Black Karma (26 page)

Jaw tight, he turned and left.

“That was awkward,” she mumbled to no one in particular as she watched his retreating back.

Shaking her head as she got up to leave, she tried to understand her aversion to Howard. He was an elitist, an attitude that many rich people seemed to have. He thought his money could buy him respect and he flaunted his entitlement, all of which flew in the face of her Buddhist training. Enlightenment couldn't be purchased, nor could respect. Character had to be earned through effort.

Dismissing thoughts of Howard, she took her phone from her pocket to make a call. The phone rang several times before being answered. “This is Bai Jiang. I owe you a date. Are you free tonight?”

Michael Chin, the waiter from the Grand, replied, “You're not much for small talk, are you?”

She felt combative after her morning with Howard. “No. Is that a problem?”

“Not at all,” he replied. “I like assertive women.”

“That doesn't answer my question,” she said.

“I'm free tonight.” He quickly replied. “Tell me where and when. I'll be there.”

“This is your date. You tell me.”

“Fine,” he said in an accommodating voice. “Would you like me to pick you up, or do you want to meet me?”

“Tell me where and when. I'll be there.”

He laughed. After a morning spent in an atmosphere of feigned gaiety, she liked the sound of his honest laughter. “Let's meet at the Durango Club in the Mission at eight. They have a good band and a crowded dance floor. Is that all right?”

She replied in a less surly voice. “Sure. I haven't danced in a long time. I hope I don't embarrass you.”

“Are you kidding? Every guy in the place is going to wish he were me.”

“I somehow doubt that, but you're sweet to say so. I'll see you at eight.”

She closed the phone and drew a deep breath. A deal was a deal. She'd promised Michael a date. She'd deliver on her promise.

Idling away the afternoon alone in her apartment, she found the solitude refreshing. Around seven in the evening, her packages from the shopping spree arrived via Howard's chauffeur. The bags and boxes filled the elevator as she ferried them upstairs.

Looking through the purchases for the least objectionable of the dresses, she picked out a short black tube dress with an asymmetrical neckline adorned with crystals. The dress stretched to allow her freedom of movement and still managed to look stylish while covering all of her girl parts.

She called a cab to take her to the Mission District. She didn't see any sign of her bodyguards, but that didn't mean they weren't nearby. Despite their bulk, Jason only employed professionals. If they didn't want to be seen, they'd be difficult to spot.

The Durango Club pretended to be a Mexican tequila bar. Other than the name and the tequila, the only thing Mexican about the place was a smattering of furnishings. The interior exemplified an odd blend of techno-Mexicana. Stainless steel furnishings of the easy-to-clean and almost indestructible variety dominated.
Sombreros
and
serapes
hung high on the walls for their own protection.

Patrons crowded the bar at the entrance. Men stared appreciatively when she walked in. Michael stood just inside the door waiting for her.

“Have you been here long?” she asked.

“A while,” he said with a deprecating smile. “I'm trying to impress you with how cool and mature I am. I got here an hour early because I was anxious to see you.”

He wore a black dress shirt and jeans that showed off his trim build. His warm smile and gentlemanly manner set her at ease. She put her arm through his to let the watchers know she was with him. He beamed with pleasure. She almost laughed at his transparent joy.

“Are you going to buy me a drink?”

“I'd buy you the bar if I could. What would you like?”

“Scotch. Anything will do,” she said, mindful of his youth and his budget.

Grabbing her hand to lead her toward the bar, he wended his way through the crowd with her at his back. Clubbing was a new experience for her. She'd been seventeen when she'd given birth to Dan. Afterward, life with a child consumed her time and energy. Nostalgia swept over her while she thought of the passing years.

After ordering their drinks at the bar, he turned to her with his hands full and a big smile on his face. Retreating from the bar through a three-deep crowd with her following, they found a table next to the back wall where the room was almost quiet enough to have a conversation. He pulled out a chair and handed her a highball glass.

She accepted the drink and raised her glass. “Thank you.”

“
Salud
,” he replied, tipping back a Tecate.

“Tell me about yourself,” she said after taking a sip.

“I'm twenty-five and have a bachelor's degree in business from San Francisco State. My mother is Japanese; my father, Chinese. Both of them were born here. I'm adopted, as are my seven siblings. I work as a waiter at night, teach aikido at the Japan Center during the day, and run an online business in motorcycle parts the rest of the time.”

“You sound like a busy man. Your father is Chinese, yet you don't speak Chinese. Why is that?”

“My parents were missionaries in China. I was adopted there. We returned to America when I was three. My father worked, and my mother raised us. She took us with her when she taught her aikido classes. As a result, I speak fluent Japanese.”

“Your parents sound interesting, socially conscious.”

“They are. My father is a devout Christian who doesn't believe in proselytizing. He says actions speak louder than words. My mother is a pacifist who has a black belt, seventh dan in aikido. They're living contradictions. What about you?”

“I'm older,” she stated bluntly. “I have children but never married. I barely finished high school and never made it to college. I work as a
souxun
, mostly finding lost people. I was born in San Francisco and raised in Chinatown. There isn't too much more to tell.”

“Your date the other night seemed like an intimidating man. His security cleared the bar, so you could talk in private. Are you in some kind of trouble, Bai? Maybe I could help.”

She reached across the table to put her hand on his and smiled. “You're sweet, but I can take care of myself. You can do one thing for me, though.”

“What's that?” he asked eagerly.

“You could ask me to dance.”

Chapter 31

Dancers shuffled elbow-to-elbow as they moved to the rhythm of the music. Bai and Michael let the crowd sandwich them until their hips pressed against each other. They danced for hours to the beat of techno jazz and R&B.

The temperature went up as the crowd thickened. Around eleven, they took a break to sit at their table and lick salt off their hands while downing tequila shots. Sensing something out of place, Bai looked up to find Rafe and three Norteños standing in front of the table.

Rafe smiled wickedly. “You just can't stay away,
China
. You and me, we got some business. You feel me?”

He slapped a fist into his palm and smirked at her. She recognized the men standing behind him as Hector's men. They fanned out to make sure she couldn't get past them.

“Where is Hector?” she asked.

Rafe shrugged. “He decided to court out. Somebody had to take the blame for the lost
chiva
and
feria
,” he shrugged, dismissing the heroin and money. “His bad.”

“Was it you who dropped the dime on him?”

He shrugged again. “Payback for dissing me. Now it's your turn to pay,
China
.”

Michael looked up from his drink. “We don't want trouble. Walk away and do yourself a favor.”

Rafe laughed and pointed at Michael. “All you got is one little buster to back you up,
China
? I think you got a big problem.”

She should have tried to defuse the situation, but alcohol fueled her frustration. Anger had been building in her for days. Being remade by Elizabeth and Howard, Lee's getting shot, Kelly's suicide, and now Hector's demise at the hands of an idiot like Rafe sent her over the edge. She kicked off her heels under the table and stood to face the Norteños. She looked at Rafe and smiled. “I've had a bad week. You're not helping.”

Rafe and his crew smiled.

“You got a big mouth,
China
,” Rafe sneered.

Standing up alongside her, Michael put an arm out to usher Bai behind him. “Let me handle this, Bai.” Turning to Rafe, he said, “We're not looking for trouble. Just walk away.”

Rafe threw the table aside with one hand as he drew his other arm back. Michael leapt into the air to land a spin kick to the side of Rafe's head as the thug lunged forward. Rafe plummeted to the ground with his eyes rolling back as his face met the floor. Continuing his leg sweep, Michael pivoted around again to catch another gang-banger with a boot to the face.

Bai ducked under the swinging fist of a large Latino and kicked her attacker in the side of the knee with a crippling blow that elicited a shriek of pain. He rolled on the ground in agony. The last Norteño reached for her while pulling a flicker knife from his back pocket. Michael slapped the back of the Norteño's head with a beer bottle to drop him to his knees.

Pandemonium erupted. Fights broke out randomly and spread like a wildfire. Fists and bottles flew through the air. Bai stopped to grab her shoes while Michael fended off panicking clubbers stumbling toward them. He grabbed her by the hand and ran toward the back of the club against the flow of the surging crowd.

Crashing through a fire door in the rear, they set off alarms that shrilled as he pulled her into the alley. They ran the length of the narrow lane to the sidewalk, where he drew her to a halt next to a row of parked motorcycles. He grabbed a helmet off one of the bikes, a black, low-slung racer that looked like a rocket, and handed it to her. Straddling the bike, he turned to her as she adjusted the helmet on her head. She climbed onto the bike behind him.

“Where to?” he asked.

“Chinatown,” she replied and leaned forward to put her arms around his waist.

He kicked the starter, and the motorcycle roared to life.

The crowd parted as the bike wove through fleeing clubbers. Song stared at her as they flew by. Sirens wailed. Lights flashed as fire trucks and police cars passed on their way to clear the thinning throng.

Once free of the crowd, Michael opened up the throttle, and the bike screamed. They sped between lanes of stalled traffic. He avoided lights and seemed to know the city well as he careened around corners to fly down alleys and side streets. She laughed out loud as the bike soared through the night.

The motorcycle slowed at the sidewalk in front of her building. The snarl of the engine subsided to a loping idle before Michael turned a key to kill the engine. She slipped off the back of the bike and removed her helmet, feeling suddenly shy.

“Can I see you again?” he asked.

Shaking her head, she handed him the helmet and put her hands on his face to kiss him. The kiss lingered. She had difficulty making herself pull away.

“I had a wonderful time,” she said breathlessly.

“I did, too. Let's do it again,” he insisted.

“The kiss?” she teased.

He smiled. “I was talking about the date. The kiss was nice, too.”

“I think I'm too old and too jaded for you, Michael. We live in different worlds. But it was fun. I enjoyed the date. Thank you.”

“You don't feel too old when I kiss you.”

His words almost thawed her resolve. She could feel the heat rising from her chest. With a meek wave and a shake of her head, she turned and ran up the steps to her building. She didn't trust herself to speak. At the top of the steps, she turned to wave again before bolting through the door and running for the elevator.

She exhaled with a sense of relief as the doors closed on the lift. A tinge of regret confused her as she rode to the third floor. A part of her, the part that yearned for a normal life, wanted to see him again. He was fun and charming and handsome. His youth and innocence appealed to her.

She thought of him as she pressed her fingers against her lips while remembering the feel of his when they kissed and the feel of his hips as they'd danced, sending new waves of heat to flush her face. But he was just a boy, and a civilian.

Her phone rang. It was Jason. “I hear you're a biker girl now.”

“When does surveillance turn into stalking?”

“When there's no longer a threat.”

He had a point.

“Have you scooped up the tan man?” she asked.

“No. I've got eyes on the building on Montgomery Street, but he hasn't been sighted. I'm wondering if you scared him off.”

“He didn't seem like the type to scare easily.”

“He's drawn a lot of attention. He might be waiting for things to cool down. That's what I would do.”

“I'm going to take another crack at finding Chen. He seemed to know the tan man.”

“Whatever you do, be careful. And stay off the back of motorcycles.”

“Why?”

“Because it makes me anxious.”

“That hardly seems reason enough.”

“Maybe not to you. It seems like a perfectly good reason to me.”

“Good night, Jason.”

“Good night, Bai.”

After she'd ended the call, she suddenly felt lonely. She'd been drinking and was in no condition to drive to Healdsburg. Instead, she slumped off to bed alone and wondered again why she hadn't asked Michael to stay. As her head hit the pillow, the handsome young man continued to occupy her thoughts.

Morning dawned with a pounding reminder of the deferred pain that inevitably accompanied tequila shots. She guardedly tested the vision in her right eye before making the decision to open her left. She tried raising her head. A dull ache behind her eyes informed her she wasn't as young as she used to be. Her tongue tasted like burnt rubber and seemed to be glued to the roof of her mouth.