Authors: Stephen Knight
“Do you also speak Shanghainese?” Ren asked.
“I do not.”
Ren grunted again and looked over at Lin. “Americans learn Mandarin but not Shanghainese? Well, I guess we can’t ask too much of them, Lin Yubo.”
Lin smiled and put a hand on Manning’s arm. “Manning, meet my close friend and associate, Ren Yun. He and I have been through an eternity together, and I consider him to be my brother.” To Ren: “This is Jerome Manning. He works for me in Japan.”
“Japan?” Ren echoed. He cackled suddenly and turned to Lin. “Don’t tell me he works with Chen?” Without waiting for Lin to answer, he turned back to Manning. “So
you
must be the White Tiger I’ve heard of!”
Manning looked over at Lin, who gave him a resigned nod. “There is little about my business dealings that Ren Yun does not know.”
“I do not know why the
Bái Hu
is here,” Ren groused. He looked at Lin flatly.
“A personal matter,” Lin replied.
Ren got the message and nodded. He looked back at Manning with a vague, sour smile.
“I wish you luck then, Manning.”
“Thank you, sir.” Manning glanced at Lin and had no difficulty reading his body language. He nodded to both men and smiled tightly. “I should be going—enjoy the view.”
“You may leave also. Lin Yubo and I have matters to discuss,” Ren said to his translator. He said this without looking at the elegant woman who stood slightly behind him. She inclined her head to his back, but both men had turned to regard the vista beyond with hooded eyes. Manning looked at her as he started down the flagstone walkway, but her expression was blank. Clearly, she was likely used to such casual dismissals. They were a part of life when working for the Chinese elite. When they were a short distance away, Manning glanced over his shoulder. Lin and Ren were dark silhouettes standing shoulder to shoulder.
“I would guess he’s always that brusque?” he asked her.
The woman looked at him for a moment, then at the courtyard they approached. “Mr. Ren has his way. I would imagine Mr. Lin does as well?”
Manning shrugged. “Can’t really say. I’m here for a short term assignment, so we don’t have a lot of casual interaction. Usually I get my instructions, and I’m on my way. I’m Jerry Manning, by the way.”
“Yes, I heard. I’m Maggie Shi.” She glanced at him again, but didn’t offer to shake hands. Manning let it go.
“Pleased to meet you. What’s your birth name?”
“My birth name?”
“Your Chinese name. I’d imagine Maggie isn’t your real name, right?”
She glanced at him again. “Most Americans wouldn’t ask that question,” she said. “They’d take what I gave them at face value.”
“I guess I’m not like most Americans.”
“Meihua,” she said after a moment.
“Beautiful Flower,” Manning said. “Or maybe, Beautiful Plum Blossom, depending on the interpretation.”
“Well done. You are certainly a scholar when it comes to names, Mr. Manning. Is this how you ingratiate yourself with Chinese ladies?”
She didn’t look at him when she said this, so he had no idea if she was joking. He glanced at her, but she rewarded him with only her profile.
“I spend most of my time in Japan, so there’s not a lot of opportunity to ingratiate any Chinese ladies, Ms. Shi.”
She stopped suddenly. Manning came to a halt and turned back to her. She looked at him speculatively, her features illuminated by the wan light sconces attached to the columns supporting the archway overhead.
“I did not mean to be rude,” she said suddenly. “If I sounded that way, I apologize. I don’t have much time for...for social interactions, I’m afraid.”
“It’s not a problem.” Manning offered his hand. “Let’s try again. I’m Jerome Manning.”
She smiled after a moment and accepted his hand. Her grasp was strong and warm.
“Shi Meihua,” she said. “You may call me Maggie, if you prefer.”
“Which do you prefer?”
Her smiled deepened after a moment, and she released his hand. “Shi Meihua would be interesting,” she said. “I never hear my name from foreigner’s lips.”
“An interesting way to phrase it, but very well—Shi Meihua it is.”
“Do you prefer Jerry or Jerome?” she asked.
“Either will do, and are preferable to
Da Sha Gua
,” he said, using the Chinese expression for big fool. She laughed suddenly, eyes wide.
“Do you know what that means?” she asked incredulously. “Oh—of course you do. It’s so odd, hearing a foreigner say things like that!”
“I’m sure you’ve met your share of whites who speak Mandarin. It’s not a rarity these days.”
She nodded. “True—but very few of them try to use humor. Especially self-deprecating humor. The foreigners Ren Yun associates with are usually high-level businessmen looking to make inroads into China, or those who have to sustain the inroads they’ve already built.”
Manning nodded back the way they had come, where the two men were only vaguely visible. “He’s like Lin? A corporate exec?”
“No. He’s nothing like Lin Yubo.”
Manning raised an eyebrow. “Government service, then? A vice minister, perhaps?”
She adopted a fey expression and turned her face away from him slightly. “I’m really not able to say. What is it you do for Lin Yubo, Jerry?”
Manning grinned. “Whatever he tells me to do.”
She clasped her hands in front of her and looked at him again. “And is that difficult?”
“It depends on what he asks me to do.”
“You said you spend most of your time in Japan? Do you live there, or...?”
He nodded. “I have a residence there, but I also live over in San Francisco. Lots of flights to Japan from here, so it makes for a good home base. I presume you live in China?”
“Hong Kong. Have you been there?”
“Of course. I enjoy it there. Hong Kong’s a bit easier for a foreigner than Japan. It’s more like New York City, only the MTR tends to run on time.”
Meihua laughed. “That it does.” She looked past his shoulder at the big mansion. The courtyard was filling up now as people made their way to the bar.
“It’s interesting that even wealth as great as this is never enough to buy happiness,” she said after a pause.
“You think Lin Yubo is unhappy with his life?”
She looked at him again but didn’t answer immediately. She smiled softly after a time and took a step toward him.
“Do you intend to stay for dinner, Jerry?”
He shrugged. “I hadn’t planned on it, nor do I think I’ve been formally invited. It seems more of a closed affair.”
“I won’t be staying either,” she said. “Ren Yun has already informed me he will not be requiring any additional translation services tonight, as he will remain here with Lin Yubo.”
“Really.” Manning met her gaze for a moment, trying to get a read on her. He presumed that her occupation was a lonely one, as man like Yun Ren required much but usually gave little in return. And for the uninitiated, America could seem a cold, forbidding place.
“Have you seen much of San Francisco?” he asked.
She only shook her head, her eyes still on his. He caught a trace of her perfume, a subtle scent that reminded him of lilacs. The aroma was suddenly arousing, leaving his senses tingling.
“We should find the opportunity to change that, then.”
###
Ryker stopped his Malibu beside the guard station at the end of the gated driveway and handed the invitation to the security guard on duty. The man checked it against whatever was written on his clipboard, then motioned toward the driveway.
“Valets will take your car,” he said.
“Any chance they’ll lose it?” Ryker asked dryly.
The guard smirked and stepped back into his shack. Ryker took his foot off the brake and accelerated up the winding driveway. It was a long one, and it was not lost on Ryker that Lin had likely chosen the villa for its remoteness. He pulled up at the end of a long covered walkway and stepped out of the car. A Hispanic man in a red vest hurried toward him, and handed him a small card with the number 16 on it. Ryker wondered if a tip was in order, but if it was, the valet didn’t wait for it. He hopped inside Ryker’s car and drove away immediately. Ryker put his hands in his pockets and watched the taillights fade away for a moment, then slowly turned and regarded the mansion behind him. That it was huge and impressive was not surprising. He ambled up the walkway and showed his invitation to the man at the door, and was immediately granted entry. Ryker nodded his thanks and stepped inside the gigantic mansion.
The outright affluence of the entry hall alone was enough to take his breath away. Gleaming marble floors, gold lamé on the ceilings, artful wainscoting abounded. Partygoers reveled deeper in the house, and a tuxedoed butler waved Ryker on.
“You’ll find most of the guests in the courtyard, sir.” With his pallor and accent, he could only be British.
“Thanks,” Ryker said. “Is Lin there, as well?”
The butler looked at him with vacant eyes. “Mr. Lin is also present, of course.”
Ryker nodded and headed down the long hallway, hands still in his pockets. He glanced at the artwork on the walls, and found he recognized some of the signatures. It appeared that Lin favored the finer things in life, even if some of those things were mere decorations. It was not lost on Ryker that his entire net worth might not even be enough to fill a simple 6 inch by 6 inch frame.
What the hell am I doing here,
he asked himself, for the thousandth time. He knew the answer, of course. He just didn’t want to articulate it to himself. Still, it rose in his mind, completely against his will.
Because she might be here.
Slowly, his reluctant feet delivered him to the sprawling courtyard where most of the revelers had congregated. Some of them regarded Ryker with expressions that ranged from near-dismissal to outright interest. From his suit alone, it was obvious he did not fly in the same rarified air as they did. It didn’t take much to determine he was an outsider.
He made his way to the bar and asked what beer was available. He barely recognized some of the names, so he settled on a gin and tonic. He walked toward the pool area, the babble of English and Chinese and even some other languages assaulting his ears. Most of the conversations he couldn’t understand; even those he could were completely uninteresting. Ryker felt lost as he sipped his drink and scanned the crowd, looking for a familiar face.
He found one in Manning. The tall man met his gaze from across the courtyard, and he lifted his beer bottle in a gentle salute. He stood with a Chinese woman who looked nothing like Valerie Lin—she was too tall, too hard, and her face was perhaps a touch on the severe side. Ryker nodded back and turned away, looking out at the gleaming vista of San Francisco twinkling in the distance. It was a definite jetliner view. Despite his discomfort, Ryker found it to be a pleasant evening. The slight breeze uncharacteristically warm and dry.
“Didn’t think you’d make it, detective sergeant.”
Ryker turned and found Manning and the Chinese woman were standing behind him. She took in the view while Manning looked at him.
“My dance card was a little empty tonight,” Ryker told him.
“So this isn’t a conflict of interest? You showing up here while you’re in the middle of your investigation?”