by Jeff Stone
Hok locked the door behind us. “Where is Peter?” she asked.
“Too crowded for him out there,” I replied. “Also kind of hilly.”
“Of course,” Hok said. “We’ll try not to make him wait long.” She came to stand next to me, and my dan tien began to quiver. I smelled something ancient about her, too—dragon bone. That would explain how she’d managed to live all these years.
“Few people know my secrets,” Hok said to us. “My dear friend PawPaw does, as does old Long at Cangzhen Temple. However, Phoenix’s grandfather Seh and Phoenix’s uncle Tí are now just beginning to suspect my identity. I can’t say that I haven’t enjoyed keeping my existence a secret from Seh all these years. Perhaps if he was not so secretive himself, I would have made myself known generations ago.”
“Can I tell him?” Phoenix asked. “He’s mentioned you a few times since I returned from China. I think he’d like to see you again.”
“If he asks you directly about me,” Hok replied, “then tell him what you know. Otherwise, I would prefer to tell him myself. I have a feeling we may be finding ourselves in need of a reunion soon. Dragon bone is rearing its ugly head again. Someone is going to have to put it to rest, for good.”
I remembered what Hú Dié said back in Phoenix’s garage about Phoenix being trained as a one-man army. I felt chills run up and down my arms.
“Who else knows about dragon bone?” Phoenix asked.
“Nearly everyone in Chinatown, it seems,” Hok said. “Many months ago, a bicycle racer named Lin Tan went to every apothecary shop, asking if anyone had some for sale. Then a few weeks ago, he was back, asking if anyone wanted to buy some. No one took his offer seriously, except a local criminal leader named DuSow. They appear to have struck some kind of deal, as the two of them have been seen about Chinatown’s underground together. I am beginning believe that Lin Tan was telling the truth about having dragon bone for sale, as PawPaw and Long informed me that some of their dragon bone had been stolen by someone fitting Lin Tan’s description. Moreover, DuSow would not be fooled by fake dragon bone. He is one of the few people who know its true power.”
“DuSow?” Phoenix said. “Does that mean Poison Hand?”
“Yes,” Hok said. “It is a rare and terrible form of kung fu.”
Phoenix nodded. “What do you mean that DuSow knows dragon bone’s true power?”
“I have apothecary friends who believe that DuSow consumes dragon bone. I believe this may be true, as well. He has come to me over the years, looking for one rare herb or another, and he claimed to have known people who died a hundred years ago or more. From his detailed descriptions, it seems he was telling the truth. He looks perhaps fifty years old, but I would not be surprised if he was one hundred fifty.”
Phoenix shook his head. “My grandfather told me that he, PawPaw, and Grandmaster Long stockpiled all of the remaining dragon bone in China.”
“China is a big place,” Hok replied. “They clearly missed some. Besides, a certain amount was shipped out of the country. Take me, for example. I left China to marry a young Dutchman. I took crates of medicinal herbs with me, including a fair quantity of dragon bone. I had used the substance once to heal my temple brother Ying. It worked wonders for him, as well as others I went on to heal with it. However, once I began taking it to extend my own life, I stopped treating others with the substance because I became keenly aware of the side effects. When I came to America a hundred thirty years ago, I brought my dragon bone with me, as well as all my other herbs.”
Jake glanced around the room. “Wow. I guess that’s how you had time to collect all this stuff.”
Hok smiled. “I will take that as a compliment. I possess items that are but legends to most apothecaries.”
“I didn’t see any signs for your shop,” I said. “How do people know where to find you?”
“Those who need me know how to find me,” Hok said. “I have been here a very long time and have no need to advertise.”
I thought about the gang in the street. “What about the guys hanging out in front of your building?” I asked.
“They know me. I daresay they keep an eye out for me, too. While I don’t normally associate with their kind, I have healed more than my share of them after they have been wounded in one skirmish or another. This is my home, as well as my shop. My doors are open to everyone, and I heal whomever I can, no questions asked. I charge no fee for my services, but most people do not leave without repaying me in some way. Just look at these walls. I once healed a carpenter’s daughter, and he spent years returning here with his tools and scraps of wood, piecing together the most wonderful apothecary drawers I have ever seen. I have been very fortunate.”
“I don’t know how I’ll be able to repay you,” I said. “Maybe my mom can send you a check.”
Hok shook her head. “I do not accept money. A phone call once you finally break your bond with dragon bone will be repayment enough. Phoenix’s uncle has apprised me of your attempts to break your bond with dragon bone to date.”
She paused.
“If I am to be honest with you,” Hok continued, “I am concerned. He has done an excellent job formulating a plan for you, and considering the amount of exercise he tells me you have been getting, I would have expected the bond to be broken by now. I suspect your uncle gave you far too much. How do you feel at the moment?”
“Exhausted,” I said. “But we had an intense day of riding earlier.”
“Phoenix’s uncle told me about what happened on your ride,” Hok said. “We will concern ourselves with this ‘Bo’ person later. How is your dan tien? Does it seem active?”
“It quivered when you stood beside me and I smelled dragon bone.”
“Oh, dear,” Hok said. “It has taken root deeper than I was led to believe.”
I swallowed hard.
“Is he going to be okay?” Hú Dié asked.
“Time will tell,” Hok said. “But I fear time and exercise alone may not be enough.”
“What else can I do?” I asked.
Hok stared, unblinking, at me. “There is a legend … of an antidote.”
I felt my heart skip a beat. “Really?”
“Like so many things, it has been forgotten,” Hok said. “I do not even know if it is real, but I have the ingredients listed somewhere. Let me find it.”
Hok began to dig through some of the larger drawers. They appeared to be filled with scrolls.
“It is here somewhere,” Hok said. “The antidote was developed for use on patients who took dragon bone for too long a period of time, either accidentally or intentionally. If I remember the tales correctly, the primary ingredient is a powerful poison that kills the dragon bone, for dragon bone is a living thing. There were stories of the antidote being worse than the dragon bone itself, though, and some people who took the antidote died from the treatment. Whether the deaths came from the antidote being mixed incorrectly, or from its simply being deadly, I cannot be sure.”
“Maybe you should just skip the antidote for now,” Jake suggested.
“We must explore every option,” Hok replied, “even if we choose to not pursue it. Ahhh … here we are.” She held up an ancient parchment that was rolled and tied with a bloodred ribbon. “Follow me.”
Hok led us down a narrow hallway into a small kitchen. She unrolled the scroll on her kitchen table, and we all gathered around. The scroll was written in Chinese. Jake and I glanced at each other and shrugged our shoulders.
“Long She?” Hú Dié said, pointing to a Chinese character. “Dragon Tongue?”
“Yes,” Hok said. “That is the poison.”
“I get it,” I said. “It takes a dragon to defeat a dragon.”
“Exactly,” Hok said. “Except in this case, ‘dragon tongue’ is actually the prepared skin of a poisonous toad. The toad is boiled and the skin cut into strips. The strips curl up when they dry, resembling a dragon’s tongue. When reconstituted in a liquid, a very small amount is
lethal. I do not have any, nor do any of my friends. It is primarily used by Poison Hand practitioners.”
“Like DuSow,” Phoenix said.
“Yes,” Hok said.
“Huh?” I said. “What is Poison Hand kung fu, exactly?”
“Poison Hand kung fu practitioners make their hands toxic to others by soaking their hands daily in increasingly more potent poison,” Hok said. “They grow immune to the poison because they begin their exposure in small amounts and increase the exposure over time. After years of this, a mere brush of a practitioner’s hand against the skin of a non-practitioner leads to instant death. Other pores on the practitioner’s skin are toxic, as well, particularly the skin of the forearms. However, the hands contain the highest concentration of poison. Practitioners must wear gloves in order to prevent themselves from accidentally poisoning everyone they come in contact with.”
“People actually do this to themselves?” Jake asked.
“DuSow has,” Hok said. “I have seen the aftermath of his tirades. That is another concern with Poison Hand kung fu practitioners—the poison eventually reaches their brain and makes them insane. I knew of another Poison Hand kung fu practitioner when I was a girl. His name was HaMo. He had lost at least as much of his mind as DuSow has, if not more. DuSow claims to have been a protégé of HaMo, but who knows whether there is any truth to that. I had thought HaMo died.”
“What does HaMo mean?” Jake asked.
“Toad,” Hok replied.
“What’s up with all the animal names?” Jake said.
“Chinese animal names represent a person’s kung fu style spirit. It is usually a nickname, but in some cases, like my name, Hok—or Crane—the given name and the nickname are one and the same.”
“Like Ryan ‘Lion’ Vanderhausen,” Jake said.
“Yes,” Hok said, glancing at me. “That seems appropriate. Ryan does remind me of my old temple brother Fu—Tiger.”
“I wish I had an animal name,” Jake said.
“Sorry,” Phoenix said. “There’s no such thing as Laughing Hyena style kung fu.”
Hú Dié and I chuckled, and Jake did, too. However, Hok eyed Jake intently.
“Right order, wrong family,” Hok said, “at least scientifically speaking. Jake seems to be more like a jackal—clever, swift, and I’m willing to bet, sneaky.”
“Yeah!” Jake said. “Exactly! Ah, except for the sneaky part, I mean.”
“Truly?” Hok asked, still eyeing him.
“Well,” Jake said, “kind of. Sort of. I don’t know. Whatever. I still like the name: Jake the Jackal. So, who’s going to teach me some Jackal style kung fu?”
“No one,” Phoenix said. “There is no such thing.”
“You could teach him Dog style kung fu,” Hok said.
Hú Dié rolled her eyes. “Oh, great.”
“What?” Jake asked.
Phoenix shook his head. “Another time, Jake. I don’t feel like explaining Dog style kung fu right now. We have more important things to discuss, like Lin Tan. Do you know where to find him?”
“No,” Hok replied, “and do not go looking for him. He belongs to DuSow now, and DuSow is not someone you want to upset. He is a powerful criminal with a vast network.”
“Does he sponsor a team of road bike racers?” I asked. “We heard that Lin Tan is coaching a team here.”
“That is possible,” Hok said. “Many of DuSow’s henchmen have heavily tattooed arms. I have heard of two tattooed Chinese men cycling about Chinatown recently with two nontattooed men who speak French.”
“They could be from Belgium,” I said. “Half the country speaks French. Lin Tan might even have recruited some of my uncle’s team members.”
Hú Dié nodded. “Also, do you know anything about the local cyclists with connections to Chinatown apothecaries who have been dying?”
“I do,” Hok replied. “There were two apothecaries who had cyclists as patients. Neither of them prescribed dragon bone. Indeed, neither of them even knew what dragon bone was until the deaths. Neither had had any contact with the deceased cyclists for nearly six months, so the cyclists had both likely gone to some other apothecary, though I don’t know whom. If DuSow has dragon bone, he would never sell it for any price.”
“What if someone synthesized it?” I asked.
Hok paused. “Do you mean manufactured dragon bone?”
“Yes,” I said. “That was my uncle’s ultimate goal.”
“I remember he said that,” Phoenix said. “He had those fossils and that equipment.”
Hok stared, unblinking, at me. “What equipment?”
“I remember a kiln and a vacuum pump,” I said.
“What kind of fossils?”
“Some kind of dinosaur. Lin Tan got them.”
“Lin Tan likely got those fossils from DuSow,” Hok said. “DuSow is famous for illegally selling dinosaur fossils from China. Many people believe that dragons were some kind of dinosaur. A manufactured version of dragon bone would interest DuSow greatly. Something he could sell, potentially in very large quantities.”
“Can dragon bone be manufactured?” Hú Dié asked.
“Not that I am aware of,” Hok said. “True dragon bone is a high-quality powder. There are no impurities. There was a rumor centuries ago of a man who attempted to make it by building an oven and baking fossilized dragon bones at a very high temperature under pressure. From what I recall, that man did make a substance very similar to dragon bone, though it was believed to contain impurities because it was very dark gray in color. He successfully consumed it for a time, experiencing increased physical strength and stamina. However, he soon died of the same affliction as the cyclists—his heart appeared to have stopped. In his case, it was shortly after a particularly grueling kung fu fight.”
“Yeah,” I said. “The cyclists all died while riding. Maybe they were pushing themselves really hard.”
“That could very well be,” Hok said. “The fact that the old rumor always made note of the kung fu fight has made me wonder if there was some type of ticking clock—a connection between impure dragon bone and a user overexerting himself. I’ll make some inquires. In the meantime, it is getting late. You have given me much to think about. Let me retrieve your shipment, Ryan, and then you can be on your way. I would enjoy it if you would remain in contact with me. If I can assist you in any way, do not hesitate to ask.”
“I will,” I said. “Thank you.”
“You are most welcome,” Hok said. “I’ll show you out.”
We followed Hok back into the room with all of the drawers, and she opened a seemingly random one. She pulled out one of Uncle Tí’s stoppered vials containing gray powder. Hok handed the vial to me, and I shoved it into one of my cargo pants pockets.
“Take great care with that,” Hok said, “especially in Chinatown.”
I nodded. “Thanks again.”
“My pleasure,” Hok replied.
The four of us bowed to Hok, and she returned the formal goodbye. We hurried down the low, narrow stairway and into the side street. When we approached the guys who were standing around earlier, they parted for us to pass without issue. I glanced up at the row of third-floor balconies and saw Hok’s shadow staring down at us.
When we got to Grant Avenue, I called Peter, but he didn’t answer.
“That’s strange,” I said.
“He probably left the van and did not hear it ring,” Hú Dié said. “Chinatown can get quite loud.”
“Let’s go check,” Jake said. “If Peter’s not there, we’ll go peek in some restaurant windows.”
“Peek in windows?” I said. “Spoken like a true sneaky jackal.”
Jake grinned.
We soon arrived at the van, but Peter wasn’t there. He was probably eating somewhere nearby, most likely within sight of the van. Our bikes were still locked to the back, and this didn’t look like the best neighborhood.
We walked over to the nearest restaurant, a small place w
ith whole roasted ducks and chickens hanging in the window. We peered inside, but Peter wasn’t there. The place next door had pictures of desserts plastered along the front windows and across the glass door, as well as images of smoothies and boba “bubble” tea.
“Maybe he just grabbed something to drink,” I said, pointing to the pictures.
We peeked through the windows of that restaurant, too, but Peter wasn’t there, either.
The next restaurant was across an alley. As we stepped off the curb, we avoided some kind of sludge that appeared to be thickened frying oil. It was slick and disgusting … and rutted with a pair of skinny parallel tire tracks. Several sets of footprints flanked the tracks.
“Peter’s wheelchair!” I said.
“Call him again,” Phoenix suggested.
I redialed Peter’s number, and we immediately heard a faint ringtone at the far end of the dark alley. The ringtone abruptly stopped, and someone barked an order in Chinese. My cell phone display changed to CALL ENDED.
The four of us glanced at one another, and we headed into the blackness.
As we slunk down the dark alley, Jake whispered, “That sounded like Chinese. What did the guy say?”
“He said, ‘Put him in the truck,’ ” Hú Dié replied. “We should hurry.”
I struggled for traction over the gelatinous frying oil that coated the pavement. I felt like a hockey player without skates. Jake stumbled beside me, and Phoenix grabbed his arm, steadying him.
An engine started, and we ducked behind a Dumpster. Brake lights flickered; we could make out a plain white panel van.
The vehicle didn’t have side windows, but there were two glass rear windows reinforced with metal mesh. A light was on inside the van, and an Asian guy with skinny tattooed arms was struggling to lift something. He shifted out of view, and Peter’s head flopped by the windows for a split second. He was unconscious and being pulled out of his wheelchair.