It was an intricately folded sculpture, one he had been practicing more often lately, representing a Chinese dragon. Satisfied that it was in good condition, he stashed it again and picked up a brush from the little table that had come with the room. He paused when he saw her looking at him. She hadn't moved.
"Do you want me to go with you?" she asked.
"Don t care." He turned away to face the small mirror standing on the table and brushed his hair back into place. "Do you want me to stay here?"
"Don't care."
"Can I sleep here tonight?"
"Don't care."
He tossed down the brush and shrugged into his padded brown stressed-leather jacket. JETBOY STYLE! the poster for the jacket had said. Fadeout's money had paid for it after a recent job.
"Why do you wear those baggy pants?" She giggled again.
Ben's jaw tightened. "I'm going down to the Twisted Dragon."
Stung, she watched him, only her blue eyes moving as he stomped to the door.
He knew his lack of interest hurt her more than any rejection would have; he didn't care about that, either. Nothing of value was in the room for her to take. He left the door standing open without looking back.
Ben paused just inside the door of the Twisted Dragon to brush snow off his shoulders and to shuck his leather jacket. The snowfall outside was gentle and the breeze not too cold, really, but he was so used to his overly heated room that the night seemed colder than it was. Anyhow, the twinkling, colorful Christmas lights over the stores and other decorations in their darkened windows had put him in a bad mood. It was a white people's holiday that had nothing to do with his heritage.
I like Christmas, anyway. Vivian always answered his objections the same way, every year.
Even in the Twisted Dragon, a tape of instrumental versions of Christmas carols was playing faintly in the background. A two-foot green plastic Christmas tree on one end of the bar blinked red and green lights. He started down the aisle away from it.
"Hey, Dragon."
Ben turned again.
"You know Christian? He wants to see you." Dave Yang, a short, stocky Immaculate Egret with a frequent but forced smile had come down the aisle behind Ben and now jerked his thumb back over his shoulder.
Ben studied the phony smile carefully. Then he glanced at the tall British mercenary with pale blond hair who was lounging on a bar stool. He faced this way with a smirk as he leaned back against the bar. Christian was a new player in the Shadow Fist organization.
"I met him once; that's all." Tingling with tension, Ben followed Dave back up to the bar and eyed Christian without a word.
"And what do you drink, Mr. Dragon?" Christian raised an eyebrow.
"Baileys on ice." Ben did not relax.
The bartender nodded and turned to get it.
"A sweet tooth, eh?" Christian laughed, crinkling his lean, weathered features. "The mercs I know would call that a lady's drink, but no fear. You require a new twist on the old joke: `What does a man drink, who can turn into a tiger or dragon or any other animal at will? Answer: Anything he wants to.'"
Ben clenched his jaw. Under the smooth words, the Britisher's tone was taunting.
"So," Christian continued. "Have you reversed your name Chinese-style? Is it Mr. Dragon or Mr. Lazy?"
"What did you want to see me about?" Ben demanded. "And they say we Brits have no sense of humor. Ah, well." Christian sipped his drink, then turned to the Immaculate Egret as he swirled the ice in his scotch and water. The bottle of Glenlivet was on the bar behind him. "What are you drinking? Plum wine or some such?"
"Bourbon and water," said Dave, grinning again. "You buying?"
"One Beam's Choice and water," said Christian over his shoulder. He did not bother to make sure the bartender heard him. "You mustn't be so vague, or people will hand you cheap goods. Now, then." His tone hardened. "Leave us."
Without taking his eyes off Christian, Ben saw that the Immaculate Egret walked away without a word. He hated to see the arrogant white man assume that kind of power here in Chinatown. Christian had all these Immaculate Egrets, members of a Chinatown street gang, doing his bidding without question. Still, the move told Ben how much power Christian had here. He would not be a man to cross in a room full of Immaculate Egrets.
"Sit down, Dragon. We have business."
Ben hesitated. Since joining the Shadow Fist organization, he had taken all his orders from Fadeout. He had never worked for anyone else.
"You have heard, haven't you, that I am an authoritative member of the umbrella organization that runs this part of town?"
Ben's jaw tightened again. Christian might be drawing him away from Fadeout or this might be some kind of loyalty test Fadeout had set up. For that matter, with Fadeout's ace ability to turn invisible, he could be sitting undetected on the damn bar right now observing Ben's every move.
Ben shrugged elaborately and sat down, patting the pocket with his paper sculpture and Cub Scout knife out of nervous habit. He would have to watch himself very carefully.
Christian spun his stool and set down his glass, hunched confidentially over the bar. "I want you to take a package out to Ellis Island. You are not to report this message or this instruction to anyone at all. Understood?"
Ben nodded, staring at the bar in front of him. He understood; whether or not he would obey was another matter. When the bartender brought his drink, he left it untouched.
"And you will get it from the Demon Princes."
Ben looked at him in surprise. "You're doing business with a joker street gang?"
"They hit a Shadow Fist courier this afternoon and took our package."
"So you want me to clean up your mess."
"Indeed." Christian snickered and ran a callused hand through his pale blond hair. "Our Immaculate friends think of themselves as tough, but they are really just a well-armed adolescent mob. I'm told the Demon Princes are the largest and meanest independent gang in Jokertown."
"That's right." Ben knew they allowed only jokers in their gang and were led by a guy named Lucifer. They were involved in petty crime and small protection rackets, but had a code of no violence against jokers.
"Our amateur commandos can probably take them, but one never knows. You do it instead."
"What kind of package am I looking for?"
"A padded manila envelope with blue powder in plastic bags inside." He gestured with his hands, indicating a size that would just fit into the patch pockets of Ben's jacket.
It was probably the new designer drug called rapture, Ben guessed.
A drug runner, Vivian's voice said disgustedly. "Where are the Demon Princes?"
"Your problem, mate."
"How do I get to the island?"
"Am I your mum? Make like a birdie and fly, for all I care. Or swim like a fish, but mind the pollution." Ben's stomach tightened at the man's sneering tone, but he said nothing.
"You haven't touched your drink."
"Have we finished business?"
"That we have."
Ben shrugged and took a swallow. He tried to think of something to say; if he could draw Christian out, he might learn more about where he stood. However, he couldn't think of anything.
The big problem was that he didn't know exactly how powerful Christian really was. He certainly didn't doubt that the man was a major player in the Shadow Fist organization. Of course, no one could force Ben to follow his orders tonight, but he had no idea what the consequences would be if he refused.
Christian seemed to have all the Immaculate Egrets here now jumping to do his bidding; if he decided to eliminate Ben, he seemed to have plenty of soldiers to pull it off. On the other hand, the courier job sounded nasty, too. Finally he decided that he would definitely be better off doing the job and keeping an eye on the newcomer in the future. At least, it was the better of two bad options.