“You aren’t the first person to think or say so,” Veil answered in the same flat tone. He glanced up at the surveillance camera mounted over the doorway. “I’ve come to speak to Grandfather.”
There were grunts of surprise, whispers among the gang members. The albino said, “Who is this ‘Grandfather’ you speak of?”
“Don’t waste my time, sonny,” Veil said, still looking up at the television camera. The other gang members had moved to surround him. He seemed to be ignoring them, but in fact he was very conscious of the position and body language of each youth, and was prepared to move to defend himself at any moment. “Mr. Ong would consider that impolite.”
“What do you want?”
“None of your business, sonny.”
He sensed the closing of a Shadow Dragon behind him. Veil shifted his stance slightly. He was about to spin around and plant the side of his hand in the youth’s throat when the tension was abruptly broken by the trill of a cellular phone. The youth with the pockmarked face took a phone out of one of his jacket pockets, put it to his ear, listened for a few moments, then said, “Yes, Grandfather,” before disconnecting and putting the phone back in his pocket. He looked at Veil oddly, then continued, “It’s the door at the back.”
Veil walked down the stairway to the below-ground entrance. The lock on the door buzzed as he reached out to turn the knob, and he entered a large basement hall crammed with tables and chairs filled with Chinese who were gambling at various games of chance. All activity and conversation stopped as he wended his way around the tables toward the door at the rear of the hall. He knocked once on the door, then opened it and entered a spacious, thick-carpeted office paneled in dark mahogany and decorated with antique murals of Oriental motifs. A slight, old Chinese man with a long, wispy goatee and dressed in an expensive suit that was too big for him sat behind a massive oak desk. He was flanked by two tall, heavily muscled Chinese with shaved heads who were dressed in flowing silk robes. Aside from the one the old man sat in, there were no chairs in the room.
“Thank you for agreeing to see me, Grandfather,” Veil said as he walked across the room and stopped in front of the desk. “My name is—”
“Veil Kendry,” the old man said in a wheezing voice that had a lilting, sing-song quality to it. “You are a friend of the crazy dwarf.” Veil smiled thinly. “My claim to fame.”
“Hardly. You are a well-known artist whose work is displayed in museums and galleries around the world. You create what are called dream paintings, and it is rumored that your style springs from some sort of physical affliction from which you suffer. You were not always so... aesthetically oriented. You are a master of the martial arts, with an eclectic style that is largely self-taught. You were a CIA operative during your country’s conflict in Southeast Asia. You were considered an insane and merciless killer by your enemies, and your night visits were much feared. Your code name was Archangel. Should I go on?”
“Not if it’s meant to impress me. I’m already impressed.”
“I have many sources of information in the Asian communities here — as, obviously, do you. After you so efficiently intimidated and dispatched three of my finest young warriors, I felt it a good idea to find out something about you. I asked about a man fitting your description. It was not difficult to obtain information.” The old man paused, added somewhat ominously, “I know where you five.”
“I’m practically your neighbor.”
“It is quite remarkable how you have retained so many of your fighting skills into middle age. You must practice a great deal.”
“A great deal.”
Chan Fu Ong gestured to indicate the burly, robed, blank-faced Chinese flanking him. “Wing and Kwok were very impressed. I’m sure you would be impressed by their skills. Unfortunately, they cannot give you a demonstration. They were both champions in China, but the rules of the secret martial arts society to which they belong dictate that any combat they engage in must be fought to the death.”
“I am not interested in fighting or sowing discord between us, Grandfather,” Veil said, stepping forward and placing the shrouded birdcage on one corner of the massive desk.
“I bring you this gift as a token of my respect.”
The old man leaned forward to draw back the cover on the cage and examine the bird inside, then leaned back in his chair and once again regarded Veil. “You are here about the woman and her baby?”
“Yes, Grandfather.”
“Why?”
“They are very important to me.”
“Why?”
“It’s personal.”
“She is not here against her will.”
“I don’t believe I implied that she was.”
“She and her family contracted with our benevolent society to bring her to this country, where she might search for a better life. She is free to do that — after she has worked to pay off what she and her family owe me, which is a great deal of money. This was all agreed upon beforehand. There is a contract.”
“Somehow I don’t believe she thought she would be forced to work as a prostitute.”
“Now you are being rude, Mr. Kendry. She is an entertainer. Businessmen come here to relax. She helps them unwind.”
“What about the baby? The baby can’t be of any value to you.”
“It’s an unfortunate situation. We discourage pregnancy until the debt is paid. The woman hid it from us. She was not really trying to run away, you know. She had no money, no place to run to. It’s remarkable she managed to get down on the subway platform where you found her. All she wanted was to have her baby away from here. She probably intended to give the infant away to the first person who would take it, in the hope that the child would be raised as an American. Perhaps she even offered it to you. If you’d wanted to make her happy, you should have taken the child — and hoped that we didn’t find you. Since the baby was the fruit of her body, which belongs to us until her debt is paid, the baby belongs to us. We will sell it to some childless couple. The child will probably end up being raised American, which is all the woman wanted anyway. We will apply the purchase price to her debt, and she will be free that much sooner. It works out best for everybody.”
“I wish to purchase the womans contract. Her baby will be part of the deal.”
The old man smiled thinly, but there was no humor in his icy hazel eyes. He pulled at his wispy goatee, said, “A million dollars should do it. Do you have that kind of money, Mr. Kendry?”
“Now it is you who are being rude to me, Grandfather. Mockery is an impolite response to a serious offer. The top going rate for smuggling a foreign national into this country is thirty-five thousand dollars. That is what I will pay.”
The old man made a dismissive gesture, glanced toward the ceiling. “What do you really know about Chinatown, Mr. Kendry?”
“Jack Nicholson. Faye Dunaway. John Huston.”
“Now it sounds like it is you who are mocking me. That would be very unwise.”
“I understand what you’re saying, Grandfather. Here, things are done your way. People here do not cooperate with the police, for your word is the only law they recognize. The intrigues of Chinatown are closed to outsiders. If I were to fail to leave here, it would be as if I never existed.”
“Correct.”
“I just want to make a business deal, Grandfather. I understand that things can get complicated around here, but I don’t see why this has to be one of those things. If I’d wanted to waste my time, I would have gone to the INS and complained that the head of the tong that controls the Shadow Dragons gang is running a prostitution ring stocked by illegal aliens, or I could have told my story to the police and put them to sleep. Instead I came to you, with respect.”