The Color of Jadeite. Eric D. Goodman
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Название: The Color of Jadeite
Автор: Eric D. Goodman
Издательство: Ingram
Жанр: Триллеры
isbn: 9781627202879
isbn:
It’s hard for a PI to say no to a good puzzle, harder still to say no to such a hefty advance, and damn near impossible to not be motivated by a seven-figure promise. And the thought of finding the hidden treasure that used to fuel exciting conversations with a woman I loved decades ago sweetened the ding pot. Still, I had a vivid vision of rotting away in a Chinese prison, struggling with a phrase book while Dr. Charlie Wang dispatched another PI to find out what the hell had become of me and his precious artifact. Or maybe just the artifact.
All the same, I wanted to find that jadeite tablet—probably as much as Wang did. Was it possible that I could actually look upon the very item that infatuated the love of my life all that time ago, her talking about it as though the tablet were part of a fairy tale or Chinese folklore? Was the thrill of finding Xuande’s jadeite tablet worth the risk of poking around Communist China with fake documentation?
Yes.
Before I had the chance to accept the assignment, a ruckus erupted from downstairs, followed by lots of staccato yelling, and then giant, Western-sized feet pounding up the stairs. The doors to the dining room flew open and in burst Salvador and Mackenzie. Salvador held a gun at the ready.
“Get up!” Salvador yelled. When Wang’s stooges reached for their shoulder holsters, Mackenzie cried, “Drop your weapons!” Three guns dropped to the floor.
“Calm down,” I said.
Sweat beaded on Mackenzie’s brow as she looked uneasily in the general direction of the Chinese men, then at Salvador’s weapon. She said, “I ran into Salvador, who was running after you. Said you could use a little help.”
Salvador nodded, sweat pouring down his face. His gun—which I could now see was plastic—was pointed at Charlie’s head.
I asked, “Why didn’t you just call the police?”
Salvador shrugged. “You’re a private eye. We didn’t know what you might be into here.”
I smirked. “Everything’s fine, just put those down.” Before they realize you’re frauds and shoot you, I thought.
Salvador holstered his plastic weapon. “We got your back, Clive.” Mackenzie rolled her eyes as she realized she’d let Salvador make a fool of us all.
Charlie Wang remained unfazed during the raid, tapping the tips of his fingers together. He motioned toward the red folder. “As I was asking before we were interrupted, do you accept my offer?”
“With some minor adjustments,” I said.
“Oh?”
Mackenzie pulled Salvador out of the room to chew him out about his bad choices. “If Mark found out you were carrying, he’d have you in prison for violating parole!”
“It’s a squirt gun!” Salvador moped. “That ain’t no crime!”
“Did you take too much of your Valium?” Mackenzie asked. “Because I’m thinking you must be high to charge into a room of armed kidnappers with a squirt gun.”
Standing across the table from Dr. Charlie Wang, I smiled at him and picked up the red folder. “We’re going to need two more hotel rooms in Beijing.”
4
Forbidden Messages
When people call Chinatown “little China,” they’re right on the money. Standing in Tiananmen Square, at the heart of Beijing, I could feel the weight of being at the center of something huge. The enormous square of cement made a guy feel small—and made the local partner we were supposed to meet hard to find. I’d already been loitering around the square for two hours, looking into face after touristy face, and came up with nothing. Mackenzie and Salvador kept their distances, but they remained within view and ready to approach at my signal.
At least Tiananmen Square was an interesting spot to loiter, all of the enormous buildings with their Communist economy of style. But for every massive building or monument or portrait I spotted, I gazed into a dozen or so faces in the crowd and wondered, “Where the hell is this guy?”
After I accepted Charlie Wang’s assignment a couple days earlier, Gunmetal Mouth’s threesome escorted me, Mackenzie, and Salvador to a swanky hotel in Boston and took their own rooms in the same establishment—so they could drive us to the airport the next morning, they claimed, but we all knew it was so I didn’t have a change of heart about this Chinese puzzle box—and so that I didn’t take the money and run. Just a precaution, because what Wang probably knew well was that I didn’t take this job for the money or even for the challenge. I wanted to find Xuande’s jadeite tablet, to see it, to touch it. I’d forgotten how hungry I’d been in my youth.
Tiananmen Square is the world’s largest public square. As I strolled the huge pedestrian area, over and over again, I shuddered to think of the number of people who’d had their homes and ways of life brushed aside to make way for Mao’s massive vision. Not to mention some of the more recent bloody history here, like the student protests in 1989. In that way, Tiananmen Square is kind of like China’s Kent State tragedy. Only with tanks added since they like to do things big.
Now, under the smoggy Beijing sky of gray, Tiananmen Square seemed both marvel and monstrosity, bulging with tourists from abroad and from all over China. Americans and Europeans and Chinese people alike stopped for family photos and selfies in front of the Zhengyangmen arrow tower, Mao’s mausoleum, the National Museum of China, and—most of all—the gigantic portrait of Chairman Mao hanging on Tiananmen—the very Imperial gate to the Forbidden City where Mao proclaimed his People’s Republic of China as the official law of the land.
I saw Salvador motion to me from across the field of people, and knew someone was approaching from behind. I turned, and a woman attacked me. “Postcard? Chairman’s hat? Book? Five dollars.”
“No, thank you.” I brushed her aside, but she didn’t budge until I stopped saying no thanks and just ignored her. After about the tenth vendor, I learned to stop being polite. But I also understood their persistence. As much as I didn’t want to encourage their pushing junk on me, a few bucks from my expense account could mean a week’s worth of food for a poor family.
I may be a loner much of the time, but I was glad I’d convinced Salvador and Mackenzie to join me. I knew I could use some help. Salvador had more to risk, being on parole and not legally allowed to leave the country—but he was more than willing to tag along when I assured him I’d vouch for him if he got caught, and that he probably wouldn’t since we were flying on a rich man’s private jet and getting special treatment.
Mackenzie had been a little harder to convince. First, she used Harriet as an excuse, but I reminded her that Harriet wasn’t even going to be in town for a few weeks. Then she insisted that she had to pour herself into her work, but I knew better because when she was that swimming in cases she usually asked for my help to dig up some dirt. She was in one of her semi-annual “grab a stack of business cards and go to a party to look for clients” rut.
“I’ll have to find someone to watch Snoopy Doo,” she’d said.
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