White Ginger (13 page)

The woman spoke to Bai in a lulling tone. “I wasn't supposed to fulfill the contract until you reached Vancouver, but then they didn't say anything about your having a professional with you.”

“You mean Jason?”

“Is that his name? I didn't know. I've only been told he's triad and dangerous. I needed to separate the two of you to remove you quietly. I couldn't believe my good fortune when I saw you wander off to the restroom.”

“What do you want with me?” Bai asked, fearing the answer.

Her adversary simply shrugged and smiled the same enigmatic smile.

“‘Even a hare will bite when cornered,'” Bai warned.

Gliding away from the stalls, the matron reached to her waist to unsnap the buckle of her belt. A wide fabric strap with interlocking plastic clasps came free in her hand. Her fingers stripped away the decorative stitching to expose a heavy line that sparkled under the fluorescent lighting. She snapped the metal buckles before Bai's face to reveal the garrote.

“For every hare, there is a snare.”

Bai walked backward slowly while trying to reason with the woman. “I don't suppose we could talk this over.” Her words didn't seem to penetrate the woman's awareness. “You really don't have to do this.”

The assassin stopped to stare at Bai with a look of chagrin. “Of course, I have to do this. I don't get paid unless you die. Besides, you hit me in the face, you yellow bitch.”

Bai refused to be cowed. “What happened to ‘let's be friends'?” she asked.

Bai's hip unexpectedly bumped up against the vanities, startling her. The matron rushed her.

Despite her earlier scrutiny, Bai had underestimated the bulky woman. The matron leapt into a flying spin kick that very nearly took Bai's head off. Bai arched her back over the vanities to duck under the sensible, matronly shoes as they flew past her nose. As she tipped back, Bai's hand brushed against a small can of aerosol hair spray. As the woman turned back to confront her, Bai snatched up the can and lunged forward to spray her attacker in the face.

The killer stifled a scream, turned, and lurched away, tears streaming from eyes that blinked spastically as she wiped at them.

Bai attempted to run past the blinded woman who jolted aside, as if by instinct, to ram her. With the woman's shoulder jammed into her ribs like an NFL linebacker, Bai stumbled back toward the vanities. The assassin pinned her against the counter while Bai frantically fumbled for a weapon. She grabbed a long-tailed comb lying on the vanity. With adrenaline-fueled strength, she stabbed the comb down at the woman's exposed back.

The matron must have sensed something coming. She jerked her head around and looked up at the last moment, eyes bleary with tears. The tail of the comb hit her in the eye and kept going, burying itself until Bai's hand bounced off the woman's forehead.

Bai froze in shock.

The matron's body went rigid. She stood up straight and turned as her arms jerked out. Rocking on her heels, she shuddered, gurgled, and dropped like a felled tree. When her face smacked the tiles with a sickening crunch, the business end of the comb snapped off to skitter across the floor like a giant cockroach.

The woman convulsed once and then became very still. A deafening quiet filled the room.

Bai's mouth hung open. It took her a moment to realize she wasn't breathing. She gasped for air while her pulse thundered in her ears. She stooped to put her head between her knees, willing herself not to get sick.

As her thoughts started to sort themselves, she looked up to scan the restroom. Her body trembling, she stood up to cross the room and discovered a plastic jam lock on the door, the kind travelers carry with them for extra security in hotel rooms. The killer must have placed it there.

Bai turned back to grab the woman under the arms and drag her back to the showers, where she dumped the body unceremoniously into an empty stall. Rifling the woman's pockets, Bai found an Irish passport, a prepaid cell phone, and nine $1,000 packets of freshly minted 100s. She stuffed the woman's possessions inside her jacket.

She stepped out of the shower and reached back to turn on the hot water by brushing the handle with her knuckles. Blood from the gouged eye stained the floor pink as water pooled around the woman's outstretched legs. The gray wig slipped aside to reveal blonde hair. In her hand, the matron still clutched her garrote.

Bai pulled the curtain closed using the edges of her hands. She'd seen enough.

Hastening back to the vanities, she picked up her bag and stopped long enough to grab a tissue to clean up a small amount of blood on the tiles as well as the broken end of the comb. She stuffed everything in her bag along with the can of aerosol spray she'd used to temporarily blind the matron.

Before leaving, Bai examined herself quickly in the mirror. When she was satisfied she didn't carry any trace of the encounter, she walked over and released the jam lock and put it in her purse. A paper sign taped to the outside of the door stated the bathroom was closed for maintenance and would reopen in fifteen minutes. She left the sign in place and ran her hand over the handle of the door to smudge any prints.

She walked slowly back to where Jason waited. He saw her coming and stood up.

She leaned in to speak to him. “I think we should board the plane now.”

“We still have fifteen minutes.”

She leaned in closer to whisper in his ear. “I killed a woman in the restroom. We really,
really
need to leave.”

He examined her face carefully but didn't question her further. He put his arm around her waist to lead her out of the lounge and down to the gate where the plane waited. A gate agent halted the line of economy passengers so the two of them might board.

When they were seated, a flight attendant asked Bai if she'd like a drink. She ordered a double scotch. When it came, she tossed it back and closed her eyes. She stayed that way until she could feel the tires of the plane lift off the ground. Only then did she let tears of relief roll down her face.

Bai closed her eyes and tried to find her spiritual center. Her thoughts were in an uproar. Images of the matron's body, a comb garishly sprouting from her eye, kept intruding. She squeezed her eyelids tight as she relived the short skirmish, all the time wondering if there wasn't something, anything, she could have done differently to avoid the deadly exchange.

After hours of soul searching, Bai concluded it was best to avoid public restrooms.

Jason turned to her with a questioning look every time she opened her eyes. Unwilling to talk, she shook her head repeatedly to stave off his curiosity. She hadn't yet come to terms with killing someone.

Eventually, the wheels of the plane thumped against tarmac. The jet rolled down the runway to a terminal gate. The interior cabin lights brightened. Like zombies, passengers stood to shuffle down the narrow aisle of the plane before being herded into a cold, clammy boarding tunnel redolent of machine oil.

Jason and Bai walked straight to customs with passports in hand. A uniformed agent asked for their documents, questioned whether they had anything to declare, and then mumbled, “Welcome to Vancouver,” before ushering them through sliding glass doors that led to a passenger loading zone.

A white limousine waited. The driver recognized Jason and bowed before quickly opening the rear door. Jason stood back to allow Bai to enter first then followed her into the car. She scooted across the seat to make room for him. On the other side of the aisle sat a large man. He seemed to fill the bench seat. A blue suit, stretched to its limit, did little to mask his massive musculature. His eyes studied her as the car door closed. She didn't recognize him, and, from his puzzled expression, he didn't know her either.

Jason reached over to give the man's beefy hand a cursory shake but didn't say anything. The giant pushed a button on a small device held in his lap, and a low-frequency hum filled the compartment.

The man nodded in Jason's direction. “It's safe to talk now.”

The sound of his voice was surprising—pitched about three octaves higher than Bai had anticipated. The tinny voice seemed out of place resonating from such a huge figure. She cracked a smile despite an attempt not to.

Jason made the introductions. “Bai Jiang, this is Shan Hong, our manager here in Vancouver.”

The man puffed out his chest, preening. Bai put her hand to her mouth to hide her amusement and nodded in acknowledgment. Shan immediately bristled at the casual greeting. His fat lips tightened before twisting up into a sneer. He showed his contempt openly. His eyes sent a silent inquiry at Jason as he handed him a leather briefcase.

Jason ignored the unasked question. He put the briefcase on his lap to open the combination lock. Inside were a signal scrambler, a brace of automatic pistols with spare clips, a pair of throwing knives, and a large manila folder. Taking the folder out of the case, he closed it and snapped the latches down.

As Jason looked over the contents of the folder, Shan's gaze drifted back to Bai. His eyes narrowed as he took stock of her. She kept her face blank but didn't avert her gaze. Her forthright attitude seemed to annoy him.

Shan turned his gaze to Jason. “There was a killing at SFO. The body of a woman was found in the first-class lounge. They didn't release much information. I only mention it because of the time of the death . . . around the time of your departure.”

He was fishing for information.

Without bothering to look up from the papers before him, Jason shrugged. “It has nothing to do with us.”

Jason finished perusing the papers in his lap and then handed the folder to Bai. They were reports, Canadian police reports, on Sammy Tu. It seemed Sammy Tu was well known in Canada. His rap sheet detailed arrests for pimping, procuring, and assault and battery.

When she looked up, she realized Shan was still staring at her. He looked angry.

“Are you sure it's a good idea to let this
woman
read the reports? Our sources are confidential.”

Shan's question was directed at Jason, though his baleful stare remained fixed on Bai. She ignored him and continued to read the material. He wasn't the first sexist pig she'd run into. He might, however, have been the largest sexist pig she'd ever run into. The man seemed to fill the compartment of the limo.

When she was done, she handed the reports wordlessly back to Jason, who then proceeded to put them back into the briefcase. He hadn't bothered to answer Shan's question. His was a silent rebuff that hung in the air between the two men like a lingering stench.

Jason broke the silence, his voice sounding tired. “Do we know where Sammy Tu is?”

Shan answered reluctantly. “There's been a sighting. He showed up at the Palace Hotel a couple of hours ago and was seen entering an elevator. It stopped at the twelfth floor. Our contact in the hotel lost him, and he's not registered there, at least not under his own name. We have a man posted on the twelfth floor. We're waiting for a visual confirmation.”

“Have you checked the register for all of the floors?” Bai asked.

Shan ignored her question.

She tried again. “If Sammy knows we're looking for him, and he does, he'll attempt to avoid us. If the elevator indicator said twelfth floor, he's probably somewhere on the eleven floors below that. He wouldn't walk up when he could walk down.”

Shan folded his arms across his chest to stare straight ahead. “‘A bride is like a horse; you break her in by constantly mounting her and continually beating her.'”

In the silence that followed, Bai felt her face grow red, not from embarrassment but from anger. She turned away to look out the car window at the scenery—trees, snow, buildings, darkness.

Just when she thought Shan's insult would go unanswered, Jason spoke. “She's right. Check the register again. Also, look under known aliases.” His voice was calm but steely. “As a matter of fact, let's save time by going there now. The Palace is a nice hotel, and we might as well be comfortable while the search is under way.”

Shan's jaw clenched at the rebuke. He shot Jason a look that bordered on insolence. Bai glanced aside at Jason to read his reaction. He stared straight ahead, his face inscrutable.

Shan was disrespectful in an organization where face was everything. Loss of face, more often than not, meant loss of life. The two men sparred with words and unspoken insults. Bai had seen the signs before. Jason and Shan were locked in a complex and deadly dance for power.

Shan turned around to slide open a partition at his back so he could speak with the driver. Sticking the upper half of his body through the opening, he motioned insistently with his hands, the hammering gestures an indication of his anger. She noticed Jason smiling at the exchange. His grin quickly slipped away as Shan turned back to face them.

“We're only a few minutes from the hotel,” said Shan. “A suite is being reserved for you under the name of John Wang.”