Читать книгу The Color of Jadeite - Eric D. Goodman - Страница 10

2

Of All the Noodle Joints

Salvador and I entered the dark vestibule, our vision struggling to adjust as we stopped to descend the steepest staircase in Chinatown. “These steps must be made for bound feet,” I said. Salvador grunted, like he didn’t understand what I meant and didn’t notice the little shoes on the women waiting tables below.

The green light from the scummy aquarium, parked right beside the entrance, was the only thing illuminating our way.

“What kind of fish is that?” Salvador asked, banging on the side of the aquarium, the fish darting away from him—like I wanted to.

“Poisonous,” I said.

“No, really? You shitting me?” He looked surprised. I shook my head and faced the stairs before us.

I put my right foot on the first step and descended, sort of sideways, wishing I’d remembered my manners and let Salvador go first. One stumble from him and I’d be crushed like a handful of fried soup noodles. When I got to the bottom of the stairs, the waitress nodded at me as she passed with two bowls, dropped them off at one of the occupied tables, and then darted back to the menu stash beside us. Before she could greet us or ask us to follow, a shrill voice erupted from the dining room.

“Oh, my God! Look who it is!” I knew who that screech came from before my eyes confirmed her. It was Mackenzie Hines, the divorce attorney who sometimes hires me to get the skinny on her clients and their soon-to-be exes. She waved to me, sitting at a table with Harriet Huntsman, a woman twice Mackenzie’s age who owned a chain of yoga studios, among other things. Chatty Mac and the self-proclaimed yoga guru had had an on-again, off-again love affair for years. Last I’d heard, Mackenzie had dropped Harriet like a hot dumpling. Apparently, she was more like a sticky bao bun.

Mackenzie jumped from her seat and came to me. She called across the restaurant to Harriet as though it was her living room. “It’s Clive and …”

Harriet gave me a feeble smile, not bothering to stand.

“Salvador,” Salvador said.

“Salvador, right!” Mackenzie shook his hand and whispered, “Have we met?”

“Never had the pleasure,” Salvador said, smiling stupidly as though he might have a chance with her. Mackenzie has that effect on some men. I find her short, curvy figure too … familiar. If she was in one of her man phases, maybe I’d let her charms have their way with me. But I’ve become a pro at resisting temptation, mostly by not allowing myself to be around it. Aside from our business meetings and my gumshoe work for her, I’ve seldom had much more than a cup of coffee or a salad with her.

Seeing her with Harriet Huntsman brought out my protective instinct. The waitress looked at Salvador as I pulled Mackenzie aside. “What are you doing with Harriet Huntsman? Don’t you remember how she almost killed you in Isla Mujeres?”

“That wasn’t her,” Mackenzie hissed. “It was her psycho ex.”

“I thought you were going to date Mark,” I said. Yes, the same Mark—Salvador’s parole officer—was with us in Mexico a few years back. He and Mackenzie had a brief fling when she was going guy, but when the fling was over she flung him off—and men in general—and I could never find out why. Now the “why” was having dinner with her.

I asked, “And where’s Snoopy Doo?” Mackenzie seldom left home without her annoying dachshund.

“Snoop doesn’t like Harriet.”

“Doesn’t that tell you something?”

“Not anything I want to hear.” Mackenzie frowned. “Are you going to be nice or are you going to be gone?”

My answer came too late. Salvador had already taken a seat at the table next to Harriet and, by the time Mackenzie dragged me over, Harriet and Salvador were already involved in a discussion about how yoga—Harriet’s specialty—is better than Valium at managing strong emotions.

“I totally agree,” I said, taking a seat and deciding to be nice. I was always giving Mackenzie a hard time for not having a personal life—just her work and her dog—so was it really any of my business who she went out with?

I knew what I wanted, but I perused the menu sullenly while the other three laughed and discussed the finer points of yoga. I closed the menu and dropped it on the table, very sorry to be sitting next to Harriet and across from Salvador, wishing I was in the restaurant by myself, as I’d intended. The only thing worse than dining with an acquaintance when you want to be alone is dining with three of them.

Mackenzie and Harriet were just finishing up their duck and shrimp platters as Salvador and I ordered.

“What you getting?” Salvador asked.

“Bowl of noodles,” I said. “Best in Boston.”

“No meat?”

“Of course not. Meat’s bad for you. And worse for the animal.”

“It’s good for me!” Salvador patted his belly. “I’m feeling ducky tonight.”

“To each his own.”

“Yup.” Salvador isn’t the best conversationalist, which made him pretty great company in my book since I wasn’t looking for small talk. I tried not to participate in the little lover’s quarrel next to us, but couldn’t quite block it out.

“Why can’t you stay put for just a few months, Harriet? It’s like you can’t let a blade of grass grow under your feet.” No one should get on Mackenzie’s bad side.

Harriet knew how to put herself down in a way that lifted herself up. “Can I help it if business is good? It’s not my fault I’m in demand. I’ve got a few new franchise openings to oversee, then I’ll station myself here in Boston for a while and trust my franchisees to take care of their locations.”

“I just miss you when you’re gone. And lately that seems to be a lot of the time.”

“Come with me, have a vacation,” Harriet said—but I could tell in her voice that she only offered because she knew Mackenzie wouldn’t take her up on it.

“I’ve got a career. I can’t just pick up and go at any time.”

“Going international with my yoga studios is taking a little more time than I’d anticipated, yes. But I promise to make it up to you when I get back, my little Mac.”

I wanted to gag and I didn’t even have my food yet. Salvador read the Chinese Zodiac on his paper placemat as though coming to a more enlightened understanding of himself. Of all the noodle joints in all the towns in all the world, I had to walk into theirs. I just wanted to be alone tonight.

Then, I looked up and everything changed.

The beauty stood at the bottom of the stairs, just where I’d been moments ago: the most elegant lady in the world. She spoke with a waitress, but she was looking straight at me. When I made eye contact, she flashed me a subtle smile that could have melted butter, then looked back at the waitress. I blinked, not sure whether my vision was playing tricks on me in the dim light.

Taller than the average Asian, she filled out her red dress in all the right places despite her slender waist, thin arms, and longer-than-life legs. She elegantly concealed her second glance in my direction by gracefully brushing a few stray strands of her silky black hair from her face—the majority of it anchored on the top of her head with a decorative comb, exposing her long neck, delicate chin, high cheek bones, full red lips, and distinctive green eyes. The comb in her hair appeared to be carved out of bone or ivory, and each of her hands included a sparkling ring on one finger—emerald on one, ruby on the other. But neither was on her ring finger, thank God, meaning that she might be open to the suggestion throbbing in my chest. Her red dress was topped off with an orange Mandarin collar and bottomed out with slits that—when she stepped forward—revealed even more of those longer-than-should-be-legal legs. I normally don’t allow myself to go gaga over a girl, but I felt my heart fluttering and everything surrounding—especially my own company—blurred into a peripheral mist. There was something about her that conjured up feelings I’d not encountered in decades, since my own youth. The woman looked as intelligent as she was beautiful, speaking to the waitress with a gentle but definite authority, although she couldn’t have been far out of her twenties.

I hadn’t looked at a girl that young in that way since I was that age. So what was it about this girl that made me feel this way again?

To be honest, the why didn’t concern me. Young or old, I needed to meet her. Dizziness overtook me as I stood.

“Where are you going?” Mackenzie asked.

“Who is that?” I mumbled. I had to hold onto the table to support myself as I stood, blood rushing to my head for a moment.

“Who is who?” Salvador asked.

“Her!” I looked up and found that the waitress was alone.

“She’s kind of pretty,” Salvador said, eyeing the waitress.

“No, not her,” I insisted.

“You’re delirious,” Mackenzie said. “And I’ve got to go. I have an appointment tomorrow. Coming, Harriet?”

“Absolutely,” Harriet said, throwing some money on the table.

“It was a pleasure,” Mackenzie said to Salvador. “And Clive,” she leaned over to talk into my ear, “get a grip. Ever since we cracked that dogfighting ring in Isla Mujeres, you’ve been acting weird.”

I ignored her and began scoping out the room. Where did she go?

“Maybe you should take some time off,” Harriet called after me. “Go to a yoga retreat, recharge your batteries.”

I didn’t say goodbye or pay any attention to Mackenzie or Harriet leaving because I was too focused on finding her. I looked at every table in the room, passed through a hanging-bead threshold into a back dining room, but no sign of the woman in red. I came back out into the main dining room where Salvador was already slurping noodles and pulling duck off the bone. “Food’s here,” he said, but I didn’t respond.

I went to the waitress and asked where the woman in red went, but she didn’t seem to understand me, pointing to my untouched noodles. “Red sauce?” she offered.

I walked upstairs to the front of the restaurant, where the noodle man massaged dough in the window. I went back down to the far end of the main dining room and passed into the kitchen. The staff seemed startled when I walked through, as though I were an unannounced health inspector. No sign of her here. I noticed the back door was ajar, and I went through it. It was already dark outside, the buildings along the sides of the alleyway blocking out the lights of the main streets. Back here there was no beauty, only dumpsters and oil drums, broken down boxes and rusting fire escapes on the backs of brick buildings.

It took me a good five minutes of looking before I admitted defeat. I’d lost her. Resigned, I went back in through the kitchen and found Salvador halfway through his meal.

“Your noodles are getting cold,” he said.

“Not just my noodles.”

Salvador knew better than to ask. Smarter than I’d given him credit for. I half-heartedly began slurping my noodles. Salvador decided to wade back into conversation. “If you ever need any bodyguard work, I got a lot of time on my hands. Idle hands, devil’s workshop.” He laughed.

But I was barely half-listening. How could I let her get away? I shoved my half-uneaten meal away and stood up. “I’m gonna hit the restroom.” But before I could push my chair in, I felt two hammy hands on my shoulders.

I tried to throw the stranger off-balance, but he was one step ahead of me. He grabbed my elbow and swirled me around, flipping me like a potato pancake on the grill. I landed on my back against the food-stained floor. I reared back, tucked my knees into my chest and leapt to my feet—but before I could engage with my attacker, Salvador was in the man’s face, punching him in the nose. Two other men stood watching, cracking their knuckles.

“Got a craving for prison food, Salvador?” I yelled at him. “You can’t violate parole like that! You’ll—” Another pair of hands landed on my shoulders and forced me around.

I stared the Chinese man down and asked, “What, afraid I wasn’t gonna leave a tip?” He looked at me like he didn’t understand a word of English, then pushed me away so violently I crashed backwards into our table and landed on the floor again, my bowl of noodles falling next to me and splashing the arm of my Armani.

Salvador had heeded my advice and stood by, looking antsy and ready to lunge, as three Chinese men stood over me. I got up to face them.

“Ni hao ma,” said the one in the middle, dressed in a silver-gray suit. He must have mistaken my stern look for a not-understanding one, because he then translated, “Hello.”

“Ni hao ma,” I said back to him without accent. I’d picked up a few niceties the last time I was in China, back in the … well, that’s another story for another time.

The man in front of me was flanked by two broad men in navy blue suits, one pinstripe and the other soothsayer. The man in the middle breathed heavily, his nose just inches from mine. But it was the flash of his two gunmetal dental implants that caught my attention. Nothing pretty about The People’s dental work, as unappealing as it is dysfunctional. He kept grinding his teeth, his bite obviously uncomfortable. A P-22 and a Glock, respectively, remained cold in the side men’s shoulder holsters.

“I recommend the noodles,” I said to Gunmetal Mouth.

“Clive Allan, I assume?” He pushed forward, making me take a step back to avoid an advanced case of halitosis. His two bodyguards—as though the thug needed one—stepped forward with him like satellite appendages.

I moved my eyes from his steely teeth to his steely gaze. “You know what they say about assuming.”

He frowned. “Bu yao, I do not. But I know what my boss say. He wants talk at you.”

I caught a glimpse of the noodle guy slipping into the men’s room. He knew enough to make himself scarce if he wanted to live to knead another noodle.

“Get lost, Salvador,” I said. The last thing the schmuck needed was to get hauled in for a brawl. “Go on!” I repeated when he didn’t budge. “You’re just in the way.”

“But, Clive,” he said. I could tell he was just rearing to lash out.

“I mean it! We’re just having a friendly chat. Right, gentlemen?”

I feigned a search of my blazer pockets, waiting for Salvador to climb the treacherous stairs. When I heard the bell on the door tingle, I said to Gunmetal Mouth, “I seem to have left my appointment book at home. Here’s my card. Have your boss call my secretary.” As if I could afford one.

Gunmetal Mouth stepped forward and his two men came slowly around, surrounding me. I felt like a dog in a crate, but tried not to let on that I was the least bit worried. Yoga and meditation have helped me with that. I kept my stone face as solid as this guy’s implants appeared to be.

Gunmetal Mouth said, “You have honor of being dinner guest. Best cuisine in Chinatown.”

“Doesn’t every chow hall in Chinatown claim that?” I smarted back. “Besides, I just ate.” I pointed at my noodles, strewn all over the ancient Chinese carpet.

The three men maneuvered around me like the rollers of a conveyer belt, and I couldn’t help but turn to walk along with them, flanked from behind and both sides.

“You won’t be disappointed,” Gunmetal Mouth assured me.

I was relieved to see Salvador was nowhere around as the goons escorted me outside and shoved me into the back of a black sedan, cozy between two of the Chinese behemoths. Gunmetal Mouth sat in front, next to the driver. He spit out some Chinese and the driver answered. As the goons beside me tittered excitedly to one another, spittle hitting my face, I wondered how I wound up in this situation. I normally didn’t let myself fall into predicaments like this one. And as my mind drifted momentarily to her, I realized that I’d become distracted.

I know, I know: men like to blame women for their sins and missteps more often than they should. The fault was my own. But I couldn’t help but think that allowing my mind to hover around her vision was why I lost my focus.

I wiped the fish-scented spittle from my face after the men stopped their heated conversation. The sedan sped off with me stuck in its center like someone’s fortune waiting to be discovered.