He could see that Eddie was wavering.

“Come on,” Jack pressed, “Your dailo said it was you. You and Koo Jai ducked into the alley. Koo had his pockets ripped off and you’re the only one who came out of that alley alive. You shot him in the back, then robbed him while he was dying.”

Jack took a breath, scowled, and pounded the legal pad.

“That’s twenty-five to life, son,” he hissed. “So, start talking. Don’t waste my time. There’s some white boys waiting for your yellow ass back in general.”

Eddie, with a look of hate on his mangled face, shook his head and cursed before spitting out clots of words. “We stole these fuckin’ watches. The stuff came into some On Yee guy and Koo Jai found out about it. We got into the store, whatever, took the whole shipment. Right out the little window. It was mostly me. But it was Koo’s hit. He set it up. He got the best watches. Just like he got the best pussy. Me and the Jung brothers, we knew he didn’t want us in the clubhouse. It got in the way of his screwing the sluts up there. Then there was a big stink about the watches. Even the dailo came out and made a play. We didn’t let on about the watches, but later, Koo gave it up, and we were all fucked. Koo thought if we gave back what was left, it would clear things up. Cool out the loss of face. The stupid ass. The dailo scheduled a sit-down but when we hooked up, the big guy started with the shotgun. Then everything got crazy. Fuck!”

He took a deep breath and sat quietly a long time before he finally started writing.

He’d taken a discount Greyhound Coach deal, a series of buses westward to Seattle, the cheapest ticket out of town. Two days felt like four but he knew they wouldn’t check for weapons so long as he wasn’t crossing any national borders.

He’d carried sixty grand’s worth of watches plus what was left of the nine thousand he’d ripped out of Koo’s pockets. Fuckin’ Koo Jai, pretty-boy faggot dailo-wannabe, who’d stepped on his tail once too often.

Deducting for transportation, food, and lodging, life on the lam had left him less than five thousand cash. Trying to get settled, he began selling off the low-end Movados through his amigos, Carlos and Jorge. He tried looking for any kind of job he could disappear into but was already tiring of the bad weather.

He’d felt he needed the gun for protection on the road, the only reason he kept it.

He’d shot Koo in self-defense, he insisted, while admitting he’d shot him in the back as Koo was running away in front of him …

He blamed everything, the fuck-up with the watches, the OTB shoot-out, on Koo.

The afternoon had brightened by the time the paperwork and the pictures were done. Jack felt a quiet elation. He considered rescheduling his return flight, but realized he would have to forward documents to the NYPD, and to the Tombs, the detention facility outside of Chinatown in New York. Meanwhile, he finally had some time to catch his breath before returning to the motel.

Pike’s Market was nearby and he went for black coffee and a snack, and to watch the daylight play over the waters of Elliott Bay. He could see clear across to Harbor Island, past freighters and tugboats and ocean liners. Closer, there were different types of pleasure craft, Sea Rays, and smaller boats. The scene reminded him a little of Sunset Park, where birds and boats docked at the terminal piers. It brought a sense of serenity, the impression that things were going somewhere, had a destination.

Gradually, his thoughts came around to the ORCA Gala, and to Alex. Alexandra. He was anticipating the first and only real opportunity he would have to see her during the entire weekend they’d been in Seattle.

He returned to the motel to press his jacket and pants.

Syuhn Ferry

She’d always liked being near water, her element, and her frequent walks to the bay familiarized her with the piers and the boats plying their way in different directions.

The Chinatown travel agency had been very helpful; she’d booked a ferry excursion with an overnight stay to tour the northern city of Victoria, but more important, to spend a few hours in the Chinese communities there. She was reminded of the Queen Victoria landmarks she’d seen in Hong Kong.

The ferry would depart in the early morning, and meals were not included. She’d gone to Mon Chang Supermarket the night before and purchased a plastic container of cha siew, roast pork, and bags of rice crackers and chun pui mui, preserved plums.

The voyage would be a three-hour cruise each way, through Puget Sound and the northern straits. The weather was cool, foggy, and she layered her clothing under a black rain jacket, carrying only the big red plastic bag with the Mon Chang logo.

The other Asians aboard were Japanese and Korean tourist families out for a day trip.

The ferry boat had several decks and Mona had gone to the top, pausing at the rail to watch the boat leave the dock. As the boat churned into the bay a sudden gust of wind snatched the Mon Chang Supermarket’s plastic bag from her grasp, carrying it toward the water. She could only watch as the wind dashed the red bag of snacks into the riptides.

In her distress, she clutched the charm in her fist, and swallowed a breath. The red jade bangle turned cold on her wrist, its chill like a warning.

Follow the flow, the charm advised, test the waters.

She dragged her thumbnail across its jade surface again.

Faith avoids disaster.

As the ferry cut its way into Puget Sound, she kept her focus on the red plastic bag, watching it swirl and bob, the weight inside of the cha siew, roast pork, and the chun pui mui keeping it in the water, while the sealed bag of rice crackers kept it afloat.

The flow washed the red bag onto the shore near a park and a pier leading to a group of big red umbrellas she recognized as part of the sundeck of the Spa Garden.

The ferry gained speed, signaling with a blast of its horn.

She took a breath and sat on a bench by the rail, watching the red bag disappear into the distance, along with the big red umbrellas and the small patch of beachfront park. How blessed, she mused, the wind and water giving me direction.

Her view slowly encompassed mountains crowned by a blue haze, and bald eagles swooping past old forts and lighthouses. She’d lost her appetite and decided to eat after they reached Victoria. Chinese food, she figured, in Chinatown. There were no whales to be seen but the scenic landscapes soothed her.

When they arrived at the Inner Harbor, the weather had cleared considerably. The beautiful bay was sparkling, and she checked into the nearby James Bay Inn. Shortly after, she toured the streets en route to Chinatown, and passed under a Gate of Harmonious Interest. She felt another layer of dread lift. This Chinatown was old, but not very far from the ones she’d visited in Vancouver.

The ferry would return her to Say nga touh, Seattle, the next afternoon.

Red King

He shuffled the deck and deftly fanned the cards out. The articulation had become second nature. He packed the deck, then cut it into halves, folded them back together.

Gee Sin shifted the cell phone, waited for the connection to clear. The line had experienced interference recently. He flipped out a card, replacing it in the deck. Flipping the cards open-faced had been harder to master, having as much to do with the thumb and finger as with wrist and forearm.

He flipped up a pair of jacks.

Jacks in the morning, the king takes warning.

Outside his picture window, the clouds spread over Victoria Harbour under a shrimp-gray sky. He swallowed a Vicodin, chasing it with a shot of brandy, neat. The splash of cold water that followed chilled the fire in his throat. He knew the painkiller would make a beeline to his brain.