Instead, I scrambled to my feet, ignoring his offer of help. Too little, way too late. The world tilted, and I gritted my teeth against my weakness. That wouldn’t do—not now, not when Romeo needed me. “We need to find Romeo and get him back. Now!” Somehow, I found solid footing.
“I’ve got my agents on it. Let them do their work. They’ll figure out who took him and where they’re keeping him.”
I raked a hand through my hair, but knots and tangles stopped me halfway. “Frank Cho I get, but Romeo? Why did they take him?”
Stokes scrunched his face like that was a question I expected him to answer. “Because he’s important to you?”
“Thank you, Dr. Watson.”
“Look…” Stokes started.
“No, you look.” I met him eye-to-eye. “You didn’t protect us. That was your only job, and you didn’t do it. You made the arrival plans. I followed them, and now I’ve lost a dear friend.” My voice hitched as I waved my arm in a semicircle. “He’s somewhere out there with God knows who.” I didn’t want to think that Irv Gittings might have him. If he did, he was the type to punish Romeo for my perceived transgressions. Irv was never one to pick on someone his own size…no, he was way beneath that. My anger ran white hot. “This isn’t my turf; it’s yours, as you don’t miss a chance to remind me. Now, go do your fucking job and bring Romeo back in one piece.” A poke in the chest emphasized each point.
A tic worked in Stokes’s cheek, but he took it like a man.
I had no idea what to do, where to go, how to find Romeo. Powerless, clueless, I had nothing to do with my anger. “We need to report it to the police.”
“They’ve been alerted. There’s some question as to whose territorial waters you were in. As you can imagine, piracy is a bit of an issue in the South China Sea.”
“Pirates? That’s your story?”
“I understand you’re upset…”
“You don’t understand anything. I’m assuming you haven’t found Teddie either?”
He brushed aside my question. “We got it covered, Lucky.” He lowered his voice. “There’s more going on here, a lot of players, a lot of money. The politics are very delicate.”
“Well, while you smooth ruffled feathers, my friend’s life hangs in the balance.” I figured if he had Teddie, he’d tell me. No reason not to and every reason to want to throw me a bone, if he had one.
So, no Teddie. Which meant they hadn’t found him, but it also meant he hadn’t washed up on the shore somewhere, so not all bad news.
Stokes glanced around, looking for eavesdroppers. He needn’t have worried; his staff had seen to that, clearing a large perimeter around us. “Trust me. We have this.”
Hands on my hips, I stared at him and couldn’t shake the feeling that he so did not have this. “Take me to the hotel.”
Apparently, that much he could do. The Premier of China wouldn’t have had a better motorcade through town than I did. As I said, the FBI is great on cleanup.
The damage had been done—and they had Romeo.
And still, I had no one to shoot.
The traffic was heavy, the going slow, even as the scooters darted in and out of the cars hung up in the gridlock. I flinched at each turn, at each corner—I would need some time to get used to driving on the wrong side of the road in the long-standing British tradition.
I’d been to Macau many times, but always on business, with my schedule and movements carefully orchestrated. Now, with time, I paid attention to the city parading by. Although long after dark, the sidewalks were still crowded, Christmas decorations very much evident. For some reason, I never equated the Far East with Christmas, but Macau, especially the Macanese, had embraced the Catholicism of their former occupier, Portugal. While Hong Kong had thrown off most of the vestiges of British rule, Macau still embraced much of what the Portuguese had left behind. The ruins of St. Paul’s Cathedral stood high on the hill in the middle of town. At night, with its dramatic lighting, the cathedral reminded me of the ancient ruins on the hills that dotted Athens. Around every corner, colonial buildings still in use added a historical anchor, which contrasted sharply with the overbearing casino properties with their tacky neon come-ons.
For me the whole thing had a bit of déjà vu. The Wynn properties here looked exactly like the two at home and were named to match. These were his earlier properties and right around the corner from our own.
Wynn had a new property opening here soon, the Palace. It would be his third in Macau. I thought he was nuts. But it was out on the Cotai Strip, ditto the Venetian, which looked like the one back home, only larger. The Cotai Strip was the new flashy part of the gaming business here. I didn’t much care for it. After the hustle and bustle of the Vegas Strip, the Cotai, with no shops and a super-wide street so folks didn’t wander between the hotels, seemed like a ghost town—a far cry from the insanity of the tight and crowded Vegas Strip.
Central Macau was one bridge and light-years away from the new stuff.
In many ways, the city center seemed like home except with tight, narrow streets that wandered, colonial buildings that reminded me of Florida, and signs I couldn’t read. People crowded the narrow sidewalks. Apartments draped over the streets, tiny cubicles that looked unappealing and sad from the outside. Rectangular air-conditioning units clung to the exterior walls, one for each unit, like alien growths. And there were no sirens. That commonality to each large city whether they be fire, police or ambulance was missing here leaving me with the odd feeling that help was way more than a simple call away.
Alone in the car with Stokes at the wheel, I asked him, “Do you know a guy named Sinjin?”
“Sinjin?” The lights of the city played over his face so I couldn’t be sure, but I thought he had a flash of surprise before he hid it behind his normal pretense of competence. Then he said, “I do, actually,” which surprised the hell out of me. “He’s a regular lowlife around here. Fancies himself a modern-day Robin Hood, in a way.”
“How so?”
“He’s a Chinese champion of truth, justice, and the American way, always lathering up the locals with his talk of fighting corruption and graft.”
“Does he carry a baseball bat?” This story reminded me of the vigilantes who patrolled Vegas back in the day, taking out the guys who didn’t play by the rules. The big question was, whose rules did Sinjin play by? “Any idea how to find him?”
Stokes snorted. “The guy’s a ghost.” He shot me a sideways glance. “It’s my understanding you don’t find him; he finds you. And you’d better be prepared when he does.”
“Terrific, I’m playing a game, and not only do I not know who the players are, I don’t even know the rules.” I turned back to watching the city saunter by outside my window.
“Welcome to my world.”
If Stokes hoped for sympathy, he wasn’t going to get it. Not until he helped me find Romeo.
Finally, we pulled up underneath the grand entrance to our property, the Tigris. We couldn’t call it the Babylon, as someone else had already claimed the name. Some thought the name choice unusual—we already had a world-renowned restaurant in the Babylon known by the same name. But there were no worries that we would open an outpost of our restaurant here in Macau. The Chinese didn’t pay for fancy American feasts—they thought the food too heavy. A high-end steakhouse from the states had boldly gone where few would dare and had opened in a property not far from ours. Last time I’d been, I could’ve shot a rifle through there and not been in danger of hitting anyone. I had no idea if it was still open. Fancy food couldn’t compete with gambling for the Chinese attention and money. Watching the locals run upstairs with their little pots of dehydrated noodles to heat and rehydrate them then rush back to the tables, actually warmed this casino boss’s heart. Time away from the tables was money that didn’t hit my bottom line.
Still, the whole food thing was odd, especially to someone who could wax poetic over anything sublimely prepared…as long as I could identify
it. That was sort of up for grabs in China as well. The eating guessing game…not one of my favorites. But then again, I hated games. Here, I usually opted for a grab-n-go hamburger and prayed I wasn’t eating Fido or Fifi.
A young lady stepped up to greet me, a pressed uniform, a lovely smile. “Are you here for the Timepiece Exhibition?” She extended a pamphlet toward me.
I took it. “Yes, thank you.”
She gave me directions to the room where the watches were to be displayed. “It’s an amazing collection. I’m told the value is well over one hundred million U.S.”
I knew that—I’d negotiated the insurance piece by piece. “Thank you.”
She stepped away to greet another patron, and I stuffed the pamphlet in my Birkin. I waved the porter off and then shooed the FBI away. Standing on the curb, I watched the motorcade of black vehicles, all American, all huge, snake its way into the night.
The last car passed, revealing Agent Stokes standing on the other side. Apparently, the Feds decided I needed a keeper.
I didn’t bother showing my irritation—it wouldn’t do any good. “Subtle.” I nodded after the disappearing motorcade.
He joined me on my curb. “Standard Federal issue. I take what I’m given.”
That’s why I didn’t like him! Finally, an answer to why the man burrowed under my skin like a chigger. “People who never rock the boat never make waves, Stokes.”
He looked like he understood…or was being patronizing. Hard to tell with him—another irritation. He picked up my suitcase and pushed open the large glass door.
Even though I knew what awaited us inside, it always startled me.
The lobby looked the same as the Babylon, but it wasn’t the same. The vibe was totally different—everyone patient and deferential. Even though I’d had the course, I still was unsure as to the proper etiquette, which kept me a bit off balance. The last thing I wanted to do was insult someone important when I didn’t intend to.
The chatter was indecipherable. The music, though, that was very much a bit of home. Although right now, I could swear La Vie en Rose was playing.
Different, yet eerily similar—like a funhouse.
While the outside of the Tigris didn’t look like the Babylon, and the inside didn’t feel, smell, or sound like home, many of the design components were similar from the Chihuly glass ceiling to the mosaic tiles. The indoor ski slope hadn’t made the transition, though. And pawnshops replaced the high-end boutiques of The Bazaar back home. Also, no quickie wedding chapel, which personally suited me just fine.
The pawnshops always intrigued me. A cog in the wheel of money laundering sitting there, operating in plain sight—some in the casinos, most of them just outside lining the side streets. The Chinese limited the amount of money a citizen of the People’s Republic could take out of the country—and Macau was considered “out of the country,” a difficult thing for Westerners to keep straight. So, Chinese nationals, and anyone else who wanted to circumvent their own country’s cash-n-carry laws, would stop in at the pawnshop of their choice and buy a very expensive watch on credit. Then, they’d turn around and sell the watch back to the pawn dealer for less than they’d just bought it for. That way the pawn dealer was happy with a percentage and the player had his stake.
And the government looked the other way, knowing they would get their cut of the money put in play. They were making waves about curtailing purchases of luxury goods, but so far the Chinese Government had done only that, make waves. The credit cards issued to the Chinese Nationals were state-issued, so Big Brother not only had one eye in your bedroom, deciding how many children you could have; they also had a hand in your pocket, deciding what sort of purchases the collective wisdom supported.
The whole credit card thing actually was sort of funny. Americans always think they are going to export democracy and free-market economics. What they don’t understand is Russia and China, and many of the other countries struggling with offloading the constraints of Communism didn’t have the infrastructure to make the Western way of life possible. No banks, no individual property, no credit.
The first attempt at credit in China had also included portable credit-card machines, much like we had back home. The problem was, the merchant would carry the credit-card machine to Macau, find an Internet connection, and start issuing credit to Chinese Nationals, as if they all were still in China, thereby bypassing the legal limitations of the exportation of money.
That always made me feel somewhat comfortable, actually. No matter how different we appeared on the outside, on the inside we all were equally as larcenous and as criminally clever. Human nature shared by all. Diversity my ass. Throw money into the mix and we’re all just a pack of hungry dogs.
I was just adjusting to my surroundings when I felt a presence at my shoulder. In China, no one touched anyone else. As a touchy-feely, huggy kind of gal, stifling myself made me twitchy. Inevitably, I would end up with a faux pas or two…or three. I jammed my hands in my pockets and tried to start off at least pretending not to be a bourgeois American.
“Miss O’Toole?” A small woman, brilliant in her flawless skin, silky black hair that cascaded down her back, almond eyes, and perfect features, looked up at me.
So much for riding into town unnoticed. Of course, a six-foot-tall American woman with light hair never really went unnoticed in Asia and never failed to illicit a response, sometimes inappropriate, sometimes irritating, always disconcerting. Some anger, some interest, some touchy-feely in defiance of local convention…a kaleidoscope that kept me on guard and off-kilter. I’d forgotten. The stares as everyone in the lobby turned reminded me. “Yes.”
The lady flicked a glance at Agent Stokes, then concentrated on me. “You must come. Please. We need your help.”
Without waiting for an answer, she turned and walked toward the casino.
I started after her, Stokes falling in trail. “Don’t you need to go find Romeo?”
He didn’t answer. I didn’t argue.
Standing a head taller than everyone else, I found it easy to follow the woman’s progress through the crowd. Darting quick glances over her shoulder to make sure we followed, she hurried toward the far end of the large room, then disappeared through a door.
Two steps behind, I caught the door as she let it swing closed. The minute I stepped inside, I recognized the hostess employee lounge. A gaggle of silent young women looked at us with opaque eyes and unreadable expressions. They parted to let us through.
The sight in front of me brought me up short. The agent behind me grabbed my shoulders to keep from bowling me over.
“Shit.” Stokes and I said it in unison, but probably for vastly different reasons.
So much for finding Kimberly Cho.
The surroundings were foreign, but the dead body made me feel right at home.
Miss Cho’s body had been carefully arranged in a circle of gold stars embedded in the dark wood floor. “I’ll find you,” she’d said when she’d phoned out of the blue. I don’t think this was exactly what she had in mind.
She’d called me, and now she was dead.
This one was on me, too. I should have known I couldn’t sneak into town to catch a killer. While I hadn’t brought him, I’d chased him here.
And he’d wasted no time in letting me know how the game would be played.
Careful not to contaminate the murder scene, I pressed two fingers to the hollow of her neck—her skin was still warm. Feeling for a pulse…praying for a pulse. I held my breath, although the lifeless look in her eyes told me all I needed to know.
Kim was dead.
Romeo and Frank Cho were gone.
Not hard to connect the dots.
And that left me flying solo. I didn’t count Agent Stokes as an asset. The über, by-the-book Fed, who didn’t believe in rocking boats would be a huge hindrance if I couldn’t think of a way to ditch him. I tried to ignore the cold seeping through my veins. The killer had killed Kim Cho.
&nbs
p; And he had Romeo.
Sitting back on my heels, I stared at the lifeless body, willing it to give up its secrets.
Since I’d last seen Kim in Vegas, she had traded Western make-up for a fresh face, highlighting her youth. And she’d left behind Western fashion, clothed now in a form-fitting silk dress with silk-knotted buttons and a high collar that accentuated the graceful arch of her neck. Dyed a deep vibrant turquoise, the fabric perfectly accented her dark hair and porcelain skin.
I tried to ignore the ivory handle of the knife protruding from her stomach and the seeping dark splotch as I stood rooted to the spot by a desperate need for revenge.
The image of a dragon had been tattooed on the inside of her right forearm. I’d seen it before on the young woman who chauffeured us to the dock from the airport, the same one who’d coldcocked me on the boat, and the flight attendant—it was cropping up enough to take notice. Using my phone, I snapped a couple of photos.
Squinting, focusing, I shifted my attention to the knife. Old, ivory, something about it rang a distant bell. I captured a few quick photos, some panning out to capture the scene, others zooming in to grab the details of the knife. Feeling the pressure of every set of eyes in the room boring holes in my back, I felt the need to hurry, but consciously slowed. These photos could be important. Murder scenes always surprised me with the secrets they held. Some they hid far longer than they should, and photos were often the key to unlocking the truth.
Behind me, the music from the casino filtered in, the volume increasing with each opening of the door, and then muting as it shut, leaving the silence of shock. The women I sensed gathering in the back of the room said nothing, their clothes rustling as they strained to get a better look.
I stood but didn’t turn around. “Who’s in charge here?” I used my grown-up voice, even though the child in me cried. Good or bad, Kim didn’t deserve her fate.
“I am,” a voice called from the crowd.
I knew that voice and that quiet don’t fuck-with-me air. “Cindy Liu!” If it was possible to visibly sigh, then I did. Finally, someone I knew, someone I could rely on, someone I could trust.
Lucky the Hard Way Page 9