by Eric Lahti
The guard is still bowing down to her and hoping his act of supplication will save him from whatever Hells she has locked up in the basement. I’ve heard rumors, and the rumors are enough to keep me quiet.
“You may go now,” Mrs. Chow says.
The guy manages to bow and walk at the same time. Fear of the unknown is a great motivator; it lets you do things you didn’t know you could do.
“We apologize for our tardiness,” Chan says quietly.
Mrs. Chow eyes him warily and he returns the stare. I can’t help but feel like I’m stuck in a room with a pair of fighting lizards. These guys may be the two most dangerous people in town and each of them knows it. Fortunately for all of us they’ve chosen different life arcs. Each collects power but they collect it in different ways: Mrs. Chow seeks to control the city underworld, Chan just wants absolute mastery over himself.
She blinks first. “It is not a problem, Chan,” Mrs. Chow says quietly.
“Thank you for your hospitality, Mrs. Chow,” Chan says with a slight bow. “You honor us by providing your great venue.”
He’s such the diplomat. If it were up to me I’d be raiding the bar and throwing knives at the guards. Speaking of which, where is the bar around here?
“It is my pleasure to provide my humble bar for this esteemed meeting,” she says. “Please, follow me.”
Without a word she turns on a heel and stalks down the hall. The click of her heels echoes on the changmu floors of her mostly empty club. Chan waves me forward and I hesitantly follow the small woman through the club. She pauses behind the bar and presses a hidden button.
The room seems to get taller and it takes me a moment to realize the rest of the room isn’t growing, the floor I’m standing on is falling into the ground. The old hidden stair trick. I must be getting slow in my old age; I didn’t even notice them and I walked right over them.
Mrs. Chow pushes past me and walks down the stairs muttering under her breath. A huge string of Chinese curses whispers down the dark stairwell but the only one I can pick out is Gao yang jong duh goo yang: Motherless goats of all motherless goats.
I guess she’s not happy about us being here, either. My pulse pounds more the further down the stairs I go. I’m somewhat – no, scratch that – I’m extremely claustrophobic.
At the bottom of the stairs is a small room I’ve only heard whispered about. They say this is where dreams come to die, the Hell of the underworld, the place where Mrs. Chow meets her problems head on.
The room is solid stone, a square about twenty feet on a side and lit with a single bare bulb. The light is sickly and distant and the gray walls make it feel like a tomb. It’s cold and dank and feels exactly unlike the streets. I’ve just gotten here, but I already hate it. The walls are solid and the rational part of my mind tells me everything will be fine but my animal mind is screaming at me to leave. Chan is right behind me, a hand on my shoulder gently pushing me forward.
“So,” I say, trying to act like I’m not sweating profusely. “Will there be drinks at this little huìyì?”
When I’m nervous I tend to throw around the miniscule amount of Chinese I know; it makes me look smarter than I really am.
Mrs. Chow snorts and points to an empty chair at the table. Across the table, calmly smoking a bidi is a stunning blonde woman. Her bored eyes lock onto me and she looks me up and down, a wry smile playing across her lips. Something about her looks familiar. She feels like a ghost from my past or a dream come to life. Where do I know this woman from?
The blonde inhales deeply and exhales a cloud of sweet smelling smoke. “This is legendary Felix Crow?” she asks. It doesn’t sound like she’s impressed.
“Got an extra one of those?” I ask, gesturing to her hand-wrapped cigarette.
“Depends,” she says. “Are you going to throw up on me again?”
I really wish I could remember last night.
“Bad noodles,” I say. “Totally not my fault.”
“I’m sure,” she replies and slides a small cotton bag across the table at me.
I fish a bidi out of her bag and feel around the pockets of my jacket looking for my lighter. Ah, there it is, buried underneath a pile of strips of fortune cookie predictions. Without taking my eyes off the strange blonde woman, I light the little cigarette. The smoke is sharp in my throat and I have to suppress a cough and a wanton desire for a shot of baiju. “Thanks,” I say with a rasp.
She holds her hand out, palm up and I put her bag of bidis back in her open palm.
The bidi is calming my nerves a bit, but there’s still a sense panic gnawing at the edges of my mind. If I don’t get out of here soon I’m going to choke someone. Panic makes me edgy and when I’m edgy I lose the few social graces I have left. “Who are you and why am I here?” I ask.
“Sit down before you fall down,” the blonde says, gesturing to a single wooden chair opposite her.
This whole thing stinks to high Tiān. If I’m lucky my ancestors are watching over me from heaven and have forgotten some of the bad things I’ve said about them. If not, well, shit.
“I’ll stand if it’s alright with you,” I tell her.
“Suit yourself, but you look shaky,” the blonde tells me.
“Sit down Crow,” Mrs. Chow says from behind me.
I turn around and find Mrs. Chow glaring at me. Chan has taken up a position next to the door. He looks casual, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest, but I know he doesn’t actually relax. Ever.
“I have no problem with you standing, but our hostess has other ideas. Sit down, Felix. Is it okay if I call you Felix?” the blonde says.
“Sure,” I tell her and pull the chair back. The screech of old wood on concrete is terrifying.
I take my time sitting down. If they’re going to drag me down here and push me around I fully plan on making their lives miserable for doing it. The chair is about as comfortable as one of those hard plastic things at Yuan’s (over a million noodles bowls sold!), but it feels amazing on my ass. Gods above, I’m getting old.
“Comfy?” the blonde asks.
Squirming around seems like a good idea right now. “No,” I tell her. “I usually require better furniture when I’m being strong-armed. It’s in the contract.”
She raises an eyebrow.
“My associate back there,” I say, pointing a thumb at Chan, “should have given you the requisite ‘strong-arming Felix Crow’ contract. It clearly states my requirement for comfortable seats when I’m being pushed around.”
“Felix…” she starts.
“Yeah,” I interrupt.
“You’re not being strong-armed,” she continues. “I’d like to retain your services.”
“My services?”
“You are Felix Crow, formerly of the local constabulary, retired after an unspecified incident, now a finder and fixer of problems. I have a problem I would like found and fixed.”
“A problem?”
“Are you going to answer every question with another question?” she asks.
“Is it bothering you?”
“No, I find it almost as charming as when you threw up on me last night,” she says with an extreme eye roll.
“Then we’re off to a wonderful start,” I tell her with my best fake genuine grin. “What’s your name, or should I just call you ‘Blondie’?”
“Would it make you happy?” she asks.
“Touché,” I say. “So who are you?”
The blonde changes her legs, crossing the left over the right, and leans forward. She methodically stubs the bidi out in a ceramic ashtray and leans back again. “You really don’t recognize me,” she says.
I take a deep drag on my bidi and smash it out before I exhale. “Nope. Not a clue.”
“He’s never been the most perceptive person,” Mrs. Chow says from behind me. I’d really love to smash her smirking face in right now.
“He tends to focus completely on the task,” Chan growls.
“I’m sure the booze isn’t helping things,” the blonde says.
“Fuck you all,” I say and start to get up.
Chan’s hand on my shoulder pushes me back down into the seat and holds me there. From here I could break his arm. It would be trivial. He’d still beat me half to death, but I could break his arm.
“Just listen, Crow,” Chan growls quietly.
“Fine,” I say and brush his hand off. “What’s the game here, sweetheart? You’ve got the crime queen of Aluna and the badass of all time helping you pull my sorry ass down into this hole. You want something? Spit it out. I’m grumpy and hungry and all I want to do is drink a gallon of coffee and sit on my porch and hope the world fucks itself to death.”
She sighs and says, “My name is Alyssa Zhào. I need your help. I wanted your friend Chan here but he lacks your ability to get into locked places and he’s busy anyway.”
"Zhào,” I say. “Any relation to Chenming Zhào?”
“He’s my father,” she says.
Shit.
Chenming Zhào is the single most important person on the planet. All those clicks and whirs on the street? He synchronizes them. He makes the world move and aligns the gears of Aluna. He’s the current Clock Man, to use the parlance of our time.
I lean back in my chair and examine the blonde in light of my new information. I don’t know much about her; she manages to keep out of the spotlight. If her dad really is Chenming, she’s the daughter of the single most important person on the planet. That kind of relationship means she’s got a lot of resources available to her.
“Okay,” I say, “if you are who you say you are, what do you need with me?”
“I need to speak with my father,” she says.
“So go talk. The tower is open from eight to eight every day,” I tell her.
That’s one thing about Chenming; he may be the most important person on the planet, but the Clock Man is also one of the easiest people in the world to go see. He’s part mystic, part engineer, but he’s always available.
“The tower is open, but no one has seen my father in weeks,” Alyssa says. There’s a hint of worry in her eyes.
“What are you talking about?” I ask. “He was in the news just last week.”
“A letter on his stationery, nothing more,” she replies, leaning forward.
“Well, he’s probably working on something,” I say, waving my hand dismissively. I really don’t have time for this crap. “He does keep the world running, you know.”
“He’s always supposed to be accessible. He’s never ignored me before,” she says.
There’s genuine concern in her eyes. It’s probably nothing, but whatever’s going on it’s got her rattled and I don’t suspect much rattles Alyssa Zhào.
“Okay,” I say. “What do you want from me?”
She stops and looks me in the eye like she’s searching for something in my head but can’t be certain it’s there. Her gaze is steady; sharp and piercing. I can’t help but feel small and weak under those emerald eyes.
“Honestly, Mr. Crow, I didn’t want you. I wanted Chan but he is unavailable,” Alyssa says. I guess she was searching for a bit of competence in me. Good luck with that quest, toots.
I look back at Chan. His face is impenetrable but he shrugs slightly.
“Good to know I’m your sloppy seconds,” I say.
“Charming,” Alyssa replies and lights another bidi. She looks at Mrs. Chow and says, “I think this was a mistake. Thank you for your time.”
“Wait,” Chan says. His gravelly voice is quiet but seems to echo off the walls. “Crow can do this.”
“What?” I ask, “Do what?”
“He’s a ruffian, a drunkard, and a fool,” Mrs. Chow says, “but he’s your best bet.”
Alyssa takes a drag and exhales. For a moment I’m staring at a dragon with pale white skin, piercing green eyes, and blonde hair. Dragons run this world and it wouldn’t surprise me if one had put on the skin of this woman to fool me. “What guarantee will you offer me?” she asks.
“If he fails…” Mrs. Chow starts.
“If he fails,” Chan interrupts, “I’ll kill him myself.”
I stand up and spin around to face him. As usual he’s unreadable. “What is going on?” I ask.
“I can feel him in the tower but I can’t get to him,” Alyssa says. “Something is terribly wrong and I don’t think it can be fixed.”
The walls are closing in on me again and these idiots aren’t helping things. I reach for Alyssa’s bag of bidis but she pulls them close to her. They’re still within reach, though, so I snatch the bag away from her and light one up.
“You’re fast,” she says. “Faster than I thought.”
I throw the bag back at her and now it’s my turn to stare. There’s only so much pushing around and mystery I can handle before I start getting really pissed. “You should see my speed vomiting,” I tell her.
She fumbles with the bag, not really accepting that I just threw her own bag of bidis at her. A wry smile crosses her lips like she just found what she was looking for and can’t believe it was in front of her the whole time.
“What you want from me?” I ask.
“I want you to infiltrate the tower, find my dad, and kill him,” she says.
“What?” I ask. “Why do you want me to kill him?”
“Truth?” she asks.
“Truth,” I say. “No more bullshit about being able to feel him.”
“Someone came to my house last week and tried to get me to go with him,” she says.
“Is that out of the ordinary?”
“Whoever it was called me méihuā,” she says. “That’s what my dad used to call me when I was a little girl.”
“I’m sure a lot of dads call their daughters plum blossom,” I say.
“Possibly,” she replies, “but when I pressed him on where we were going he got agitated and tried to grab me. The way he talked, it sounded like my dad.”
“So?” I ask.
“It wasn’t my dad at the door. But it was my dad at the door. He’s gotten himself into something,” she says. “Something terrible. He used to tell me he thought he could control people; I think he’s found a way.”
“Okay…,” I say, trailing off. Alyssa’s obviously nuts.
“I know my dad,” she says. “He’s gone off the rails.”
Pot meet kettle. Oh, well. She’s rich so she’s not crazy; she’s eccentric. But eccentric people have money. “What’s the pay?” I ask. I never work for free.
“Anything your heart desires,” she says with a wink.
While a roll in the hay with Alyssa Zhào would be a fun way to kill an hour or so, I’ve got more important things on my mind. “Anything?” I ask.
“Anything in my power to get,” Alyssa says.
“I’ll kill your dad and get back to you on the payment,” I tell her.
III
After someone drops a bomb like wanting me to kill the Clock Man I like to retreat into a bowl of noodles and a bottle of baiju, but Chan has other plans. We make our way upstairs to the quiet bar and the space greets me with the promise of clean air and freedom. I hope I never have to see the tomb below again.
Chan’s in a strange mood today. Strange even by his bizarre standards. When we hit the top of the stairs he plants a hand on my shoulder and guides me to the bar. No matter how much I want to go outside and feel the sunlight on my face I know better than to fight him. I’m tough, but he’s on a whole other level. The man can sling pain like no one else I’ve ever met so I put on my docile face and sit where I’m told.
Someday, I swear, I’m going to enjoy hurting my best friend. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but he and I have a reckoning coming.
Mrs. Chow appears behind the bar like magic and gently places two glasses in front of us. She reaches below the bar but Chan holds up a hand and says, “We’ll have water, please.”
“Suit yourself, freak,” Mrs. C
how says with a scowl. She’s well known for her customer service.
“I’ll have whatever you have under the bar,” I start but Chan shakes his head.
“Water will do for both of us,” he says to no one in particular. I like to think he’s talking to Mrs. Chow and I just got caught in the cross fire but a tingling in my danger senses tells me I was the intended target.
I hate water.
Mrs. Chow pours out two cups full of water and places a glass decanter embellished with her dragon emblem in front of us. The decanter is full of crystal clear water and ice. Cold sweat slowly drips down the side of the green dragons and their red eyes stare at me, accusing me of some crime I didn’t even know I’d committed.
I’m not saying I haven’t committed it, just that I don’t remember committing it.
“Would you like some noodles?” Chan asks.
“I think I may still have some in my pocket,” I tell him.
“Those are inedible, Crow.”
Chan, for all his wisdom, all his strength, all his intelligence and warmth, never did understand jokes. Since he doesn’t get humor and I don’t get being serious it’s kind of amazing we get along as well as we do. He holds up two fingers and Mrs. Chow sighs and barks something I don’t quite catch to whoever is working in her kitchen. Whoever’s back there yells, “Shì de qíngfù.”
Interesting. Her staff calls her Mistress.
“Where are you going, Chan?” I ask.
“What makes you think I’m going anywhere?” he asks.
“Alyssa said you were unavailable,” I say, sniffing the water.
“A man can be unavailable without going anywhere,” he replies.
“Yeah, but this sounds like it would be trivial for you. Sneak in, kill someone, sneak out. It would take you half an hour tops,” I say. “The only way you wouldn’t do it is if you weren’t around.”
He smiles, which is a rare thing for Chan. “Two reasons,” he tells me. “The first is exactly what you just did.”
“What’s that?”
“Put two and two together and came up with nine.”
“Two plus two is four,” I say.
“Yes, but the right answer was nine. You figured out something without all the information. That will come in handy. You’re better at that than anyone I’ve ever known.”