Bitter Spirits
Page 39

Aida had grown accustomed to tasting unusual dishes since living over Golden Lotus, but the style of food presented here was much more rustic—no pretty dumplings and hand-pulled noodles. She didn’t recognize the vegetables, and Ju laughed as she stared at the intimidating spread. “You need a knife and fork?”
“I can use chopsticks,” she said proudly, having been taught by Mrs. Lin.
“Everything is very fresh. Have some chicken.”
She peeked at bubbling liquid inside a clay pot, from which a serving girl speared small, unfamiliar pieces of chicken, each glistening with rubbery dimpled skin and strange bone fragments. One piece was definitely the chicken’s clawed foot.
“The Chinese butcher chicken differently,” Bo explained in a soft voice.
“Killed fresh this morning,” Ju said, while making an enthusiastic hacking motion with his hand.
“I can practically see the cleaver marks,” Aida agreed.
Ju chuckled and translated to the table. A round of male laugher erupted. Winter draped his arm across the back of her chair and gave her quick wink.
The women filled her plate with this and that, while Bo steered her away from some dishes and encouraged others, his advice mostly on the mark. Winter ate heartily, his steely leg pressed against hers, while conversing with Ju.
“So tell me your story, Magnusson. Why were you really in this neighborhood yesterday? I know it’s not for acupuncture. Bo has been poking around asking questions about other tongs. You finally deciding to do what your father would not and take over the alcohol business in Chinatown?”
“Not in a million years. I’m making plenty of money, Ju. If I made more, I’d have to find something else to spend it on.”
“You’ve certainly gotten your daddy’s business all shipshape. Cleaned up all his messes. Everyone knows you are a much better boss than he was. A born leader. Maybe because you have all your marbles?”
Winter narrowed his eyes at Ju. “Watch it.”
“I’m not telling you anything that you and I don’t both know. All I am saying is that people around Chinatown are talking. They see you’re more successful than your father—so successful that they covet what you have.”
“Someone’s coveting, all right. And when I find out who, they’ll wish they’d minded their own business.” Sook-Yin bent low to pour beer into Winter’s glass. Aida didn’t like how close the woman got, or how she put her hand on Winter’s shoulder. “You haven’t heard about anyone in particular, have you, Ju?”
“I’ve heard rumors about a handful of different tongs. If any of those rumors had substance, I’d share them. We’ve always had an understanding, you and I. I’ve treated you well. You’ve treated me well.”
“That understanding hasn’t changed on my part. Has it changed on yours?”
“You are speaking of yesterday’s insult. Let us take care of it.” He whistled and said something in quick Cantonese to one of the men behind him, who turned and headed through a doorway. A few moments later, the cauliflower-eared man and his companion were hauled out and pushed in front of the table.
“These are the men who accosted you yesterday?” Ju asked. It took Aida a moment to realize he was speaking to her, not Winter.
She glanced at the first man’s bandaged nose and the discolored burn on his companion’s cheek. “Yes, that’s them.”
Ju motioned to the guard holding them, who immediately pulled out a revolver and stuck the muzzle against the head of the man she’d burned. “Do you want his death as payment, Miss Palmer? I will gladly do this.”
Good grief! “That’s not necessary,” she said.
“Are you sure? It is within your right. They acted out of turn and insulted you.”
“I was just hoping I’d never see them again.”
Winter put down his chopsticks. “If Miss Palmer doesn’t mind, I’d like to propose a trade.” Aida nodded her consent. Winter continued. “Instead of their lives as payment, maybe you can give me some information.”
“What kind of information?”
“The private kind.”
Ju dismissed everyone from the table but one guard, and Aida let out a long breath as their attackers were marched out of the room.
When they’d gone, Winter asked, “Have you heard of a fortune-teller named Black Star working at a local joss house?”
Ju’s brows shot up. “A fortune-teller? Why do you need to know this?”
“Because another tong is using him to try to scare me. Do you believe in superstitious things, Ju? In spirits and ghosts?”
Ju chuckled nervously, looking between the three of them. “Are you teasing me, or is this an honest question?”
“It’s honest. Someone’s playing around with witchcraft, and I need to hunt them down.”
“The alleys of Chinatown are crawling with dark magic. There are some things I don’t want to stick my nose in, and that is one of them.”
“So you won’t help me find this man?”
The tong leader considered it and let out a heavy sigh. “I should refuse, but you’ve been good to me. If I do this for you, and another tong catches me, I will ask for your protection.”
“You’ll have it.”
“Then I’ll see what I can learn. Might take me a few days. I’ll need all the details you already have.”