Mary Zhou watched a pigeon land on the balcony railing outside the hotel room window. Lead gray skies created a dull canvas for the 'Windy City'. Street lights began to flicker on; their dull, yellow glow doing little to dispel the gloom. It had been four days since she'd been snatched from a Kansas City street and thrown into a beat up, Chevy van by four, hooded men. In the twenty years since Mary had left the Kendrick Files behind she had let her guard down. Now here Mary Zhou sat in a cheap, rundown hotel on Chicago's skid row. Handcuffs cut into the missing woman's wrist. One, chubby thug sat beside the bed where she sat attached to the wall mounted head board. The Godfather played on TV, enthralling the dim witted guard. Looking beyond the sliding glass door to the '70's orange upholstery and baby puke yellow wallpaper, Mark racked her brain to find something to pick the cuff's lock with. She didn't know how to pick a lock, but figured it was worth a try. Quietly, she slipped the the bed side table drawer open with her toes. Inside lay a Cash Upfront ink pen. The payday loan company's ink pens were as common as dirt in the poorer end of town. A light bulb went off over Mary's head. Looking before she did, Mrs. Zhou slipped her pedicured toes around the plastic barrel and brought it up to her hands. She need not have worried, the thug guarding her was in a world all his own, wrapped up in an old movie.
After closing the drawer, Mary unscrewed the the ink pen and jabbed the thin, plastic tube in the key hole, producing absolutely No Results. Mary worked for over an hour before losing heart. Thankfully, it was a movie marathon, so her captor took no notice of her attempt to escape. Mrs. Zhou prayed to Saint Jude for help and trusted that her daughter would come through for her.
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Snow flakes fell lazily as Ling prepared left over soup for lunch. The small kitchen, tucked away above the curio shop, smelled of strange and tangy spices mixed with baking bread. Ling dared not look at Benton, who sat at the yellow, Formica table. He seemed to take up most of the space in the kitchen, with his broad shoulders and and well polished boots. His fair eyes followed her every movement as she pulled bowls down from the cabinet and gathered flat ware for three people. The young lady liked the feeling of being watched by him. She enjoyed being someone's one-in-a-million for a change.
"Lt. Welsh wants me to stick close to your father to gather any information he may not have wished to divulge while you were present, do you believe your father knows more than he told the us, Ling?" Fraser sat up straight in the sturdy, kitchen chair. His eyes studied her as Ling turned to face the mountie.
"This is what I meant last night when I asked you if you could put someone else ahead of duty. Is it duty to pry my father and me apart," Tears welled up in her almond shaped eyes. "or do you care for me?" Those tears crept down her cheeks as she looked into Fraser's strong featured face.
"I care, Ling, I'm here to help." The mountie held her gaze for a moment.
"Do you need help, my daughter?" Mr. Zhou's voice broke the long, cold silence in the kitchen.
"I'm fine, Father, lunch is ready." She gathered the dishes and flat ware before going into the dining room.
"Ah, Constable, dog and I have conversation, he very smart, young dog." Mr. Zhou set a serving of soup on the floor for Dief, who sat beside the old gentleman.
"Wolves are keenly intelligent animals." Fraser pulled out Ling's seat for her, only to get a cold glance.
"Wolf descendants become man's best friend, this one very smart." Diefenbaker looked up haughtily at Fraser. The mountie wondered how much longer he'd have to pay for letting the wolf save his life.
The meal settled into silence. Ling spoke to her father or Fraser spoke to the old man, but the young people didn't exchange a single word while they ate. Mr. Zhou saw the distance between them and wondered but kept it to himself. He had never interfered in his his daughter's life. Ling had been mature and responsible. She had a few, good friends and went out with sensible, young professionals. None of the young men had put the spark in her eye Zhou had seen the night before.
"Do you want anything else, Father?" Ling asked, stacking the dishes, preparing to leave the small dining room. He waved her away. Fraser stood up to accompany her. Long shook her head, pushing through the swinging door. With a hurt smile, Ben stood wondering what to do next.
"Follow me into the den." Mr. Zhou beckoned the younger man. Two, faded, leather armchairs and a couch took up the most of the den Zhou led him into. Green, glass lamps sat on matching end tables; one between the armchairs and another beside the couch. A dark red and black wallpaper met dark wood paneling halfway down.
"You meet Ling last night, she run into backside." The older gentleman settled into a particularly well worn chair and pulled a bag of orange slices from beneath the cushion.
"Yes, Sir, I was listening to a flute player, I must have bumped Miss Zhou somehow." Fraser sat on the couch across from the aging Asian man, smoothing an eyebrow as he recalled the incident.
"Ling come home last night, bright stars in eyes, haven't seen little girl like that, many years." He raised a gnarled finger in the air as he chewed on a sugar coated, orange slice. "Now, Ling sad again, scared." Mr. Zhou shook his head. Fraser knew that must be his fault. In a matter of hours he had had his life turned upside down.
"Well, aren't you going to ask him about those files, Son?" A familiar voice joined in, or butted in more like. Fraser shook his head. Robert Fraser had a knack for disrupting his son's plans; distracting him at almost every turn.
"When Lt. Welsh inquired about the Kendrick Files earlier, you seemed hesitant to tell all of what you know, Mr. Zhou." The mountie leaned forward, elbows on his knees as he studied the old man. Mr. Zhou studied Benton for a moment.
"Me and Mary very happy, I owned shop, she interpreted for big company. We made good living, have beautiful daughter, nice home, but Mary kept strange work hours, sometimes not get home until midnight. We argue, I accuse sweet Mary of affair." Shame and guilt washed over the old man. He stared at a large, family photo on the wall behind Fraser.
"Ask him about the files, Son!" Bob Fraser spoke emphatically.
"No." Benton answered, much to Mr. Zhou's confusion.
"I thought your grandparents raised you to take initiative." Bob Fraser threw his hands up in frustration.
"What you mean, 'No', Constable?" Fraser felt like sinking into the Oriental rug at his feet.
"I meant to say, No, I'm sure your wife wasn't having an affair, Sir." The mountie pulled at the tail of his uniform's red, serge coat.
"I know now. Few days before explosion, we fight, I over hear Mary on phone, she call someone Kendrick, plan meeting for next day." The old man shook his head sadly. He hadn't wanted Ling to know about the argument or the awful things he'd said to Mary. "My last words to Mary, very shameful, I regret them very much." Mr. Zhou got up and stood by the window overlooking the street.
"With any luck, we will be able to get phone records for your home in Hong Kong, Sir, perhaps your wife is alright." Fraser tried to make amends. It was too little too late.
Fraser said good-bye to a sad Mr. Zhou and a cold Ling. Uniformed beat cops were stationed along the street. The mountie nodded to them as he walked back toward the consulate.
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