“WE’VE got a problem,” Miss P announced as she strode into the room, brandishing my second pot of coffee on a tray with two cups. At my raised eyebrow, she said, “I relieved room service of it down the hall.” She speared me with a serious look. “We have a problem.”
I took the pot and poured us both a cup. “And this is a surprise because?”
“No surprise. I simply wanted to make sure I had your attention.” She dropped into the chair across the coffee table from me and kicked off her shoes, then she reached for the cup of coffee I held out to her.
“Apparently, not only do owners start to look like their dogs, but assistants begin to act like their bosses.” I remembered the days when she would perch on the edge of a chair, nervously plucking at imagined lint on her clothing like a sparrow pecking at empty kernels.
She seemed nonplussed—another of my coping strategies, a second cousin to fake-it-‘till-you-make-it. “I’ll worry about it if we are alive tomorrow.”
Another pessimist, just what my guardian angel ordered. My stomach growled, demanding attention. “What meal is the next appropriate one? I haven’t a clue as to the time.”
“Dinner.”
“Good to know. Do they have an In-N-Out close by?”
“You’re not taking this seriously.” Miss P seemed in a lather.
“Life is too important to be taken seriously. So what problem, among the thousands we are dealing with, has your panties in a bunch?”
“Your Miss Liu had a very emotional private chat with Ol’ Irv.”
Taking a moment to distill that, I realized I wasn’t surprised. Disappointed for sure, but surprised? Nope. Kim had warned me—a dying gift I refused to ignore. “Any idea the subject matter?”
“One of Teddie’s girls told me that Miss Liu is sweet on Mr. Whitmore, and she feels that Ol’ Irv is a bad influence.”
Teddie’s girls threw me for a minute, but my ship righted pretty quickly. I had no more a claim on him than he did on me—his fault, my choice. “Wise, but how does Ol’ Irv have any pull on Mr. Whitmore?”
“Now that’s the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question, isn’t it?” Miss P looked ready to erupt.
Unwilling to give her the satisfaction, I waited, feigning patience.
Finally, she caved. “Apparently, Ol’ Irv is staying at Mr. Whitmore’s.”
“His house on the road to Coloane?” I checked my watch, calculating the time for a round trip and a bit of breaking and entering. My skills rusty, I added a fudge factor.
“No, his condo at the hotel next door.”
A smile split my face. “Even better.”
Her face fell. “You knew about the condo?”
I gave her an enigmatic tilt of my head, raising one shoulder as if to say, “I’m the boss, always one step ahead.”
She let me have my fun. The banter was a great way to shift all the heavy we carried. “One of the young women told me Whitmore keeps it and arranges for entertainment for the whales who want to indulge in excesses but under the radar in case Big Brother takes a dim view.”
“And Miss Liu goes along with that?”
“Good question, don’t you think?”
Her face crumpled into a frown. “If she’s in on it, that’s like being betrayed by your own gender.”
“Even worse than the men doing it, isn’t it? We women have to stick together. Want to go on a seek-and-destroy mission? Could be dangerous.” I stuffed my feet back in my shoes.
Miss P did the same, although her feet, her shoes. “I thought you’d never ask.”
That knife. The murder weapon.
I knew what I was looking for, but I had no idea if I would find it, but I needed a chink in Ol’ Irv’s armor, some serious leverage, and I was tired of waiting.
Probably stupid, but, if my past had taught me anything, stupid sometimes was the way to go.
I texted Ming. Can you give me location of Gittings and Whitmore?
I waited, staring at my phone. Miss P said Gittings was staying in the apartment, so I knew, if he wasn’t there, then we’d have a green light.
Gittings in Panda room. Will keep him there.
If he moves. Let me know.
Ok.
Miss P and I strolled out of the hotel as if we had nowhere to go and all day to get there. Nobody stopped us; nobody paid any attention, at least not that I could tell.
Soon, I was grateful for the cover of darkness. “What’s the date?”
Miss P thought for a moment before answering. “The thirtieth.”
“And we’ll get a day back heading home?”
“Fifteen hours.”
“We just might make it.”
“If we don’t die or get arrested.”
My self-delusion running at full-throttle, I was feeling practically giddy with optimism—and amped on caffeine after having downed half the second pot. “Oh, ye of little faith. We got this.”
“How are we going to play this little part of the adventure?” Miss P’s voice hadn’t lost its bravado.
Which left me to contemplate where bravery morphed into stupidity. Of course, I probably crossed that line the minute I got on that airplane heading here, rendering the question moot. “I’ll play it. You follow. If things go south, run like hell and don’t stop until you hit Vegas. Plane is in Hong Kong.”
“Good to know.” She hooked an arm through mine.
“When you have a chance, you might want to have it relocated to the airport here.”
“Will do, but, for the record, we leave together or not at all.”
“Good to know.” With one hand, I covered her smaller one that rested on my forearm. “We should be okay. According to Ming, Ol’ Irv is busy in the junket rooms.”
Hiking up the drive of the neighboring property, I didn’t even shorten my stride, fearing a slight loss in momentum would lead to total immobility. I pushed through the door, then adopted an air of authority. Miss P had loosened my arm and now let me lead the way.
The lobby was chic contemporary in hues of light purple and gray. Icicles of crystal hung from high ceilings refracting the light. Carpets of red and orange brightened and softened the grey stone tiles underneath. Cool, aloof, with barely a hint of warmth—Ol’ Irv would feel right at home.
I stepped to the desk where a young man waited with his hands clasped behind his back and a look of disinterest in his eyes. “The manager, please?”
He gave me a tight-lipped grimace and a nod, which clearly pained him, then disappeared around a partition behind him. Miss P darted me a glance as we both tried to act casual. My heart hammered and I felt on the verge of passing out—clearly a life of crime was not a good fallback if the casino thing didn’t work out. Of course, riding the South China Sea with Sinjin did have its romantic appeal…
A short, stocky woman pressed into an unflattering blue-skirted suit reminiscent of the eighties, sensible shoes, tight, thin lips, and a no-nonsense attitude, stepped around the partition. “How may I be of assistance?” Her voice was a gravelly growl.
And here I’d wondered what happened to all the female adversaries in those Bond movies. My imagination revved into overdrive. I decided to keep the desk between us in case she had that curare tipped pointy thing in the toe of her shoe. I figured I had her by ten inches, too many pounds for my delicate ego, and a decade of experience. I could take her…even if she had curare on her side. “I’m Lucky O’Toole, an executive with Tigris.”
“Yes.”
I didn’t know what that meant, but one thing for sure, she couldn’t look any less impressed. This wasn’t going as I’d hoped, but it was going about as I expected once I saw her. “My property next door is paying for a condo here.”
“Yes?”
I’d guessed right. “I’d like a key.”
“Can you prove who you are?”
Ouch. Thirty seconds later I’d given her my bona fides, obtained a key, verbally eviscerated her, and Miss P and I were now en route in the elevator to the top floor.
“You left her bleeding but barely alive.”
I didn’t hear any judge in her assessment. “Collateral damage. She knew who I was and was jerking my chain for fun.”
“How do you know?”
“I fired her two years ago. I’d be willing to bet we have no more than ten minutes. She’ll call Whitmore.”
Miss P took that in stride. “Wouldn’t be any fun if it was easy.”
“Said the bull rider at her first rodeo. Easy would be good—unexpected, but good.”
“Pricy property,” she said with a snarl. “Our auditors…”
“Have some answering to do.” The ostentation impressed even little ol’ jaded me. “At least Ryan Whitmore didn’t skimp on his sinning.”
“Can’t trust the help,” she deadpanned, without even a smidge of irony.
She needed to teach me how to do that—lately everybody seemed to read me like a book. Mesmerized, we both watched the numbers flash by. Too soon the doors slid open, delivering us to the penthouse floor. At least I had my answer—Whitmore more than likely padded his income on the side. And he curried favor with Cho to have business thrown his way—wealthy men who were looking for a woman to rough up.
The thought made me want to kill somebody. “Whitmore always was good at hiding his sins. After all these years, I’m sure he has it down to a fine art. Seeing how he pulled it off will be educational.”
Apparently, there were two penthouses, an A and a B. The key was marked with a B, making the choice easy. “The B team,” I whispered as I put a finger to my lips. The key actually worked a magnetic lock that opened with a barely discernible click. With Miss P guarding my back, I eased the door inward on silent hinges. No lights, no sound…apparently, we were alone.
My heart slowed just a bit as I motioned Miss P inside. Plush carpet muffled our footfalls as I shut the door behind her. “We don’t have long.”
“What are we looking for?”
We both surveyed the large, open great room. Couches and chairs, clustered around small tables, but in the half-light filtering through the large windows the detail was lost. “An ivory-handled knife and anything else we can use against Gittings for sure, and Whitmore for maybe. He pegs my creep meter, and I’m going to take him down whether Miss Liu likes it or not.”
“Fire his ass, for starters.” Familiar with my oddities, Miss P nodded, her expression serious. “Should we split up?”
“Makes the most sense, but isn’t that the one decision in those slasher movies that gets the pretty blonde hacked to bits?”
Instead of buying my bullshit, she pointed behind me. “You go that way.”
“And you’ll go?”
“Not that way.”
With our banter back, I felt better as I felt my way in the weak light. The great room was devoid of personal effects, as if carefully staged to impress. Tiptoeing, I opened doors, dove into closets, but found nothing interesting. A set of double doors at the end of the room beckoned. Pushing them open, I stepped into a large sitting room. A double-sided fireplace separated the cozy cluster of a sectional couch wrapped around an inlaid coffee table with the bedroom beyond.
A text dinged. My heart jumped out of my chest. “Shit,” I whispered. Not sure why. If anyone was on this entire floor that ding just alerted them to the fact they weren’t alone.
Gittings moving.
“Hurry,” I raised my voice slightly so Miss P could hear. “I was right. Gittings is on the move.”
Where is he?
Stairs that move to lobby.
“Five minutes.” He’s on the escalators at the hotel and in a hurry.
“Got it.”
With a renewed sense of urgency, I fingered through the pile of magazines on the table. Nothing of great interest—mostly porn. Must be Ol’ Irv’s inner sanctum. I fought a shiver of revulsion.
Its burnished wood surface uncluttered, the desk in the corner hadn’t been used…well not for business, at least. Ol’ Irv had a desk back home…the thought made me shudder. He’d etched the names of the women he’d taken on the thing in the ancient mahogany. Thankfully, mine hadn’t been one of them—even then there’d been a limit to my stupidity.
The bedroom looked a bit more lived in—the heavy damask quilt thrown back, the sheets wrinkled. The whole place had my nerves firing, my muscles twitching, my brain shouting, “Run!”
Another text. Outside now. Running.
Now I really did need to run. “Gotta go!”
I paused for one more look. It had to be here. Fighting the urge to run, I turned slowly, focusing, letting my gaze linger on the furniture, the credenza under the television hanging on the wall, the nightstand, the low bench at the foot of the bed, the other nightstand…
Wait.
An oblong object on the bench drew my attention. Something wrapped in a piece of cloth. I grabbed it and began peeling back the layers. Course silks with golden thread, the wrappings of a treasure.
My hands shook as I cradled the object, feeling its weight.
The thin evil shape.
Even as I turned back the last gossamer layer, I knew what I held.
The ivory handle. The lethal blade
The knife used to kill Kimberly Cho.
Quickly, I thumbed through the photos in my phone, confirming what I already knew. Jerry said he’d traced ownership as far as Irv Gittings, which was good enough for me.
It was his. He’d killed someone with it. How did he still have it?
Macau, where a life could be measured in money. I hadn’t wanted to believe it, but now I held the proof. And I knew I wasn’t prepared to live in a world this cruel.
“Find what you were looking for?”
The male voice held all the pain and anger I felt. My blood pressure spiked so high I thought blood would spurt out my ears. My hand sought the handle of the knife as I whirled around.
Frank Cho. Not who I’d expected.
“I’m glad to see you,” I blathered.
He lifted his chin toward the knife I now held by the handle, the business end pointing toward him. “You better be ready to use that.”
I dropped my hand. “I don’t want to kill anybody.” Self-preservation bolted through me. “Don’t think I can’t.”
“I have no doubt.” Frank seemed not to care one way or the other.
“I’m sorry about Kim.”
He tried to shrug it off, but the shine in his eyes gave him away. “Then why are you holding the knife that killed her?”
“Knives don’t kill, humans do.” God, I sounded like one of those NRA commercials back home. True, but irritating in a condescending sort of way. I carefully refolded it in the silk. “I’m not the killer who wielded this blade, but I bet you know that.”
“How do think? You’re holding the murder weapon. You could’ve come here looking for it. Cover your trail.”
“True, but then why are you here?”
“I could’ve followed you.”
“But you didn’t.” I saw Miss P lurking behind him with a large bronze in her hands, preparing to swing it. “Don’t!” I barked.
Frank whirled. Miss P froze. Then they both looked at me with disbelieving looks.
I extended the knife to Frank. “Here. If you really believe I killed Kim, then have at it. I deserve whatever I get from you.”
He snatched the knife out of my hands, then backed up so that he had both Miss P and me in front of him. A tear leaked down his cheek. He swiped at it with the back of his hand. “He killed Kim. My father, he didn’t stop him.”
“That’s how this business is played; you know that. Everyone is expendable, especially if they switch sides. You were going to help Kim, weren’t you? I knew I wasn’t wrong about you.”
“She was right. For Macau to grow, to be like Vegas, we must be, as you say, legitimate.”
One good gut-call. I relaxed just a little, fairly sure Frank wasn’t going to perforate me. “My Security guy tied the ownership of that knife to Irv Gittings. He also placed Gittings in the Tigris at the time of Kim’s murder through the surveillance tapes I uploaded to him. That’s all I got.”
“That’s enough.” His anger seemed to solidify into something different, something even more deadly. “How do you do it?”
“What?”
“Stay within yourself like you do.”
I thought I knew what he meant, but I wasn’t sure. “Draw your lines where you see fit and live on the right side of those lines.”
He lifted the knife. “What would you do?”
“This isn’t about me.” I knew in my soul if anyone took someone I loved, I’d cut his heart out without thinking about it. “But we really do need to get out of here. Gittings is minutes away.”
My phone dinged. In the elevator.
“Shit. We’ve got to run.” Pushing and herding, I got both Miss P and Frank moving. “Back door? Service entrance?”
Frank turned to the left, heading through the dining room. “This way.”
He’d been here before.
Behind us, the electronic lock on the front door slid open. The handle turned.
That galvanized us to a run. Trying for quiet, but in need of speed, we pushed through the back entrance.
Frank pressed the button for the service elevator. I grabbed his elbow and shepherded him through the door to the stairs. Then I corralled Miss P through in front of me.
“But it’s like thirty floors,” Miss P hissed.
Frank slowed. “I should go back. Kill him.”
“Move. Keep going. He’ll just shoot you. He knows we were there; he’ll have a gun. And you have a knife. You’ll never get close.” I wanted to give him the whole revenge-is-best-served-cold lecture, but now was not the time.
Frank yielded to logic, surprising the hell out of me.
The three of us—Miss P in the front, Frank in the middle, me shielding from behind—raced down as fast as we could.
We didn’t say anymore, just kept going round and round, descending like Orpheus into Hell.
Every few floors, I’d pause and listen for someone following, but I didn’t hear anyone. I didn’t like it.
At the bottom, Miss P reached to pound the bar and open the door. Reaching around Frank, I pulled her back. “Hold on. Something’s not right.”
Two sets of eyes turned to stare at me. “Nobody followed.”
Frank nodded as the bloodlust left his eyes and cool calculation returned. “They took the elevator down.”
The three of us looked at the door, imagining the evil on the other side. As if we’d summoned him, someone rattled the door.
Locked. The door could be opened only from the inside. Part of the security—hotels didn’t want just anyone getting up to the upper floors. You had to have a valid room key and pass it in front of a reader in the elevator. But, legit or not, you couldn’t open the stair door.
I tapped the other two to get their attention. When I had it, I pointed up.
“There’s a fire escape on the other side of the building,” Frank whispered.
Listening, looking, I led them up a few floors. Irv had a one-in-thirty chance of guessing which floor we chose, odds I could live with. I tried to second-guess myself—what would Irv think I would do?
I chose the seventh floor. Easing the door open just wide enough to get my head through and sneak a look, I could feel Frank and Miss P breathing down my neck, literally. The hall curved slightly to the left—I could see maybe halfway down, but the rest was around the bend.
Taking a deep breath, I pushed the door open wider and stepped through, keeping the others shielded behind. Sticking close to the wall, I eased down the hall, heading toward the far side of the building. One step at a time, the fire escape seemed light-years away. My heart pounded in my ears. The worst part about this whole thing was we had to pass the elevators to get to the other side.
About halfway there, the elevator dinged its arrival.
Like mice in the kitchen when the light is turned on, we each scurried to safety in the doorways on either side. Miss P and Frank chose the right side; I chose the left…of course.
Pressed back as far as we could go, we blinked at each other and didn’t breathe.
Voices. One male, one female. Friendly chattering in a language I didn’t understand faded as the couple moved away. I sagged as stars swam in front of my eyes, then remembered to suck in a lungful of air. I sneaked a look. The hall was empty. Too afraid to speak, I motioned for my cohorts to follow as I stepped into the hallway.
The first shot winged my left arm. I didn’t wait to see who was behind the trigger—I knew. Turning, I bolted after Miss P and Frank, who were one step ahead.
One floor in thirty and we had to end up on the same one.
Using the curve of the hallway, we ran just fast enough to keep Irv from getting a straight shot at us. That didn’t keep him from firing. Shots thumped into the walls. A beautiful blown glass vase exploded. A light fixture was next.
I didn’t bother to duck—I just ran. My breathing ragged, my legs heavy, I pushed. I couldn’t slow down. One step slower, maybe two, and Irv would have a clear shot.
A shot sang next to my ear, hitting the wall.
He was closing.
“Hurry,” I hissed, knowing they were going as fast as they could.
Frank hit the door first. Miss P stumbled through after him. Bending, I grabbed her under the arms and steadied her back on her feet. Bracing for the shot I knew would come, I dodged quickly to my right, putting as much of the wall between me and Ol’ Irv as I could.
Next time I’d kill him when I had the chance…if I had the chance.
Some people shouldn’t be allowed to live—a pretty radical thought for a staunch believer in the justice system. Ol’ Irv had changed my mind.
Racing down the stairs, we’d put a floor and a half between us when I heard Irv bang through the door above us. Not much breathing room.
My throat burned as the breath tore through it, feeding lungs already starved.
Five floors.
Shit.
Bullets pinged off metal as Irv fired down the stairwell as he pounded after us. Mad and frustrated, and a bit scared, I figured. Long odds on hitting us with a random ricochet.
Only desperate men took the long odds.
As we hit the landing at the bottom, the shooting stopped. Clicks but no bullets.
Wasting ammo on emotion.
Despite sweating and breathing so hard our gasps could probably be heard in Hong Kong, Miss P and I strode sedately through the door as Frank held it open for us.
A tour group had arrived and the lobby was packed. Miss P and I filtered into the crowd as we made our way to the front door. Frank followed close behind.
A few of the tourists shot us mildly interested looks as they chattered among themselves.
Ming waited just outside the front door. She didn’t have her machine gun, but the pistol in her hand was the next best thing. She took us in with one look. “Why didn’t you call me? I could’ve helped.”
“We were a bit busy.” I grabbed her arm and pulled her along with us. “It’s not safe out here.”
“FBI over there.” She lifted her chin indicating a spot across the street. “You want them to find Gittings?”
“Yes.”
She spoke into her phone and men materialized out of the shadows, advancing on the hotel.
They wouldn’t find him, but I didn’t tell them that. I grabbed Miss P by the elbow. “Find anything?” I asked as I pulled her along, urging her to hurry.
“Enough to fire Whitmore but not enough to kill him.”
“Glad to hear it. The list of folks I’d like to eradicate is pretty long, and that doesn’t make me comfortable. I’m a Pollyanna—self-delusion is my happy place.”
When I turned to look for Frank, he was gone.
Not that I was surprised. I hoped he wasn’t doing anything foolish, then I half-hoped he was. Not really a good time, though, with the FBI scurrying like ants through the hotel. I tried not to worry about him—he’d have to do what he needed to do, then find a way to make his peace with it. “I didn’t imagine him, did I?” I asked Miss P.
“Not unless we both had the same bad food for lunch.”
Feeling like a fox with a pack of hounds on my scent, I didn’t relax until we were both in the elevator at Tigris. Ming leaned in and punched the button for the owner’s suite, flashing a card to activate it.
“You’re not coming up?”
Her eyes looked deadly. “No, we need to be watchful.”
I glanced at my watch. Eight p.m. “Time flies when you’re having fun.” I smiled at her quizzical expression as the doors slid closed.
At the last minute, I stuck my hand between them. “The man came to see you?” I asked Ming.
“Yes. Everything is in place. Do not worry.”
She didn’t understand—worry was my job. And Ming was the key, the only wild card I couldn’t protect against. Would she come through?
One hundred million U.S. rested on her decision.
As the doors closed, I said to Miss P, “This game has the highest stakes I’ve ever wagered.” I didn’t expect sympathy from her and I didn’t get it.
“You gave Frank the knife,” Miss P said, as we both watched the numbers pass all too slowly, and I had a Yogi Berra moment..
I wanted a rocket ship to Mars, and I got the slow train. Terrific. I tapped my foot as my life passed while we ascended at a glacial pace. Somehow I resisted punching the button in frustration. I didn’t hear any condemnation in her voice, but I read it into the question. “He would’ve found it anyway.”
“But you put it in his hands, knowing he had murder on his mind.”
I thought about that for a moment, how I felt about it. Yeah, I’d pretty much signed Irv Gittings’ death warrant. First when I delivered the coup de grâce to Mr. Cho. Irv had said he was shooting at me, but Irv was never known for telling the truth. The truth was his guy shot Minnie. I chose to interpret that to suit my purposes—Irv would’ve done the same. That fact alone should’ve had me filled with self-loathing, but it didn’t. When I’d caught Irv the first time, I’d played by the rules. He’d used them against me, which I figured gave me a free pass this time.
Why was it always easier to justify bad behavior than good?
Knowing Ol’ Irv and his Houdini skills as I did, I didn’t rely solely on Mr. Cho to do my dirty work. No, I doubled up with Frank for added security.
“Justice.”
“No doubt,” Miss P agreed.
I heard what she left unsaid. “Maybe you’re correct and I don’t have the right. Maybe I’m just tired of letting bad people get away with bad things. Time to stand up. If I go to Hell, so be it.”
“All our friends will be there.” Miss P hooked her arm through mine. “Let’s go slay that last dragon, then let’s go home.”
Friends—the folks who will help you bury the bodies.
“First, I have something to do. Then want to meet me for dinner? The main restaurant in half an hour?”
I left her at the penthouse floor, staring at me bug-eyed as the elevator door closed.