White Ginger

by Thatcher Robinson

  All too soon, Bai’s cell phone rang. Tommy waited downstairs.

  Lee carried bags as everyone crowded into the elevator. Bai felt sad to see her family leave. She missed them already.

  “You two be sure to let me know if you need anything. I’m only a phone call away,” she advised.

  Elizabeth brushed aside her offer. “We’ll be fine. Vancouver’s a big city. If we’ve forgotten anything, we know how to find a store. Don’t we, Dan?”

  “Sure, Mah Mah, and Jason’s going to be there, isn’t he?”

  Elizabeth glanced at Bai with a stern look of disapproval.

  Bai kept her response light. “He might be there, Dan, but I’m not sure you’ll see him. He’s there on business.”

  As they stepped out of the elevator and down the stairs to the sidewalk, four men in black suits flanked the limousine. They gazed away from the vehicle with hands held inside open jackets to conceal drawn weapons. Black SUVs blocked traffic at both ends of the street.

  Elizabeth took note of the security measures and stopped dead in her tracks. She looked at Bai with fire in her eyes, and Bai knew there would be hell to pay when Elizabeth got her alone. She took comfort in the thought that the occasion wouldn’t present itself anytime soon.

  She smiled stiffly at Elizabeth and forged ahead. She held Dan’s hand firmly. If Elizabeth wanted to berate her she’d be forced to follow Bai to the waiting car.

  Tommy stepped out of the limousine to intercept Elizabeth.

  “So good to see you both,” he said as he put his hand out to take Elizabeth’s arm while pulling Dan in for a hug. “What a treat,” he said, “to travel with two such beautiful women.”

  Tommy was a charmer. He gathered Elizabeth up and guided them both into the car. “Sorry to rush you,” he said, as he stepped into the car, “but we’re running a little late.”

  He winked at Bai before closing the door. She owed him another one. Bai put her hand on the window as the car pulled away from the curb. Then she and Lee turned to walk quickly back inside.

  “Now to business,” she said as she punched the elevator button for the third floor.

  Once inside the apartment, Lee turned to Bai. “Do you want to tell me what went down in Vancouver?”

  Bai held up a finger to silence him and then went into the living room to turn on the stereo. She cranked up the volume on the Rolling Stones to drown out their conversation. As Mick refused to be a “beast of burden,” she explained how she’d managed to kill two people—one in self-defense, the other in a fit of rage.

  When she’d finished, he stared at her. His mouth hung open as if he’d been hit with a stun gun. It took him a while to react. “Are you all right?”

  She shrugged and let out a deep breath. “I’m not really sure. I cried like a baby after killing the woman. After I killed Shan, I didn’t feel anything. I was just empty. It was like all of my anger, all of my feelings, had been buried with that hatchet.” She put her head down. “No . . . that’s a lie.” She looked up at Lee, tears in her eyes, and whispered, “It felt good.”

  He smiled at her hesitantly. “Catharsis.”

  “What?”

  “Catharsis is when someone purges all their emotional tension. The act of throwing that hatchet set you free of all the hate you were harboring. You unburdened yourself, an act that was good for you but, obviously, not all that great for Shan.”

  Looking down at her hands, she tried to find a sense of guilt about Shan’s death. She couldn’t. Her lack of remorse continued to trouble her. She didn’t want Jason to be right about killing’s being in her blood. Her father had been a killer, as well as his father before him. They were violent men who’d managed to compartmentalize their lives, taking a life then coming home to dinner with the family.

  Lee stared at her with concern. “What are you thinking?”

  “I won’t be like my father or my grandfather. I won’t be a killer. It’s not what I am.”

  She was afraid. It was hard for her to admit, but she was afraid of herself.

  He tried to reassure her. “It’s not as if you went looking for trouble.”

  “That’s just it. I did. I went looking for Shan. I wanted to kill him, and I killed him. It wasn’t out of fear. I still don’t feel guilty. That’s wrong, and I know it’s wrong.” She looked at him plaintively. “It’s . . . just . . . wrong.”

  He reached out and put his hands on her shoulders to turn her, so she was facing him. “If I’d been there, I’d have killed Shan. Any decent person would have killed that bastard. You did the world a favor. We should throw a party, except, as twisted as I am, even I know that would be wrong.” He paused to smile. “Wouldn’t it?”

  His questioning expression made her smile.

  He put his hand on her cheek and said, “I think you think too much, but that’s what makes you special. ‘Deep doubt, deep wisdom; little doubt, little wisdom.’”

  “Is there any occasion in life for which the Chinese don’t have a proverb?”

  He smiled gently at her. “I haven’t found one yet.”

  Her phone rang to interrupt their conversation.

  She looked at the display. “It’s John Race.”

  Lee raised his eyebrows as the phone rang again. “Aren’t you going to answer it?”

  She vacillated before responding. She wasn’t sure she wanted more complications in her life. Race, being available, handsome, and interested, represented excellent potential for becoming a complication. Then again, he was handsome.

  “Hello.”

  “Is this Bai Jiang?”

  “Yes.”

  Her voice was hesitant, nervous. She cleared her throat while mentally castigating herself for acting like a schoolgirl.

  “This is John Race . . . the man you met yesterday at Darryl Hopkins.”

  “I remember. What can I do for you, Mr. Race?”

  “I’ll get right to the point, Miss Jiang. Is your offer of employment still open?”

  His voice sounded uncertain. She could almost feel his reluctance. He was asking for a job from a woman he’d shown interest in. She could empathize with his dilemma, and yet she knew almost nothing about him other than that he was boyishly handsome and disarmingly direct.

  “Let’s meet to talk about it, Mr. Race. Are you available for lunch?”

  He quickly grasped at the opportunity. “That would be fine.”

  She smiled into the phone at his eagerness. “I’ll make the reservations for twelve o’clock at Boulevard Restaurant.”

  “Twelve o’clock at the Boulevard. That’s over on Mission, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, the corner of Mission and Steuart. You can’t miss it.”

  “I’ll see you there at noon. Thanks.”

  “Don’t thank me yet, Mr. Race. Let’s wait and see how we get along. Oh . . . and bring your resume if you have one available.”

  His voice sounded more confident. “I have one with me, Miss Jiang. That’s not a problem.”

  Bai ended the call and looked up.

  Lee stared at her with folded arms and tight lips. “Do you think he can be trusted?”

  “I’m not sure. I guess we’ll find out. I’d like to see what his background is before I turn him down. We may need more security, especially for Dan, at least until we can find out why someone wants me dead. Regardless, you’ll get a chance to grill him. You’re joining us for lunch.”

  She picked up her cup to sip the hot tea while she thought about Race. He seemed competent and had demonstrated integrity when he’d defended her daughter. She remembered he had combat experience, which suggested he knew how to take care of himself. She also remembered he had the most amazing blue eyes.

  Bai reached into her safe and grabbed her automatic weapon by its pebbled grip. The nine-millimeter smelled of gun oil. She sniffed and frowned. She didn’t like carrying a gun. Under the circumstances, she couldn’t justify not carrying one.

  She’d showered and changed her clothes. Her for
m-fitting leather jacket was replaced by a black leather blazer to accommodate the gun. Her flats had been abandoned for more practical leather trainers, in case she needed to run for her life.

  The gun slipped into the holster tucked into the small of her back. More modestly sized than a regular Beretta, the Compact fit her hand while still carrying thirteen bullets in the clip and one in the chamber. Her proficiency with a gun was such that fourteen bullets were superfluous—just because she didn’t like guns didn’t mean she didn’t know how to use one.

  Lee waited for her in the living room where he surfed the web on his phone. “I have something to show you.”

  She stepped around the couch to look over his shoulder.

  “It’s John Romano,” he explained. “He’s giving a speech. I thought you might want to see who he is since you’re almost certain to meet with him over the incident with his son.”

  John Romano had perfectly styled, dark wavy hair and a barrel chest. His complexion suggested he spent too much time in a tanning booth. A strong chin and a straight nose rested beneath heavily lidded eyes topped by a unibrow. He appeared formidable.

  “Turn up the sound. I want to hear what he’s saying,” Bai said.

  When Lee punched up the volume, she instantly recognized the voice. “Son of a bitch!” Her temper flared as she reached for her cell phone and flipped to the voice messages. “Listen to this.”

  She played the obscenity-laced message for Lee. The two voices were identical. He turned his phone down to listen to Bai’s message. When the voice mail ended, Lee’s expression was grim.

  “I know someone who can positively identify the voice on that recording by matching voice prints,” he stated.

  “What’s a voice print?”

  “Everyone’s voice is unique because of differences in vocal cavities and the way each individual moves his mouth when he speaks. Those unique speech patterns can be translated into what’s called a spectrogram that can be used to positively identify a speaker. I have friends in the recording industry who can make a spectrogram of the message you just played and compare it against one of Romano’s speeches. If it’s a match, you’ll have evidence of harassment that will stand up in court.”

  She looked at Lee blankly. “What do I need to do?”

  “Just forward your voice message to my phone. I’ll handle it from there.”

  She nodded and did as he suggested while he stood to accompany her. They were late for their downtown appointment with Race. They walked to the elevator and took the lift down to the garage.

  Bai didn’t often drive in the city. She preferred taxis, but the attempts on her life made her wary of being trapped in a vehicle she didn’t control. As a precaution, she chose to drive her MINI Cooper Clubman. The car was parked between Elizabeth’s BMW, a present from her son that, to the best of Bai’s knowledge, had never been driven, and Lee’s sixties-vintage, red Cadillac convertible with a white leather interior.

  She fired up the MINI and hit the button on the dash to open the garage door as Lee folded into the passenger seat next to her. Bai hit the gas, and the car scooted into the alley, where she braked hard. Her finger tapped the button again to close the garage door as her foot slipped onto the gas pedal. She turned left into the alley and screeched to a halt, bumper to bumper with a black sedan blocking their way.

  One of Tommy’s men waved at her before starting his car to back out of the alley. She followed the car and waved back as she peeled around the corner. When she looked again in her rearview mirror, the black sedan followed.

  “We have an escort,” she said, glancing aside at Lee.

  “That’s comforting.”

  She looked at him sheepishly. “There’s something you should know before we leave Chinatown.” She paused to find the right words. “I’ll understand if you want to go home and sit this one out.”

  “Are you going tell me it’s dangerous? I already know that.”

  “Tommy thinks whoever’s trying to kill me will come at me in force. I fear he may be right.”

  “And your plan is . . . ?”

  “I’m going to find out who they are and take the fight to them.”

  “Use attack as the tactic of defense. It seems like as good a plan as any. So what’s the problem?”

  “I just want you to know you don’t have to get involved in this. I’ll understand if you want out. Say the word, and I’ll take you home.”

  He looked at her and scoffed. “Don’t be stupid. I was the one egging you on. Telling you to go to Vancouver to get the girl. If you’d gotten killed, I’d have blamed myself. There’s no way you’re getting rid of me now. We’re in this together, whatever ‘this’ is.”

  She smiled and turned her head to glance his way. He sat with his arms folded, a determined look on his face.

  “All right! Strap in,” she said, as she twisted the wheel to spin the car into an alley, “it’s going to be a bumpy ride.”

  The Works model Clubman had a supercharged engine and racing suspension. The engine roared like a lion as the car scampered around curves like a hamster on speed. She drove down familiar back alleys to avoid traffic and quickly made her way to Grant Avenue. She followed Grant through the heart of Chinatown, past the dragon gates, to turn left onto California headed toward the Embarcadero.

  The trailing car stopped and turned around.

  “Tommy’s protection only extends as far as the boundaries of Chinatown,” she noted.

  “You can’t really blame him. His resources are stretched pretty thin. I imagine he has a lot of men in Vancouver to back him up.”

  Bai nodded in agreement. She was grateful Tommy had spared the men to secure her home, despite her sometimes ambivalent and outspoken attitude toward the brotherhood. It seemed that being the granddaughter of Ho Chan Jiang still carried some cache within Sun Yee On.

  A right turn at the Hyatt Regency Embarcadero brought them within two blocks of the restaurant. She made two green lights and pulled around the block to the front door of the Boulevard where she skidded to a stop at valet parking.

  Stepping out of the car, she handed a man in a red jacket a twenty-dollar bill. “Keep the car next to the front door and don’t let anyone near it.”

  The young man smiled as he pocketed the bill. “No problem. I’ll make sure nobody messes with it.”

  Lee joined her at the entrance to the restaurant. They stopped long enough to watch as the valet backed the Clubman to the curb next to his stand.

  Bai then turned to push at the old-fashioned revolving door to enter the eatery. The restaurant reverberated with the sounds of clinking glasses and animated voices. Air, redolent with aromas of garlic and roasting meats, made her mouth water.

  Boulevard Restaurant was housed in a Mansard-style building. The structure dated back to before the earthquake of 1906 that had left most of San Francisco in ashes. Ironwork, intricately tiled floors, beautiful coving, and handblown glass fixtures perfectly complemented the wood paneling lining the interior of the restaurant. White tablecloths and brick walls helped create a feeling of sumptuous warmth.

  A familiar face smiled at Bai in greeting. The young woman picked up a couple of menus and gestured for her and Lee to walk past the group of people gathered around the small reception kiosk.

  The hostess spoke to Bai as they skirted the crowd waiting for tables. “Your guest has already arrived,” she said as she led the way to the back of the restaurant. “I hope you don’t mind that I seated him?”

  Bai spoke over the subdued din of the restaurant. “Of course not, Shell, and thanks for getting us a table on short notice.”

  “For you, anytime, Ms. Jiang.”

  Smiling, Shell stood aside to allow them to take seats at a table where John Race stood at their approach. He leaned over to pull a chair out for Bai.

  She slipped into the seat, tilting her head to look up. “Thank you.”

  Race nodded a silent “you’re welcome” before taking a seat across from h
er at the square table. Lee sat on her right with his back to the wall and a clear view of the street. His eyes moved restlessly. He appeared relaxed. She could tell he wasn’t.

  Diners, despite the hum of the restaurant, turned to take note of the striking trio. One look from Lee’s intimidating gaze and they hurriedly turned away.

  She looked across the table at Race, who met her gaze and said, “It’s nice to see you again.” Turning to Lee, he added, “Both of you.”

  Lee nodded back, his face bland, the tightness of his shoulders and back almost antagonistic.

  Pulling a folded sheet of paper out of his pocket, Race handed it to her. “Here’s the resume you asked for.”

  She unfolded the paper and scanned the resume. It surprised her. The document described an experienced and highly decorated soldier, an officer. She handed the resume to Lee before turning her attention back to Race.

  “It says you held the rank of captain in the Rangers, Mr. Race. What made you leave such a promising career in the military?”

  “I served three tours, Miss Jiang. I’ve seen enough of war. It’s not that I didn’t enjoy being a soldier. I’d just had enough.”

  “What did you think of the war?”

  He looked uncomfortable with the question. “I like to win. I’m not sure there’s ever a winner in a civil war.”

  “Do you consider yourself a patriot?” she asked.

  “I’ve fought for my country, and I would do so again. Why do you ask?”

  “Because it’s easy to know a man’s face but more difficult to know what’s in his heart. I need to find out what kind of man you are, Mr. Race.”

  He looked at her, sizing her up. “How old are you, Miss Jiang?”

  She smiled. She understood what he was trying to get across. “I’m aware that people lie, Mr. Race. I’m not naive. As to your question, have you ever heard the expression ‘A woman who tells her age is either too young to have anything to lose or too old to have anything to gain’?”