The Ninja's Blade

by Tori Eldridge

  “Sly.”

  “That’s what I thought.”

  “Still, that’s not enough to provide probably cause.”

  And there it was: the obstacle every law enforcement faced, and the reason they had finally given up trying to find my sister’s killer. Suspicions and observations were great, but if you wanted cops to knock down someone’s door and search the premises, you needed probable cause.

  Me? Not so much.

  I didn’t have judges to convince or a backload of cases to solve. If I thought a woman or kid was in danger, I acted. If I made a mistake, I apologized. Sometimes, that got me into trouble, as it had with the good Samaritans. More times than not, I saved someone who would have been seriously hurt or killed. This was why I did what I did, and why a few broken laws wouldn’t keep me up at night.

  “You’re not going to do anything, are you?” I asked.

  Payns shrugged and sipped his coffee. “Didn’t say that.”

  “Then what?”

  His cool cop attitude made me want to rip the cup out of his hand and beat him in the head with it.

  Payns smirked. “Take it easy.”

  “Why? You’re taking it easy enough for both of us. Meanwhile, there’s at least one girl headed for a boatload of trouble.”

  He ran a hand over his cheek and pinched his chin. “Beard’s feeling a bit scruffy. Might be time for a trim.”

  I studied him with renewed interest. “Is that why you have facial hair? So you won’t look like a cop?”

  Payns grinned. “It helps to look scraggly sometimes, especially when the suspect is a barber.”

  Maybe he would do something.

  “When are you going in?”

  “You’ve seen all this during the day?”

  I nodded. “After school.”

  “Sounds like a daytime operation. I’ll drop in around noon and see what Saturday lunch hour attracts.”

  I didn’t know what to say. Not only had he taken my observations seriously, he was going to act on them.

  “Thank you.”

  “Thanks for reporting it.” He put a five on the table and stood. “Now that you have, leave it to us, okay? Traffickers are dangerous. You don’t want to mess with them.”

  I thought of the blood bath Tran and I had left behind only a month ago. The Varrios had been dangerous, too, and look what happened to them.

  “Sure, I get it. Someone could get hurt.”

  “Exactly. I don’t want your blood on my hands.”

  I nodded. And I didn’t want his on mine.

  Chapter

  Twenty-Four

  “Thanks for the ride, Kansas,” I said, punching five stars into the app. Unless it was an emergency, I booked rideshares through the appropriate channels.

  “No problem. Everyone at the firm is away at a conference. Gives me more time to drive. If you want to schedule a ride, now’s a great time to ask.”

  “Off the app?”

  “Sure. Whatever you need. I meant what I said about wanting to help.”

  “Okay. But since it’s not an emergency, I expect to pay.”

  She smiled. “And I will happily take your money.”

  I stepped out of the car. “Eleven o’clock work for you?”

  She widened her eyes. “You’re lucky it’s not a school night. Where will I be taking you?”

  “Compton.”

  “Shit. Didn’t you get enough of that place the other night?”

  “I wish.”

  “I should charge you hazard pay.”

  “Please do.” I thumped her roof with my palm. “See you tonight.”

  She offered a thumbs-up and drove away.

  My belly growled. The ribs I had eaten at lunch had long since burned off. With my ride set and night falling, I needed to refuel.

  Inside the kitchen, flames blazed under woks and pots as Baba, Uncle, and Bayani stir-fried, shallow-fried, simmered, and boiled. Ling had left the prep table to deep fry crispy meats and spring rolls. The last burner, the one closest to me, kept a gentle flame under a stacked metal steamer loaded with individual bamboo baskets with buns and dumplings Ling had prepared in the morning.

  I loaded a plate for a dim sum dinner: three har gow, one lap cheong sticky rice, two char siu bao, four siu mai, a few meaty pieces of pai gwut steamed pork ribs, and a sesame ball for dessert. For veggies, I grabbed a bag of snap peas out of the fridge.

  The only person who noticed was Ling, frying strips of beef in the wok beside me. “You hungry. Huh, Lily?”

  “Little bit.”

  “I made meat mooncakes today. I saved a couple for you on the back shelf.”

  “Xianrou bing?”

  “Lee said they reminded him of the meat mooncakes at Zhen Lao Da Fang in Shanghai.”

  “That’s high praise coming from Uncle.”

  Ling shrugged as if it were nothing, but her smile told me otherwise. “Go on. I have beef to fry.”

  I did as she instructed and escaped unnoticed with my hoard of treats. Half an hour later, belly full and plate empty, I plopped myself in front of the computer. One of my web consulting clients—the owner of a Culver City clothing boutique—wanted to add a blog to her website and couldn’t figure out how to do it. I had it running in less than fifteen minutes and moved on to the other emails.

  The only one of consequence came from Daniel.

  Hi Lily,

  I really enjoyed our lunch together and look forward to seeing you again at your Mom’s birthday bash. Save me a dance?

  Daniel

  I exhaled a long, calming breath. The word “dance” brought back tingling sensations from our first date. I hadn’t expected a buttoned-down investment advisor to move as sensually as he had. The memory of it ignited emotions I still had no idea how to handle.

  My finger hovered over reply. Save him a dance? I didn’t even know if Ma had hired a band. Or was dance a metaphor for something that didn’t require music—a moment alone in private conversation or a stolen kiss in the garden?

  I closed the email without response then grabbed my phone. Call or text? My thumb chose before my mind could decide.

  “Lily,” Daniel said, sounding surprised to hear from me.

  “I saw your email.”

  “Hope it wasn’t too impersonal. I was sitting at my office computer when I wrote it.”

  “Not at all. Just thought I’d call instead.”

  “I’m glad you did.”

  I rose from my chair and paced the lane between my desk and dojo mat. Conversations like this made me uncomfortable. Although I had competed in advanced divisions in Wushu and moved onto higher black-belt levels of Ninjutsu, I had a white belt in dating. High school girls had more experience than me.

  “You still there?”

  I squinched my face. “Yep.”

  He chuckled, and the rumble of his voice made my feet move faster along my tiny track. God help me if he laughed: I’d bounce off the walls like a pinball in a machine.

  “So,” he said, “about that dance…”

  I leapt onto my dojo mat and strode around the perimeter, trying to expel my nervous energy. “Sure. I like to dance. And you’re good at it. I mean, you like to do it. Dance, I mean. So, sure. Why not? That is, if there’s any music. Because, you know, Ma might not have any. Or it could be some weird H.K. fuddy-duddy music my grandparents like. I really have no idea—”

  “Whoa, Lily. Are you okay? You sound wired.”

  I stopped and took a breath. We were miles apart, talking on a phone. He couldn’t even see my face. There was no reason, whatsoever, to spin out of control.

  “I’m okay. I drank a pot of tea.”

  “Black?

  “Asaam.”

  “That would do it.”

  I sat on the mat, cross-legged so I could play with my toes. It didn’t burn any energy, but at least it gave me something to do.

  “I love that yo
u know about teas,” I said.

  “I’m a Hongkonger.”

  “I thought you were born here.”

  “We moved back and forth when I was young. In some ways it feels more like home than L.A.”

  “That explains the whole perfect Chinese son thing.”

  His laughter sounded as wonderful as I’d imagined. I laid on my back and stared at the ceiling.

  “My mother would disagree with your assessment,” he said.

  “Mine wouldn’t.”

  “Then that’s all that matters. For her party, I mean.”

  I smiled.

  “Tomorrow night?” he asked.

  “Uh-huh. See you then.”

  I closed my eyes and listened to the silence, wondering when he’d break it.

  “Well, I better get back to work. Go easy on that tea.”

  “Yep. Bye.”

  I ended the call and flopped my arms to the side. It felt good to be still. I should do it more often. And if my life were as leisurely as Ma thought it was, I would.

  I glanced up at the weapons rack mounted on my vermilion wall and thought of Emma Hughes. Until I found her, I couldn’t afford the luxury of inactivity. As much as I’d love to lean into the lethargy, binge watch movies, and stuff my face with buttery popcorn, I had work to do.

  I rocked to my feet and stared at my training weapons. Swords, spears, staves—everything a kunoichi needed to focus her mind and energize her body.

  I selected the sword Sensei had given me when I made the commitment to hunt down Rose’s killer. Although deadly sharp, he had intended the strait-bladed ninjatō to serve as a reminder of my honorable intention and commitment to protect—a metaphoric blade to cut through ignorance and delusion rather than a tool to deliver death. For the next thirty minutes, I pretended otherwise.

  The practice honed my intention. I had one job—find and rescue Emma. Everything else could wait. But to do that, I needed a shower and something appropriate to wear.

  The latter proved more difficult than I imagined.

  Although I had drawers and hangars full of athletic and rugged clothing, I had almost nothing any normal person would consider sexy. Short skirts rode up when I ran. Long skirts tangled when I climbed. Spaghetti straps tore. Plunging necklines looked ridiculous. That left pants, shorts, shirts, and tanks—none of which screamed sex for sale.

  I pulled a box of lingerie from my closet, hoping I’d find something to trash up my wardrobe, and dumped the bras and panties onto my bed. All of them purchased for me by Ma in the hopes that lacy undergarments would encourage me to dress more femininely. I eyed the articles dubiously. Not one of them looked the least bit comfortable. I opened a dresser drawer and pulled out a bikini-style sports bra and underpants, similar to what beach volleyball players wore in competition. Skimpy yet practical. Sexy yet secure. My kind of lingerie.

  I put it on and stared at my reflection, wondering what I could wear over it that would blend in on The Blade. I found what I needed in the far-reaches of my closet shelf beneath bags of winter sweaters that tumbled like an avalanche onto my head.

  Back in college, the girls from our Wushu team had performed a Halloween exhibition dressed like go-go dancers in shorty-shorts, high-neck vests, and wigs. I hadn’t seen the costume since I packed it away seven years ago, but I remembered complaining about the shorts.

  “I look like Felicity Shagwell from Austin Powers.”

  “I know, right?”

  “Dana, that’s not a good thing. I’m Chinese—in a blonde wig and hot pants. I’m not doing this.”

  “You can’t back out now. Besides, you look sooo hot.”

  I dug out the navy shorts and held them in front of my briefs. They weren’t much longer, but at least their high waist would keep my stomach warm. Paired with a plunging V-neck tee, it might look hot. But what I really wanted was the wig. A friend of Ma’s had given it to me after she won her battle with cancer. It was made from human hair, and although expensive, she told me to keep it because she didn’t want it around to remind her of bad times.

  It took thirty minutes to wash and blow dry the kinks out of the wig and another fifteen to braid and pin my hair. Once secured, I pulled on a wig cap and surrounded my hairline with double sided tape. I applied the wig and anchored it with several strategically placed bobby pins. And just like that, I felt like a different person: one who sank into her hip, stuck out her chin, and chewed strawberry gum. I added the final touch—a denim patrol cap—and brought the look together in a Josie-from-Hollywood-meets-Sailor-Moon kind of way.

  Lily Wong disappeared and this blonde chick with giant cat eyes and arching brows stared back.

  “How’s it going?” she asked. The words came out snarky and higher pitched than my true voice and fit perfectly with the gum-smacking girl I saw in the mirror.

  This would work.

  All she needed was a name.

  Chapter

  Twenty-Five

  “Hey, baby, how much?” a guy yelled, hanging out of the passenger window of a cruising car. He had his phone out to capture me on video.

  I flipped him off without missing a step. My Candy persona didn’t have time for gawkers and clowns: She had a quota to make, and the night wasn’t getting any longer.

  I ambled up to the corner, where two other girls loitered, and nodded in greeting. “How’s it going?”

  They eyed me with suspicion.

  I tossed my blonde hair off my shoulder and sneered back. “Excuse you.” Then I walked a few more yards and stopped.

  “Hey, you can’t stand there,” said the dark-haired girl.

  I sank into a hip and arched my back so the cheeks of my butt would show beneath the hem of my shorty shorts. “Don’t see why not.”

  The dark-haired girl glared. “Because I said so.”

  I laughed. “What are you, my mom?”

  The second girl, barely into her teens, chimed in. “You’re the one who’s old and wrinkled.”

  “That’s right,” the dark-haired girl said, snapping her fingers in the air as if she’d been the one to score the point. “If anyone’s a mom, it’s you.”

  I grinned. “Not yours, but maybe hers.” I turned to the sprite. “What are you, ten? Go home, baby girl. Leave the streets to women.”

  “I’m sixteen and a lot more woman than you.”

  “Uh-huh. Keep telling yourself that, and maybe your daddy will believe it.”

  The dark-haired girl grabbed the sprite by the arm. “Chill, sister wife. Big D knows your worth.”

  I cracked my gum and eyed the dark-haired girl. “Big D or Manolo?”

  She looked at me in surprise then narrowed her eyes. “Oh. It’s like that, is it? You looking to choose up?”

  “Depends. I hear Manolo treats his family good. That right?”

  “Fuck, Manolo. He’s small time shit. Big D’s the boss. That’s who you want looking out for your pretty ass.”

  I turned to give the girl a better look. “It’s good, right? But why do you care who I’m with?”

  “She’s bottom,” said the sprite. “Don’t you know anything?”

  I kept my attention on the dark-haired girl. “Chain in your bitch, bottom, or I’ll bite off her nose.”

  “Bottom” was the girl in charge and “choosing up” was the term used when a sex worker wanted another pimp. So far, I seemed to be passing muster.

  “No one does shit to my family less I say so,” the dark-haired girl said. “You want in, you go through me.”

  “Nah. I’ll pass on Big D. I’m looking for Manolo. I hear his girls pretty.” When the dark-haired girl advanced, I froze her with a glare. “Chill, bottom. You don’t know what I’m capable of.”

  The girl sized me up for a moment then flicked her hand. “Whatever, bitch. Time for you to move on.”

  “Fine by me. Try not to scare away the johns.”

  When I reached the next block, I sighed w
ith relief. I’d passed the first test without a hitch. And while I was no closer to finding Manolo, I had—through my interaction with Big D’s bottom—learned how I might. From now on, I’d keep an eye out for alpha girls who might also work as recruiters for their pimps. With any luck, I’d run into Manolo’s.

  Good plan. Hard to execute.

  The next nine girls I passed snubbed me entirely. They didn’t even bother to tell me to get lost. They just glared and turned their backs. Eventually, I came across a couple girls posed on the sidewalk, talking with a guy in a car at the curb. When the more aggressive of the two got into the car and left the other girl alone, I tried again.

  “How’s it going?”

  The girl shrugged.

  “Any trouble?”

  “Not so far. Ain’t seen you before.”

  “I came over from Lankershim. Thought I’d check out the action here.”

  She stared at my long blonde wig. “Not many white girls around here. You might do all right—that is, if the home girls don’t beat your ass.”

  “What about you?”

  “Nah. I ain’t no fighter, which is why you gotta go. I don’t want no trouble.”

  “With who? The girl who left?”

  “Kitty? Nah. With Poker Face.”

  “That your daddy?”

  “He ain’t my daddy. My daddy’s dead. Poker Face my jailer. Got me locked up so tight I ain’t seen the sun in years. So unless you want the same, I suggest you keep walkin’.”

  “Okay. Thanks.”

  “And don’t be poaching my tricks.”

  I held up a hand in acknowledgment and crossed the boulevard. When I reached the sidewalk, a car slowed beside me.

  “It’s a little cold out to be walking,” a man said.

  I glanced through the open window at the white middle-aged driver, leaning across the seat. His open mouth and hungry expression reminded me of a salivating dog.

  I struck a pose and fanned my face. “I don’t know. I’m feeling kinda hot.”