The Scratch on the Ming Vase (6 page)

Chapter Twelve

“Oh, I'm sorry, Miss Nicki. I thought for sure it was a real Ming.” Fenwick carried the vase to the mantle and placed it next to an antique clock. “It may be only a replica, but it's lovely nevertheless.” Because Nicki was standing on her head, he bent over sideways to talk to her. “What would you like for dinner tonight?”

“Anything—anything at all. But I'll have to eat early. I'm meeting Margo Bloom at the deli before we go to the dance.”

“How long do you have to stay like that?” asked the butler.

“Just a few more minutes,” she replied. “A correct Wing Chun stance is like a piece of bamboo, firm but flexible, rooted but yielding. It's all about balance, Fenwick. A well-balanced body recovers faster from any type of attack.”

“I see.”

“You must be like a young tree that bends in the wind, then snaps back with force.”

“Indeed.” He nodded his head.

“Spaghetti.”

“Pardon?”

“Spaghetti,” said Nicki. “For dinner.”

“Yin!” Margo called from the back of the deli. “Here I am!” She had a platter of smoked meat sandwiches in one hand and a plate of sour pickles in the other.

Ira and Ruthie were in the kitchen shoving dishes under a heat lamp and arguing about who it was that mixed up an order.

“Extra speck, Ira. Mrs. Eisenberg wanted extra speck.”

“Mrs. Eisenberg doesn't need extra speck!”

“Be quiet, Ira,” said Ruthie. “She'll hear you.” Margo's mother pulled a tray of pickled fat out of the fridge.

“Business is better tonight,” Nicki commented.

“Busy for a Friday,” said Margo, rushing past with a coffee pot.

“You think this is busy,” yelled Ira. “You should have seen this place twenty years ago. Now that was busy!”

Nicki followed Margo out of the kitchen.

“Sit down anyplace,” Margo said. “I'll be ready in a minute or two.” She served a table of six, carried several loads of dishes to the back, wiped and reset a booth, and put on another pot of coffee.

“Okay, Yin,” she said. “Let's go upstairs.”

The two girls headed up to Margo's room. It was clean and bright and had a mural of a garden painted on the wall.

“Pretty good, eh?”

“Did you do that?”

“Sure did. I love flowers.” She smiled. “I'm so glad you decided to come tonight.” She looked at Nicki. “But you can't wear that.”

“I'm just coming to watch. I won't be dancing.”

“Sure you will. And here's what you'll be wearing.”

She pulled a red dress out of her closet. It still had the price tag dangling from it.

“That's your new dress, Margo!”

“It'll look better on you.”

“No, I don't want—”

“I won't take no for an answer. Put it on.”

“It won't fit. I'm too short.” Nicki slipped into the dress. “See?”

“Come on,” said Margo, grabbing Nicki by the arm.

“Where?”

“Just come,” she insisted, and she dragged Nicki back down into the deli.

“Mom!” hollered Margo, “can you hem this up for us?” Margo turned to Nicki. “My mother is a whiz with a needle and thread.”

“But this is
your
dress, Margo. I can't take it.”
I don't want it!
said Nicki to herself.

“I've got lots of dresses,” chirped Margo.

“Too many dresses,” echoed Ira.

Mrs. Bloom shoved Nicki onto a stool in the middle of the kitchen, and the two of them had the dress shortened and taken in at the waist in less time than it took Ira to grate a chunk of cabbage.

“Oh, that's great.” Margo went up to her room, threw on a blue dress, and ran back down.

Nicki felt like a fool.

“What size shoe do you wear?” asked Margo.

Nicki drew the line. “No, I don't wear heels. Really, I can't.”

Before Nicki knew it, Ira had cleared out the entire middle section of the deli. He'd pushed four or five tables to one side, connected his CD player to the speakers, and had disco music playing so loud that people walking outside stopped to listen.

And watch.

“Okay, everybody, get ready for something special. For those of you who don't know her already, this is my daughter Margo. Isn't she beautiful? Did I tell you that my beautiful daughter is going to be a nurse?”

“Yes, Ira,” said a woman by the window. “About a hundred times.”

“Did I tell you that my beautiful daughter has been named volunteer of the month at the hospital?”

“Yes, Ira.”

Nicki looked at Margo.

Margo nodded, and Nicki gave her a thumbs up.

“Okay, sweetheart, are you ready?” called Ira.

Nicki looked puzzled, and Margo explained.

“My dad used to be a disco dance champion back in Brooklyn.”

“She was the only girl at our synagogue to have a disco-themed bat mitzvah.” Ruthie laughed as Ira and Margo bounded to the middle of the dining room and waited for the next song to start—“Jive Talkin'” by the Bee Gees.

It's just your jive talkin'

You're tellin' me lies, yeah,

Jive talkin'

You wear a disguise…

Nicki watched in amazement as Margo and her dad did every move in the book, from underarm turns to shadow steps. Every few bars, they separated and did solo steps; Ira threw an arm up straight, pulled back his shoulders, and moved his feet like a dancer right out of a movie.

All that jive,

You'll never know…

“Come on, Ira,” yelled a customer, “let's see the Night Fever Line hustle!”

Nicki turned to Ruthie.

“They're really good,” she said.

“Yeah, they are.”

“Your husband is certainly proud of Margo.”

Ruthie smiled. “Ira loves our daughter. He's loved her from the minute he laid eyes on her. We both have.”

She's a lucky girl
, thought Nicki. And then, out of nowhere, she felt tears forming in the corner of her eyes.

She wiped them away quickly, but Mrs. Bloom noticed.

“I'm sure your parents love you just as much, Yin,” she said.

Which parents?
Nicki asked herself.
The people who have given me everything I could possibly want, or the parents who probably had nothing to give? The Haddons, who look after my every need, but who can't find the time to watch me compete and who never ask about my dreams? Or the man and woman in China who might be dreaming dreams for me? Praying I'm alive. Hoping I'm happy.

A surge of emotion flowed like lava from a volcano into Nicki's chest, into her heart.

The tears started to stream.

Don't be such a baby,
she told herself.
Get a grip!

But there was no way for her to contain it. She ran to the washroom.

Chapter Thirteen

Nicki bit into her knuckles to stop herself from crying. Then she sprayed cold water onto her face and dried it off with a wad of paper towels.

The door opened.

“You okay?”

“Fine, Margo.” She pushed back her bangs. “Listen, I've been rethinking this whole dance thing. It's really not me.”

“Oh, come on—”

“I don't feel up to it.”

“Please,” said Margo. “If you don't like it, we can leave after ten minutes. I promise.”

Nicki looked at herself in the mirror.
What's wrong with you tonight?

She spoke to Margo's reflection. “You're a good dancer. Your dad is too,” she said. “That must have been some bat mitzvah.”

“It was, Yin. I'll never forget it.” Margo adjusted the thin straps of her metallic blue dress. It was cut above the knee and had a tulip hem. Nicki's dress was made from a stretch satin and her black hair was positively striking against the bright red fabric. For a moment she wondered what T'ai would think of it.

“Now come on, let's go,” urged Margo. “You said you had some friends who wanted to meet up with you at the dance.”

“That's true.”

“Then you'll come?”

It would give me a chance to get to know Duncan MacDonald better. See what he's up to.

“Only if you'll let me pay for this dress,” insisted Nicki.

Margo thought about it.

“I'd be much happier if you'd accept it as a gift,” she said. “You've just started working, and I'm sure money is tight. But I've got an idea. Come here and I'll show you something.”

They went back into the deli and on a shelf behind the cash register was a big empty pickle jar with some change in the bottom of it. On the side was a picture of a palm tree cut out of a magazine, stuck down with a piece of masking tape on which the words
Honeymoon Jar
had been printed in black ink.

“After you've been working for a while, and have whatever you need for yourself, I'll let you put a couple of dollars into my parents' honeymoon jar, okay?” She held up her index finger. “No more than that.”

“They haven't had a honeymoon yet?”

“They couldn't afford one when they got married, then they were busy trying to get the business going, then I came along. You know how it goes.” She picked up the pickle jar. “So whenever we get an extra tip or something, we put it in here.” She shook the money around. “They almost had enough once, but the refrigerator and oven broke within a week of each other.”

Ira walked by with a huge container of coleslaw.

“We'd hoped by our tenth anniversary we could go. Then it was our fifteenth. Our twenty-fifth is next month, but it looks like it'll take until our thirtieth.”

“Oh, come on Ira,” said Ruthie. “Get real. If we make it to Hawaii by our
fiftieth
, we'll be doing something.”

“Hawaii?” asked Nicki.

“That's their dream.” Margo took a customer's credit card and rang through his bill. “Thanks a lot,” she said, handing the man a receipt. She turned to Nicki and lowered her voice. “I really hope they can go for their silver anniversary. I've been thinking about putting off nursing school for a year and giving them what I've saved up—”

“You know what you can do with that idea?” Ira shouted from the kitchen. “Forget about it!”

“I hope you don't mind stopping off here for a minute first,” said Nicki.

“This is a social visit,” Margo warned the nurses at the desk. “Don't get any big ideas about putting me to work tonight.”

“I didn't even recognize you without the stripes,” joked an older nurse.

“Nurse Cherry Ames, out on the town,” said another.

“I love Cherry Ames.” Margo swung her purse over her shoulder playfully.

“Who's she?” asked Nicki.

“Oh, you know—Cherry Ames, from the series of books for girls. She's like Nancy Drew, only a nurse. My grandmother gave me her set.”

“Right. They were in your bookcase.”

“I cherish them. Those books changed my life.”

Nicki started for Kahana's room.

Margo clicked behind, her heels hitting the floor like it was a steel drum.

Nicki turned down the west corridor and immediately noticed the hall was completely empty. There was no guard at David Kahana's door.

Where's the guard?

Nicki picked up her pace. She grabbed the door handle and tugged until it opened.

Kahana was gone!

“Margo, he's not here!” gasped Nicki.

“He was fine when I left here today,” said Margo. “Maybe they've just taken him—”

Nicki didn't wait for her to finish the sentence. She wheeled around and ran back to the nurses' station. Margo hurried behind.

From around the corner came Newman.

What's he doing here?
Nicki's mind was racing. “Where's Master Kahana?”

“I was just about to ask that myself,” said Newman.

“They've taken him upstairs for tests,” replied a nurse. “But it's past visiting hours. You'll all have to leave.”

Nicki let out a huge sigh of relief. “Are his guards with him?”

“Yes, of course,” declared the nurse.

Nicki thanked her and then confronted the hotel manager.

“Mr. Newman,” asked Nicki, “are you a friend of Mr. Kahana's?”

“Mr. Kahana was a guest at my hotel.”

Your hotel?
thought Nicki.

Newman directed his gaze squarely at Nicki. “Now I have a question for you. What are
you
doing here?” he asked. Before Nicki could answer, Margo jumped in.

“She's going to be taking lessons from him. When he's better. She's learning self-defense.”

I wish she hadn't said that
, thought Nicki.

“Okay,” said the nurse, “everyone must leave now.”

They all strolled toward the elevator. Newman got on, but Nicki stopped Margo before she could enter.

“Wait, Margo,” she said, “I left my wallet in your locker!”

“Locker?”

The door shut on Newman.

“What are you talking about?” asked Margo.

“I want to speak to the nurse again.”

The girls headed back to the reception area.

“Excuse me,” said Nicki, “but that man who just left—Mr. Newman—does he come by here often? To ask about Mr. Kahana?”

“I'm sorry,” said the nurse. “I can't give out that kind of information.” She returned to her desk.

“She can't, but I will,” whispered Margo as they walked away. “I've seen him here quite a few times. And yes, he's always inquiring about Mr. Kahana's condition.”

“I thought so,” said Nicki.

Chapter Fourteen

“Margo,” said Nicki, raising her voice so she could be heard over the music, “this is T'ai Soong and his friend, Duncan MacDonald.”

“Mac,” replied the engineering student. He smiled at Margo and, wasting no time, asked her to dance.

T'ai showed Nicki to their table. “You look nice,” he said.

“I feel ridiculous,” she replied. “Anyway, Mac seems to be in a better mood tonight.”

“Yeah, I guess. Still not the guy I grew up with though. Believe it or not, he used to be a lot of fun.”

“He's changed.”

“Oh, for sure. Like today—he got rid of his cell phone. And when I asked him why, he said they're too easily tapped into.” T'ai rolled his eyes. “He told me that with the right equipment, it's possible to remotely activate the microphone, even when a call is not being made, to listen to nearby conversations.”

“I guess he'd know.”

“Right, but when I joked with him and asked him what he had to hide, he got furious.” T'ai shrugged. “It's as if he's lost his sense of humor.”

Mac and Margo appeared behind T'ai.

“Who's lost their sense of humor?”

“You.”

“You're a jerk.” Mac took Margo by the arm, then turned to Nicki. “Your friend is a terrific dancer,” he said, leading her back to the floor.

“See what I mean?” said T'ai. Then he looked at Nicki. “I'm sorry. Did you want to dance?”

“Not really. It's not my thing,” she replied. “You don't have to sit here with me, though. I'm happy to watch.”

“I don't feel like dancing either.”

“Thinking about your uncle?”

“He goes through my mind all the time. I put in another call to the Massachusetts state police today, but they can't tell me anything. Or won't.” T'ai stood up. “I think I'll get a soda. What can I get you?”

“Sparkling water would be great, thanks.”

Nicki looked around while T'ai was gone. Circling the club, she scanned everyone on the dance floor and at the tables.

She watched as Mac and Margo moved across the floor. Dancing and talking, they were oblivious to the fact that they were being watched. And not only by Nicki.

Just outside the washrooms, two young men in black leather never took their eyes off Mac. And across from them, in an alcove near the fire exit, stood an older man, watching everything from behind dark sunglasses. He didn't remove them until Mac and Margo left the floor.

Peter Byron!

Nicki returned to the table.

“Where were you?” asked Margo. “And why aren't you dancing?” She waved to some friends of hers across the aisle.

T'ai came back, carrying the drinks. He passed Nicki her water.

“Aren't you going to ask Yin to dance?” Margo gave T'ai a nudge.

“I did.” He sat down. “Anyway, who wants to compete with you two?”

“Where did Mac go?” Nicki asked.

“I don't know,” said Margo. “He was here a minute ago.”

She twisted around and saw him talking with the disc jockey.

“Just a second,” she said, and headed there herself.

“T'ai,” said Nicki, “I saw Byron.”

“Really?”

“I'm sure it was him.”

“Why would he be hanging out here, I wonder.”

“I don't know, but”—she looked up and over T'ai's head—“here he comes.”

“May I join you?”

“Sure.” T'ai pushed out a chair with his foot.

“Mac here?” asked Byron.

“Yes,” said Nicki.
But you already knew that
.

“He's requesting a song,” said T'ai, pointing to Mac and Margo. “Here he comes now.”

“You guys are no fun,” said Margo. “Who can resist this one?” she asked, while “I Will Survive” blasted across the club.

“Your selection, Mac?” asked T'ai caustically. Mac ignored him and swung past the table with Margo in tow.

Nicki followed Byron's gaze to the washroom, and to the two guys in black leather. One of them, who appeared to be Chinese, pulled a cell phone out of his pocket and handed it to the other, a blond, who left the room to make a call.

“Friends of yours?” asked Nicki.

Byron didn't reply.

The blond returned, signaled the other guy, and the two bounced onto the dance floor and headed straight for Mac.

Byron jumped up.

“What's going on?” asked T'ai.

The two guys grabbed Mac and dragged him to the fire exit door. Margo stood in horror as one of them pulled out a knife and forced Mac outside.

Nicki ran after them.

They threw Mac against the wall.

“Come on, Quon,” said Mac. “Give me another couple of days.”

“Your time's up, pal,” said Quon. “Pay me now, or you're history. Understand?” He punched Mac in the face. “Your turn, Phil,” he said with a smirk.

Phil held the knife under Mac's neck, then kneed him hard in the stomach. Mac fell to the ground. Quon picked him up and punched him again. “You're all out of options, MacDonald. Give me the money or we'll use the blade.”

“Don't even think about it.” Nicki deftly kicked the knife out of Phil's hand, then shoved it with her foot so it slid underneath a parked van. “Let him go.”

Quon laughed. “Why should I?”

Before Nicki could reply, the fire exit door flew open and two bouncers muscled out. T'ai and Margo were with them. They tried to get Mac to his feet, but he was coughing blood.

Quon had the last word.

“We'll be seeing you, MacDonald. You can count on it.”

Nicki trailed them for several blocks, across intersections, down a side street, and through a park. They turned down a narrow alley that ran behind a row of older buildings, then into the back entrance of a run-down, two-story apartment house.

Nicki made her way down the alley. She wanted to follow them inside, but looked down at her dress.

Oh, I can't do anything in this
, she thought.

By the time she'd made it back to the club, T'ai and Margo had ice on Mac's eye. The three of them were sitting on the ground with their backs against the brick building.

“Yin!” cried Margo.

“I know where they live,” said Nicki.

“Who cares?” She threw her arms around Nicki.

“Thanks for what you did,” mumbled Mac.

“He won't let me take him to the hospital,” said Margo. “I'm worried about internal bleeding.”

“Look, I can't go,” said Mac. “They'll call the police, and if they do, I'm a dead man.”

“What do these guys have on you?” asked T'ai.

Mac wouldn't answer.

“Come on, Mac. I'm your best friend,” T'ai pleaded. “Why are they after you?”

Mac stared at the ground.

“Okay, that's it,” declared T'ai. “I've had it with you. And this time, I mean it.” He got up and left.

“You know,” said Mac, watching his best friend walk away, “I wish they
had
killed me.” He coughed several times. “Life isn't worth living anymore.”