It was a loser’s game, Bero had insisted to him. Why fish for raw jade just to sell it to the black market middlemen who carved it up and smuggled it off island, paying you only a fraction of what they sold it for later? A couple of clever, daring fellows like them—they could do better. If you were going to gamble for jade, Bero said, then gamble big. Aftermarket gems, cut and set—that was worth real money.
Bero returned to the dining room and busied himself clearing and setting tables, glancing at the clock every few minutes. He could ditch Sampa later, after he’d gotten what he needed.
‘Shon Ju says there’s been trouble in the Armpit,’ said Maik Kehn, leaning in to speak discreetly under the blanket of background noise. ‘A bunch of kids shaking down businesses.’
His younger brother, Maik Tar, reached across the table with his chopsticks to pluck at the plate of crispy squid balls. ‘What kind of kids are we talking about?’
‘Low-level Fingers. Young toughs with no more than a piece or two of jade.’
The third man at the table wore an uncharacteristically pensive frown. ‘Even the littlest Fingers are clan soldiers. They take orders from their Fists, and Fists from their Horn.’ The Armpit district had always been disputed territory, but directly threatening establishments affiliated with the No Peak clan was too bold to be the work of careless hoodlums. ‘It smells like someone’s pissing on us.’
The Maiks glanced at him, then at each other. ‘What’s going on, Hilo-jen?’ asked Kehn. ‘You seem out of sorts tonight.’
‘Do I?’ Kaul Hiloshudon leaned against the wall in the booth and turned his glass of rapidly warming beer, idly wiping off the condensation. ‘Maybe it’s the heat.’
Kehn motioned to one of the waiters to refill their drinks. The pallid teenager kept his eyes down as he served them. He glanced up at Hilo for a second but didn’t seem to recognize him; few people who hadn’t met Kaul Hiloshudon in person expected him to look as young as he did. The Horn of the No Peak clan, second only in authority to his elder brother, often went initially unnoticed in public. Sometimes this galled Hilo; sometimes he found it useful.
‘Another strange thing,’ said Kehn when the waiter had left. ‘No one’s seen or heard from Three-Fingered Gee.’
‘How’s it possible to lose track of Three-Fingered Gee?’ Tar wondered. The black market jade carver was as recognizable for his girth as he was for his deformity.
‘Maybe he got out of the business.’
Tar snickered. ‘Only one way anyone gets out of the jade business.’
A voice spoke up near Hilo’s ear. ‘Kaul-jen, how are you this evening? Is everything to your satisfaction tonight?’ Mr. Une had appeared beside their table and was smiling the anxious, solicitous smile he always reserved for them.
‘It’s all excellent, as usual,’ Hilo said, arranging his face into the relaxed, lopsided smile that was his more typical expression.
The owner of the Twice Lucky clasped his kitchen-scarred hands together, nodding and smiling his humble thanks. Mr. Une was a man in his sixties, bald and well-padded, and a third-generation restaurateur. His grandfather had founded the venerable old establishment, and his father had kept it running all through the wartime years, and afterward. Like his predecessors, Mr. Une was a loyal Lantern Man in the No Peak clan. Every time Hilo was in, he came around personally to pay his respects. ‘Please let me know if there is anything else I can have brought out to you,’ he insisted.
When the reassured Mr. Une had departed, Hilo grew serious again. ‘Ask around some more. Find out what happened to Gee.’
‘Why do we care about Gee?’ Kehn asked, not in an impertinent way, just curious. ‘Good riddance to him. One less carver sneaking our jade out to weaklings and foreigners.’
‘It bothers me, is all.’ Hilo sat forward, helping himself to the last crispy squid ball. ‘Nothing good’s coming, when the dogs start disappearing from the streets.’
Bero’s nerves were beginning to fray. Shon Ju had nearly drained his tainted drink. The drug was supposedly tasteless and odorless, but what if Shon, with the enhanced senses of a Green Bone, could detect it somehow? Or what if it didn’t work as it should, and the man walked out, taking his jade out of Bero’s grasp? What if Sampa lost his nerve after all? The spoon in Bero’s hands trembled as he set it down on the table. Stay cut, now. Be a man.
A phonograph in the corner wheezed out a slow, romantic opera tune, barely audible through the unceasing chatter of people. Cigarette smoke and spicy food aromas hung languid over red tablecloths.
Shon Ju swayed hastily to his feet. He staggered toward the back of the restaurant and pushed through the door to the men’s room.
Bero counted ten slow seconds in his head, then put the tray down and followed casually. As he slipped into the restroom, he slid his hand into his pocket and closed it around the grip of the tiny pistol. He shut and locked the door behind him and pressed against the far wall.
The sound of sustained retching issued from one of the stalls, and Bero nearly gagged on the nauseating odor of booze-soaked vomit. The toilet flushed, and the heaving noises ceased. There was a muffled thud, like the sound of something heavy hitting the tile floor, then a sickly silence. Bero took several steps forward. His heartbeat thundered in his ears. He raised the small gun to chest level.
The stall door was open. Shon Ju’s large bulk was slumped inside, limbs sprawled. His chest rose and fell in soft, snuffling snores. A thin line of drool ran from the corner of his mouth.
A pair of grimy canvas shoes moved in the far stall, and Sampa stuck his head around the corner where he’d been lying in wait. His eyes grew round at the sight of the pistol, but he sidled over next to Bero and the two of them stared down at the unconscious man.
Holy shit, it worked.
‘What’re you waiting for?’ Bero waved the small gun in Shon’s direction. ‘Go on! Get it!’
Sampa squeezed hesitantly through the half-open stall door. Shon Ju’s head was leaning to the left, his jade-studded ear trapped against the wall of the toilet cubicle. With the screwed-up face of someone about to touch a live power line, the boy placed his hands on either side of Shon’s head. He paused; the man didn’t stir. Sampa turned the slack-jowled face to the other side. With shaking fingers, he pinched the first jade earring and worked the backing free.
‘Here, use this.’ Bero handed him the empty paper packet. Sampa dropped the jade stud into it and got to work removing the second earring. Bero’s eyes danced between the jade, Shon Ju, the gun, Sampa, again the jade. He took a step forward and held the barrel of the pistol a few inches from the prone man’s temple. It looked distressingly compact and ineffective—a commoner’s weapon. No matter. Shon Ju wasn’t going to be able to Steel or Deflect anything in his state. Sampa would palm the jade and walk out the back door with no one the wiser. Bero would finish his shift and meet up with Sampa afterward. No one would disturb old Shon Ju for hours; it wasn’t the first time the man had passed out drunk in a restroom.
‘Hurry it up,’ Bero said.
Sampa had two of the jade stones off and was working on the third. His fingers dug around in the fold of the man’s fleshy ear. ‘I can’t get this one off.’