There were police lights coming along the waterfront now; it seemed like forever before she got up on one knee. She was surprised at how strong the old man was as he started dragging her by the hair toward the waiting boat.

Jack twisted up onto his elbows, catching his breath. Apparently, they’d made him, and the big goon had slipped out of the sedan and doubled back. Ahead of him now, a second man exited the sedan and was coming in Jack’s direction. The shuriken-throwing man. This time he had a gun in his hand.

“They’re getting away!” Alex screamed, pointing toward the end of the pier where a man was dragging the woman along by her hair. Her screams had died out.

Jack pointed the Colt at the man, but it was empty. Ripping out his speedloader clip from his jacket pocket, he popped the Colt’s cylinder clear of spent shells. He was on his knees now, trying to insert fresh rounds as the shuriken man closed in, taking aim and crouching.

The old man yelled something to the boatman and Mona heard the growl of an inboard motor revving up. Yanking her forward, the old man cursed and made ready to shove her onto the boat.

Her struggles had worked open the zipper of her shoulder bag. Suddenly, he pounded a heavy fist at her jaw, bloodying her mouth. She reeled backward and twisted down, reaching into the open bag. He continued choppunching her in the back of the head. She thought she heard the wail of sirens.

The old man paused, looking back up the pier where he had dispatched the two 49s. The police lights were getting closer. He cursed again and turned back to Mona, cocking his fist to hammer her again.

The shuriken man smiled, sensing the kill. Suddenly, Alex stepped out from behind the Dumpster and picked up the dead man’s knife.

“Hey!” she yelled.

Surprised to see her, he hesitated for a moment before aiming his gun her way. Alex reared back and flung the knife with all her might. The knife spun wildly through the air and the man ducked it easily, laughing, then cursing, Dew! He sneered and pointed the gun again, taking a step in her direction even as Jack felt the fresh bullets sliding into the Colt’s cylinder, and snapped it shut.

The man glanced at Jack, who was braced on one knee now, leveling his gun and cocking the hammer. The fire exploding from the Colt’s barrel froze the man until the first two .38 hollow points tore into his chest. The revolver roared rapidly again and the man dropped to his knees, glaring at Alex until the light left his eyes. He collapsed in a heap, the sneer gone from his face.

Jack ran over and kicked the gun out of his hand as the last gasp shuddered out of his body.

Alex ran toward the pier, and Jack ran after her, clipping his detective’s shield to his jacket.

The new round of gunshots had distracted the old man.

Mona brought her hand out of the shoulder bag with the Chinatown souvenir letter opener in her grasp.

The last thing the old man saw clearly as he turned was the flash of something metallic in her hand, a spike, he thought, as she plunged it into his eye. His snarl froze on his mouth. The sudden pain shocked him. Blood streamed down his face. He staggered forward, his brain shortcircuiting, chi seen, howling as he yanked the dagger from his eye.

There were police cruisers wheeling in, and a fierce commotion near the end of the pier. The two goons from the minivan waited by the access road, ready to block the way.

“Alex!” Jack yelled, knowing this time he had two shots left in the Colt. She froze as a tall white man in plainclothes suddenly ran up yelling, “Police! SPD!” then lowering the gun in his hand when he saw Jack’s badge.

“NYPD!” Jack yelled back as they sprinted together toward the pier, a barking, panting exchange running between them.

“Detective Yu, I presume!”

“Right! You’re Detective Nicoll?” Jack noted the man’s chiseled features, the trim mustache.

“From a red ball to a tong war, brother!” Nicoll said, grinning.

Alex trailed behind them as they ran.

His grip never loosened even through the extreme agony and her fierce screams that filled his ears. She felt a searing pain from her wrist, as if the red bangle were on fire, burning her. She mustered what strength she had left and violently ripped herself free from him. She hardly noticed that something had loosened through the air, that part of his sleeve had gone limp. She bolted in a near-panic toward the water, stopping dead, gasping, when she came to the tenfoot plunge at the edge of the pier.

The old man willed himself onward, stumbling into the grasp of the thug in the boat. The thug then leapt onto the pier, going for Mona. She was already backed up to the edge, breathless, trying to shake off her dizziness from the blows that had pounded her head.

Flashing lights rolled across the boardwalk entrance. People, and running uniforms, yelling things in English.

The thug took several steps in her direction.

Save me, kwoon yum, Goddess of Mercy! She took three deep breaths before stepping off the pier, letting herself fall.

At the access road, a squad of SPD uniforms had bagged the two Chinese from the minivan. There was no one in sight down the long length of the pier. When Jack and Alex got to the end, there was only the sound of waves and the distant churning of motor boats across the bay.

“Gone,” Alex said in disbelief. “All gone.”

“A woman went into the water,” Jack informed Nicoll. “And maybe a man, as well.” They stared into the dark water beneath the pier as Alex gave Jack a napkin to sop up the blood clogging his ear.

“Harbor Patrol will pick up anyone in the water,” Nicoll offered.

“Was a boat here?” Jack asked aloud.

“Coast Guard can check that out, too,” advised Nicoll.

The three of them scanned the surface of the bay, looking for a body, clothing, something. All they saw were a couple of dead birds and the usual debris, shards of driftwood, a plastic soda jug.

The Seattle cops were out in force now, cordoning off the place where Jack had left two men dead.

“Did she witness any of that?” Nicoll nodded toward Alex.

“Unfortunately,” Jack answered hesitantly.

“We’ll need a statement from her,” indicated Nicoll. He escorted Alex back along the pier toward the uniforms securing the scene.

Looking south down the waterways, Jack saw Harbor Island, and Duwamish beyond that. Northward lay an endless waterfront of piers, green parks, and commercial landings. Directly before him was the wide expanse of Elliott Bay, with freighters and ferries and assorted pleasure craft plying the frigid waters in every direction.

But no woman, and no man. No Paper Fan.

Jack checked the edges of the pier and saw a small dark stain on the wet planking. Upon closer inspection he saw it was dark red: a smear of blood. He stepped carefully, seeing several more tiny droplets that led to a pair of bollards.

Beside the bollards he saw what appeared to be a human hand attached to some kind of elastic strap. A man’s hand, he thought, smeared with blood. The fingers were clenched around something red. Jack could see a curved fragment of a red bangle caught in its grasp. Examining the broken piece, he wondered if the unusual color was the result of its being covered in blood. In the rain, it felt slick. The bangle had broken clean through but the blood-red color held fast when he rubbed it.

He took out his plastic camera and snapped a few shots of the hand and the broken bangle. The hand felt heavier than he thought a prosthetic hand should, and he wondered if there were metal joints within.

He put it back near the bollard before advising the crime scene techs to bag it.

When he got to the turnoff, he saw that one of the SPD uniforms had found the knife more than twenty yards from where Alex had flung it. It had bounced and skidded along the concrete until it stopped beside the driver’s door of a parked car. It was a tantō-style Japanese blade but with a serrated edge.