Gunsmith Cats Fan Fiction ❯ Chasing the Dragon ❯ Chapter Five ( Chapter 5 )

This story is based on the 'Gunsmith Cats' manga by Kenichi Sonoda, with a few elements from the 'Riding Bean' OAV (1989). It is set after the last published manga in English as of March 2005.

Tell me what you thought of it, no matter what you have to say. I'm a big girl. :) I always welcome reader reactions, especially ones that go into detail. Please email me at MmeManga@aol.com or leave your comments here.

DISCLAIMER: Characters of RALLY VINCENT, BEAN BANDIT, MAY HOPKINS, ROY COLEMAN, KEN TAKI copyright Kenichi Sonoda. All other characters, and story, copyright 2000--2005 by Madame Manga. Contact by email at MmeManga@ aol.com. Do not sell or print for sale without the express written permission of the author. Do not archive. Permission is granted to circulate this text in electronic form, free of charge and with this disclaimer and the author's name attached. Do not plagiarize, alter, or appropriate this text in any way. This story is intended for personal entertainment purposes only. No infringement of any copyrights or other rights is intended.

>>>>>!!ADULT CONTENT WARNING IN BOLD CAPS!!<<<<<

This story is not for kids or the easily offended. It contains explicit sexual words and descriptions, explicit violence and extreme profanity. If you object to reading such things, do not read this story.

Chasing the Dragon
by Madame Manga

Chapter Five

 

 

 

“I know, this is an unbelievable deal, Roy! But think about it—bringing down a whole Asian syndicate! God, I'm so—”

 

“Overexcited?” She heard Roy draw a deep, amused snort. “OK, girl, I don't blame you. If you can pull this off, you are going to be able to take a lot of credit. And a hundred grand! Not bad for a couple of day's work.”

 

“So you're going to contact the FBI for me? I want you to get some credit, too!”

 

“Thanks, kid. But you could just call the San Francisco office and let them handle it. Why should I get credit, anyway? I'm sitting on my duff in Chicago while you've been driving all over the West Coast!”

 

“Umm...” Roy had told her about the heroin deal in the first place, which had led her to look for Bean. But Bean wasn't officially part of this. If he were to get away with his money as she had promised, she had to keep his name out of it. “It was that heroin deal, the rumor you filled me in on. That was Brown's. It started the whole ball rolling. Um, indirectly.”

 

“Yeah? Say, did you ever track down your courier? Or was that a bad tip?”

 

“Oh, it was just some guy on the street who said he'd seen a car that sounded familiar. Seemed pretty strange to me...I mean, why would he have come all that way?” Rally grimaced, hating her duplicity. That promise was tasting worse and worse with every word she spoke. But she had made it, and she had to keep it. She could never allow a criminal to outdo her in a trial of honor.

 

“For money, you said. Nasty customer, I gather.”

 

“Oh, yeah.” Rally smiled and thought fast. “I'd just as soon not run into him again! But let's get back to Brown.”

 

“Sure. I'll call the Feds. I guess you're right; having me do it might ensure they take this seriously. You think he's going to call you back soon?”

 

“By five, he said. I'm using the hotel phone for this call—he's got my cell phone number and I'm leaving that open. When he tells me where to meet him, I'll go pick him up and then deliver him to the FBI.”

 

“What, in a taxi?”

 

“Uh...”

 

“If you wrecked your Cobra—”

 

“May's coming with the Cobra. I was lucky and only ripped some pieces off the undercarriage.”

 

“Lucky—that's the word for it, all right,” said Roy. “How'd you manage not to roll it?”

 

“I haven't the slightest idea. I don't even remember exactly what happened—I must have had a jolt to the brain!” She laughed. “One moment I was on the road, the next I was at the bottom. Maybe I did something to straighten myself out—if I had my wits about me, I might have steered perpendicular to the edge so I could coast down! But I kind of doubt that; I wasn't in position for that as far as I recall, so it was just dumb luck.”

 

“Aw, don't sell yourself short, kid,” said Roy affectionately.

 

“Well, it shouldn't take too long to fix! Even a little shop in the middle of nowhere can handle it. But if she isn't here in time, I'll improvise!”

 

“Rally...this is starting to sound kind of dicey.”

 

“I'll be OK.”

 

“I wonder...you know, generally the FBI like to have a liason on hand. If they're dealing with someone like you who isn't official. Someone in law enforcement who's familiar with the situation—usually the local cops, of course. But if we're talking about a drug deal that took place in my jurisdiction...”

 

“Roy?”

 

“I'm coming out there to meet you. I'll catch the red-eye and be in San Francisco by early tomorrow morning.”

 

“Huh?” Her heart gave a big thump. “You don't have to go to all that trouble! Really, there's not much risk. I...um, I've got help.”

 

“Help? What kind?”

 

“Well...some muscle. And a spare car. There's nothing to worry about!”

 

“Why didn't you say so in the first place? Rally, this isn't like you.”

 

“It's been a weird couple of days. And I didn't get much sleep last night! Sorry, maybe I'm getting tired...”

 

“Then I am definitely getting on that flight. What's your hotel?”

 

“Oh, Roy!”

 

“There is nothing you can say that will persuade me not to come, kid. This is important, and I'm going to be there for you. Not for the damn credit, which as far as I can tell is all yours. But if something happened because I wasn't on the scene, I'd never forgive myself.”

 

She could tell he had made up his mind. “It's called the Sandpiper Inn, though it's nowhere near the beach...it's kind of a fleabag. But it was in the right part of the city. Near the pier.”

 

“This Dragon's Lair?”

 

“Uh-huh. I'm going to check it out in a little while. See, I'm hedging my bets!”

 

“Good for you. I'll call you later when I know what flight I'll be on. I'll get on the horn with the Feds right after I make my reservation. You be careful.”

 

“I will be, Roy. Please don't worry.”

 

“The day I stop worrying about you, girl...” He chuckled. “'Bye for now, Rally.”

 

“'Bye.” Roy hung up, and Rally put the phone back by the bed. Bean had the television on in the sitting area of the one-bedroom suite; she heard a news program and a cut to a commercial. When she came to the door, Bean looked up from his seat on the closed hide-a-bed and cracked a walnut in his teeth. Around him on the carpet lay a windrow of shattered nutshells.

 

“You got the Feds lined up?”

 

“I called Roy Coleman in Chicago. He'll talk to the FBI first, vouch for my credentials. Unfortunately, he kind of insisted on coming along. He wants to make sure everything's all right.”

 

“A <i>Chicago</i> cop? You nuts?” Bean got up, spitting out a piece of walnut shell for emphasis.

 

“I didn't tell him about you. Well, I had mentioned you in general terms—not by name, OK? He asked me if I'd tracked down the courier I was looking for, and I kind of walked around that one. I just said I had help on hand.”

 

“So why is he horning in? What happens when he sees me hanging out in yer hotel room?”

 

“He doesn't know you by sight. He does know you by rep. Just tell him a different name!”

 

“That may not hold up long, girl. There <i>are</i> some Chicago cops that know me by sight. You tryin' to get me nailed?”

 

“Bean, he trusts me. I'll tell him you're helping me! We won't mention the money—that'll just complicate things.”

 

“That's putting it mildly.” Bean rubbed his nose. “But it's getting kinda crowded in here, babe. Too many factors operatin' in a small space. Don't like it.”

 

A small space? At least they had a bigger hotel room now. She still wasn't willing to let Bean out of her sight, but she didn't think she could have stood another night right next to him!

 

Rally's cell phone rang, and she lunged for her purse.

 

“That Brown?”

 

“Could be.” She clicked the phone on. “Hello, Rally Vincent here.”

 

“I got the estimate now. You know it's ninety-eight degrees out here? And there are NO trees.”

 

“Thank you, May...” Rally sighed. Bean snorted. “How much, and how long is it going to take?”

 

“One thousand, eight hundred and forty-nine bucks. And fifty cents. They are ordering a part from Bakersfield. They might get it by this evening. Or they might not.”

 

“Oh, man! I NEED that car!”

 

“Then come down here and DRAG IT TO FRISCO WITH YOUR TEETH!” shouted May. “I'm gonna go get in the motel pool.”

 

Rally flinched at May's volume. Bean snickered and sat down to watch the TV again.

 

“May! I'm sorry! I'm just kind of...tense. Brown hasn't called back yet, and Roy's coming out here to keep an eye on me.”

 

“You should have brought me along in the first place! I could have tossed a couple of poppers, knocked out both Brown and Bean on the road, and we'd be doing Magic Mountain right now! They looked at me kind of funny when I got on the play structure at the Mickey D's! I don't look THAT young!”

 

“I'll make it up to you! I promise! Remember that hundred grand. We'll have a lot of cash to play with, sweetie!”

 

“OK, OK. I'm sorry. This is just such a DUMP!”

 

“I know. I didn't have such a hot time there either.”

 

Bean's back straightened and his head gave a slight jerk.

 

“What did they say about how long it was going to take to do the work?”

 

“Once they have the part, it will take a couple of hours to install. Then they say you need a lot of cosmetic work, you lost some chrome and your driver's side window is cracked.”

 

“I'm just going to have to take care of that stuff later. As soon as it's driveable, come up here! Here's the hotel address...” Rally looked at the certificate on the back of the door and read it off to May. “And the room number is 811. But you'd better not stay here with us...”

 

“Us? You and Bean? In one ROOM?” May cackled wickedly. “Something you want to tell me about, Rally?”

 

“NO! I mean—very funny, May! Does that seem LIKELY?” Lying by evasion was getting easier and easier, if no less uncomfortable. “I am going to have to operate from here, and I want you and Junior out of harm's way, if anything goes wrong. Besides, this isn't exactly the nicest hotel in the city! You should stay somewhere downtown or near the beach.” Rally moved into the bedroom again, conscious of Bean's ears.

 

“God, anywhere'd be better than a Motel 6 in no man's land! You know your Cobra is the biggest story in town?”

 

“What?”

 

“Oh, some guys were looking at it when I finished up in the office. One of 'em was just gushing about it, he thought it was so cool! But you know what he drove off in?”

 

“No, what? Some old junker?”

 

“Not a chance! A Mercedes. Hardly the kind of thing a guy who freaks over old American muscle cars would drive, you'd think!”

 

Rally laughed. “Oh, you'd be surprised! Plenty of people wish they could drive something wilder than what they have.” She opened the bedroom curtains and looked out at the jagged skyline, the sun declining behind it but still high, skyscrapers sparkling shards of light into her eyes. This would have been a nice afternoon for a drive, if she had her beautiful baby GT-500!

 

“Not me! I'm dreading taking that thing out on the freeway! I'm going to do 55 the whole way.”

 

“Aaack! May, it'll take you forever!”

 

“You want it to go in the ditch again? I'm doing it my way, or not at all!”

 

“All right, all right. Just please come as fast as you can—I don't want to have to depend on...Buff for transportation. Not one moment longer than I have to.”

 

“Oooh! How are you two getting along? Is he being an asshole?”

 

“You said it,” muttered Rally. “God, the man's an utter barbarian! I will be SO glad when this is over...”

 

“Me too! God, it's hot and buggy out here—and I can smell the cow poop on the fields, I think!”

 

“Go get in that pool, then! Call me when there's an update.” Rally clicked off and turned to see Bean leaning against the door jamb. His eyes were directed straight into hers and he had a heavy frown on his face. The TV still jangled in the background. She felt her expression sink.

 

“I was gonna apologize to you for what I said about the money.” Bean's frown didn't change. “You know, doing somethin' to stop you and all that shit. I know you're gonna keep yer word even if we got our differences. I had no business talkin' to you like that.” He rolled his gaze away from her and scowled up at the corner of the ceiling. Rally bit her lips, waiting for the rest. “But give me some respect, girl! <i>Barbarian?”</i>

 

Rally sat down on her bed and put her head in one hand. “I'm sorry, Bean. I didn't realize you were close enough to hear and I shouldn't have called you that. Even though ever since we got to that restaurant, you've been acting like a bear with a sore tooth.”

 

For several minutes, both of them fell silent. Eventually Bean shifted his stance, and Rally glanced up.

 

“Aw, hell. I know you wouldn't've picked me for this gig, if you'd had your druthers. It was all an accident. All of it.” He had his back against the door jamb, neither in nor out of the bedroom, and his thumbs hooked in his jeans pockets.

 

An accident? He was perfectly right about that. She'd kept her eyes so focused on him that it didn't surprise her any more that their bodies had collided in Buttonkettle. Except that he should have been able to avoid her. He was a better driver than she was, after all: more experienced, less perturbable. Why hadn't he steered away when she'd recklessly careened towards him?

 

“I felt pretty crazy last night even though I hadn't been drinkin'.” Bean scratched the back of his neck.

 

“Oh.”

 

“You know, almost gettin' killed two or three times...I...got kind of overheated.”

 

“Uh-huh.”

 

He looked at her with an uncomfortable snarl, scruffing his fingers through his hair and standing it on end. “You go throwin' sparks in gasoline, girl, you're going to get some flames.”

 

“I know.”

 

“Do ya?” Bean turned and put a hand on the door frame. “I might've learned my lesson last night, but I ain't so sure about you.”

 

“Lesson? When you went and threw the whole thing in my FACE?! You want to apologize to me about running off your mouth? Try washing it out with SOAP first!”

 

“Aw, shit.” Bean shook his head slowly. “Grow up, kid. You were beggin' for it and you'd better admit it!”

 

“You dirty—!”

 

“This YOUR best shot, Rally Vincent?”

 

She stopped abruptly, a hand over her mouth.

 

“What's the score, girl? You going to tell me what that was all about? Long as we're roomies, I need to know what's gonna happen in the wee hours. Don't much like big surprises in the middle of a job.”

 

She had to clear the air about this. They were about to walk into something too big to blow. But what could she say? 'Sorry I got so hot from that firefight I'd even screw a man like you?' God, no. And that wasn't quite the truth, anyway. What was the truth? Even if she knew, it would probably be impossible to admit. Rally buried her face deeper in her hands.

 

“Aw, shit. You cryin'?”

 

“Hell, no!” Rally sat upright, her face hot.

 

“Good. Didn't think you were that kind.”

 

“I'm not. And...I am not the kind to...do what I did to you last night, or at least I didn't think I was. I'm not sure why it happened. But it did, and yes, it was my fault, but I was not begging for it! I didn't set out with any intention—”

 

“Yeah, I got the picture.” Bean waved a hand in dismissal. Something like disappointment or chagrin passed briefly over his features, but he extinguished it with an ironic grin. “You just wanted to keep an eye on me, and hell, I tried to split as soon as I could. Guess you had me pegged, girl. So that makes it kinda my fault too, huh?”

 

“Oh, well...thanks for saying so. You say you were feeling overheated—well, so was I. Sometimes...well, firefights get me kind of worked up. I'm sorry.”

 

Bean looked at her for a minute, his face now unreadable. “If I learned anything about ya last night, I know you don't give it away easy. That's what's confusin' me.”

 

“Join the club.”

 

He laughed, not very mirthfully. “You'd belong to a club that'd have Road Buster Bean for a member?”

 

Rally laughed harder and flung her head back, putting her hands on the bedspread. “For the kind of thing we've been up to? Can't think of a better roster.”

 

“Yeah, that's what I thought,” said Bean with a sigh. “Partners.”

 

“Partners,” said Rally with more conviction, and put out her hand. Bean came into the room and took it. She stood up and gave him a firm handshake, her hand almost disappearing in his. “We aren't ever going to do things the same way, and we aren't ever going to have the same priorities. But we CAN work together, or at least die trying.”

 

Bean raised a brow. “Die? Not me, babe.” She smiled in return. He gave her a grin, looked at her hand still in his, and opened his fingers to let her go. Suddenly he seemed to realize he was in her bedroom, glanced around, cleared his throat, and retreated to the sitting room.

 

The TV buzzed and squawked. Rally peered through the door. Bean stood next to the TV, flipping from one channel to the next so rapidly she could hardly tell one image from another. He wasn't even looking at the screen, but through the window at the sky. For a moment he seemed like an animal pacing a cage. Perhaps he was thinking the same thing she had been thinking a few minutes before. <i>Nice afternoon for a drive, if I was on my own...</i>

 

<i>Breeep.</i>

 

<i>Breeep.</i>

 

<i>Breeep.</i>

 

“Isn't that your phone?” said Bean, turning to look at her, and Rally startled out of her reverie.

 

“Oh, God. That has to be...” She turned and went back into the bedroom where she had left it.

 

<i>Breeep.</i>

 

<i>Click.</i>

 

“Hello, Rally Vincent here.”

 

“Hello, Rally. Good to hear your voice again.” Brown sounded friendly and smug at the same time. “Have you found a comfortable place to stay?”

 

“Doing just fine, Sly.” She scuffed her foot against a worn spot on the carpet.

 

“I'm glad to hear it. You should rest and keep your mind clear before our operation. I have a plan, and I'd like to get your approval.”

 

“Sure thing. What's the score?”

 

“Tomorrow night will be ideal, about eleven. I'll have access to the money—I'll be working late, something everyone expects me to do at the moment anyway. The surveillance is tighter now and closing down my options—I can move between home and office, but that's about it. If I seem to be attempting escape, I'll be killed immediately. I won't be able to stray outside my usual sphere, with one exception.”

 

“Which is?”

 

“I've already dropped a few hints to my superiors. I'm supposedly tense and worried—well, not so supposedly. In need of relaxation and feminine companionship. My wife isn't available at the moment, being down south with our daughter.” He cleared his throat. “That's your part. The companion.”

 

“You mean...you want me to impersonate a...a prostitute?”

 

She heard Bean let out a harsh breath and turned to see him standing in the doorway. She moved closer and leaned against the wall next to him. Holding her phone a few inches away from her ear, she put her finger to her lips.

 

Bean stooped and put his ear near the phone so he could pick up both sides of the conversation. He closed his eyes and held his breath, then let it out quietly. After a moment, she realized he was synchronizing his breathing with hers so Brown wouldn't hear him.

 

“No, no.” Brown sounded apologetic. “A girlfriend, as if you and I had an arrangement of longer standing. I won't be ambushed or stopped if they think I'm occupied with a woman—they wouldn't want witnesses to the hit, and I believe they're not eager to kill American civilians, for fear of investigation. This scheme has the additional advantage of allowing us to meet again before the actual escape.”

 

He paused for the space of a breath. “Alone, of course.”

 

“That would make it hard for Bean to come along, yes.”

 

“Ah...is he listening to this conversation?”

 

She met Bean's eyes, his face inches from hers. “I went into another room to pick up the phone.”

 

“I must tell you, Rally, I think it would be better for all concerned if Mr. Bandit did not directly participate in this operation. You have all the necessary skills, and far more emotional detachment than your partner has. Naturally he's entitled to his fair share, and naturally you will give it to him. In the cause of harmony, would it be possible for you to keep him in the background?”

 

“Keep him in the background? Don't you mean keep him in the dark?”

 

“I didn't like to use the phrase. Of course the decision is yours. I find it unlikely that you will be able to keep him off the scene if he knows the details, and if he is present, an unstable element inserts itself into all our calculations.”

 

Bean gave a sardonic smile while Brown's soft, reasonable voice continued. “Wouldn't it be better to complete the operation and confer on him a <i>fait accompli</i>? And a large amount of cash, of course.”

 

Ten minutes before, she would have agreed with Brown. She was almost glad she had called Bean names. Funny how an argument could wash away the crap. “Well, ah, what he doesn't know won't hurt him. I'll tell him I'm going to pursue my own leads tonight.”

 

“Certainly.” His voice betrayed little, but Rally could almost feel Brown's smile. “This part of the operation is yours; in fact, you'll be able to carry out the entire scheme on your own. To outline the remainder of my ideas—I propose that you should meet me at my office with your car tomorrow night and drive me to your hotel as if for a tryst. The FBI can station agents at the hotel. I will surrender myself to them and leave in their custody. Even if we are followed, it will avail the Dragons nothing. Very simple.”

 

“That does sound simple, so I'd better probe for loopholes. Do the Dragons know who I am?”

 

“Their intelligence wing could certainly find out, if someone becomes suspicious. I didn't go through them to obtain my background information on you. If you play the role well...and look the part, suspicion shouldn't be a factor. I have no doubt you'll be able to pull it off, having seen you.” He chuckled gently. “I don't settle for the run of the mill in any area, and everyone knows it. If you'll pardon the implications of such a compliment, you are easily attractive enough, and distinctive enough, to be my mistress.”

 

Rally felt her face grow pink. Bean stared at her and her stomach did flip-flops. From most gangsters she had ever met, a comment like that wouldn't have made much impression. Their sallies were usually guileless and crude, something she could laugh off or take some offense at if necessary.

 

This one set off alarms. Did Brown have actual designs on her? If he did, was it for strategic reasons or simply because he liked her looks? Was he that much of a ladies' man?

 

“Uhh...thanks. Um...I'm going to need to know more about your office. Location, layout, security and so forth. I'm sure there will be some danger spots and I'd prefer to plan ahead.”

 

“Ah, the woman of business. Of course, I will have a map prepared. I'd like to deliver it in person so we can discuss the plan. Tonight, if possible. Have you eaten yet?”

 

“No, it's only four-thirty!”

 

“May I have the pleasure of your company at dinner?”

 

“Uh...sure. Where?”

 

“I'll choose a safe place and pick you up with Mr. Manichetti. It's important that this be staged correctly, to jibe with the story I've already given to my colleagues. You, or your alter ego, are a resident of Los Angeles, and have been my mistress for about a month. You've flown up to San Francisco at my request and will be staying for a few days. I'm putting you up in the Mandarin Oriental near Union Square—naturally, this is one of the better hotels in the city. Many visiting members of the Dragons use it, which is advantageous, as their agents are frequently in the vicinity. We should therefore meet in the lobby after you've taken a cab there and checked in. When the observers see that nothing untoward happens, and that I return to my home after the evening is over, your subsequent appearance at my office will raise no suspicions. I've had a room reserved for you under my name and you're welcome to stay there...on your own.”

 

“Really.” Oh, he definitely had designs on her. Bean's scowling face told her that even if her own instincts had not.

 

“Will that do? Eight PM?”

 

“Sure. How should I dress, to fit this story of yours?”

 

“Mmm...an excellent point. Your professional attire suits you well, but wouldn't suit the occasion. Buy something new—no mistress of mine would wear anything from a department store.” His smooth voice took on a hint of sneer. “Visit the designer boutiques on Post Street, near the hotel. You should mention my name in Versace or Fendi and have them put your purchases on my account. Don't spare expense. I'd recommend a short evening dress, something simple, and a minimum of accessories. But please feel free to come armed.”

 

“Oh, I will. I realize you need your driver, but listen to me, Sly. Seriously. If I see hide or hair of your pet terrorist, or anyone like him, I'm going to turn around and walk away.”

 

“I understand. With Mr. Bandit absent, I won't feel the need to bring Mr. O'Toole in any case. I trust you, Rally.”

 

She had no reason to doubt his sincerity in that. “Good. I'll go shopping now.”

 

“Excellent. I will see you at eight.”

 

“See you.” She clicked off and lowered the phone. She and Bean still leaned against the wall, face to face.

 

“You really gonna meet him <i>alone?”</i> Bean looked as if all the possible proceedings subsequent to a man and woman together in a hotel room were flashing before his eyes.

 

“That's what <i>he</i> thinks,” said Rally.

 

$$

 

“You know more than that, Larry,” Rally cooed into her phone while striding up Post Street with several rope-handled shopping bags. “You've been studying them for months? Mr. Stanford MBA? You do know more than where their warehouse is.”

 

She emerged into Union Square and sunshine burst down over her head. The temperature was warm although the afternoon grew late, and the pedestrians wore brief summer clothing. A cable car clanged along the opposite end of the square, packed with riders.

 

“Well...” said Larry after a pause.

 

“Hey, lady,” said a young female panhandler. “Any spare change left over from the shoppin' trip?”

 

“I charged it all to Daddy,” said Rally sarcastically, but dug in her purse for a dollar bill. “Here you go.”

 

“What?” said Larry.

 

“Oh, nothing,” replied Rally, continuing on her way. “I just gave her a buck.”

 

“You've got to be careful about encouraging those people.”

 

“What, encouraging them to be poor?” she snorted. “I don't know about you, but I do not have the balls to turn someone down when I'm toting this many shopping bags.” She looked at her load: Versace, Manolo Blahnik, and Gucci. “It's not every day I get to stock up on—well, I've been busy this afternoon.”

 

Mentioning her appointment with Brown seemed incautious, so she continued in a coaxing tone. “I really need more information before this evening. Could be dangerous if I don't confirm some important points. Can't you help me, Larry?”

 

“Well...” said Larry again. “It's not what I...well, ask me a few questions. I may have answers...or I may not. Don't ask me for corroboration on anything I may tell you, because I can't give it.”

 

Rally narrowed her eyes as she passed Gump's. Larry's choice of words implied some kind of under-the-table dealings. Did he have a secret informant he didn't want to compromise? She could understand that, but if he kept his information too closely guarded, it would be of no use to anyone. “I'm not going to pass this on to anyone else, you know. You can tell me, whatever it is.”

 

“Not to Bean?”

 

“Uh...well, I might need to tell him some things, yes. He is my partner.”

 

“I think you can appreciate my need for caution, Rally.”

 

“Sure I can. They've already threatened you, and you're a visible target. But how would anyone connect you to me? I only got here today and it was just coincidence I ate lunch at your place.”

 

“You're forgetting that big scene on the sidewalk. Plenty of people saw us talking, not to mention those two thugs. Did you know they're already out on bail?”

 

“Really.”

 

“It was paid an hour ago. I know a clerk in the SFPD, and I made sure to check on them.”

 

“Well, I can't say I'm all that surprised. You think they're going to hit you again?”

 

“Uh…no. They're not the ones I”m worried about. Frankly, I shouldn't be discussing this over the phone.”

 

“Don't hang up. Would you prefer it if I came over?”

 

“Can you?”

 

“Not right this moment, now that I think about it.” Rally had taken a cab from the Sandpiper Inn to the shopping district, and the Mandarin Oriental was only two blocks away now. She could not dash off to a small Chinese restaurant in the Sunset district if the Eight Dragon Triad had an agent watching her. A thought struck her, and she turned to look back the way she had come. The panhandling woman had vanished. Well, that had been a waste of a perfectly good charitable contribution.

 

“No,” she said aloud, “I shouldn't leave this part of town for now. I guess I'll have to make do with what I have tonight. No matter what might…”

 

“OK, OK,” said Larry with a groan. “Ask me a question.”

 

“Thank you. I told you about the man I'm interested in. Do you have any news on him?”

 

“Well…”

 

“Have you asked anyone about him?”Larry let out a short, surprised laugh. “No.”

 

“Then how do you get your—”

 

“I can't go into that.”

 

“Never mind, then. Brown?”

 

“I don't have anything solid…just rumors.”

 

“That'll do for now.”

 

“He's in trouble, all right. They have him under surveillance, and he doesn't have long. One week.”

 

“Ha. That's going around in <i>rumors</i>?”

 

“That's all I know,” Larry said shortly. “Is it any use?”

 

“Yes, thank you, it is.” Rally nodded her head and stopped at a corner, waiting for the Walk sign to come on. A cable car clanged by and stopped in front of the St. Francis Hotel, tourists piling off and on. “That's exactly the kind of thing I need to confirm.”

 

“So you've heard it already?” His voice had a note of shock. “Who have you been talking to?”

 

Rally's eyes opened wide, but she kept her voice casual. “I can't go into that, Larry, any more than you can. Thank you so much. I really appreciate this.”

 

“Rally…” said Larry in a pleading tone. “I really do want to help you. I just can't—will you come by tomorrow, then? Lunchtime? I promise I'll have something better. And a menu planned for you.”

 

“Sounds good.”

 

“I want to see you again, Rally.”

 

“Yeah?” she murmured, smiling to herself. “I want to see you, too.” She clicked off. Oh, she really did want to see him—and find out exactly what his sources were. How could anyone know what he had just told her, outside the inner circle of the Eight Dragon Triad?

 

$$

 

Where the hell was he?

 

In the back seat of a wine-red Bugatti limo, Rally glanced at the rear-view mirror. She sat next to Brown, the handsome drug dealer pointing out various sights of the city as Manichetti drove.

 

They'd made a loop through Chinatown, gone down Taylor to Market and up the waterfront, past glittering office buildings and hotels and shops, all lit up and bustling with activity. This elegant city and its beautiful setting between bay and ocean provided ample material for Brown's long-winded, consciously over-informed tour guide routine. She could only listen halfway, for she was anxiously looking for Bean. So far, she hadn't spotted him.

 

Could he have gotten <i>lost</i>? San Francisco wasn't familiar to either of them, though she'd been studying Bean's map whenever he wasn't monopolizing it. By now, she had a good picture of the basic layout: a rough square ten miles on a side, rounded on the northern end because of the natural curve of the peninsula. Most of the downtown streets ran in a strict north-south grid, but Market slashed an angle through the southeast quarter and changed the orientation of every street south of it. Part of that district was yuppified lofts and art galleries, but as it moved towards the city limits it got grimier and uglier. The Sandpiper Inn sat halfway between the tony area and the worst parts of town, a wasteland of housing projects and derelict cars worthy of Chicago's South Side.

 

Rally and Bean had taken a tour earlier that day while finding the pier and the hotel, an entirely different experience from the red-carpet uptown treatment Brown was giving her now. Buff had drawn a lot of attention in the Mission District and Hunter's Point, not much of it innocent.

 

Most of the visible inhabitants were the worst elements, people who terrorized their own neighborhoods. Gangbangers in baggy athletic clothing and semi-shaved haircuts hung out on street corners and watched them pass with sullen menace. She had felt almost at home.

 

Every time Bean had slowed at a stoplight, someone had approached the car and tried to get him to roll down the window. Obviously the only expensive vehicles that routinely ventured there were driven by the people who ultimately paid for Brown's lifestyle...

 

Drug users. She hated drugs so much it was difficult for her to list rational reasons why—she'd been forcibly drugged more than once, she'd seen innocents with ruined lives, she'd seen the dreadful violence inspired by the huge sums of money the narcotics trade generated. Here she sat in an overpriced car, next to a man wearing a three-thousand dollar suit and a face that might well have cost him ten times that. The cushiony leather seat under her made her skin crawl.

 

Where the <i>hell</i> was Bean?

 

Manichetti had taken a roundabout route and kept pulling into short side streets and out again, obviously to shake pursuit. Maybe he'd been too good a dry-cleaner even for the Roadbuster.

 

“To your left, up the hill—that's the Transamerica Pyramid.” Brown leaned over to point and slid his left hand along the top of the seat, very close to her shoulder.

 

“Yeah, I saw that before.” Rally moved back to avoid him. He'd been invading her space since the moment he'd walked up to her in the lobby of the Mandarin Oriental. Which, incidentally, had to be the most expensive hotel in a hundred-mile radius. The suite he'd reserved for her cost fifteen hundred and fifty bucks a night, and the room service menu made her eyes bug out.

 

Even wearing the little black dress she'd chosen in Versace, which had cost as much as Brown's suit, she felt like an interloper. This wasn't her world. She didn't know anyone who could throw cash around like this. Bean didn't spend his money on luxuries—just on cars, which she could understand. She liked cars...but not big Bugattis bought with blood.

 

Rally stole another look at the rear-view mirror. What might Bean have picked up for a tailing operation, to substitute for his conspicuous custom ride? He'd said he would rent something, but he was equally capable of 'borrowing' a car. Would he have gone for a new sports car or an old muscle machine? The only car she'd seen repeatedly was a little white Honda Civic. Assuming it was even the same one—every third car was Japanese. Mustangs of all vintages were fairly common, but so were new Beetles and BMWs, and she saw more 3000 ZXs than she could shake a stick at. Californians didn't have the same loyalty to American makes as Bean did, apparently.

 

The Honda approached a little closer as the Bugatti halted in traffic. Street lights illuminated the driver's face for a moment.

 

Rally had to suppress a wriggle of joy. Bean! Driving a foreign slushbox with less than a hundred horsepower! Caution had won the struggle with pride, then. He'd combed his hair back and tied a bandanna over his head, changing his silhouette enough to retard recognition, at least at night.

 

No one else in the Bugatti seemed to have noticed him yet, so apparently the ruse was working. A light changed to green and traffic moved forward again, leaving the Honda behind but still following. He'd been there all the time, keeping an eye on the situation as they'd arranged. Bean was just as good as he had claimed, to her intense relief.

 

“Can we assume we've shaken the Dragons by now?” she said to Brown. “I think I've seen enough of the Financial District to last me the rest of my life.” She rolled up the map they had been studying and put it into her purse.

 

“Shaken the Dragons? No, that's not the idea,” chuckled Brown. “I want them to observe us, so it's obvious that nothing untoward is going on.”

 

“Besides adultery.”

 

He let out a ringing laugh. “The appearance of adultery, I suppose. We are only play-acting tonight, huh?” He caught her right hand in his left and kissed her fingertips, to her mild disgust. “I've always thought I'd make a fine movie actor. Why, Charlie Sheen told me...” He went off into an anecdote filled with authentic-sounding Hollywood name-dropping, which made it obvious he supplied drugs to an all-star clientele.

 

Rally's opinion of him began to improve slightly—he was a vain, overdressed, overspending ninny, but peddling nose candy to people just like himself wasn't the worst kind of dealing she'd encountered by a long shot. She began to wonder just what the FBI wanted with him in the first place.

 

“So the Dragons are following us?” she interrupted when Brown drew breath in the middle of his story. “I haven't seen anyone tailing us.”

 

“Nah,” said Manichetti, speaking for the first time since Rally had entered the car. “I ain't spotted any pricey cars following.” He caught her eye in the rear-view mirror. “Either 426's boys are better than I think they are, or they're driving junkers instead.” He smiled, and a chill went through her; she was positive he had noticed Bean at the same time she had. Manichetti made a little twitch of the eyelids that might have been a wink, and her stomach turned over. Why hadn't he said anything to Brown?

 

“Now, Manny,” said Brown with a sudden acid tinge to his smooth voice. “Let's not bore Ms. Vincent with irrelevancies. Let's go to L'Marinee. Our reservation is for nine o'clock sharp—I don't want to keep Henri waiting after giving him such short notice for a table.” He turned to Rally. “There's nothing more unmanageable than a miffed maitre d'.”

 

“I wouldn't know,” she replied.

 

“I hope you didn't have seafood for lunch, because I will insist that you have the Dungeness crab appetizer. You simply can't leave San Francisco without sampling it.”

 

“I'll take your word for it.” Rally shrugged. “I had Chinese anyway.” Brown took a quick sharp glance at her, but she looked blandly back at him. “I like Chinese.”

 

“Ah,” said Brown. “I must admit I've lost my taste for it.”

 

“Really.”

 

His face lost some of its attractiveness, a hint of meaness developing in the line of his perfect lips. “I've...there's been a threat against my family. Don't worry, they're perfectly safe.” She saw Manichetti's head move. “After the events of the past few months, I'm not too charitable towards the Orient. I'd advise you to avoid anything to do with it.”

 

“What, you're going to hate everything Chinese for the rest of your life? Not all of them are gangsters, you know! Why, the guy I met—”

 

The meaness grew more pronounced. “Rally, I believe I've had more experience with them than you have.”

 

She stared at him for a moment, realizing he meant exactly what he said—he hated everything to do with China, at least at that moment, and pressing her point would only precipitate an argument. Brown wasn't used to being contradicted, obviously, and had a low tolerance for it. Rally rolled her eyes slightly and looked out the window. “Sure, whatever.” She glanced up at Manichetti again and saw him watching her in the rear-view mirror. Something was definitely wrong when a man's own employee said not a word about enemies on his track, after taking such pains to shake pursuit. But perhaps he was reserving comment until he and Brown had a private talk.

 

“Well,” said Brown after a pause. “I don't believe I've complimented you sufficiently on your choice of attire. My faith in your good taste is magnificently vindicated.” He looked her up and down for the fifth or sixth time. “I shall have to send you shopping again, huh? Do you prefer Versace or Fendi?”

 

Actually, she'd preferred a small local designer's boutique she'd found tucked away on a side street, something with elegant classic pieces and prices only twice what she was accustomed to pay, but since he had hinted, she had bought her dress in the flashier Italian place. It was spare and asymmetric and loaded with Spandex, and she couldn't imagine wearing it in Chicago—in Los Angeles, perhaps, but not at home. Certainly it flattered her figure, but it also made her look like a different person; not a skilled bounty hunter, but a sleek little tootsie with a society drug-dealer boyfriend. “Oh, Versace had a lot of stuff,” she said vaguely.

 

“Oh, certainly, a great many pieces in that line would suit...” He rambled on about Italian designers and Rally tuned out again, staring past his well-cut jaw and out at the city lights slipping by.

 

Brown didn't seem to need a lot of feedback to keep running, and obviously would rather she didn't state any opinions of her own, so she kept her mouth closed and her thoughts to herself. She wore the dress he'd paid for, she rode in his car along the route he designated, she would eat what he ordered for her on his timetable—but once she got home, she was going to change into the sweatsuit she'd bought at Macys and have some peanut butter crackers out of the vending machine in the hotel bar. All this pretension was wearing thin, and she hadn't even spent an hour in Brown's company yet.

 

Poor Bean—on the road to New York and back he'd had to listen to this drivel for nearly twenty-four hours! It was enough to drive anyone to homicide. Well, maybe not everyone. Some women wouldn't have minded Brown's manner one bit, and would have gazed awestruck into those turquoise eyes and at that fat wallet. It was an effort for her, but getting along with Brown seemed to require that she accept some of his not-so-subtle dictatorial tendencies. She'd content herself with a few mild jabs and cooperate otherwise, since she wanted to encourage Brown to open up a little, talk to her about his career in the Triad and his plans to testify against his colleagues. None of the information she had on him was specific about his function or his standing...and what or who the hell was 426, anyway?

 

“Here we are,” said Brown with an air of pride. The car stopped under a porte-cochere and Manichetti opened his door, then got out and opened the rear passenger door next to the sidewalk. He stepped aside as Brown disembarked, but offered Rally his arm. She put two fingers lightly on it and leaped out of the car with her purse and jacket. “I'll call when we're ready to go,” Brown tossed over his shoulder, taking Rally's hand and tucking into the crook of his elbow. “And I'll expect you right away, Manny. Don't go too far.”

 

“Nossir,” the driver replied, giving a slight salute as Brown and Rally went into the restaurant. “And I'll say the frickin' same to you, boss,” he muttered as he got back into the Bugatti and threw it into gear.

 

$$

 

“Have you ever considered a change of careers?” said Brown. “Your talents qualify you for much more lucrative employment, my dear. Bounty hunting can't be a very consistent source of income.” The sommelier approached with a bottle of champagne, cradling it in a linen napkin, and showed Brown the label. “Yes, the 1977. Huh?”

 

“No, it's not.” Rally considered the dessert menu, feeling close to full, but licked her lips at the descriptions.

 

“You must have to spend a great deal of time in unpleasant surroundings, with discreditable people. That must be wearisome by now—especially when you've had a taste of a better style of life, huh?” The sommelier poured champagne and departed.

 

“What, this?” Rally laughed, tinging the crystal flute with a polished fingernail. “I'm on vacation. I don't expect to eat this kind of dinner every damn night! I'd be a blimp!”

 

“Oh, I don't eat here every night—I have an excellent cook at home. He's a native of Italy, French-trained, and so is expert in both great traditions. The best of both worlds.”

 

“Jesus, servants and everything!” Rally took a sip of wine. “I don't think I'm ever going to live like that, no matter how much money I make!”

 

“The lack of privacy, perhaps? You may have a point there.”

 

<i>Woah,</i> thought Rally. <i>He thinks I have a point? Wonders will never cease.</i> “Gee,” she said, “you having trouble with somebody?”

 

“Alas, yes.”

 

“Anyone I know?”

 

“Mr. O'Toole…has become...something of a liability.” Brown grimaced with a sense of regret. “He's a heavy drinker, and has unpleasant personal habits. He has to live in close proximity to me in order to do his job, of course, so there's no escaping him. He left his native land because of legal trouble...”

 

“The kind that qualified him to work as a bodyguard? Uh-huh.”

 

“Yes, and I've had to spend a considerable amount of money to shield him both from the consequences of that conduct and from his extracurricular activities since he came to the United States. Especially since I married, his personality has undergone a change for the worse. I'm afraid I will soon have to let him go.”

 

“You're in the market for a new bodyguard, you mean.” Oh, goodie.

 

“Yes, I am. A younger person, I think, but someone with security experience and excellent weapons skills.” He smiled at her. “I haven't said anything to him yet, of course. I will have to find a good prospect first and ease O'Toole out as quickly as I can. Naturally I will give him an ample settlement, for many years of loyal service.”

 

“But you're going into the witness protection program. Wouldn't a bodyguard blow your cover?”

 

“Well...I've reconsidered that. I intend to testify, of course, but I think retiring to Europe would make more sense than attempting to change my lifestyle so drastically. I've even bought a house in the Alps. O'Toole will not be able to enter the E.U., since he is wanted in the U.K. and the Republic of Ireland. Interpol will flag him the moment he applies for a visa. He'll be much safer in the United States.”

 

“That's considerate of you,” said Rally with with a touch of irony. Their waiter came and inquired about their dessert selections, and she ordered a complicated item involving chocolate, raspberries, filo pastry and various garnishes she had barely heard of. Brown ordered chocolate decadence and a bottle of Sauternes.

 

Rally mentally ticked off the amount of alcohol they had consumed; cocktails before dinner, Graves with the appetizer, Beaujolais with the entree, Champagne as a palate cleanser and now sweet wine with dessert. He'd been reasonably subtle about his intention to get her tipsy, but Rally had been careful not to let the luxury of such a dinner overwhelm her. She had not gone so far as to pour glasses of hundred-dollar wine into the flower vases, but she had used every trick she knew to disguise how little she was actually drinking. The Sauternes, however, something she had never had before, was so delicious that she couldn't pass up a second glass, and a third.

 

Only when her head began to whirl did she peek at the label and discover that the alcohol percentage was higher that she had realized. She ate her dessert slowly, hoping she would recover before they had to leave. Brown finished his quickly and called for the check. Rally stood up and reached for her purse and jacket, which she had declined to check at the door.

 

“Ready?” said Brown, rising a little too eagerly. “I'll call the car.”

 

“No, I want to finish that,” said Rally, bobbing her chin at the rest of her dessert. “I'm just going to hit the can—where is it?”

 

“Ah—through the bar.” She saw him raise a brow slightly at her deliberate gaucherie, but she also had the impression that he rather liked it. What did he intend once they got back to the Mandarin Oriental?

 

The plan called for them to enter her room together and spend some time there, to convince the watchers that she was indeed his visiting girlfriend, but Rally intended to slip out after a decent interval and head down the back stairs. She had scouted all the exits and told Bean where to wait for her—where was he now? She had seen him last two blocks before the restaurant. He might have gone straight to the hotel, or he might be lurking nearby. At any rate, he must have his cell phone with him.

 

When Rally had locked the bathroom door behind her, she got her own phone out of her purse and sat down on the toilet seat, pressing the second program button.

 

“Yeah?” said Bean's voice, and she let out a little sigh. A warm emotion—maybe relief, maybe just familiarity. She had spent so much time with him over the previous twenty-four hours, and now after three hours out of his company, she was genuinely glad to speak to him again. “Who's callin'?”

 

“It's me.”

 

“Hey, girl. How's it goin'?”

 

“Not bad. I just ate a dinner like I'll never be able to afford again as long as I live, and he's been trying to hire me for a bodyguard before he splits the country. How's it going with you?” She heard him chuckle. “Yeah, right.”

 

“I kid you not. What an opportunist, huh? I had to cut up his meat for him, so maybe he figures it he can guilt-trip me into hiring on to be one of his damn servants.”

 

“Serious?”

 

“As far as I can tell. But he's been a perfect gentleman—mostly.”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Nothing you could convict him on. He ordered nearly all my food for me, he told me what subjects to discuss, and he complimented me on the dress he told me to buy. What the hell—he's paying.”

 

“You want me to come get you?”

 

“No, not yet. I'm still in the restaurant. We have to do the whole thing at the hotel first.”

 

“Do what, exactly?”

 

“I don't know. Sit and play pinochle for an hour?” She giggled, then hiccupped.

 

“Rally…”

 

“You are going to warn me again, I know. Don't bother, Bean. I can handle him, and frankly I doubt he's going to try anything beyond extravagant compliments, unless he's even vainer than I think he is.”

 

“OK, I won't repeat everything I'm thinkin' right now. It'd take too long anyhow.”

 

“Good. Where are you?”

 

“Cruisin' the downtown in my limousine.”

 

“I saw that. It was hard not to laugh. Where'd you get it?”

 

“Bought it.”

 

“<i>Bought</i> it?! To add to your car collection?” They both snickered.

 

“Ha, ha. I'm gonna dump it when I don't need it no more, of course. I got it off a guy with a want ad for six hundred bucks.”

 

“I'd better get back to the dining room,” said Rally. “He's going to think I escaped out the window. I don't feel so drunk now…”

 

“Hey! You OK?”

 

“Just fine. I'll call you again when I'm heading out.”

 

“You do that.”

 

Rally put the phone back in her purse and got out the item she had gone to the bathroom to arrange, strapping it to her forearm. Over it she pulled her jacket and slung her purse on her shoulder.

 

Back at the table, she dawdled over dessert while Brown signed the check and excused himself to make his phone call. Brown was waiting in the lobby when she emerged, and they walked out just as Manichetti pulled up in the Bugatti.

 

On the way to the Mandarin Oriental Rally pretended more intoxication than she actually felt and babbled away, asking Brown some personal questions. He answered none of them, but deftly turned the subject to her and mentioned his need for a new bodyguard again. Rally in turn deflected that and tried another tack.

 

“You know, Sly…I'm actually pretty green at this. I never helped anyone escape from a syndicate before. We really do have to go into more detail on tomorrow night.”

 

His expression, which was warm and smiling, changed a little. “You have the map of the pier. You can rent a car, which makes sense for our cover story, then come to my office; we'll leave with the suitcase. Nothing simpler.”

 

“Really. How many guards are there going to be?”

 

“Oh, not many. I've arranged that. There's not much business going on at that location right now, anyway. You'll be frisked when you come in, I'm afraid, so if you bring a firearm—”

 

“<i>If</i> I bring a firearm?” laughed Rally. “I wouldn't get within half a mile of a gang hideout without a <i>firearm</i>!”

 

“Gracious, what vehemence.” Brown smirked. “I can't imagine how you are going to be able to conceal it.”

 

“No problem,” said Rally. “I have a garter magazine holster—I can use that for my little .25, and just get it up close between my—um. Well, I mean, not many people actually put their hands there, searching.”

 

“I understand,” said Brown. “Most resourceful.” His eyes had gone heavy-lidded and the temperature of his smile shot up several degrees. “Do you usually keep a, <i>ahem</i>, gun in that spot?” His question had more than a double meaning, and Rally felt her face flush.

 

“No, I don't,” she said bluntly.

 

“Surely you don't mean…”

 

“I told you, I'm not sleeping with Bean.”

 

“Oh, him! But you must be besieged with opportunities, Rally. From men far more well-endowed by nature and circumstance.” That had a double meaning too. “You've certainly had the means to compare the cream of the crop.”

 

“No! I never—” she blurted out, and put a hand to her lips.

 

“Rally? Oh, I'm sorry. That remark did have an unfortunate implication—I apologize. I didn't mean to say I thought you might be promiscuous. Please accept it as a compliment to your lovely face and figure.”

 

Oh, he was a master. Here she was, telling him all about her sex life! Something about the very subject rattled her. “Um—I just meant to say…”

 

“Is there someone?” said Brown in a soothing, avuncular tone. “What a contented young man he must be.”

 

“I…no.”

 

“Dear me. I don't know whether to be pleased, or the contrary.”

 

Her face was burning by now. “Can we drop this? I wanted to plan the operation, not talk about me!”

 

“You <i>are</i> very young, aren't you?” said Brown almost to himself. Manichetti shifted gears abruptly.

 

“I'm not a kid!”

 

“No, of course not. A young woman of…parts.”

 

“I can handle this! Even if it turns into a firefight, I'm going to get you out of there alive and well.”

 

“I am endlessly reassured, my dear.”

 

Again Rally felt an edge of panic, hoping he wouldn't back out of the arrangement at the last minute. Especially after the way she had been biting her tongue all evening to keep from retorting sharply to some of Brown's remarks, she wanted to be sure she got a reward for her trouble! “Aren't you happy with the way things have gone so far? Is there something bothering you about the way I'm handling it?”

 

“Not in the least. As a matter of fact, I have a proposition in mind…”

 

“…Oh?”

 

“But I believe I will leave that for later. Time enough, huh?”

 

Manichetti pulled up to the front of the Mandarin Oriental, and a doorman came out to open the Bugatti's passenger door. They disembarked and Manichetti drove off, this time without instructions from Brown. Apparently Brown didn't expect to need his services any time soon. Rally raised a brow.

 

The doorman ushered them into the lobby and handed them over to the bellman, who in turn left them in the care of the elevator operator. Brown tipped every single one of them, keeping Rally's arm in his the entire time.

 

As the elevator doors opened on their floor, Brown guided her out, and before the doors closed again, turned to her and bent to kiss her.

 

Recoiling without thinking, she turned her face. His lips touched only her cheek. Quickly recovering, she pressed her mouth to his for the elevator operator's benefit. The moment they were unobserved, she wriggled out of Brown's embrace and stood back. The kiss had been quick and closed-mouthed, but she felt as if she had just received an electric shock; her skin tingled unpleasantly and her face twitched.

 

Brown drew a forefinger along his lower lip and smiled slightly, mouth a little open and his brows arching. “The play's the thing, is it not? And you have missed your vocation, my dear.”

 

“I don't think so.” Rally headed down the hall towards the room. She unlocked the door and threw it open, then clicked on the light. “Come on in, I guess. How long do you have to stay, anyway?”

 

“That is entirely up to you, Rally.” She groaned inwardly and walked in, throwing her purse on a chair. The carpet was so thick that her high heels dug in, so she kicked off her shoes.

 

“Please, make yourself comfortable,” said Brown, who removed his suit jacket and hung it carefully in the closet. His tie followed, and he unbuttoned his shirt at the neck. “Won't you take off your jacket? Here, I'll hang it up for you.”

 

“No, thanks. I'm chilly,” muttered Rally. She pulled the heavy satin draperies aside and looked out at the street. Was Bean out there waiting for her call, or was he still cruising the city?

 

“I'll turn down the air conditioning,” said Brown, doing so. He sauntered over to where she stood and looked over her shoulder. “Unfortunately, there isn't much of a view.” Closing the curtains, he brushed her hair with one arm.

 

Rally's stomach began to feel a little queasy. She ducked under his arm, grabbed her purse, retreated to the bathroom and closed the door. The bathroom was nearly as large by itself as the motel room in Buttonkettle. Marble, glass, rows of little lights and more thick carpet.

 

She thought about taking a shower, or a bath in the big oval jacuzzi tub, but it occurred to her that Brown was exactly the sort of man to come join her, invited or not. She contented herself with scrubbing her face with a washcloth and removing all her makeup. Her hair had been done at the hotel salon, so she wet her comb and worked out some of the mousse, then de-pouffed it with her palms. While the water ran on full, she took out her cell phone and called Bean.

 

“How's it goin' in there?”

 

“You follow us here?”

 

“Yep. Saw the light turn on just now.”

 

“It's OK so far. Where are you parked?”

 

“Service alley out back.”

 

“Good. Stay there.”

 

“I ain't goin' nowhere, babe.”

 

Now if she'd only had an old bathrobe, or those new sweats…and then she could turn on the TV to a loud game show or something and…pick her nose in front of him? Maybe that would discourage him, but then again it might not. Although it was obvious Brown hoped to interest her in some physical activity, she had the feeling that he intended rather more than that. What he meant by a proposition wasn't sex, she felt sure.

 

After making faces at herself in the mirror and thinking the question over for a little while, she returned to the sitting room.

 

Brown was nowhere to be seen. Rally did a double-take and felt paradoxically let down for a moment—all that mussing up for nothing? But she heard a sound from the bedroom and realized where he was.

 

Through the open door, she saw him side-reclining on the king-size bed, left elbow on the spread and the hand supporting his head. His gaze wasn't at her; it was directed at the wall opposite—where hung a huge mirror.

 

After a moment, he sat up and took something out of his pants pocket, turning away from her line of sight to put a small flat item on the nightstand. He then produced a little glass vial and tapped some of the white powder it contained out onto the object on the nightstand; she realized that it was a small mirror that probably served him for more than one purpose.

 

As she watched, he went through the whole ritual—chopping the powder and raking it into two lines, using a short straw to snort it, one line into each nostril. He was a little clumsy with the left hand, but seemed to manage very well for all that. Rolling her eyes, she sat on the cushy sofa and picked up the evening paper that lay on the coffee table.

 

After a few minutes, Brown wandered in with his sleeves rolled up over tanned forearms and sat opposite her. When he crossed his legs, she saw that he had taken off his shoes and socks and somehow managed to disarrange his hair. He looked just as casual as she did—perhaps more so, since she still wore the Versace dress and her jacket. Rally pursed her lips to suppress her expression. Did he really have her number yet? Eyes bright and face a little flushed, Brown caught her eye and smiled.

 

“Would you care for a little after-dinner pick-me-up?”

 

“You mean some of that coke? No, thanks,” Rally said crisply. Brown seemed to suppress annoyance.

 

Again she had the little shock of recognition she had experienced at their meeting in Golden Gate Park earlier that day. Something under the friendliness, the well-made exterior, the just-too-taut jawline and smooth forehead. It was like seeing the skull beneath the skin, just for a moment. And again the impression faded almost at once.

 

The light of the reading lamp next to his seat glowed on his hair as he picked up the sports section and opened it. Rally applied herself to the paper, then realized she was attentively reading the classifieds. Putting the section down, she reached for another and glanced up. Brown had the paper on his lap, his elbow on the arm of the chair, and his eyes on her.

 

“I believe I'm ready to make that proposition now, my dear.”

 

“Oh, really.”

 

“You seem to enjoy being treated as you deserve. I believe you could come to be a very sophisticated world citizen. Your conformity with my wishes impresses me. How would you like to live in surroundings like this from now on?”

 

“What do you mean?” She had a very good idea of what he meant.

 

“In Europe—Paris, Monte Carlo, Zurich. All expenses paid.”

 

“As your bodyguard, you mean.”

 

Brown made a gratified smile. “As my bodyguard.”

 

“Look, I don't think you—”

 

“A generous salary, an expense account…travel, wardrobe, lodging…and weapons.” Brown made a gesture like a pistol with his left hand. “Any guns, any facilities you need for the job, or just to gratify your whims.”

 

“Yeah? What kind of job description are we talking about? Watch your back, day and night? Or <i>be</i> on my back, day and night?”

 

Brown laughed with a ringing sound, apparently genuinely amused. “How refreshingly blunt you are! I've so rarely encountered such a sense of humor in a woman so attractive.”

 

“Wow, I'm flattered. But I'm going to have to decline that offer, Brown—Sly. I'm an all-American girl. And it occurs to me that the first task I would have as your head of security would be to do something about Bean.”

 

“For which you are uniquely qualified, as I've said.”

 

“No thanks. Bean may be all you think he is, but he's my partner—for now. I'm not the kind to go back on a partnership, once established.”

 

“I understand perfectly. An established partnership…of one day's standing.” He looked up at her, his turquoise eyes veiling under his lashes. The expression in them had changed. Rally got up, slowly, and moved behind the sofa. Brown stood and let the paper fall to the carpet. “Rally…”

 

“What?” said Rally, backing up and looking for her shoes.

 

“I've spent the whole evening,” said Brown, “wishing that this weren't a charade. With such a lovely companion, the time has flown by.” He moved closer. Expensive smell, underlain with male musk. He looked so handsome in the soft light that she couldn't stop looking at him, but his beauty had a creepy quality, like a cast from someone else's face. “May I express my admiration?”

 

“That depends.”

 

He smiled, a faintly corrupt sensuality crawling over his face. The hair on the back of her neck and her arms began to prickle. “Young as you are, you have the assurance of a woman far older. That's a very attractive combination.”

 

“To some people, maybe.” Rally stuck her feet into her shoes.

 

“Oh, you underestimate your appeal, my dear. I'm sure most people would agree with me, though perhaps few men have experienced the ultimate delights of youth. You must have acquired that mature air years ago. I wish I'd made your acquaintance sooner. But I'll settle for this, tonight.”

 

He moved even closer, and in stepping back Rally bumped the wall next to the door. She fumbled for the handle, but Brown caught her hand in his left.

 

“Don't be in such a hurry.” His tone was cajoling, but with a hard vein in the softness. He brought her hand to his lips. “Having clapped up a…partnership…with that man out of immediate necessity, you may regret passing up a far more enticing alternative. Seize the moment.”

 

“I don't want to seize anything, Brown.” She plucked her hand out of his.

 

He leaned back, seeming to give her room, and when she relaxed and turned to the door, he put his right hand on the wall and curled his left arm round her waist. Her forward momentum carried her into his arms, and before she knew it, he was kissing her on the throat, his full lips soft on her skin.

 

Rally froze, Brown's hot breath stroking her neck and shoulder. He put a great deal of meaning into that devouring caress, something like a vampire's bite. It told her about a darker kind of lust than she'd ever encountered before, something that made her squirm at the very hint.

 

She wriggled and pushed against his chest. Maimed hand or not, Brown wasn't a weakling. His strength wasn't half Bean's, but she couldn't immediately break his grip.

 

“Let me go,” she said, trying to keep her voice even and reasonable. “I'm going to leave, and I am asking you—”

 

He kissed her collarbone and the pit of her throat, then enveloped the swell of her voicebox in his lips, pressing down hard enough to render her mute. His mouth moved to the underside of her chin, but for a moment she still couldn't speak. Why, when she had been able to get away from Bean in a similar situation, could she not make Brown release her? Because, she realized, Bean had never considered forcing her into sex.

 

“Let it happen,” Brown murmured. “I want you.”

 

“N-not a chance! Let me go!”

 

“Don't fight. Please,” he said in her ear. “Submit and let me take—”

 

“No!”

 

“I'm filled with desire just looking at you—I'm burning with it.” Brown tilted her face and tried to kiss her mouth, but she turned her head. “Please, relieve my torment. Just once, my lovely little bounty hunter!”

 

“I said, NO!” She put an elbow into his stomach and wrenched out of his embrace, but he slammed his back against the door, his face red and sweating. He looked far less casual and friendly now.

 

“You'll screw Bandit, and you tell ME no? I have to wonder about your sanity!”

 

“I have NOT screwed him! And even if I had—”

 

“If you don't want to fuck, let me come in your mouth.” He fumbled with the fly of his trousers. “Damn, I'm so stiff it almost hurts. This won't take long.” He unzipped and reached inside his briefs, grabbed her right hand, yanked it towards him and tried to put it on his rigid penis. “Kneel.”

 

“I think you've forgotten something,” said Rally.

 

“Huh?”

 

<i>Shh-KLICK!</i> The wrist slide shot forward. In her hand sat her cocked .25, her finger on the trigger. The muzzle hovered two inches from his testicles. “There's only so much I'll do for money, Brown, or even for justice. Get your filthy hands off me.”

 

He let go and stepped aside, his hands held out and his face twitching in anger. “And if this destroys our agreement?”

 

“Well, that'll be just too damn bad.” Rally tilted the .25's muzzle slightly upwards. “You and Bean will have to work it out all on your own.”

 

Brown's red face went white. “I'm sorry. Rally, I apologize.” He zipped hastily. “I wasn't...I didn't mean to do that. It was...a crazy impulse. You're very beautiful, you know.”

 

“And very young, but I get the impression you'd like it if I was even younger—much younger. That's beyond disgusting.” That corrupt sensuality slithered across his features again. “I'm a man of rarefied tastes.”

 

“Wow, that's a fancy way to put it. <i>Pervert!</i>”

 

“That's uncalled for, Rally. I was overcome. I couldn't control myself.”

 

“Bullshit. You're the most controlled man I've ever met. You knew damn well what you were doing and you didn't give a shit if I didn't want it. Even Bean had the basic courtesy to <i>ask!</i> And you're <i>married!?”</i>

 

“The best of us...see our plans go awry once in a while. I swear to you, I didn't come up here with the intention—”

 

“Of forcing yourself on me?”

 

“Good God, no—”

 

“Oh, of course. You thought I'd spread my legs automatically, considering you must have spent about seven grand on this evening. Guess what. I'm not that <i>fucking cheap.”</i> She picked up her purse and opened the door. “If you've got anything to say about that agreement, call me. I'm not doing any more face-to-face negotiation without Bean Bandit standing right behind me.”

 

“But...he's not part of this any more, is he?” Brown looked panicky. “You didn't tell him about meeting me tonight. Don't leave—I'll go. You can stay here without him. I've arranged it so you don't need his help. Just pay him off afterwards—”

 

“I had him listen to the call, Brown. He followed us all over town tonight at my suggestion. He's waiting outside the hotel now to pick me up. The next time you try to break up a partnership, I'd suggest you rely a little less on your <i>personal charm.”</i> She slammed the door behind her and took the stairs down.

 

$$

 

“Shit,” said Brown, low and furious. “God damned fucking <i>idiot...”</i> He got into the Bugatti, slammed its passenger door and began to bite the manicured fingernails on his left hand.

 

“Boss?” said Manichetti, peering in the rear-view mirror.

 

“That would be me,” said Brown. “I just blew it. She's not interested. I'm going to have to go with Plan B.” Out of an inner pocket of his suit coat, he yanked an airline folder and threw it petulantly into the front. Two airline tickets fluttered out and came to rest in the seat well.

 

“Kinda gathered that,” said Manichetti. “Considerin' that you came outta there fifteen minutes after you went in.” He pulled away from the curb.

 

“I don't believe it. I left it a hint in the air...fertilized her imagination and let it work on her all night. Then when payoff time came, she went cold as ice on me. I got a little too...imperative.”

 

“Uh-oh.”

 

“I barely touched her and she's in a rage. Even pulled a gun on me.”

 

“She gonna back out?”

 

“Jesus.” Brown let his head fall backwards. “I'd better pull out all the stops to make sure she doesn't. What a woman. God in heaven, I never thought I'd envy Bean Bandit.”

 

“I thought you said he wasn't screwing her.” Manichetti looked down at the tickets and frowned.

 

“What other explanation could there be? She must be his lover, and of recent vintage if she's still blind to anyone but him. But turning ME down? It makes no sense. What the hell has he got that I haven't got? I beat him all hollow; brains, looks, manners, AND wallet!”

 

“Well...”

 

Brown looked up sharply, teeth engaged with nail. “You have some word of advice?”

 

“Aah, well, take it for whatever it's worth, boss. She wasn't gonna go for it no matter what.”

 

“What? You think she's a dyke?” Brown's expression lightened. “Now that makes me feel a little better—”

 

“Not exactly.” Manichetti made a quick grimace. “She ain't the kind that lets a man get under her skin, and she ain't interested in fancy trimmings. I was watchin' her in the mirror all night. Makin' polite, but that's all. She wasn't one damn bit impressed.”

 

Brown's face began to grow red. “Not impressed? Not <i>impressed</i>? When I take a woman out on the town, I know DAMN WELL HOW TO FUCKING IMPRESS HER!”

 

“Have it your way, boss,” said Manichetti. “You don't pay me for my blindin' insight.”

 

“You son of a bitch. I didn't ransom you from the Gambinos to be told I don't know how to deal with women, or anyone else, for that matter. What's the last time YOU got laid, lard-ass? Too much fucking lasagne on your gut and too much time sitting behind a wheel! You fucking DRIVERS! The next time you feel inspired to give me advice, you ugly wop, stuff it up your ass!”

 

Manichetti lowered his eyes, avoiding the rear-view mirror, but out of Brown's sight his face stiffened, his lips clamping tight. The tension relieved itself with an ironic smile, but his mouth still twitched with anger. “Consider it stuffed, boss,” he said after a moment. “Home?”

 

“Home. I'm going to give my wife a call on the secure line...maybe I can get through this time. My little Tiffany will be asleep, but she'll wake up to talk to her daddy.”

 

“Kid loves her daddy,” said Manichetti, looking out at the night.

 

$$

 

Rally opened the car door and slipped quickly inside the little Honda, but when the dome light went on Bean looked at her, his sharp eyes taking in her expensive outfit and disordered hairdo, and lingered on her face until the door shut and the light turned off again. She knew her expression would give him some idea of what had happened. His brows went down.

 

“What the hell did he do to you?”

 

“Not a thing.” She took off her jacket.

 

“OK, what the hell did he try to do?”

 

“Just about what you'd expect.” Bean unlatched his door with a thunderous expression, starting to roll out, and Rally stopped him with a hand on his arm. “For once I'd almost tell you to go ahead and break his skull. But you'll never find him anyway, and we only have to put up with him for another twenty-four hours. I'm perfectly all right. Let it be.”

 

Bean let out a long breath of disgust and settled back in his seat. “OK, fine.”

 

“Let's go home,” said Rally.

 

“Home sweet home,” snorted Bean. He pulled the car out into traffic and turned on the heater.”I'm going to have to apologize to you,” said Rally.

 

“What for?”

 

“For wondering why he rubs you the wrong way. I get the picture now.”

 

“Yeah?” said Bean with an ironic smile.

 

It wasn't a long drive back to the Sandpiper Inn, and soon they entered their hotel room, Bean jamming the sticky door shut behind them. The worn carpet and dingy upholstery seemed honestly shabby, at least; here she felt perfectly comfortable in a psychic sense. Rally smiled at her fleeting regret for thick plush carpet and silk wallpaper—at that price, nothing was cheap. She kicked off her shoes. “I'm going to take a shower, because I can still smell his cologne.” She wiped her neck where Brown had kissed her. “I feel slimed.”

 

Bean gave her an <i>I-told-you-so</i> grin, and she stuck her tongue out at him and went into the bathroom with her new sweats. Stripping the Versace dress off, she dropped it in a heap on the floor and stepped on it. “Hey, Bean?” she called.

 

“What?”

 

“Lend me your knife.”

 

“Which one?”

 

“Doesn't matter as long as it's sharp.” She heard him chuckle, then the switchblade skidded under the door. She caught it up and pressed the button. The blade shot out of the handle, long and razor-thin. “Perfect. I'm going to flush three grand down the toilet.”

 

“Huh?”

 

“Brown paid for the dress.”

 

“Heh heh heh...”

 

Rally held the hem down with one foot and ripped the dress lengthwise with one satisfying stroke and not a moment's regret. In a minute she had it in ribbons. Thinking better of clogging the toilet with Spandex, she picked the strips up in handfuls and dumped them into the garbage. “Good riddance to bad rubbish,” she muttered.

 

“Rally?” called Bean through the door. “What's up with him now? He gonna go through with it?”

 

“I don't CARE—” She bethought herself of Bean's money again. “Yeah, I think so. I mean, what alternative has he got?”

 

“With me around? Not much.”

 

“Thanks for the reminder, Bean…” She stepped into the shower and let the water rinse away every lingering trace of Brown.

 

$$

 

“This is she?” said 426, examining a photograph taken from a security camera tape. “What is her name, Huang?”

 

“I do not know yet,” replied the young man who had handed it to him. “I am attempting to find out, but none of our databases has a match. They are only complete for the West Coast and Asia. But I am certain that it is the same woman, from the description.” They spoke Cantonese as they sorted through a pile of photographs showing a dark-red Bugatti and its occupants. Several views of Rally and Brown in the lobby of the Mandarin Oriental sat on top, and one shot was a close-up of the two awkwardly kissing outside the elevator.

 

“Incredible,” said 426. “It is obvious that even his simplest action is fraught with deceit.” He threw down the photograph in disgust. “Where is her car at present?”

 

“It is still in Buttonkettle. The location readout has shifted only slightly since the transmitter was installed, so I assume that the mechanic has merely put it in another part of the garage.”

 

“That may have been a wasted effort,” said 426, “but I wish to be informed at once if there is any change.”

 

“Yes, sir.”

 

“And her young friend is still in Buttonkettle as well?”

 

“Yes, sir. I talked with her for a few moments, and she intends to stay until the repairs are complete.”

 

“Is she this woman's lover?”

 

“The girl? I don't know, sir, but I had considered the possibility.”

 

426 briefly covered his mouth with his hand, his eyes warming as if the thought of smiling had entered his head. He seemed about to speak, but a knock sounded on the door of the office, and Huang rose to open it. Two Chinese men in flashy suits haltingly entered and bowed deeply. “I am told that you have made a spectacle of yourselves,” said 426. “Again.”

 

“Sir,” replied one, who had a gold tooth and a bad perm, “we had no intention—”

 

“I will not listen to your ridiculous excuses, you son of a diseased whore. You are demoted two ranks. 81, come here.” The other man, his head hanging, stepped forward and bowed so low he nearly hit his nose on his kneecaps. His right hand hung bandaged in a sling, and he wore a gold stud in one ear. 426 went on in English. “I am ashamed to be related to you, 81. What have you to say?”

 

“Nothing, honored uncle.”

 

“That is as it should be. Dog!” 426 struck the man across the face. “Are you possessed with demons? I am informed that you drew a gun on the street in a petty dispute. Is this the behavior of a Triad?”

 

“No, sir.”

 

426 struck him again. “Your father's spirit is groaning in shame, 81. It charges me to beat this foolishness out of you!” The man took the blows silently, only grunting when 426 chopped him in the stomach. The gold-toothed man watched with blinking grimaces while Huang tapped on a computer. “I am finished,” said 426 at length, rubbing the edge of his hand. “Be grateful that I still think you worth the trouble.”

 

“Sir,” said 81, bowed, and turned to go. He saw one of the discarded photographs and let out a small sound of anger.

 

“What was that?” snapped 426.

 

“Sir, I ask permission to speak.”

 

“What is it?”

 

“That's the bitch.” He pointed at the photograph.

 

“Excuse me?”

 

“The one with the big dude. The one that shot—” He indicated his shoulder. “The bitch with the gun.”

 

“She is the one who arrested you?”

 

“Yes, honored uncle.”

 

“In company with a man of large stature?”

 

“Yes, sir; big as shit, with a weird red car. They started talking to Sam.”

 

426 almost smiled. “Did she happen to introduce herself?”