Die on Your Feet Page 5

  Thin smirked. He wore a dusty-looking cap that didn’t go with his funereal suit. Thick jerked his head at the scarecrow, who silently departed, disappearing into the gloom behind him. Aubrey was suddenly at Lola’s ear; none of the Ghosts here knew Lucille.

  Lola lit a cigarette, waiting for the two thugs to pass within. Neither man made to move farther into the gambling hall. When she placed the lighter in her pocket, she palmed her knife.

  A growl emanated from Thick’s shadowed jaw. “Somebody wants to see you.”

  Lola gave him the once-over and blew a stream of blue smoke at his face. “Do you know me?” she asked politely.

  “Sure we know you, Miss Starke.” Thick emphasized the name with a sneer. “We’re here on the authority of the Assistant Deputy Commissioner of Games.”

  “Never heard of him.” She moved slowly backward and felt along the closed blade with a finger.

  Both men chuckled. “This is your lucky day.” Suddenly they were on either side of her. Thick grabbed her left arm while Thin bruised her on the right. Lola popped open the knife and slashed at Thin with a free hand. She caught him on the forearm. He grabbed his wound and cursed. She twisted and slashed at Thick’s face. He lurched backward but didn’t release his grip. Instead, he tightened it. Lola felt her hand go numb. Thin came at her again, scowling. She struck out at him with a jabbing kick to the side of his knee. He collapsed with a howl. Aiming a hard stomp to the instep of Thick’s foot, she over-balanced when he moved away with surprising speed. He chopped down at her right hand. The blade clattered away. She aimed a hard punch to his groin but he grabbed her fist before she made contact. Thin was suddenly upright. He advanced, breathing heavily through his nose.

  Thick growled at his partner, “Pick up the knife.” Thin did as told, slipping Lola’s weapon into a pocket. The larger man turned back to Lola. “Pretty work, Miss Stark.” He crushed her fist in his grip. “Let’s go.”

  Chapter Three

  The Gaming Commission was the wealthiest department in the City’s government. It licensed and taxed all the legal gambling in Crescent City. There were thousands of mah-jongg parlours in the city, as well as hundreds of casinos. After the moving pictures industry, gambling was the City’s biggest tourist attraction. The Gaming Commission filled a building downtown. It was eight stories of elegant lines and modernist decorative details. Graceful caryatids, stretching seven-feet tall, flanked the main doors. An intricate stonework border ran along the exterior roof. The walls were sculpted and clean, a bright white-grey that shone beatifically at every time of day. It gleamed against the blue of the sky and glowered commandingly when it was cloudy. It was the most impressive of all the government buildings, handily overshadowing City Hall’s simple square structure two blocks away.

  People with titles in the Gaming Commission were not to be taken lightly.

  Travelling in the back of a black sedan, Lola kept her own counsel. Her kidnappers seemed inclined to do the same. They approached their destination off of Chang, which ended in a T-intersection at the Commission’s very steps. Lola’s expression remained blankly polite, as though she were listening to a boring anecdote at a dinner party.

  “Isn’t there a special entrance for kidnapped visitors?” she asked.

  “Out, princess,” Thick said over his shoulder.

  Thin slithered out and opened the back door with another flat-eyed smile. He held his injured arm close to his body. Lola kept a wary eye on him, but he simply waited beside the open door. He remained her escort up the steps and through the centre of five sets of doors.

  The lobby was as imposing as the exterior. Their footsteps echoed off of cool white-grey marble, enhanced by the vaulted ceiling twenty feet above. It was past business hours and the lobby was deserted. Everything gleamed and sparkled with the indolence of wealth. Lola caught the sound of chatter before a door banged shut in the distance. The men marched her toward the bank of gilt elevators. One had its doors open. The operator glanced at Lola’s escorts, then stepped outside. He avoided looking at Lola. Thin shoved her within the panelled box. Thick pressed buttons then subsided against an elevator wall, eying his captive silently. Thin stood impolitely close to Lola. She looked at his arm, cradled against his chest. She smelled his blood and allowed herself a tiny grim smile.

  The doors opened onto another deserted scene, this one a long corridor paved with the same marble as below. The corridor disappeared around a corner. Doors were spaced widely apart, marking the large offices behind them. A single long red carpet laid a path the length of the hallway. Their footsteps were swallowed by its plushness as Thick pushed Lola forward. He kept prodding until they turned the corner and reached a set of double doors that signaled the last office this way. There was no name plate.

  Thick opened the door to reveal a small space. Lola walked in before either could push her again. She looked around. A single desk sat immediately across from the door. It was backed and flanked by rows of filing cabinets. The rest of the space was dominated by a sitting area: various chairs and a low table. A few cuspidors stood beside the chairs. The seats were all empty. There were no windows. A whisper of fragrant smoke lingered.

  Thick brushed past her and walked to the door set diagonally from the outer door. He knocked, a quick tap-tap-tap, then opened before any reply from within could be heard. He held the door open and gestured for Lola to continue within. Neither he nor Thin followed. Lola walked in, and they closed the door behind her.

  It was a corner office. Two walls of windows, two walls of paneled bookshelves. Burled blond wood and a large deep blue rug were accented by dark leather upholstery. There was a sitting area: a set of armchairs and one sofa clustered with a long low table made of glass and metal. A delicate porcelain ashtray sat at its centre. The seat of power was a massive mahogany desk. The windows behind it showcased sky and city architecture. The sun was still bright, but these windows faced east. Lola had a clear view of the woman who sat behind the desk. She had deep auburn hair, waved to her shoulders. A pert nose, wide sensual mouth, alabaster skin. Slender forearms were shown to advantage in the three-quarter-length sleeves of her royal blue wool-crepe dress. Gathering and yoking along the shoulders accentuated her lithe build. Her crimson red lips smiled confidently.

  “Amber Jade Stoudamire.” Lola was at a loss to say more.

  “A.J. Copenhagen,” the other woman corrected with a small smile. “Lola, how have you been?” She rose and offered her hand. Her dress settled in graceful folds.

  Lola stared at her hand, then into her face.

  Copenhagen laughed softly. She glanced vaguely around Lola. “An introduction, Lola, if you please?” At Lola’s silence, she said, “Your Ghost, I mean. Surely, you can be civil.”

  Lola stared.

  Copenhagen clucked her tongue. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of—haven’t you figured that out by now?” She smiled again. “Come. Don’t be a killjoy. I won’t do this without you. I have utter respect for Ghosts and I insist on a proper introduction.” She smiled again. Lola blinked at the open aggression in the other woman’s smile.

  “Lola,” Aubrey said. “Tell your school chum it’s a pleasure to make her acquaintance.” When Lola remained silent, he got impatient. “Just do it. Please,” he tacked on.

  Lola ground her teeth around the introductions.

  Copenhagen’s smile became dazzling. “It’s good to well and properly meet you, Aubrey. You were quite the subject of speculation during that last year of high school. I’m sorry Lola’s attitude doesn’t seem to have matured much.”

  “Yours seems to have sharpened,” Lola said.

  “It’s been a long time since Rose Arbour Prep. I’m flattered you remember me.” She sat back down. Lola followed suit, sinking into a butter-soft club chair and crossing her legs, suddenly the picture of ease. Amber Jade’s arrogance hadn’t subside
d one iota. “I understand your confusion.”

  “I’m not confused. I’m curious.”

  Copenhagen smiled knowingly. “I don’t suppose you made it to the reunion. Rah rah and all that never seemed your game.”

  “Any more than it’s yours.”

  “Circumstances change a person, Lola. Wouldn’t you agree, Aubrey?”

  Aubrey made no reply but Copenhagen seemed to be waiting for one. She sat expectantly, the same glittering smile on her face.

  “How long have these circumstances been yours?” Lola asked. She waved a hand around at the office.

  “Mmm, two years or so.” Another killer’s smile. “I’ve been with the Gaming Commission for six.” She steepled her fingers and looked over them. “I never did have the chance to express my condolences about your father.”

  “That was a long time ago, Amber Jade.” Lola shifted slightly in her seat. The women sat in tense silence, each sizing the other up with bland expressions and cold eyes.

  “It’s AJ now.”

  “Not Mrs. Copenhagen?”

  “Dear gods, no,” she laughed. “I like the name, but I’m divorced. I hear we have that in common as well.”

  “Mine’s old news.”

  She grinned. “How is Martin these days? I haven’t travelled in his circles, shall we say, for years now.”

  “He’s fine. On wife number four, I believe. A lovely southern belle, or so he tells me.” Lola took out her cigarette case. “Is that enough small talk?” She lit an Egyptian, spoke through the smoke. “Or shall I ask after dear Mr. Copenhagen now?”

  Copenhagen flashed a smile full of teeth. “I have a business proposition in mind.”

  “I have an office.”

  She waved her hand dismissively. “I know you make house calls. Consider this no different.”

  “Except for the kidnapping.”

  A shrug. “My assistants know my schedule. They escorted you here by the most expedient means possible.”

  Lola sat back. “What’s on your mind then, Amber Jade?”

  Another teeth-baring smile. “Please, call me AJ. All my friends do.”

  “What do your enemies call you?”

  “No different.” She glanced at a clock on her desk. “Our delightful chat has gone on longer than I’d dared hoped. Why don’t we discuss the details of your job over dinner?”

  “Are you going to escort me all over town?”

  She laughed. “You can drive if you like. My assistants should be back with your car by now.”

  Lola shrugged. “The tall one was a bit clumsy collecting me. They might be longer than you’d planned.”

  A raised eyebrow, but the amusement was still evident. “I’m sure they’re here. I run a tight ship. I believe you know The White Crane?”

  “I believe you already know the answer to that,” said Lola.

  “I knew you’d be flattered.” Copenhagen smiled.

  Chapter Four

  The Assistant Deputy Commissioner of Gaming oversaw all the mah-jongg parlours in Crescent City. She approved licenses. She fined bylaw breakers. She amended and created bylaws. She shut down egregious violators. She taxed owners. It was a well-oiled machine. Indeed, AJ Copenhagen now had a reputation for running the best department within Gaming. High praise, especially for a gwai girl.

  Recently, however, rumors were cropping up of illegally run tournaments. They were staged at different locations each time. Entrants were charged ludicrously low table fees, unlike at legitimate parlors, which were required by law to charge minimum fees. These fees, of course, were also set by law. The illegal tournaments were an appealing situation for underage gamblers and a sweet deal for organizers who didn’t have much in the way of overhead. The tables and chairs were foldaways. It was unlikely rent was paid for the rooms. The Gaming Commission, naturally, was incensed at this snub to its authority. Lola was willing to bet that the unpaid tax revenue also had something to do with it.

  “The police department are not treating the case with the urgency it needs. They’ve found no willing witnesses. They say it’s not easy to find these secret locations. Supposedly, these tournaments happen only overnight. They keep the numbers small enough to facilitate quick set-up and tear-down.” Copenhagen made a derisive noise. “The cops make it sound like a band of seditious Ghosts. I’m sure you don’t need Aubrey to tell you that’s utter rubbish.”

  Neither Lola nor Aubrey responded.

  “So, here we are. I needed a fresh set of eyes, and you were recommended.” Copenhagen paused, smiling. “And with Aubrey, really, I get two for the price of one.”

  “Whose recommendation?” Lola’s voice was flat.

  “Mayor, as a matter of fact. I believe he’s a good friend of your mother’s?” Copenhagen’s casual tone contrasted with her intent stare.

  “That’s the rumor. So what do you expect me to do here?”

  “Solve the mystery, of course. Find the organizers and help me bring them to justice.”

  “You tried that line on the cops—no wonder they’re not doing your job. You’ve got to use the stick, and skip the carrot. Only way through their thick skulls.”

  “As opposed to you—the carrot type?” Copenhagen replied.

  “Smirking doesn’t become you. Didn’t your mother ever teach you that?” Too late, Lola recalled that Copenhagen’s mother had died when the girl was barely thirteen.

  “No, I’m afraid she didn’t.” The smile became edged. “Speaking of mothers, I hear yours is producing a film in Europe?”

  “I don’t keep tabs.” Lola shrugged.

  “Well, it’s quite the undertaking, as I understand it. Filming overseas always is. Licensing, permits, fees, casting, language differences. Really, every little detail takes ten times more effort. Producers are always run ragged on overseas projects.” A pause. “Ah, but your mother has a soft spot for Europe, doesn’t she?”

  “As subtle as her lipstick,” said Aubrey.

  Lola kept silent, smoking calmly.

  “A twenty-year love affair, really, isn’t it?” pressed Copenhagen.

  “You’d have to ask her.”

  “Why don’t I ask Aubrey? Her best friend and confidante.”

  “Aubrey wouldn’t presume to speak for my mother.”

  “No, of course not.” Copenhagen smiled. “But truly, your mother is to be admired. Producing and starring is more than double duty. I’m sure her stellar acting talent will carry the film just fine, but then there’s the added toll of worrying over costs and details, actor tantrums and agent demands, not to mention studio scrutiny and pressure. It’s frightening to think how just one tiny detail could derail that entire train.”

  “You’ve got a point, make it.”

  Copenhagen gestured gracefully with her hand. “It’s appalling how easily an unauthorized person can access guild records. Just imagine what would happen to your mother, say, if someone destroyed her guild license from the files. The guild would have no recourse but to fine her heavily and suspend her from work until the license was reissued. Obviously, there would be no problem with getting the reissue, but just think of the time wasted and the dollars burned up every day that your mother can’t work on her own film.” She shook her head. “Just terrible.” She picked up the delicate tea pot and refilled Lola’s matching patterned blue cup.

  The noises of the busy White Crane returned in a whoosh of sound. Suddenly, the air was filled with chattering voices and clinking porcelain. Chef Liu’s delectable, inimitable eight-dish extravaganza now turned leaden in Lola’s stomach. She mashed her cigarette out in the ashtray, disgusted by the sight of dirty burnt ashes in the ethereal bone china dish.

  A waiter appeared and removed dishes in efficient silence. Copenhagen watched Lola over the rim of her cup as s
he took a sip of the scalding black tea. By the time the waiter returned with a platter of sweets and fresh plateware, Lola was lighting another cigarette.

  “You see, Lola,” Copenhagen explained patiently, “you’re a stick type after all. Also a lot easier to bully than the cops.”

  “And more fun?”

  “And more fun,” Copenhagen agreed readily. She placed an exquisite egg custard tart on Lola’s plate. “After dessert, we’ll take a drive over to the station house. I want to introduce you to Detectives Tsu and Luke. They’ll be working with you on my case.”

  “You warned them yet?”

  “You’ll be briefed on their activities and brought up to speed on the investigation.” Copenhagen bit into a petit-four, a miniature almond cookie. She watched Lola as she ate. “You’ll be on retainer, per diem and expenses. That’s your usual arrangement, is it not?”

  “In your case, make it a thousand up front.” Lola finished the exquisite custard and sipped the still-scalding tea. “Hazard pay.”

  Copenhagen smiled. “You’ll earn it.”

  * * *

  The Forty-four was a four-storey stone edifice with a cavernous lobby. Footsteps and conversation echoed coldly from the high ceiling. Uniforms milled about: coming, going, sitting, standing, talking, scowling. Suits seemed relegated to the background, glimpsed as they passed through, walking into hallways and offices. Benches along one wall held an assortment of stubbled drunks, painted girls and the occasional young tough. Opposite them sat the precinct’s law-abiding citizens, clutching purses and worrying newspapers, while they waited for help.

  Copenhagen brought her thugs inside and they flanked her as the group stopped in front of the desk sergeant. His uniform’s name tag said Ping. He sat like a judge behind a tall reception counter, a wonder of millwork and rich wood completely at odds with the tension, fear and anger filling the station lobby.