.”

“That we are,” said Beau. “It’s why I’m here.”

“What’s the subject?” asked Cape. “With you it’s usually women or murder.”

Beau smiled briefly before answering.

“How about both?”