Die on Your Feet Read online

  Chapter Two

  “Wake up, sleepyhead.”

  “Beat it, Aubrey.”

  “Rise and shine, princess.”

  “I said ‘Beat it,’ you damned haunt.”

  “It’s the middle of the morning and you have a job to start.”

  Lola rolled over with a groan and pulled the pillow away from her head. “When did you get so keen on this one?”

  “I’m not, but I seem to recall you are.” His tone became serious: “You took on a client, Lola. Sleeping in is hardly what I’d call professional. Get up.”

  “Get out then. I’m taking a shower.”

  Lola got up. She pulled off her bedclothes and stumbled toward the master bathroom, glad for the heavy drapes over the windows.

  She stood under the hot spray, her eyes closed, head hanging. She organized the day ahead. There were going to be a lot of dank alleys and smelly rooms in the immediate future. She considered referring Arbogast to Shu, on Fourth and McAllister. Shu never minded the rough stuff.

  A light knock announced Elaine’s presence just outside the bedroom. Lola called her inside as she finished drying off. She wrapped her robe around herself and strode out of the bathroom.

  “Good morning, Miss Lola,” Elaine said. As ever, her spine was a marvel of natural engineering; it ran straight and true without the slightest hint of effort. Her rich chestnut hair framed a long, slender face with thin, shapely lips and intelligent grey-green eyes.

  “’Morning, Elaine. I’ll be doing some trawling today, I think. Did you get that stain out of those dark brown trousers last week?”

  The maid nodded and slipped into the closet. She poked her head out again and watched Lola rub roughly at her dark, shoulder-length hair. While Lola frowned slightly at her own reflection in the vanity mirror, Elaine disappeared back inside the closet.

  “Stop fretting. I’ll put it up into a twist,” Elaine said, returning with slacks. She also carried a tan blouse and a safari-cut jacket, complete with waist belt and large square flap pockets.

  “You’re a saint,” Lola said with a grin.

  “The gods know, a hairstylist you’ll never be.”

  “If that ain’t the truth, I’ll be a monkey’s uncle.” Lola lit a cigarette.

  The maid worked efficiently. “Coffee and rolls are out in the dining room.” She patted at some stray hairs and tucked in some more pins. She scrutinized her handiwork with narrowed eyes. “That ought to do you, but if it starts to come down, just shake it, comb it out with your fingers and your natural waves will take care of the rest.”

  Lola laughed. “I’m not entering a beauty contest, angel. It’s gambling joints and back alleys for me today.”

  Elaine smiled as she shrugged.

  Lola ate in her shirtsleeves. Breakfast was a hurried affair and left her place at the table scattered with crumbs and a few drops of blueberry jam. She drained her coffee cup twice, however, without leaving any stains behind.

  She returned to the bedroom while Elaine cleared the breakfast things. She exchanged the safari coat for something a little less symbolic, a lightweight brown tweed with patch elbows and a little extra room. The pockets were piped. Lola slid in a switchblade. She smoothed out the pocket until the knife sat almost flat. She slid a tiny .22 into her purse, along with her cigarettes. She fitted a larger caliber into an ankle holster and shook out her trouser leg until it draped elegantly once more. She took a few steps to reacquaint herself with the weight. She checked her watch. She’d been awake thirty-eight minutes.

  Stewart, the lift boy, had ginger hair and a creamy complexion to match. His eyes were a curious blue-green. He grinned. “Got a hot one today, Miss Starke. Cleopatra in the eighth to win, at five-to-one. She’s running at three this afternoon. A real pip, that’s what they say, a real pip.”

  “A boy’s gotta have a hobby, I suppose,” Lola said. “Never had much interest in the ponies, myself.”

  “Doesn’t mean you can’t make some dough from ’em,” he shot back amiably. “I’m tied up here all day, a double shift too. We’re real shorthanded. No one can get away.” His eyes widened with excitement. “But you, Miss Starke, you could place the bet for me and I’ll split the winnings with you.”

  Lola smiled politely. “Split how? And what’s the stake?”

  “Ah well, here’s the beauty of it, Miss Starke. You put up the hundred dollars and you’ll get it back double.”

  “Why would I split anything if it’s my money?”

  “You’re paying for my expertise, of course,” he replied.

  Lola shook her head, matching his solemnity. “Too much jack for this small-timer.”

  Lola stopped at the concierge for messages. As the elevator doors closed, she heard Stewart chatting up another tenant. She skimmed the slips, two from her mother, and then tossed them back down on the desk. She thanked Mr. Wang, who nodded in silent acknowledgement.

  A separate elevator took Lola down to the parking levels. She didn’t recognize the operator. His uniform had shiny buttons and a name tag: Frederick. He was middle-aged, a quiet character with a sad set to his well-lined ebony features. He tipped his hat and in a deep bass gently asked for their level.

  Aubrey started talking: “I’m Aubrey O’Connell.... Nice to meet you.... You’re new? How’re you feeling so far? Everything all right?”

  Lola kept her face neutral as Aubrey conversed with the operator’s Ghost.

  Frederick smiled and his face was transformed. The deep lines mapped out years of smiles like the one on his face now. He called out the parking level and tipped his hat once more. Lola thanked him and held out a small bill. Frederick nodded.

  “Thank you kindly, miss. Have a nice day now. You and Mr. Aubrey.”

  “Nice couple,” Aubrey commented, as Lola neared her car.

  “Next time, remember your manners.” Lola strode to an old brown Buick with some dents and scratches.

  “I didn’t think you cared to be introduced,” Aubrey replied. “I’ll make a point of it next time. Frederick and his wife, Marcella, have been married twenty-seven years. She just passed last month. A lovely woman, too, with a smile to match his.”

  Lola grunted. “Another happy couple that can’t stand to be parted.”

  After the shadowy parking area, the sunlight was whimper-inducing. Lola squinted through her dark glasses. Cars zipped, or hobbled, past as she waited for a break to turn left.

  Josephson apparently liked the eastern parts of town. None of the parlours on the list came any farther west than Main. None of the other places, the ones that didn’t offer gambling, were even that far toward the centre line. Lola decided to try a mah-jongg parlor first. With the sun barely risen, the chances of finding someone awake and intelligible at a junk house were slim. Drug addicts were like snakes: mornings found them drowsing under rocks, waiting until the sun produced enough heat to warm them into motion. Too early in the day and their blood was still thick with opiates.

  The sky was a hammered blue, its edges thinned out to white. People walked briskly, their heads held up, their eyes bright. The metallic taste of heat was in the air. The day would only turn hotter as the hours dragged past. Better to hurry and fill the morning with movement, allow the afternoon to pass by while one huddled away from the burning light. Lola followed Tsing Drive until the numbered avenues stopped and names began once more. When Crescent City was much younger, its civic leaders named streets after themselves in unseemly numbers. Mah crossed Look, Eng paralleled Fong. It wasn’t until Nathaniel Wing became mayor about one-hundred-and-fifty years ago that a system was created for ordering streets and neighbourhoods. Old Mayor Wing was a stickler for organization. He liked squares on his city map and numbers progressing according to a simple rule: avenue numbers grew as you headed northward. As for the street names, well,
he was still an elected official and the populace as well as his own city councilors refused to give up the chance to have eponymous lanes, rows, drives, streets and closes. City maps were a necessity, for newcomer and veteran alike.

  Lola found Silver and turned right until she hit Thackeray. Lucky Bamboo was a few blocks south, between Jade and Jasmine. It sat in what was euphemistically called a growing neighbourhood. Blocks of row houses lined avenues and streets. Dark brown, dark red, sooty yellow. Brick, brick and more brick. There were a few colourful awnings to signal a business: a grocer, a barber, a newspaper stand. There were people on the street. A woman, looking alarmingly close to labor, pushed a pram, her hair already straggling and plastered to the back of her neck. An elderly man coming the opposite way stopped to greet her, tipping his trilby. The woman smiled and stopped. A few hooligan types strutted about, their lips jutted, eyes glittering, jacket sleeves pushed up on hairy forearms. One, his hat perched at the back of his head, gave Lola a wink and a whistle as she drove past.

  The Bamboo had a brightly false façade: garish red columns with gold-painted dragons entwined around their capitals. The door was thick wood, solid and heavy. Lola pulled at the ring that served as handle and was surprised at the lightness and ease of movement. Inside, the lighting was no match for natural sunlight. Lola slid to one side and waited for her sight to adjust.

  A rounded opening across the foyer introduced the way to the gambling floor. The frame looked lacquered. A wooden floor, full of knotty planks and stained dark grey from countless crushed ashes, sounded solidly as Lola walked over it. A coat-and-hat check station to the right, its light off. Movement from the left side of the foyer caught her attention. A shimmering curtain concealed an alcove. That curtain was being pulled aside. A glimpse of desk and chair, elaborate floor lamp, calligraphy wall hanging. The space was the approximate size of Lola’s bedroom closet.

  A young girl in a satiny lime green cheong-sahm greeted Lola. The slit in the dress was high enough to show flashes of thigh beneath. As the girl bowed formally, her glossy jet hair swung forward, hiding her face. The dress showed slits up both legs. As the girl straightened up, she presented Lola with a lopsided smile and glassy eyes.

  “Welcome to Lucky Bamboo, siew-jeah,” she said in English.

  “How old are you?” Lola spoke Cantonese.

  The girl blinked, then repeated her greeting in the same tongue, adding, “May I show you to our lucky tables?” Her gaze rested a few inches shy of Lola’s left shoulder.

  Lola gently took hold of a delicate chin and tipped the girl’s face up. The lopsided smile never wavered. Her eyes flickered briefly and she blinked twice, slowly.

  “Siew-jeah?”

  “Never mind. I can find my way.”

  “Happy tiles, mistress!” The girl turned back toward the alcove. Lola walked through the round entrance, wrinkling her nose. The interior was dim and reeked of last night’s cigarettes. Lola stopped and lit an Egyptian of her own, then blew out a long streamer of smoke before her. A rotund man came out from a shadowed doorway in the far corner. There was no straight path for him. The tables were arranged in an arcane, meandering pattern, meant to allow chi to linger and spread out as it passed through the room. Lola raised her eyebrows that anyone in this dump had bothered with feng shui.

  The man came on, following a well-tread path between tables. He wore his black hair slicked back, revealing a pronounced widow’s peak. There was a small moustache, like a miniature brush, atop his upper lip. His brown suit was not quite fashionable but immaculately pressed, and his shoes shone. A tie of yellow and brown stripes didn’t quite make it over the swell of his stomach. He buttoned his jacket as he approached. His round face creased into a wide smile. His teeth were yellow but straight.

  “Ahhh, good day to you, mistress. We are honoured by your visit to our humble tables.” He spoke in clipped Cantonese. “As you can see, we are without players to match your caliber at the moment. May I interest you in some blackjack instead?”

  He motioned with a flourish, and Lola discovered another rounded doorway at the far left. A thin man waited at a single table. Four high stools stood empty as the dealer shuffled and reshuffled the deck of cards in his hands. He was chewing a cigar stub. His blond hair shone faintly in the glow of light from above. There were four other tables, all empty.

  Lola turned her attention back to the round man. He surveyed her clothes with an assessing gleam in his eyes.

  “I think he’s just calculated the cost of your outfit, to the last penny,” said Aubrey.

  “Do you manage this palace?” Lola’s briskness elicited surprise but the round man quickly replaced it with an oily smile.

  “Sammy Lu, at your service.”

  Lola took out a small roll of money while Lu’s eyes widened. She peeled off a five. “I’m looking for information, Mr. Lu.”

  He pocketed the bill smoothly and bowed his head briefly. “Yes, of course. Anything I can do to help.”

  “Just the truth. Understand?” Lola pulled out a photo. Lu took the proffered picture of Josephson and studied it briefly, nodded again.

  His nose wrinkled in disgust. “Sunny Joe. A junkie. Always in here looking for a game, but no one wants to gamble with bad luck at their table.”

  “Not even to make easy money?”

  Lu shook his head. “Not worth the odds.”

  “He doesn’t gamble here? Ever?”

  “Not for months, maybe a year. He was clean for a stretch. Didn’t last.” Lu’s shrug was impersonal.

  “When’s the last time he was here?”

  Lu looked up at the ceiling, thinking. He tapped his chin with a stubby forefinger. “Maybe last Sunday?” He squinted into the distance, the gears clearly grinding now. “Yeah, yeah. Sunday. My niece was out sick.” He gestured toward the front entrance.

  “She friends with him?”

  “No,” Lu guffawed. “Too smart for a junkie like that.”

  Lola cocked her head skeptically. “She’s pretty small for security. Where’s your real muscle?”

  Lu laughed heartily. “She’s a black belt. Shown a few drunks and sore losers the door in her time. Including Sunny Joe.”

  “I want to talk to her. How old is she?”

  “Twenty.” Lu grinned at Lola’s reaction. “Runs in the family.” He leaned in. “I’m almost sixty.” His grin widened. “Don’t look a day over forty.” He started walking. He fired off some rapid Chinese to the girl as they came through the archway. Lola recognized the dialect, Gum Sahn, but it was too fast for her to follow with any certainty.

  The girl blinked and grinned. “Had you fooled, huh?” Her smooth face was animated and exuberant. She still didn’t look twenty, but at least she looked awake.

  “Minnie’s an actress,” Lu explained. “She’s readying for an audition.” More provincial Chinese passed between uncle and niece.

  The girl made a face. “I get a lot of junkies or whores, but a job’s a job.” She shrugged, then looked Lola directly in the eyes. “You’re looking for Sunny, huh?” Her expression turned pitying. “Poor man. He was clean for so long too.”

  “How long?” asked Lola.

  The girl shrugged, looked at her uncle. “Couple years?”

  Lu shook his head. “No, three. You were just graduating.” The round man nodded, satisfied at his recollection.

  The girl continued, “He came in last Saturday. High as the moon.”

  “What did he do?”

  “Looking for Uncle Sammy. Wouldn’t tell me why. I was sick as a dog. Didn’t much care. Told him to come in again Sunday. Don’t know if he did or not.” She looked back at her uncle.

  Lu nodded again. “Like I said, he was in Sunday. Couldn’t understand what he wanted. He was too junked up to make any sense. I had Minnie’s brother, Benny, guide him to
the curb.”

  “Did he mention any travelling plans?”

  Lu shook his head. “I’m telling you. He was barely able to say his own name. I was surprised he was walking upright.”

  “When does your brother come in?” Lola turned to the girl.

  She shrugged again. “He’s got the late shift tonight. You can come back then.”

  Aubrey broke in: “Show another bill and ask Lu to phone. You’ve got a long list. This is a shortcut you can afford.”

  Lola gritted her teeth for an instant before smoothing out her features into casual politeness again. “Let’s ring him now, shall we?” Another bill appeared in Lola’s fingers. Lu smiled.

  “Sure thing.” The girl stepped aside to let her uncle to pass into the alcove. A telephone was mounted on the wall right beside the entry. Lola stepped halfway in and looked around. A textbook—Japanese, not Chinese—was open on the plain wooden desk. The red cushion of the matching chair was fraying at the corners. The wall hanging was a cheap reproduction of The Mountain Pass.

  Lu made his request to the operator in a quiet voice. Lola made a casual perusal but she didn’t catch the exchange. Lu glanced at her sidelong. He asked for his nephew in Cantonese. A few moments passed, then Lu started speaking in Gum Sahn again.

  Eventually, Lu passed her the phone. “Benny?” A deep voice answered in the positive. “Lola Starke. What happened after you threw Sunny Joe out on his ear?”

  “Let’s be clear, Miss Starke. I didn’t toss him out. I walked him to the curb.” Benny spoke in cultured tones.

  “Fine. I’m interested in where he went after you stopped holding hands then.”

  “He turned left and walked down the street. He got into his car and pulled off, toward Jasmine. Then he took a right.”

  “Your uncle said he was barely able to stand. Weren’t you concerned?”

  “We’re responsible for only ourselves,” he answered.

  “Did he mention where he was heading?”

  “Listen, Miss Starke, I like Sunny, but he’s a junkie. He’d steal from me in a flash if he thought he’d get away with it. I don’t fraternize with thieves nor with drug addicts. Sunny was both and he was three sheets to the wind that day. I couldn’t have understood him if I’d had a code book.”