White Ginger

by Thatcher Robinson

  Her hands held the steering wheel in a death grip as she let Lee’s warning sink in. She knew he was right, but knowing he was right didn’t really help.

  “I’m a mess. I know that. My life has been on hold for a decade. I’ve never had a plan. And as depressing as it might be to face middle age, I’d like to live to see it. Is that asking too much?”

  “I get it, Bai. But if you’re serious about changing your life, why don’t you start by apologizing to the guard in the alley first. You made him soil his shorts, then you flipped him off.” He lifted the latch on the door and stepped out of the car. “Sometimes, it’s not all about you.”

  She got out of the car to stare at him, her jaw tight. He ignored her. She hated apologizing, as Lee was well aware.

  “Shit!” she said, as she marched out of the garage and into the alley.

  The enforcer in the black sedan visibly winced when he saw her coming. She marched from the garage to the parked car with her arms swinging at her sides, her fists balled, to stand beside the driver’s door. She motioned, wind-milling her hand, to get him to roll down the window. He did so reluctantly.

  “I’m sorry for being a jerk.” The tone of her voice implied she was less apologetic than her words suggested.

  Older than she’d first thought, his face lined with age, he sat quietly as if in thought. She realized, belatedly, he was probably a retired soldier, doing a favor for the brotherhood.

  He turned to look at her solemnly, his voice soft and graveled. “Your grandfather was a good man. He once said to me, ‘A bit of fragrance clings to the hand that gives flowers.’ It seems a small gift, but there are no small gifts of the heart.”

  Her face turned red with shame. The generosity of his words humbled her. She was speechless. Then she bowed low, giving the man the respect he was due.

  “Please forgive me. I apologize for my reckless and rude behavior.” The words came out meekly.

  He nodded slowly. “Your apology is accepted.”

  Bai turned and quickly retreated toward the garage, her face burning. Lee had been right, as usual. She was being a jerk.

  Lee waited for her just inside the garage. He didn’t say anything. He fell in beside her as she walked toward the lobby.

  “That was appropriately mortifying,” she said. “Feel free to be insufferably self-righteous. I deserve it.”

  He didn’t respond. He didn’t have to. Words weren’t necessary.

  She stopped to close the garage door before walking to the lobby to pick up the mail. Her brass mailbox was crammed full. A large manila envelope, folded and crammed into the slot, proved difficult to extract.

  When she managed to yank the envelope free, she looked at the return address with surprise. “It’s from Benny, posted from Sacramento.”

  She ripped open the packet to draw out site maps, a copy of a deed, and a handwritten note.

  “The note’s also from Benny,” she said as she tried to decipher the scrawled writing. “It says the enclosed deed is for a partially developed subdivision he purchased at auction. The property was listed as four hundred home sites with additional acreage. Sewers, electrical, gas, and roads are already in place. It says he’ll probably already have talked to me before I receive this . . .” her voice trailed off as she thought about the implications of the note, “which means he expected to be back in San Francisco before now.”

  Her eyes closed, and she took a deep breath.

  The sound of Lee’s voice forced her to open her eyes.

  “Don’t jump to conclusions,” he warned.

  She felt hollow as she tried to ignore the feeling that something really bad had happened to Benny. Lee was probably right. There was no point in assuming the worst. Still, she couldn’t manage to shake off a feeling of dread.

  “It looks like the development Benny purchased is in a place called Folsom,” Lee said, unfolding the site map. “I think that’s near Sacramento. Folsom Prison is around there somewhere.”

  “It’s about fifteen miles east of Sacramento,” she informed him.

  She waved the deed. “I need to look at this property. Let’s drive to Folsom first thing tomorrow morning. I want to see this subdivision in daylight.”

  “Sounds good to me.” He was preoccupied. His attention was on the site maps. “How much would you guess a property like this might be worth?”

  “In a hot market, a property that size might bring thirty, maybe forty million. In today’s market, it’s probably worth a fraction of that. We’ll have to hold the property until the market turns. It might be years.”

  “But still a good deal for five million?”

  “Sure. It looks like a great deal for five million.”

  She thought about the process involved in auctioning properties like the one Benny had purchased. “This property would already have gone through foreclosure in order to be auctioned by a bank. That’s standard procedure. So, if this purchase is the cause of his disappearance, we’re still missing something.”

  “Maybe I should take these papers over to Robert later and see what he can find out about the property,” he suggested.

  “That’s a good idea. Tell him to make copies of the documents. I want a set to carry with me tomorrow. And have him see what he can find out about the developers as well as the bank that foreclosed on the property. It won’t do any harm to get background on the transactions, just in case something interesting turns up.”

  “I’ll let him know.” He looked at the watch on his wrist. “I imagine he’ll be tied up at Park’s place for a while yet.”

  She handed Lee the handwritten note from Benny. “Give this to him, as well.”

  “This note won’t ease his mind.”

  “Benny’s his partner. He deserves to know.”

  Lee eyed the note with apprehension before tucking it into a pocket inside his jacket. “Fair enough,” he said, obviously reluctant to be the bearer of bad news. “What are you going to do?”

  “I’m going to bed. I’ve had about four hours sleep in the last thirty-six hours. Exhaustion is clouding my judgment. I want to be sharp tomorrow.”

  “Is there anything you need tonight? Some takeout maybe?” His face showed concern.

  She smiled to let him know she was all right. “No. I just want to sleep. I’ll knock on your door around eight in the morning.”

  She turned and pressed the button for the elevator, which opened immediately.

  Lee hovered. “Call me if you need anything. I mean it.”

  The door to the elevator started to close. “If you come across a nice man with a fetish for neurotic Chinese women, send him my way.”

  The elevator doors opened to an uncharacteristically silent apartment. Absent was the noise and commotion of a twelve-year-old and the rattling of pots in preparation for dinner—the sounds a family makes.

  Bai often complained about the noise, bemoaning the lack of serenity in the tumultuous house. In retrospect, she’d gladly have traded the oppressive silence to have her family back. Solitude might be chosen. Loneliness was simply endured.

  She stepped out of the elevator and made her way to her bedroom in the back of the apartment. She changed into a robe of indigo blue with a golden dragon embroidered on the back. The silk felt cool and slick against her bare skin. Her gun went into the pocket of her robe, where the weight of the Beretta Compact pulled at the material. She wasn’t willing to give up the cold comfort of the firearm in the empty house.

  Her bare feet led her to the kitchen, where the wine fridge offered up a cold bottle of pinot grigio—compensation for a really rotten day. Grabbing the bottle and a crystal goblet from the cupboard, she headed for the living room. Her glass and bottle found a place on the coffee table within easy reach as she tucked her feet beneath her to settle on the leather sofa. She picked up the bottle and poured a glass, stopping to watch as moisture beaded on the delicate crystal.

  The first glass of wine rapidly vanished. She poured another and raised
the cool, damp glass to press it against her forehead while trying to mentally reconcile herself to the notion someone wanted her dead. The exercise proved difficult. She was pouring a third glass to encourage the process when the phone rang. It was a blocked number.

  “Hello?”

  “Bai, it’s Martin, downstairs. We got some crazy seigwailo down here who says he works for you. He put up a pretty good fight. I’m guessing he’s up to no good, but I thought I better check with you before we take care of him.”

  Seigwailo refers to a male foreigner, a white guy. Her thoughts immediately turned to John Race. She wondered if he’d be foolish enough to track her down in Chinatown. If Martin “took care” of him, he might never be seen again.

  “What does he look like?” she asked.

  Martin spoke in Cantonese. He asked one of his men to turn over the gwailo, the foreigner, so he could see his face. She wondered why the intruder needed someone to roll him over.

  “Blond guy, blue eyes, about six foot one or two, good build. A tough sucker. He didn’t go down easy. Hang on. Here’s his wallet,” Martin said, pausing. “Name’s Jonathon Milford Race. They don’t get much whiter than this guy.”

  Bai closed her eyes and shook her head in dismay. Robert had been right about it being a bad day that might never end.

  “Bring him up, Martin. I’m releasing the elevator. I want to see him.”

  “You sure, Bai?”

  She was already walking toward the elevator to release the lift with her thumbprint. “I’m sure. Bring him up.”

  She waited in the foyer while the elevator traveled to the ground floor then came back up. When the doors opened, Race was being held up by two of Sun Yee On’s enforcers. He seemed to be semiconscious. His hands were tied together in front of him with a plastic tie. His eyes tried to focus on Bai while his knees wobbled precariously.

  “What did you do to him?” she asked.

  He looked as if he’d been caught in a stampede and trampled. His clothes were rumpled and dirty from being rolled on the ground. A red lump was visible on his cheek. She didn’t see any blood.

  “We hit him a couple of times,” admitted Martin, shrugging off the comment. “This guy broke Jimmy Fong’s arm, Bai. He’s lucky we didn’t kill him.”

  “Protecting you,” Race mumbled, seeming to momentarily focus on her.

  She smiled in response.

  “And how do you think that’s going so far?” she asked.

  She doubted his lucidity. His eyes rolled and then seemed to stop and gaze at her.

  “Not so good,” he muttered.

  He moved his head around, ostensibly to see what worked and what didn’t.

  “Cut him loose, Martin, and bring him into the living room.”

  “You sure that’s a good idea?”

  Martin worked for Jason. If anything happened to Bai on his watch, Jason would, in all likelihood, kill him. He had good reason to be cautious.

  “He works for me. I hired him today. I should have told you, but I didn’t think he’d be showing up here tonight. I didn’t realize what an eager beaver I had on my hands.”

  Martin didn’t look happy with the situation. His brow furrowed with concern, but he whipped out a flicker knife and cut the plastic bonds restraining Race. He motioned with his hand, and the two enforcers carried Race into the living room where they deposited him on the couch.

  “I’ll call you if I need you, Martin,” Bai said.

  He looked at Race and then at Bai. “I don’t think this is a good idea. I don’t think I should leave you alone with this gwailo.”

  “Don’t worry about Jason. I’ll let him know what’s going on.”

  “I still don’t like it. Anything happens, it’s my ass on the line.”

  She’d known Martin most of her life. She’d gone to school with his younger sister. He was family.

  She tapped her pocket. “I have my gun, Martin. You don’t have to worry.”

  Unhappy, he looked at her, then at Race.

  “I still don’t like it,” he stated, before turning to leave, taking his two men with him.

  Bai listened to the elevator dropping to the ground floor as she surveyed Race. He gingerly explored the back of his head with his fingertips and seemed to be coming around. His tongue rolled around in his mouth as he checked his teeth to see if any were missing.

  “Ouch!” he said, obviously finding what he was looking for. He looked up at her. “Could I bother you for some ice?”

  “Let me take a look,” she said.

  She moved to stand over him, so she could see the back of his head. There was a big lump but no blood. She cupped his chin and turned his head back and forth to inspect the damage. He had plenty of scrapes and bruises, but she couldn’t see anything that would require stitches.

  “Do you want to go to the hospital?”

  “You smell really good,” he mumbled.

  She looked down to see that his eyes were focused on the opening of her robe.

  “I’ll take that as a ‘no.’” She released his chin to take a step back.

  “Don’t stop now. I was just beginning to feel better.” He winced with pain as he spoke.

  “Serves you right for peeping. I’ll get the ice. You stay put.”

  “If you want to put some whiskey over that ice, I won’t complain. And I wasn’t peeping. I was closely guarding your person. I take my job seriously.”

  She returned with an ice bag and a tumbler full of whiskey. He put out one hand to accept the drink. She placed the ice bag in his other hand, and he pressed it gingerly against the back of his head.

  “Who were those guys?” he asked.

  “They’re triad enforcers. I should have warned you. I’m under their protection while in Chinatown. I didn’t get a chance earlier today to go over all of the details with you. I’m more than a little surprised to see you here tonight.”

  “I got to thinking you might need protection. I should have called, but I didn’t plan on bothering you. I was just going to walk the neighborhood and make sure everything was all right. I saw this guy in the alley and decided to have a word with him.” He looked at her and grimaced. “Things went downhill pretty fast from there.”

  “You’re lucky to be alive,” she said, taking a seat across from him.

  As she picked up her glass of wine, she studied him. He returned her stare.

  “I like the robe.” He smiled then winced, the happy expression obviously causing him pain.

  “Yes, it’s a nice robe. Now that we have that settled, I’d like to know what really brought you here.”

  He raised his glass slowly and took a long drink before speaking.

  “I came because I was worried.” He looked uncomfortable, his mouth turning down into a frown. “I can’t explain it, and I know it sounds stupid—I was afraid for you.” He looked confused. “I really wanted to make sure you were all right tonight, especially after telling me this afternoon that someone was trying to kill you. I’m not generally this impetuous.”

  She shook her head at him. “Men can be so strange. You came all the way over here to protect poor, defenseless, little me?”

  He had the decency to look sheepish. “I have to admit it sounded better in my head than when you said it just now.”

  “I’m calling you a cab,” she said, getting up to find a phone. She arranged for a cab then called Martin to let him know she was sending Race down in the elevator. Martin sounded relieved.

  She walked him to the entry and pushed the button for the elevator. When she turned back to face him, he pulled her into him and kissed her, hard, wrapping his arms around her. She was surprised but didn’t fight him. His lips felt nice. His arms wrapping her felt comforting. She kissed him back then slowly pushed him away. He let go and took a step back to look at her.

  He looked confused, flustered. His face turned red with embarrassment. “I don’t know what’s gotten into me.”

  “Are you sure you’re all right?�
� she asked. “You took a pretty good hit on the head.”

  “I don’t know. I’m sorry about the kiss. It just happened. Am I fired?”

  “No.” Her voice sounded husky. “I think we can safely say we’ve cemented a good working relationship. Go home and get a good night’s rest. We have a busy day tomorrow. We’re going to be looking over an unfinished subdivision in the town of Folsom. Lee and I will stop by your place and pick you up sometime after eight tomorrow morning. You’re at the address listed on your resume, right?”

  “Yes, I’m still on Lombard Street.” He stepped reluctantly back into the elevator. “If you need anything, Bai, call me.”

  She pushed the button on the elevator to shut the door, sending him to the ground floor. She couldn’t help but smile at his boyish behavior but then stopped to soberly consider the ramifications of getting involved with him. An old saying returned to niggle at her conscience, “Do not employ handsome servants.”

  She was acquiring a new appreciation for its meaning.

  A little after eight the next morning, Bai raised her hand to knock on Lee’s door. Before she could drop her arm, the door opened. Dark circles rimmed Lee’s eyes. He shuffled out of the doorway to walk beside her as she silently turned to make her way toward the garage.

  “Did you sleep?” she asked.

  “Not much. How about you?”

  “Not much.” She looked at him tiredly. “Fear is a powerful stimulant.”

  She walked into the garage and flicked the switch next to the entry. Bare overhead bulbs snapped on. The lighted space held three cars with room for a fourth.

  “I spoke to Elizabeth last night,” Bai said. “I asked if we could borrow her Beamer.”

  The black sedan had been sitting, undisturbed, for more than a year. Elizabeth had stubbornly refused to accept the gift from her son. Jason had stubbornly refused to accept its return. Pigheadedness, apparently, was an inherited trait.

  Lee grunted in amusement. “Did she even remember she owned a car?”

  “She suggested I keep it. She said she doesn’t have any use for a car.”