CHAPTER 25

As Li Wei drives downtown with his brother, he doesn’t want to hear any more talk of tainted drugs, so he switches off the radio and they travel in blissful silence. He slows the car to a stop out front of the restaurant on Alberni Street where a valet attendant is waiting for him.

“Welcome to Cena, sir,” the young man with the red hair and freckles says in an accent that Li Wei can’t place but thinks must be British.

“It’s brand-new. Too soon for scratches,” Li Wei says to the boy, whose eyes light up at the sight of the fifty-dollar bill wrapped around the car key.

Another man with greased hair in a form-fitting suit greets them with a massive smile at the front door. “Welcome, Mr. Jian and Mr. Jian. Mr. Hashemi is expecting you. Please, follow me.”

The man leads them up an elevator to the third floor. He guides them down a dark hallway, past an empty private dining room, and into a bright contemporary office. It’s decorated with splashy prints, a taupe leather sofa and matching love seat, and a sleek white desk. Farhad Hashemi sits behind the desk, across from his brawny bodyguard. The man who guided them upstairs backpedals out of the room and closes the door behind him.

Farhad rises to greet the brothers with his usual smug smile.

These oily Iranians think they own this city. Li Wei can only imagine what his brother must be thinking.

“Hugh, Wayne, good to see you.” Farhad extends a hand to them. “Thank you for coming.”

“It is good to see you, too, Farhad,” Li Wei says as he meets the man’s firm handshake.

Ignoring the Persian’s hand, Hui bows his head and offers only a terse, “Good day.”

“Come, sit.” Farhad leads them back to the desk, where they sit down across from him. “Business must really be booming, Wayne. I heard about your new house on Marine Drive. I should say mansion. Estate, really. I drive by it all the time. I’m wildly jealous.”

“If there’s anyone to be jealous of, it is the realtors in this city. In Vancouver, real estate is even more profitable than our business.”

Farhad laughs. “Especially if you can get favorable interest rates.”

“Very true.” Li Wei isn’t sure whether Farhad is referencing their high-interest loans or not. But he can see by how straight Hui is sitting that his brother has taken umbrage at the comment. The burning in his throat intensifies. The last thing he needs is for Hui to overreact. Li Wei reaches down and grabs the briefcase full of pills at his feet and lifts it up to the desk. “We have filled your prescription.”

Farhad laughs. “I hope your pharmacy still accept cash,” he says as he produces a stainless-steel briefcase of his own from behind his desk.

They exchange the cases without opening them, each aware how shortsighted it would be to shortchange the other—a recipe for guaranteed war.

Just as Li Wei is about to stand, Farhad asks, “Have the VPD interviewed either one of you yet?”

“Interviewed?” Hui grimaces. “Why?”

“The dead teenagers,” Farhad says with a small shrug. “The health advisory. They say there is bad product on the street.”

“No,” Li Wei says. “They have come to see you?”

“They did. Asking all sorts of questions, leveling all kinds of accusations. They were particularly interested in one junkie and his dealer.”

“Why?” Li Wei leans forward. He can practically taste the stomach acid now. “Is he the one selling the bad dope?”

“The cops didn’t share much with me.”

“Do you know who this dealer is?”

“I do.” Farhad’s lips part into a self-satisfied smirk. “They don’t.”