Into the Whirlwind (11 page)

Chapter Eleven

In Seattle's International District, Chinese, Filipino, Japanese, Vietnamese, and Southeast Asians all lived together side by side. The bar Feng owned, the Golden Lily, was on Maynard near Weller, a narrow establishment on the street level of a four-story brick building. The bar sat next to a martial arts school, Ling's Noodle House, the Tea Gallery, and a Vietnamese restaurant called Tips'.

A bulky Asian, legs splayed, hands crossed in front of him, stood next to the front door as they drove up. Dirk spotted Luke walking toward them, got out, and went around to help Meg out of the car.

“Thank you,” she said as she stepped up onto the curb. Noticing the goose bumps rising on her arms in the damp, chilly air, Dirk peeled off his leather jacket and draped it around her shoulders. Luke joined them. The bulky Asian gave them a once-over and they walked into the bar without a problem.

The interior was a mix of American and Chinese: a long black granite bar lined with black-and-chrome bar stools, Formica-topped tables, and black vinyl chairs spread haphazardly around the room. A shuffleboard table rested along an exposed-brick wall while a digital jukebox played rock music from the opposite wall.

“Evanescence,” Dirk said, recognizing the band as they strolled through the dimly lit bar with Luke right behind them. Three Asian men, early twenties, lean and athletic, black leather jackets and motorcycle boots, sat at the bar.

A young Asian couple was making out in the corner.

Two men sat at another table, the lights of their smartphones glowing, more interested in sending text messages than talking to the woman sitting across from them.

“This way,” Luke said, urging them to keep walking. The guys at the bar had spotted them. Meg returned Dirk's jacket, settling into her role, and Dirk drew her a little closer, just to make sure the men knew she belonged to him. At least for the night.

The lighting was dim, neon pink tubes running behind the back bar, green and red Tsingtao beer signs on the walls. A hanging lamp on the end of a chain shed a cone of light over the shuffleboard table, but no one was playing.

There were pool tables in the back. A loud
clack
drew their attention as a cue ball slammed into a ten, which knocked the twelve and thirteen into side pockets.

They kept walking, stopped next to an elevator with a stainless-steel door. A big Asian stood beside it, arms bulging with muscle. But the tight buttons on his shiny gray suit said he was a little overweight.

Like the guy out front, he was more show than go, Dirk figured, not in great shape but a menacing appearance that kept the customers in line.

Luke stopped directly in front of him. “We're friends of Lee Cullen's. Lee said this was a place we could find a little action.”

Meg's eyes widened as Dirk pulled out a roll of hundreds, peeled one off, and tucked it into the Asian's thick-fingered hand.

The man pocketed the bill, looked them over, spent a little too long sizing up Meg. “I will tell Quan Feng you are here.” The man walked away. The sound of his heavy footfalls rang, then faded as he reached the top of a set of back stairs. Apparently the elevator was only for guests.

Dirk knew Lee Cullen through Luke. He was half Chinese, half Irish. He'd invented an ultraviolent military computer game called Iron Warrior and made a boatload of money, but he liked to keep a low profile. Luke had worked for him a couple of times, digging up info on his competition.

Dirk hadn't known Cullen liked to gamble. He hoped the guy's name would be enough to get them through the door, that and bringing Meg to tantalize Quan Feng.

He looked over at the woman beside him. “You okay?”

Meg just nodded. He could feel her nerves humming and eased her a little closer. “You're doing great. Everything's gonna be fine.”

She relaxed a little, managed to smile, and laced her arm through his, as if they were a couple. He wished it didn't feel so good.

He thought about what she'd said. That she had underestimated him. He figured it was true, though it didn't really make any difference. It was over between them. Nothing could change that. Meg had burned that bridge as surely as his house had burned down.

The big Asian returned, pushed the button next to the elevator, then stepped back as the door slid open.

Meg walked in first. Dirk and Luke followed her inside. This time the big Asian joined them. The elevator went up two floors before it came to a stop and the door reopened.

A man in a black suit stood outside the entry to the casino, tall and slim, with coarse, black hair and a greasy smile. “I am Louis Chan, the manager. The man with you is Fu Han. You understand we have certain rules. You won't mind if Mr. Han makes certain you are following them.”

Easing Meg a little behind him, Dirk raised his arms, allowing the big Asian to do a search. Han patted him down but didn't make contact with the little .22 in his pocket. Han found Luke's knife, which didn't please him.

The Asian held up the knife. “You will get this back when you leave.”

“Long as you remember where you got it,” Luke warned.

Han made no reply, just slipped silently back into the shadows. Meg accepted a glass of champagne off a passing waiter's tray and they wandered toward the tables. While Luke casually circled the room, looking for Feng, Dirk set a possessive hand at Meg's waist, guided her over to one of the blackjack tables, and took a seat.

Playing her part, Meg eased up close behind him. The soft scent of her floral perfume wrapped around him and Dirk silently cursed.

To distract himself and play the role he was there to play, he pulled out a roll of hundreds, money he kept in a hidey-hole in his car. In his business, it was always better to be prepared.

He bought in with five hundred, stacked the chips in front of him, and eased into the play with a twenty-five-dollar bet. This wasn't a high-roller joint, but it wasn't a dive joint either.

A sexy little black-haired waitress appeared. Dirk ordered a Jack and Coke while Meg sipped her champagne. Across the room, he caught a glimpse of Luke sauntering toward an obese, bald-headed Chinese man who had to be kinky Quan Feng. Even from a distance, Dirk could see Feng's beady black eyes fix on Meg.

Dirk's jaw went tight. Unfortunately their plan was working.

“Okay, baby,” he said, placing a fifty-dollar bet. “Time to bring your sugar daddy some luck.”

Meg's cheeks flushed. Then, to his complete surprise, she leaned down and very softly kissed him. Full lips that tasted like cherries sent a rush of heat straight to his groin.

“Good luck,” Meg whispered in a low, throaty voice. Not Meg, he realized as she gave him a wicked smile. Sexy hot Candy Molten. Didn't matter which woman she was. That kiss had made him hard.

* * *

Luke ordered a scotch rocks at the bar, then carried his glass over to the fat man seated at a table near the far end. A guy drinking Red Bull and vodka sat alone at another table, his tie askew, eyelids drooping, on the verge of being shit-faced drunk.

The room wasn't big by casino standards. He counted five card tables where they played three and four card poker. Other patrons, both male and female, most of them Caucasian, played blackjack, Spanish 21, or pai gow.

In the outskirts of the city, minicasinos like this were legal. Not in Seattle proper. How Feng managed to escape being shut down, Luke had no idea.

“Mind if I join you?” he asked, then sat down before Feng could object.

The huge Chinese shifted his excessive bulk, his head swiveling on a body with no neck at all. “You are new to our venerable establishment,” Feng said. “A friend of Lee Cullen, I am told.”

“Lee and I are friends.” Luke took a drink of scotch. “I know he comes here once in a while so I used his name. I need to talk to you.”

Feng sipped through the straw in his drink, club soda from what Luke could tell. The guy was no fool.

“Many people wish to speak to me,” Feng said. “Most are not so bold.”

“I'm looking for someone. Your reputation says you're a man who might help me find him.”

Feng shrugged his enormous shoulders. “I'm a businessman. It pays to be aware.”

“The guy's name is Vinnie Santini. Might call himself Vincent Sandoval. Vinnie likes to gamble. Got the bug. I'm hoping you know him, maybe know where I can find him.”

Feng stirred the soda with his straw. “You are here for information. Information is a very valuable commodity.”

“That's true,” Luke said.

“If I give you Santini, I will want something in return.” Feng's gaze moved across the room to Meg. Even with too much makeup, a too-tight dress, and big hair, she was the most beautiful woman in the room. “If I help you find him, what is in it for me?”

Luke sat up a little straighter. “I'll tell you what's in it for you if you
don't
help me find him. Trouble with a capital
T
. Santini's involved in something very big and very illegal. He's going down hard, and anyone in his way is going down with him. The cops'll be digging into every nook and cranny of his life. Gambling is part of it. Tell me where he is and I'll do whatever I can to keep your name and business out of it.”

“You are police, then?”

“No. Just an interested party.”

Feng's small, black eyes returned to Meg. “I want the woman. She stays when you leave. I'll tell you where to find Santini. In exchange, the woman stays with me.”

Not good.
Luke's gaze traveled across the room. Dirk hadn't missed Feng's interest in Meg. He'd lose it if Luke even pretended they were leaving her behind.

“The woman belongs to my friend. He doesn't like to share.”

“You knew I would want her when you brought her here.”

Luke didn't deny it. “I'd heard rumors. I knew you liked beautiful women. Who doesn't?”

The slash that was Feng's mouth curved faintly. “I would enjoy tying her up. A woman with hair like flames ... no doubt she needs discipline.”

Luke clamped down on a curse. Thank Jesus Dirk couldn't hear. “I can't give you my friend's woman, but I'll give you this.” Luke pulled out a business card and handed it to Feng. “Tell me where to find Santini and I'll owe you.”

Feng smirked. “You will owe me.” He looked down at the plain white card, studied the simple black letters. “Luke Brodie.” Those little pig eyes came back to Luke's face. The smirk was gone. “I have heard the name. It is said you are a good man to know.”

“I can be. Or I can be a very bad man to know.”

Feng pocketed the card. “During the day, Santini gambles at a place called the Mayfair. A bowling alley out in Kenmore. It opens at ten a.m. Vinnie likes to play there in the mornings. If he gambles tomorrow, that is where he will be.”

Quan Feng tapped the card in his pocket. “You owe me, Luke Brodie. Do not forget.”

“I won't forget.” Luke took a drink of his scotch. The ice rattled as he set the glass down on the table, then stood up and walked away.

Owing a man like Quan Feng was the last thing he wanted. But as he strode toward Meg and saw the desperate, hopeful look on her face, he knew that no matter what it took, if it helped find her boy, repaying the debt would be worth it.

Chapter Twelve

As Luke approached, Meg unconsciously reached for Dirk, caught his arm, and hung on. There was something in Luke's face, something that told her he had found Vinnie Santini. Or at least knew where to look for him.

“Let's go,” Luke said.

Dirk scooped up his chips. “I'll be right back.” He flashed her a look. “Stay close to Luke.” While he went to retrieve his money—she had a feeling he had lost a little on purpose—Luke urged her toward the door.

“Did you find him?” she asked. “Did you find Santini?”

“I know a place he might be in the morning. That's more than we had before.”

“Yes . . . yes, it is.” She blinked to keep her eyes from filling. Tomorrow they would find Santini. Then they would find her little boy.

The big Asian, Fu Han, appeared, reminding her of the role she was playing. He handed Luke the knife he had taken.

“Thanks,” Luke said. “It's one of my favorites.”

Meg shuddered to think how many knives Luke might own. He and Dirk both seemed to have plenty of weapons.

She turned to see Dirk walking toward them. She loved the way he moved, the confident energy, the way his eyes always seemed to find her, the way, once they did, she couldn't look away.

The elevator rattled up and the door slid open. Instead of the car being empty, five men walked out. The two in front held big black pistols pointed toward Dirk and Luke. They were in their early thirties, one in skinny jeans and a slim-fitting blazer with the sleeves pushed up, with the words Lone Wolf tattooed on his forearm.

The second man wore a Henley with jeans and expensive, black-and-silver designer sneakers. They looked more like metrosexuals than hoodlums.

The other three men were younger, knit caps pulled low, T-shirts and low-riding jeans. Street punks, Dirk would call them. None were Asian.

“Get back inside,” the guy with the tattoo demanded, apparently the leader.

Luke said the f word under his breath, and Dirk eased Meg a little behind him. She started to tremble.

“We're just leaving,” Dirk said. “We don't want any trouble.”

“You
were
leaving.” The guy in the expensive sneakers waved his gun toward the casino. “Now you aren't.”

Dirk had her easing backward toward the casino exit when Feng's two security guards and the manager arrived, which put them in the middle of a circle of hostile men.

All of them froze. She felt Dirk's hand ease something out of his pocket, heard the faint, muffled
click
of Luke's knife sliding open and locking into place.

“Where's Feng?” the guy with the tattoo asked. He was good-looking in a designer suit sort of way, with high cheekbones and perfectly arched dark brown eyebrows. She wondered vaguely if he paid to have them plucked.

“Mr. Feng is busy,” said Fu Han. The big Asian stood with his legs splayed, but his size wouldn't help him against a gun. “I would advise you to leave.”

“Tell him Rick Bledsoe is here. Tell him we need to talk.”

Feng waddled up just then, his heavy body swaying from side to side as he moved. “You are disturbing my guests, Ricky. What do you want?” People were beginning to stir, heads turning their way.

“You call me Ricky again, fat man, and it won't matter what I want. You'll be too dead to care.”

“You're behaving very badly—Rick. Your father will not be pleased when he hears you are poaching on his territory.”

“My father is old and worn out. I'm taking over. Now pay me what you owe and we'll leave.” Some kind of protection money, Meg guessed.

“I do not think so,” Feng said. “I have been paying long enough. Those days are over.”

Rick turned to his sneaker-clad friend. “Tell him, Jimmy, what's going to happen if he tries to stiff me.”

“You don't pay,” Jimmy warned, “there won't be a stick of furniture left in this place in one piece.”

Luke shifted beside her. “I don't think that's a good idea. How about you, Mr. Feng?”

“Not a good idea at all,” Feng said.

Rick turned a hard look on Luke. “Who are you?”

Luke shrugged. “Just a guy who owes Mr. Feng a favor.”

Feng smiled.

“Well, I don't care who you are.” Rick waved the barrel of the pistol. “Feng pays or the place goes down.”

Meg didn't see Luke move, but suddenly Rick's gun hit the ground and slid across the floor. Luke stood behind him, an arm locked around Rick's neck, the point of his knife nudging the artery pumping wildly in Rick's throat.

Dirk had moved, too, a long leg kicking out, hitting Jimmy's hand and knocking his gun in the air. Dirk's tiny revolver flashed, then the barrel dug into the flesh beneath Jimmy's chin.

“If you two don't want your blood running all over the floor—” Luke said.

“Or your brains splattered all over the ceiling—” Dirk added, nudging the revolver a little deeper.

“I'd suggest you call off your wannabe thugs and leave Mr. Feng alone,” Luke finished.

Rick's fingers curled around the arm wedged beneath his chin. “Who are you kidding? You won't hurt me. My father's on the city council. You touch me and you'll spend the next ten years in prison.”

Luke spun the man around so quickly it was more a blur than a movement. The knife blade was gone, the hilt in his palm. A fist drove into Rick's stomach, doubling him over, then Luke punched him hard in the face.

Rick went sprawling. When Luke took a menacing step in the guy's direction, Rick curled into a protective ball and started to whimper.

Beginning to panic, Jimmy whirled away from Dirk, threw a wild punch that Dirk blocked, then another he ducked. The revolver disappeared into Dirk's pocket and his mouth curved into a hard-edged smile.

Dear God,
Meg thought,
he's enjoying this!
A single hard punch to Jimmy's stomach sent him to his knees. Bending over, he began making retching noises, fought to suck in a breath of air.

The tiny revolver was back in Dirk's hand, pointed at the three younger men, who seemed frozen in shock where they stood. They raised their arms above their heads and backed toward the elevator. “We just came along for the ride, man,” one of them said.

“Yeah, well, ride the hell out of here,” Dirk said. “Take your two loser buddies with you.”

“Show your face in here again,” Luke added as Feng's men retrieved the discarded weapons, “and Mr. Feng calls me.” He flicked a glance at Dirk. “And him.”

Dirk's hard smile returned. “That's right. If you're smart, you'll put the word out that Quan Feng has friends who take care of him.”

All three younger men nodded. Rick and Jimmy staggered to their feet, wove their way into the elevator along with the others, and the door slid closed.

Luke pinned Feng with a look. “We good?” he asked.

Feng's gaze slid over Meg like something slimy out of the gutter. “I would have preferred the woman, but yes, your debt is paid.”

Meg started shaking. The elevator dinged its return and they all walked inside for the ride down to the bar. Meg felt Dirk's hand settle at her waist.

“It's all over, honey. Everything's okay.”

Luke shot him a look, and they rode the rest of the way in silence.

Dirk checked to be sure Rick and his gang were gone, checked again outside, then they headed for their cars.

Meg leaned back in the passenger seat of the Viper. Though the adrenaline rush was over, tremors still shook her. Every bone in her body ached from lack of sleep, but knowing tomorrow they would talk to Vinnie Santini, find out where Pam and the others were holding Charlie, a fresh shot of nerves rolled through her.

She wearily closed her eyes, but the last thing on her mind was sleep.

Dear Lord,
she prayed,
let Vinnie Santini know where to find my son. Please keep my little boy safe until we can bring him home.