Stealing the Dragon (30 page)
“No, they were—”
Sally held up her hand. “Patriots. Yes, I know the story. They were honorable men, warriors—not thugs pretending to be those things.”
“That was a long time ago,” said Xan. “Different times.”
“There is a Shao Lin monastery near the peak,” said Sally. “With roots stretching back hundreds of years.”
Xan shifted uncomfortably. “Why would they accept me?” he asked. “It is a closed order.”
“They would welcome someone with your training.” Sally picked up the incense burner, pushing it into Xan’s hands. “Especially if you came bearing gifts.”
Xan stared at the dragon’s face in his hands, then looked back at Sally. “You’ve put a lot of thought into this.”
“It’s a long flight.”
Xan nodded. “I’ll give it some thought.”
“Just do it.”
“You sound like one of those American commercials. You’ve spent too much time there.”
“It’s home,” said Sally. She stepped away from the desk and bowed deeply, keeping her eyes on his.
“Goodbye, Xan.”
Xan returned the bow. “Goodbye, little dragon.”
***
Cape started walking. It was still early and the street was busy. Across from the restaurant, two old men sat playing mah jong on a folding card table, the same two he’d seen the other night. Young couples crowded both sides of the street, some Asian, many interracial, their faces lit by the glare of neon from above. Cape looked at the signs, the strange characters and symbols that never became more recognizable no matter how many times he studied them. A few days ago that had bothered him, but now it just made him smile.
A few blocks and a left took him past Sally’s loft. The grocery downstairs was open, but the second floor of the building was completely dark. Cape wondered when he would see Sally again but no longer worried
if
he would. He realized that he could no more keep Sally safe than control the weather. But he could be there when she called, as she always had for him.
At the corner, Cape came to a manhole cover and stopped. He looked down into the darkness, thinking about places long forgotten, a side of the city rarely seen, and a part of himself he wished would stay hidden, as dark as the hole beneath his feet. He stepped over the manhole and crossed Broadway, the demarcation line between Chinatown and North Beach, an asphalt border between two different worlds. At the far corner, Cape turned and looked back, a wistful smile on his face. He knew he’d return, he just didn’t know when.
That night Cape slept like a dead man and didn’t dream at all.
Though it would be impossible to list them all, I would like to thank some of the people who helped make this book a reality.
My agent, Jill Grosjean, for faith and stamina when I almost ran out of both. My amazing wife, Kathryn, for her positive energy, insight, and willingness to read every word, even the ones I misspelled the first time around. My two beautiful and smart daughters, Clare and Helen, for keeping me young at heart. My brother, Bob, and Jody Dempsey for never doubting this would happen. Mike, Suzanne, and Michael Bloom for always being there for my entire family. All the folks at FFS for keeping a dream alive. The Marshalls, for being such great friends and neighbors. Orest Stelmach for paving the way. The Zinns for staying close. Everyone at the Book Passage Mystery Writers Conference, especially Tony Broadbent and Kirk Russell, two great writers and mentors. The extraordinary team at Midnight Ink: Barbara Moore for realizing the potential of these characters; Gavin for a perfect cover; Karl for his patience and critical eye; Kelly, Alison, and the entire sales, marketing, and promotions team. The many people who read early drafts of this novel—without your generosity and support, Cape and Sally would never have existed outside the restaurant where I wrote the first draft.
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