Mel Sidek waded his way through the relentless crowds lining Shanghai’s Nanjing Road. Neon signs glared and pulsated like electronic fireworks, and Mel closed his eyes, tugging at the neck of his shirt. The humidity was suffocating, but this was an important client meeting he didn’t want to miss. He maneuvered his way into the street through the stalled traffic, barely making it to the other side as a wave of dizziness forced him to grasp a light pole.
Was he going to lose it right here in the street?
He straightened and pushed forward.
Thank heaven. The Ming Khan restaurant, at last. He stopped outside to catch his breath, looking through his reflection in one of its massive windows.
Where would they be seated?
The Ming Khan was more crowded than usual for a Thursday evening. Waitresses in colorful saris sped platters overloaded with steaming food to the one hundred or so patrons seated at ornate, hand-carved mahogany booths. Chinese lanterns, papier mâché dragon heads, and replicas of samurai swords made the Ming Khan one of Mel’s favorites, and he always brought visiting colleagues here to taste authentic Chinese cooking while in Shanghai.
He searched the interior. There, at a far booth, Brian and Art sat waiting for him. Mel watched them through the constant parade of servers moving around them with choreographed precision. Phil was probably on his way. He was always late for these things. Mel turned and started for the front door—
The sidewalk spun around him. Sweat dripped over an eyebrow.
What was going on? Not even the Shanghai humidity produced this kind of sweat.
Mel grasped for the side of the building. He looked up just in time to see Phil approaching the restaurant door.
Phil grinned at him. “Hey, Mel. I’m glad you’re late. It won’t make me look so…” He frowned. “Hey, are you all right? You look terrible.”
Mel wanted to answer, but everything was swirling. Phil’s words sounded like he was shouting them from a mile away. A searing spike shot through his left side, into his neck, and down his shoulder. He grimaced as his knees gave way.
Phil caught him and eased him to the sidewalk. “Mel, hey, buddy, easy now. Think you just fainted. It’s this crazy heat. Sit here and catch your breath. I’ll go get the guys. Are you okay?”
The pain eased, and Mel managed a nod. The heat. It had to be the heat.
“Okay then, just stay here, and we’ll be right out.”
Mel managed not to groan as Phil propped him up against the restaurant wall then disappeared inside.
Mel lifted a hand to wipe some of the streaming sweat from his face, but the searing pain returned. He clutched at his chest…he couldn’t breathe…
Not now, not tonight, please, dear God.
He slumped down and lay flat on the sidewalk, hoping to ease the pain. People scurried around him, and a few stopped to stare.
Air…he needed air…he fought to drag it into his lungs, but in his spirit he knew.
This was his time.
Images flooded his mind. The people he would leave behind. The work at the law firm left undone. And then, another face….
Sam Roberts.
I have to make sure, have to be sure before—
Someone grasped his wrist. An elderly Chinese gentleman had knelt beside him and seemed to be checking his pulse. The man felt Mel’s chest and looked into his eyes. There was a sense of peace about him that calmed Mel.
“Mel!”
It was Phil. Mel turned his head and saw his three companions bolt out of the restaurant.
“He’s over here!” Phil pushed his way through the crowd that had gathered. The three men fell to their knees beside Mel.
Phil cradled Mel’s head in his arms. “Mel, Mel, can you hear me?”
Brian closed in beside him. “Did someone call an ambulance?”
“Yeah,” Phil replied, “but this is Shanghai. Who knows how long it will take.”
The Chinese man looked up at Mel’s friends and bowed then spoke to them in broken English. “Your friend will not see the end of day. Say to him what you must. Now!”
Mel grabbed Art’s shirt and pulled him down. “Art, you know….” It was so hard to force the words out. “You know…what must be done…for Sam.”
Art looked at Brian, and they nodded. Art leaned close. “It will be done, Mel. Just as you wanted. On my word—”
“—and mine!” Brian echoed.
Mel managed a slight smile. So this was where he would die, outside the Ming Khan restaurant, surrounded by his three closest friends.
In one week they would bury him in a meadow near his home in Salem, Oregon.