Die on Your Feet

by S. G. Wong

  “So you took care of all the preparations. When was the Dispersal set for? What date?”

  “In a few days’ time. The night of the fourteenth.” He looked down at his hands. “It’s the waning moon.”

  “Is the Spell Caster someone Mr. Josephson knew—in some other capacity?”

  Arbogast was shaking his head before Lola had even finished speaking. “Yes, but this person wouldn’t have said a word to him.”

  “Who’s to say this person didn’t approach Sunny? Offer to nix the deal for more money?”

  Arbogast wasn’t budging. “You don’t know this person. She would never make that kind of deal with Sunny. No, Sunny’s disappearance has nothing to do with the Dispersal. He knew nothing about it.”

  Lola waited a beat before she said, “So we’re back to the drugs then.”

  Another adamant shake of the head. “We’re back to Lucille.”

  “I’m not a Catcher, Mr. Arbogast.”

  A strained smile. “Don’t worry. I didn’t hire you for your Ghosthunting abilities. I’ve got other people on that angle. Your job is to follow the physical trail. You find Sunny and we’ll find Lucille.” He stood up abruptly. “I’ve got other appointments, Miss Starke. Keep me updated. Good day.” Between one blink and the next, Arbogast left the room. Lola listened to his long strides and the sound of the elevator. She looked out a window.

  “An ostrich if ever I saw one,” said Aubrey. “Makes you wonder what he’s hiding from,” he added.

  Lola kept her thoughts to herself.

  Chapter Nine

  Lola found herself back at Lucky Bamboo fifteen minutes later. Arbogast’s flashy two-tone hardtop was half a block up. The man himself was crossing the street, carrying a black briefcase. Lola watched him from her car, tucked neatly behind a dark blue sedan.

  “Don’t wait too long, Lola. You’re liable to lose him entirely.”

  Lola watched the block in silence. She flicked a glance in her mirrors. Copenhagen’s thugs and black Buick were at the previous corner, waiting for her next move. She’d allowed them to come along, biding her time for a good chance to get rid of them. Now, she pulled out and gassed the car. She was turning right before they pulled even with the mah-jongg parlour. She sped down three blocks, turned right, then right again immediately. She backed into an alley and counted to ten. Cautiously, she nosed back out and continued right for two more blocks. Another couple of rights and she was back in front of Lucky Bamboo. Arbogast’s car was still parked in front. She turned left into an alley at the side of the building and stashed her car.

  Coming back out on foot, she eyed the street before committing to the few steps to the entrance. She pushed inside. A lean, muscular Chinese man greeted her immediately. Lu’s nephew, Benny. His voice was flawlessly polite and utterly impersonal. He gestured toward the interior of the parlour:

  “May luck smile on you today.”

  The gaming room was mostly full this time. There were plenty of Crescent City denizens who liked a bit of gambling before their supper. Many of them were depending on it for their supper as well. Lola skulked around the tables, pretending to be choosy. Most of the patrons were Chinese, but there were enough gwai to help her blend in. She scanned the players, thankful for Arbogast’s memorable appearance, but he wasn’t among them. She did a quick turn around the card room as well. Playing a hunch then, she made for the back office Sammy Lu had exited just the previous morning.

  Lola was about ten feet away when the door opened. She had just enough time to turn away and pay special attention to a hot table of four matrons. They were clacking their tiles and chiding one another at great volume. The women were clearly old hands; all four ignored Lola’s closeness with ease. She glanced casually back at the door. Arbogast was shaking hands with Sammy Lu, who smiled obsequiously and then began to bow to the other man’s retreating back. Lola returned her attention to the table in front of her, using her peripheral vision to follow her client’s progress through the feng shui maze. He walked out briskly, still carrying the black briefcase. Lola glanced back at the office. The door was closed once more. She hurried to catch up with Arbogast, ignoring Benny’s insincere wishes for a pleasant evening.

  She tossed a glance over her shoulder as she reached the mouth of the alley. Arbogast was just approaching his car and about to check the street before walking around to the driver’s side door. She ducked into the alley quickly and ran to her car. She started it up and pulled out. Lola hung back a few feet from the mouth of the alley until she saw him drive past. Waiting until a grey sedan had passed as well, she turned into the flow of traffic.

  It was easy to pick out Arbogast’s car: a black and tan roadster. It was even easier to follow it. He drove without regard for his fellow drivers. Horns and upraised hands followed his progress, but Arbogast made no acknowledgement of the ire he created. Lola was willing to bet she could have driven right beside him in her sorry brown sedan and he would not even have noticed. She resisted the urge. Instead, she stayed a steady two or three cars back and spent two hours making the rounds of some of the City’s hundreds of mah-jongg houses.

  From Lucky Bamboo, Arbogast moved on to Water Lily on Yucca Avenue. He spent a total of ten minutes inside. Then it was on to Silver Temple on West Eighteenth and Huang. Fifteen minutes later, Lola was on the road again, following Arbogast to Ivory Tiles in the Bywater Hotel on Waterfront. The story remained unchanged with each place. Arbogast appeared business-like and professional. Black briefcase in hand, he strode to the manager’s office at each establishment and closed the door behind him. Invariably, the managers themselves would come out to bid him adieu, some smiling like Sammy Lu, others tight-mouthed and grim.

  After Ivory Tiles, Arbogast led Lola to a club unknown to her, a place called La Grenouille. Lola checked her watch. Quarter of seven. Suppressing a sigh, she climbed out of her car. Arbogast was just sliding out of his car and nodding to the valet. Unlike her client, Lola was parked on the curb, across the street. She swept past the valets, walking beneath a lighted archway that led to the glass doors.

  “Subtle,” commented Aubrey.

  Lola nodded absently to the smiling doorman and entered a square lobby area, complete with potted palms, a coat check alcove with girl, and large lighted doorway with red velvet curtains. At present, the curtains were pulled back by gold-tasselled cords. Lola could see directly into the main gambling room. More potted palms, these taller than their lobby cousins, were scattered around the room. A twenty-foot ceiling gave them plenty of air, although the cloud of cigarette smoke certainly cut into their share. Mirrors gleamed from multiple surfaces, highlighting the blond wood walls. In addition to the cluster of thirty or so mah-jongg tables, there were slot machines and card tables: blackjack, poker, dominoes, even baccarat. Cocktail servers in cheong-sahm walked among the crowd with welcoming smiles, their graceful arms carrying full trays above their coiffed heads. Some had hair gems and jade dangling from sleek buns. Shapely legs peeked out from the slits on both sides of their silken dresses. Cigarette girls were dressed in fishnets and sleeveless sheaths that ended at the knee. All the girls wore three-inch heels. Around the room, scattered like dark coins, were the pit bosses: men in tuxedo suits with gold pins in their lapels. They wore identically bland expressions.

  Given the room size, La Genouille was used to twice the numbers than it housed now. Lola walked straight to the card tables, noting the various dealers. She slid past a pit boss, eying his frog-shaped gold pin as a tourist might do. He gave her a perfunctory smile and shifted his attention away. She spied Arbogast walking along a wall, toward the far end of the room. Three rows of slot machines gave her easy cover. When she came out however, she caught sight of his distinctive hat bandeau disappearing around a corner. She hurried to catch up, only to stop at the sight of a hefty Chinese man in a shiny suit. He stood at the foot of a stairwell.
A sign proclaimed boldly: Management—Employees Only.

  “Help you, miss?” he asked in a bored voice.

  “Restroom?” Lola asked in breathy reply.

  The man shook his head. “Wrong turn, miss. They’re on the other side of the slots.” He jerked a thumb behind him. “Employees only.” Something over Lola’s shoulder caught his eye. She turned, tightening herself in readiness.

  It was another shiny suit with muscles. He nodded to the first man, who said, “Escort our guest to the restrooms.”

  Lola smiled in embarrassment and allowed herself to be led away. She thanked her escort self-consciously and entered the ladies room. A vast mirrored vanity faced her. She looked fleetingly at her own irritated expression, then plunged forward, toward the back of the room. Stalls with doors. An attendant in a maid’s uniform, her grey hair in a bun at the nape of her neck.

  “For gods’ sake, hurry up,” whispered Aubrey.

  “Shut up and get out,” she replied, entering a stall. She caught a glimpse of the attendant leaning forward in curiosity as she shut the door. After, Lola washed her hands quickly, taking the thick towel from the attendant wordlessly. She tossed a dime into the jar on her way out.

  Her husky escort was gone. Slot machines rang and coins plinked. Laughter from the far corner of the room drifted over. Lola sauntered along a row of slots and shot a quick sidelong glance at the stairs as she passed by. The same set of muscle stood at attention. She turned away and hurried toward the mah-jongg tables. All the while, she scanned the room for Arbogast. When her watch said she’d wasted another ten minutes, she left the room. The coat check girl, a bottle blonde with dark eyebrows and orange-red lipstick, smiled unconvincingly as Lola approached. She watched Lola with cool grey eyes as Lola described Arbogast.

  “Happen to see him leave?” Lola asked in conclusion.

  “Who?” asked the girl. Her face remained smooth and impassive.

  Lola remained as she was for a moment, then opened her purse and slid out a bill. She showed the five and folded it neatly, then held it out. The money disappeared into impressive décolletage even as the girl nodded.

  “Yeah, I saw him. I see him every week,” she added glumly. A thought seemed to strike her, and she looked Lola over carefully. “Say, you work for the Commission too?”

  “No. I’m a personal acquaintance.”

  The girl shrugged. “Well, if you don’t catch him, come back next week, same time. He’s like clockwork.” She cocked her head to one side. “Maybe you oughta think about another line of action, honey. He doesn’t play in our league.” She patted the spot she’d secreted the bill. “Let me know if I can help you out again.”

  Lola nodded and hurried out. She barely let the doorman open the door enough for her to pass. But she stopped as she came even with the valets. She readied bills surreptitiously as she asked them about her client. His valet spoke up readily enough when he palmed the fiver. Arbogast had left ten minutes earlier, just like usual. He’d taken a left out of the lot, also like usual. Lola walked briskly down the sidewalk, then stopped short.

  They were waiting for her. Thin leaned against the driver-side door. Thick stood on the sidewalk, motioning for her to continue. Lola slowly crossed the street. She stood next to her car, facing Thick. Thin came around the back of the car and stopped behind her.

  “Too bad you lost him,” Thick said. Thin snickered.

  “Too bad for whom?”

  Thick shrugged. “Does it matter? You’ve been wasting your time following that sad sack around. We’ve been wasting our time following you.” He took two steps forward. A meaty hand grasped Lola around her upper arm. “Forget him. You’re supposed to be working the boss’s case.” He squeezed and twisted, ensuring a nasty bruise. “This oughta help remind you.”

  Lola suddenly jerked her knee up and caught Thick in the groin. He crumpled and Lola shoved him away. Before she could whirl around to face Thin, he had her arm twisted up behind her back. Thick gagged once then managed to pull himself upright. He was breathing heavily through his nose. He grabbed Lola’s jaw tightly in his hand and pulled her face up.

  “I’ll remember that, angel,” he rasped. “Just you do your job like Copenhagen hired you to. We’ll square accounts soon enough.” He squeezed hard then pushed her face to the side and let go. Lola struggled angrily against the man at her back. Thin sharply twisted her arm once more until Lola gasped with the pain. He shoved her forward, releasing her. She caught herself on her car and spun around, her unharmed arm aiming low. She kept her fingers rigid and landed a hit in Thin’s gut. As he doubled over, she connected her knee with his face. Her gun was out before Thin had fallen to the pavement, but Thick made no move to come at her.

  “Pick him up and beat it, the both of you,” she said.

  Lola stepped back, wary and watchful, as the two men glared at her. Her gun hand was steady though and neither said a word. They lurched to their car and drove away. Lola followed them closely, in plain sight, all the way downtown. About two blocks out, however, she pulled ahead. When the two men entered the lobby, Lola was waiting for them. She turned away from the security desk and its duo of aging guards. Thick walked straight, but his face showed strain. Thin was already squinting out of his swollen left eye. Lola joined them as they marched toward the elevator banks. They rode up in silence. Lola stood at the rear of the elevator, watching the tense backs of her would-be handlers. She hung back as they exited the elevator and traversed the corridor.

  When they entered the outer office, Thick strode to the inner door and knocked quickly. Thin looked at Lola, who gestured for him to stand beside the other man. She remained behind both men as they waited. A voice called out from within. Thick opened the door, but he didn’t step inside. Instead, he held it open and turned to Lola. He gestured sharply for her to enter.

  She shook her head. “Ladies first,” she said.

  Thin took a step toward her. Lola tensed, readying herself.

  Thick grabbed his partner’s arm and shoved him inside the inner office. Lola waited until they were both within before following.

  AJ Copenhagen sat, her eyes cold, her lips compressed into a thin slash of red. “What are you doing here?”

  Lola took a seat on the upholstered armchair and pulled out her cigarette case. “We need to talk.”

  Copenhagen eyed her thugs. They stood at attention before her desk, eyes staring straight ahead, backs rigid. She said, “Get out.” The two men wheeled around and marched out. Lola watched them through a plume of blue smoke, then returned her gaze to her client.

  “Take your monkeys off my back.”

  “An ultimatum, Lola?” The other woman was suddenly amused.

  Lola held the mocking glance. “No babysitters.”

  Copenhagen shrugged. “I apologize for my zeal.” Her smile widened. “You won’t see them following you again.”

  Lola shook her head. “You want me to waste time losing them, fine.”

  Copenhagen stood, spreading her hands out in a placating gesture. “I’m simply testing your resources. Consider it a check on your references.” She walked over and sat on the sofa which was perpendicular to Lola’s armchair. The women sat within arm’s reach of one another. Lola shifted, lifting her cigarette to her lips. Copenhagen pushed a crystal ashtray toward her. “There’s no call to take it quite so personally.”

  “If you wanted hoop jumping, you should’ve hired a seal.” Lola dragged on her cigarette, waiting until she exhaled to speak again. “I’ve warned my mother and her people. She’s on to you.”

  Copenhagen laughed loudly. “Oh I doubt that.”

  “Coercing me by threatening my mother was as effective as having those two shadow me.”

  “I didn’t make it this far in my career by throwing the dice randomly. I believe in taking out insurance.” There w
as an edge to her sudden smile. “Once I put my mind to something, I intend for it to happen.”

  “Intend all you want, the cops don’t need me meddling in their case. They want me playing secretary.”

  Copenhagen nodded. “Yes, I’ve heard,” she said. “No matter. I hired you to do the job and you will do the job.”

  Lola cocked her head. “You’re paying me to set up appointments for the cops?”

  “I’m paying you to help the police department break up a very real threat to my authority.”

  “I don’t want this job.”

  “There’s no reneging with me. My intentions are more than wishes. They are reality.”

  “I don’t want this job.”

  Copenhagen sighed. “Your stubbornness is forcing me to be blunt. This is simply beyond your control.” She got up and strode to her desk. Opening a drawer, she withdrew an envelope. She watched Lola she closed the drawer and returned to the sofa. She threw the envelope onto the table at Lola’s knees.

  Lola waited a beat before picking up the package. She spilled its contents onto the table. The handwriting, forms and signatures were all familiar. She’d filed the original over five years ago and every year since then, she’d applied for renewal. It was the one thing Aubrey never had to remind her about: her investigator’s license.

  “You see?” asked Copenhagen sweetly, “Insurance is always a good idea.”

  Lola straightened out the forms and slid them back into the envelope.

  “Don’t worry,” continued Copenhagen, “these are safe with me. Gods know we wouldn’t want anything to happen to them.”

  Lola stood. “I’ll be in touch.”

  “I’m counting on it.” Copenhagen’s smile was full of teeth.

  * * *

  The elevator announced its presence on the third floor with a cheerful clang. No operator at this hour of the evening. Just Lola and a woman wearing dark glasses and a scarf. She studiously turned her face away from Lola on the ride up, and Lola obliged by pretending not to recognize the Police Chief’s sister. Lola trudged wearily to her office, listening to the clack of the woman’s heels head toward the surgery at the other end of the floor. Plastic surgeons kept strange hours indeed.