This story is based on the 'Gunsmith Cats' manga by Kenichi Sonoda, with a few elements from the 'Riding Bean' OAV (1989). It is set after the last published manga in English as of March 2005.

Tell me what you thought of it, no matter what you have to say. I'm a big girl. :) I always welcome reader reactions, especially ones that go into detail. Please email me at MmeManga "at" aol dot com (address spelled out because this site strips all email addys and URLS) or leave your comments here.

NOTE: The complete version of this story is housed at my Livejournal, which is linked on my main page on this site. I have removed large sections of chapters Two, Eight and Thirty from the postings here because of the current site rules, although this story existed on the site long before those rules went into effect. I am sorry for any inconvenience to readers; this factor is unfortunately not under my control. The complete version will also be posted at Mediaminer. My former dedicated Gunsmith Cats site no longer exists.

DISCLAIMER: Characters of RALLY VINCENT, BEAN BANDIT, MAY HOPKINS, ROY COLEMAN, KEN TAKI copyright Kenichi Sonoda. All other characters, and story, copyright 2000--2005 by Madame Manga. Contact by email at MmeManga Do not sell or print for sale without the express written permission of the author. Do not archive. Permission is granted to circulate this text in electronic form, free of charge and with this disclaimer and the author's name attached. Do not plagiarize, alter, or appropriate this text in any way. This story is intended for personal entertainment purposes only. No infringement of any copyrights or other rights is intended.

ADULT CONTENT WARNING IN BOLD CAPS!

This story is not for kids or the easily offended. It contains explicit violence and extreme profanity. If you object to reading such things, do not read this story.

Chasing the Dragon
by Madame Manga
Chapter Twelve

"Rally Vincent?" A young woman, sounding tired.

"Yes. This is Rally Vincent." Rally cradled her cell phone between ear and shoulder, driving up Highway 1 along the coast, north to San Francisco again. The sun had already set into the grey sea to her left, bringing with its passing a bank of low clouds approaching from north and west.

Perhaps it was going to rain again tonight…she felt something in her bones that resembled a change in the weather. Her mind had gone detached and grey again, the way it had when Bean had turned on her. Had she really let him go, in the slim hope it might help him to realize the truth? What if it didn't work? What if she'd only let him slip through the FBI's grasp to see him wreak more havoc, more injury: perhaps even death? Such as her own…

"This is Vanessa Sam."

"Oh!" Rally's brain snapped to attention. "How is Larry? Are your parents doing—"

"Larry's good. Well, not good. But alive, which is good. He spent four hours in surgery Wednesday morning. Repairing lungs and things. He has tubes. To the max. But alive."

"I'm so very glad to hear that." Rally closed her eyes briefly, then took a curve in the growing darkness, headlights passing her once in a while. "Thank you for calling. I know you must be very busy."

"I am working like a member of the starving underclass…but man, I'm glad Larry had the business insurance and the health insurance in order. It's all a plot of the economic oligarchies to bleed the petty bourgeoise of their resources, but it sure comes in handy when you have large bullets in your lungs. Can you come see him? When he's awake, he asks for you."

"He does? He doesn't—"

"What, blame you for it? Look, Ms. Vincent—"

"Rally, please."

"Rally, it was his own goddamn stupid fault. He's a member of the intellectual, entrepenurial, property-owning elite, so he thinks he's somehow above, or immune from, in some class-based sense, the anti-revolutionary forces of the goddamn mother country. You know, Triads are about the most traditionalist, anti-feminist, reactionary sinks of corrupt exploitation… well, they bite big time."

She took a deep breath. "It's not like I don't agree with what he was trying to do. I even set aside some deeply held principles, like the theoretical freedom to plot criminal activity in public places, to help him out. He probably told you I put those stupid mikes on the tables."

"Yes, he mentioned it."

"He told me it was going to benefit all those women they smuggle into the States as indentured sex workers. Mengleng isn't the only one of them Emerald has found a job for. Emerald's the next sister down the list, by the way; she's a sophomore in Ethnic Studies and is totally committed to social justice. I have one cool sibling, at least. The rest are all interested in getting MBAs and MDs and money, like your average first-generation Chinese-American, which is one reason I'm an engineering major, to shut them up when they get on that 'earning power' jag—OK, well, I am a total bore, which you figured out a while ago. Larry wants to see you, and I don't mind if he helps you take out some of those scumbags. I've got all the tapes he ever made. I know you're not a cop, so you won't care if they're a little bit unconstitutional."

"At this point, Vanessa, I wouldn't give a damn if he'd bugged the Federal Building and given me tapes of the FBI agents talking in the men's john. That would probably come in handy about now. When should I come?"

"He's been sleeping all day. He might wake up in an hour or so, when the drugs start wearing off, or so the nurse said. It's the UCSF Medical Center, over near the east end of the park."

"I will be there. I have to go report in to my personal handlers, then I'll get a little dinner, and I'll come to the hospital. About eight-thirty?"

"Any time. There's always a Sam or two hanging out in the room with the vending machines, and my parents have been here almost the whole time. I'm going to try to persuade them to go to my apartment and sleep, so if you're here, maybe they'll go. This does have something to do with the fact that he's the firstborn and the only son, which if you're Chinese is so important it's not funny. I will spare you my take on the survival of patriarchal traditions in Asian immigrant populations. He's my big brother, and I am so glad he's not dead I want to dance. But I am too fucking tired to dance, so I will go get another package of peanut butter crackers from the machine, the kind that are cheese-flavored, and go crash in the waiting room for a while and get crumbs of artificially colored junk produced with underpaid labor, pesticide-drenched crops and refined white sugar into my shirt pockets. See ya."

"I like peanut butter crackers too. See ya." She was beginning to like Vanessa.


"Hey, Rally," said May, looking carefully at her as she came into May's hotel room and plopped down at the table. "How's things?"

"Besides the busy day? OK." She had already decided not to say anything to May about having spotted Bean on the overpass—if the FBI started asking questions, it was better for May not to know. "I was in a big traffic jam for hours, and I drove over to the coast to get back. I sat and looked at the ocean for a while until the sun went down. But you didn't miss much." Just one of the worst moments of emotional epiphany of my life, and a lot of blank staring out at the elements…

"You went to the Federal Building already?"

"Uh-huh. You might get a chance at that folder tomorrow. The one on Bean. I want to get hold of that even more now." Rally leaned her head on one hand, elbow on the table.

"Sure," said May. "Uh, Roy and I had a pizza—I took the rest in case you came back. There's some pepperoni left, if you want it. How were Smith and Wesson?"

"Boiling." Rally grinned. "Absolutely furious, because Bean never showed at the airport. I told them he didn't fly, and they wouldn't listen, because they had already made all the arrangements. That's like going ahead and marrying a man you just surprised in bed with a goat, because you already rented the hall and you can't get the deposit back. They did not like me being right. They are keeping their details there all night anyway."

"So they'll listen to you next time you tell them something?"

"Nope, because I am not telling them jack from now on. I'm going to go through the motions, I guess, but getting my help to force Bean into the Dragons? They can kiss my ass." Rally lifted the lid of the takeout box and examined the leftovers.

May looked confused. "But…but you don't care what happens to him, do you? He tried to cut you up! At the very least!"

"Uh…well, you know, May, he is going to find out I didn't steal that money. One way or another. I don't know what he is going to do when that happens. I'm not sure anyone would want to be in the room…or the county…when he does." Rally took a bite of cold pizza. "Yuck. Salty grease on burned crackerbread." She consulted her watch."Oh well, I don't have a lot of time…it's eight already. I want to get to the hospital soon."

"Hospital? Oh, did you get a call—?"

"Larry's sister called me an hour ago. He's recovering, but he's not very healthy at the moment. He's asking to talk to me."

"What do you think he wants to say to you?"

Rally chewed for a moment. "I don't know, because Vanessa said neither he nor his family blame me for the shooting. She thinks he was overconfident…but frankly, he was very careful, and spoke about the risks several times. It was like pulling teeth to get anything out of him."

"Maybe there's something he didn't tell you."

"Maybe there's something he didn't tell me? Like how he knew Brown was on a short leash? Like just why he thought gangsters were going to visit his restaurant all the time? When he tells them to go fuck themselves, and calls the cops when he sees them brawling on the sidewalk? I don't know why he'd…" Rally stopped chewing. "Oh, no. I hope he doesn't tell me…something I really don't want to hear."

"You think he's…not what he says he is? Like one of them?" gasped May. "Did Triads eat at the place because he's a Triad?"

"God damn. Is he going to confess something to me, or is he going to…"

"I stocked up on grenades again, Rally! If it's a setup, we can go there and take care of some of 'em!" May looked excited. "Pow! Boom!"

"You come with me to the hospital." Rally stood up and grabbed her jacket. "Though I really don't think that's what it is. Vanessa Sam couldn't keep a secret like that to save her life. She says exactly what she thinks, and it jumps all over the map…the ideological map! We should be prepared, but if there's a threat waiting for us there…I don't think it's been cooked up in a restaurant."


"I don't give a shite," muttered O'Toole, examining a new, empty rifle magazine. "I want ta kill that wee bitch now. I don't give a shite if the Chinks want ta wait, and I don't give a shite if they got plans, now do I?" He raised his PSG-1 and shoved the magazine in place, sighting through his scope. "Fockin' nigger bitch. Goin' ta do 'er good, ain'tcha, Tommy boy? Do it 'til she screams, an' a lot more than that, me foine lad. Ye'll have yer satisfaction, sir."

For a moment he bowed his head. "I won't let ye down, Mr. Brown. I'm comin' to ye soon, and I'll bring 'er with me. In bits." He stroked his rifle's barrel and attached the sling, then got up from his food-wrapper-strewn camp cot and knocked on the door of the small storage room in which he had been living for two days. "Hey, 189. Do I get to take a shite any time this week? Or is it the dirty protest all over the walls?"

The lock clicked, the door moved, and a tall, burly Chinese man filled the opening. "There's a briefing anyway, O'Toole. Come and eat with us, and I'll give you a heads-up beforehand."

"Beauty." The little bodyguard grinned and followed 189 into the corridor. "What're ye eatin' tonight?"

"Burgers. And hungshao ro—that's red-cooked pork to you."

"Ye got the overseas fellas all in one barracks wi' th' Americans?"

"Sure. They want to learn English, and we pick up more Cantonese too."

"Educational, hey? Those Hong Kong boys're a buncha queers, ain't they now?"

189 gave a snort, showing slightly uneven teeth. "Watch it with the fag comments around 426, guy. You don't want to give him any lip on that subject. Unless you want the blowtorch to come out again, or the garrote. I'm serious." He nodded at O'Toole's chest. "You gotta be feeling that still."

O'Toole put a gingerly hand to his shirt, just over the character 426 had burned into his skin. "Yeah, smarts a bit."

"He doesn't bother anybody that doesn't want to be bothered, so we don't give a shit one way or the other, understand? Huang was a smart guy, and good-looking, and he wanted it bad—426 is majorly pissed about that. He never even got the kid in bed once, so he's looking for blood. You're sure lucky it wasn't you that shot him dead."

"Yeah," said O'Toole, with a small twitch at the corner of one eye. "The Vincent bitch done it, all right."

The two men entered a large kitchen, where twenty or so men, Chinese-American, Malay, and Macanese, were already seated around two round tables heaped with dishes and crowded with bottles of whiskey and beer. A male cook worked at a large commercial stove, the streetlights outside shining through the small windows. 189 pointed at a chair and took his own nearby.

"Meet the troops. This is Brown's bodyguard, guys." He looked around the table. "Name's Tom O'Toole, for those of you who don't know."

Two men got up, one gesturing at O'Toole and hissing in a heavy accent. "He shoot 72! And Po and Sung! What he doing here?"

"426's orders, so sit down, Omdurran," said 189. Omdurran and the other man sat down. "Gimme the pork and rice, Wo. I think Irish here wants a burger."

"Hell yes," said O'Toole, reaching for one as the platter was shoved in his direction. "I don't eat that shite—" Twenty-two or three pairs of eyes turned to him. "Pork, I mean. I'm convertin' to a Jew, ain't I?" He smiled, nicotine-stained teeth showing, and a few men laughed. The rest turned to their meals.

"OK," said 189, chewing, "This is going to be a planning session. 426'll call you upstairs in a little while. You get to go for the bounty hunter soon, O'Toole. You just got to put together a plan of action. They'll tell you where she's staying and all that, and you get equipment—a car, whatever, and backup if you want. There's a tracer on her car, so we can pinpoint its location any time. You can use your guns or you can get something out of the armory."

"Soundin' lovely ta me."

"Only thing is, you don't whack any FBI, and you don't whack any cops, like this one she's got out from Chi-town. Just the broad—and her kid friend, if it comes to that. So think along those lines."

"189!" called someone from the corridor, and a man came into the kitchen. "426 wants you up in his office, sir. He said to bring what you'll need for a trip."

"Huh?" said 189, swallowing a mouthful and looking up. "Did he say where?"

"No, sir. He said he got a message just now, something real important, and he said to pack fast. You're going to fly the Cessna, I know that. Bring a suit. There's not going to be a meeting after all, so O'Toole will have to cool his heels. 426 says 111 will handle it."

"Got it," said 189, rising and wiping his mouth. "111, consult with him on the MO. Show him the garage and the armory. O'Toole: get thinking, but keep your shirt on 'til the boss gets back. I'm gone." He left the kitchen and followed the messenger. Every Dragon turned to look at the sole white man in the room, who stared every one of them down, yellow eyes narrowed and jaws working.

"Beauty," said O'Toole again. "Boss'll be outa town, eh?" He finished one burger and reached for another, then poured himself a glass of whiskey. "Though I'd have ta say, before I get done with that wee bitch, she ain't going ta be one bit pretty, will she? Any of ye inclined to have a taste before I get out me knife?"

Several of the Dragons grinned unpleasantly, including Omdurran, nodding in approval. "I hehp you, O'Toor."

O'Toole raised his glass. "A man after me own heart. Ye know, fellas, it's an even chance I'll get along wi' the pack of ye just like a house on fire. So here's how, an' long live the Eight Dragons." Twenty-odd men poured whiskey, and drank.


"Vanessa?" said Rally, peering around a darkened waiting room at the UCSF Medical Center with May at her side. "I'm here. Are you awake? I brought a friend."

"Ohh…" moaned Vanessa, sitting up and rubbing her eyes. "Yeah, I'm alive. I hope I can stay awake to drive to Berkeley…nah, I guess I'll take Mom and Dad to the BART station and we'll go home on the train." She yawned. "What time is it?"

"Eight-thirty."

"Wow, you're punctual." She looked at May.

"This is May Hopkins, my partner. May, meet Vanessa Sam. How's Larry?"

"Hi, May. I think my parents are in with him right now. He woke up in time for dinner." Vanessa yawned again. "He asked for you again and I said you were coming. His reaction to that says he's objectifying you on the basis of your physical conformity to the sexual ideal promoted by the mass media…or he likes you, I guess. Oh, God, there I go again." She rubbed her eyes again and stood up. "You guys are going to go home to Chicago with stories about the People's Republic of Berserkley, aren't you? Not all Californians talk like this, you know."

"He's glad I'm coming?"

"I said it wasn't your fault. He was riding for a fall, Rally." Vanessa sighed and picked up a backpack from a chair. "I think he'll explain, but I don't want to violate his confidences. Come on; he's in 351."

Room 351 was a semi-private, but only one of the beds was occupied. A bored cop sat outside the door with a magazine. Larry lay half elevated, oxygen tubes in his nose and drain tubes around his wounds, which were heavily bandaged over his otherwise bare chest. His left arm was wrapped in an elastic bandage and had an IV inserted into a vein, and his left eye and temple shone purple-black. Both of his eyes were closed.

Rally felt a pang at his appearance, biting her lips. Larry was almost unrecognizable; frail and battered where he had been vital, healthy and handsome. His mother and father sat close to the bed in armchairs, holding his hands and talking quietly in Cantonese. All around the bed and stacked against the walls sat dozens of floral arrangements and fruit baskets, overwhelmingly red and gold and decorated with banners printed in Chinese characters. Obviously the Sam family and Larry himself had many friends and well-wishers.

Rally and May stood back for a moment as Vanessa approached and touched her father's shoulder. He looked up and nodded, then turned to Rally and May. "Good evening, Mr. Sam, Mrs. Sam," said Rally. "This is May Hopkins, my partner."

To her surprise, May bowed and spoke a greeting in singsong Cantonese. Mr. Sam looked at his wife in astonishment, and Mrs. Sam laughed, greeting May in turn. She was small and round-faced, but with sharp eyes that sized up both of them quickly. "May? You speak Chinese?"

"Gosh, I only worked in a Chinese…um, business, for more than two years! I picked up a lot!" May spoke to the Sams again, seeming to explain what she and Rally did for a living, and they nodded, replying. Mr. Sam made some noises as if he were telling May about the attack on the restaurant, with sound effects, and his voice rose excitedly.

May paid close attention, asking a question or two, and several times suppressed a laugh. Rally felt rather left out, but when Larry opened his eyes and smiled at her, ghastly with pale, clammy skin and red blotches on his face, she moved to his bedside and sat down.

"She's speaking good Cantonese for a kid," said Larry, his voice thin and raspy. "Where did she say she picked it up?"

"She's a little older than she seems, Larry. How are you feeling?"

"Just as great as I look," he said with a faint smile. "They tell me I have a few weeks of rehab to go before I can run the Bay to Breakers dressed as a fortune cookie."

"I'm so sorry about what happened that night. I've been worrying about you ever since."

"Thank you, Rally. When I woke up, my first thought was, 'Darn, she's going to worry about me. I'd better get healed up.'"

She smiled at him. "If you can joke, you must be better. I'm really glad you're going to be all right."

"Where's Bean?" he asked, with no sense of broaching a sensitive subject. "Did he drive you here?"

"Uh…no." Rally wondered if she should tell him the truth. Larry looked far too fragile to hit with such a heavy piece of news, so she only smiled. "He's on his own right now. May's better at this kind of thing."

"Since she speaks Chinese, I guess she is. But how did the operation go?" Larry looked at his family and lowered his voice, which wasn't particularly loud in the first place. "Did you get your man?"

"I'm afraid not. But it's a long story, and not a nice one. I don't want to upset you."

"Oh, boy," said Larry, closing his eyes. Then, to her shock: "426."

"You do have something to tell me, then." Rally felt her heart rate jump.

"I see; he did show up. Don't look at me like that, Rally. It's not…" He trailed off, coughing. "It's not something you are going to hate me for. Not like…that money."

"We didn't get any money. I'm sorry."

"I figured that. You know; forget about it, OK? I'm going to tell you something that I might have told you from the start. I was too damn cautious, and I could have helped you much more than I did. So now that it's too late…"

"Oh, Larry. Don't you go blaming yourself for my professional problems! I've got lots of people to dump THAT on! So relax."

"I'm taking Mom and Dad home now," said Vanessa, coming over to put a hand on Larry's forehead. "I think Emerald's coming when she finishes her study group at nine. Or maybe not."

"Where are Jade and Cassandra?" asked Larry.

"They're staying with the Leongs, remember? I've got it under control, bro." Vanessa kissed Larry's face and smiled tiredly at Rally. "He looks better already, so we're going to blow. Mom thinks you two look like a pair of tough cookies, and Dad thinks you and your little friend are awfully sweet to come. I anticipate a 'discussion' all the way home."

"I think your mom has us nailed. We'll take care of Larry until your sister gets here." The parents patted and kissed their son, and left with Vanessa. May looked around the room.

"You know, Rally, I'm a little hungry. My stomach gets bad if I don't have snacks…so I'm going to check out the vending machines." She winked and left.

"Your partner seems like a smart kid," said Larry.

"You bet." There was a quiet pause.

"Rally…" he began. "I have a confession to make. Well, several confessions…"

"I kind of had that feeling, Larry. But please, don't start talking about stuff that's going to bother you, OK?" Rally took Larry's right hand, which lay on the coverlet. It felt cold, and too heavy.

"I have to. I have to get it off my chest—" He coughed rackingly, his tubes jiggling. "That was a joke, and I was laughing." Rally put her other hand on the bare part of his chest and rested it gently there.

"Thanks. You know, I feel better with you here. My mom's pretty overwhelmed by this, and so is my dad. Vanessa is trying to be in charge for me, but she's devastated, no matter how strong she tries to be. Emerald has to be at school most of the time and prefers it that way. My younger sisters are embarrassed by the whole thing. The family dynamics get a little thick in here."

"Oh. Well, I had a tense family too…but never mind. If you really feel like you have to get something out, and you want to tell it to me for some reason, then go ahead." She hoped he didn't think he was making a deathbed confession.

"It pertains to you, Rally. Indirectly. What it is directly about…is the Eight Dragon Triad."

"OK…"

"I hate them. I have been trying to find ways to fight them for as long as I can remember. I encouraged them to come to my restaurant, Rally. The ones you beat up on the sidewalk were only visiting for lunch. I cultivated them so I could find up what they were up to. Those punks I told you about, the ones who were supposed to go fuck themselves? They weren't in on the joke. They thought I was a legitimate target. I didn't call the cops. I complained to their superiors, and they were punished. I did tell them that, though." He smiled weakly. "There's nothing like being able to swear in Chinese. Most of the ordinary curses would make even Bean blush."

"I'm sure it comes in handy."

"You'd be surprised at my dad's vocabulary when he's speaking Cantonese. He's so polite in English. It's not the same in translation."

"Oh…that's why May was laughing!" Rally smiled and lifted her chin. "Gosh, I wouldn't have thought it of him. Such a nice old man."

"No, and you wouldn't have thought this of me. I hope."

"Oh, Larry, if that's all it is…you just took a foolish risk, that's all."

"That's not all, Rally." His bloodshot eyes moved away from her, then back, open and truthful, but bleak.

"Uh-oh."

"There was one Triad…in particular. He liked the place a lot. He came back nearly every day at one time, a few years ago. I thought it was a compliment to my dad's cooking. That was part of it, but not all of it. Not even the major part of it."

"No?"

"I didn't give you any mug shots of him. There aren't any. When I recorded him, the conversation I told you about…the night you were going for Brown…I knew him by sight. Very well, in point of fact."

"The man you recorded…what, Huang? 426's assistant?" Huang had been only a couple of years younger than Larry. "Was he a friend of yours?"

"No. I don't mean Huang."

"Oh, man."

"Yes. 426 himself. I cultivated him, because he was the highest number to come to the place. And then he started cultivating me."

"I'm not sure what you mean. He liked your conversation?"

"Maybe he did. But…well, speaking of Huang."

"I should tell you something, Larry. Huang is dead."

"He's dead? Oh, no."

"I share that feeling, because…I'm afraid I'm the one who killed him. One of my bullets got him accidentally through the head when I fired at Brown's bodyguard...or someone. It was chaos that night."

"Oh…my…God…" Larry went whiter than before, then broke into a coughing fit.

"Larry? Damn, I knew you shouldn't talk about this." She reached for the call button. "I'll get the nurse."

"No, don't…I have to tell you..." He struggled to sit up.

"You look terrible! Please, we can do this some other time—"

"Rally, he's going to go for you if you're the one who killed Huang! You have to know this! Thank God you came…because you have certainly been marked for death by the Eight Dragon Triad's chief assassin!"

"Holy crap, Larry! Why?"

Larry fell back on his pillows, wheezing, and it was a moment before he could speak. "426…he came that night with Huang, and I listened to the conversation. 426 liked Huang, a lot, and he seemed like a smart kid, though he kept deprecating himself. I got the feeling that 426 was going to push the guy fast up through the ranks. He was going to get a number soon, at the very least."

"His protégé, huh? Oh, man. As if the Dragons needed another excuse!"

"You've got your gun with you, I hope?"

"Uh…no, I don't, Larry. At least not the nine-millimeter. Hospitals don't let you take guns inside, especially when the patients are mob targets." Rally glanced at the door; the guard had ambled off to the bathroom. "I've got one .25 auto, and May has a couple of her…specials." She patted her ankle.

"Rally…you're not safe. You should go as soon as I tell you the rest. Don't hang around without protection. You'd better call Bean and warn him too…"

"Um… How would they know where I am?"

"I think they may have a tracer on your car."

"What? Did they talk about that?"

"No. But it's 426's style…and Huang was a surveillance expert. 426 was praising the guy to the heavens, to his face, and that's not something he does often. Huang must have been good. As I say, I know 426 very well…because he cultivated me for quite a while. I know that way he has of talking to young men. Huang was surely going to be his newest lover."

"Huh? Ohh…duh. He's homosexual." The penny dropped. "Oh! You mean, he, um, kind of wanted to, uh, with you?"

Larry smiled ironically. "He didn't just kind of want to. I know I don't look too hot right now, Rally. But you saw me healthy. I'm not trying to come across like a vain preener here, but I know I'm usually a good-looking guy."

"Yeah, that's true. You're very handsome, even now." Rally dropped a kiss on his pale, blotchy brow. "Oh, geez. Did he get really persistent? I saw him during the operation. Made my skin prickle to look at him."

"He's not a crude man. He doesn't try to attack people…young men he'd like to keep around, that is. He's very intelligent and cultured. You could talk all night with him about Chinese painting or porcelain or history. He likes good-looking men, but they have to have smarts—he's not interested in male bimbos.

"This was about four years ago, when I was still in college and working a lot of nights at the restaurant. He took me to museums and the opera. Stuff like that. It's the pursuit that interests him, not the conquest. He never grabbed me or anything. He just looked at me. You've seen him? Can you imagine those eyes, boring into yours? With desire? Night after night in a room you can't leave? That's one overwhelming personality in there. He doesn't look impressive on the outside. Many people never notice. He has to turn it on." Larry started to look a little shaky. "Would you hand me that glass of water, please?"

"Sure." She helped him drink and wiped his chin with a hand towel.

"You're a very tender person, Rally. For someone who always carries a gun." Larry smiled.

"You don't have to go on with this story if you don't want to, Larry. I get the point, and I think you're getting too worked up."

"I need to tell you. Please don't make me stop." He took a deep breath. "I'm not homosexual. I think you know that. I don't have anything against gays—heck, I live in San Francisco. I grew up thinking of them as ordinary citizens, which they are. I just wasn't made that way—I like women, not men."

"Larry—"

"It's all right. I did sleep with him, once. He's not kinky or anything like that. He doesn't use handcuffs or whips. He's got his preferences, sure, but everyone does. I let him use me the way he wanted to. It wasn't actually unpleasant, except for…knowing I had prostituted myself. But…"

"But?"

"He asked me to join the Eight Dragon Triad. While we were still in bed together."

"Please, Larry. Don't tell me—"

"I said no, Rally. I wasn't willing to go that far. I wasn't going to become what I hated most in order to fight it. I turned him down as politely as I could. I told him that my father wouldn't approve—which is true—and since he's a traditional Confucianist, he respected my filial piety and let the subject drop. He didn't ask me out any more, and he never tried to have sex with me again. He still likes me…or he did until Tuesday night." Larry put a hand on one of his bandages. "The Triad's his whole world. He loves it more than he loves any person. He would never hesitate to sacrifice a person to the greater good of the Triad. It wouldn't matter who. Me, or his own brother. He'd have killed Huang himself if he'd thought it was necessary."

"I got that impression. I only looked at him for a few moments, but that was enough." She squeezed his hand. "Oh, Larry…"

"What I mean is, I know him. I know what he's likely to do. I know for certain that he is going to do his best to kill you, or have you killed."

"But how could he know who shot Huang? It hasn't gone beyond the FBI."

"Oh, he'd find out. He'd be determined as hell to know. Weren't there other people there, who might have witnessed it?"

"Yes…O'Toole. Brown's bodyguard. He would have seen it happen, and…I told Bean about it." A little twitch of her mind. "But would O'Toole have told anything like that to 426? After all, he shot Huang first, and several other Dragons later. I suppose he just beat it out of the city with all that money."

"I don't know this O'Toole… I don't know whether he would have contacted the Dragons. Bean knows? He wouldn't have told the Dragons anything, of course."

Rally felt something cold pass through her. "Uh…no…" If they had contacted him yet—they had to know that Bean was no longer her partner, and they might very well know that he had called off his promise to her—after all, they had been behind the suitcase planted in her trunk. And she had let him go. She got up and checked the window to cover her expression. "I'm sure it's occurred to you that if 426 is that determined, I'm not the only one he's liable to finish off, Larry."

"I know." She turned and saw him close his eyes. "I probably don't have long."

"What? The SFPD has you under guard!" Rally saw the cop meander back with a Coke and sit down outside the door again, slouching in his chair. "OK…maybe you have a point."

"My parents have gone home, my sisters aren't here…the Dragons will have been watching the hospital. Someone will arrive soon, I'm sure. I've told you what you need to know, and I glad I got the chance. You'd better just go back to your hotel..."

"What? Not a chance! I left the other guns in the car, and it's right out there in the parking lot. I'll call May, and we'll get the stuff inside, and we'll take care of anything that comes along!" She turned to smile at him. "May and I are very tough cookies indeed. Just let them try!"


"Mr. Bean Bandit?" said a voice at his elbow. Bean rattled the dice he held in his fist and threw them with calculated force against the end of the craps table. Snake eyes; he'd lost two thousand dollars again, for the tenth time in an hour. He didn't seem too put out about it, but tossed the dice to the next player and leaned back as the croupier raked in the chips. He turned half an eye toward the man who stood beside him.

"What the hell do you want?" he said.

"Just asking if you're available for work." It was a tall, burly Chinese man with an American accent, dressed in a black turtleneck and collarless black jacket. He smiled, showing slightly uneven teeth. "If you aren't available, we'll look elsewhere."

"I ain't available. How the hell do you know who I am, anyway?"

"Gentlemen, place your bets," said the croupier, and Bean dropped two thousand dollars worth into the Doubles slot, barely looking down.

"A lot of people have heard about your presence on the West Coast." The Chinese man touched his nose with an ironic smile. "It wasn't difficult to deduce who was behind the mess in the Bay Area earlier today."

"Heh," said Bean. "How'd you know I was in Vegas?"

"You don't blend into the crowd too well." He shrugged, gesturing at Bean's heavy leather jacket and slicked-back hair. "We had a call from a local observer. Nothing sinister about it, Mr. Bandit. We thought we might take advantage of an unexpected opportunity, if you're amenable. It's a big job, by the way." He rubbed forefinger and thumb together.

"Ain't they all."

"It'll take only a couple of days, and it'll pay a hundred grand. I can't say more about it in public."

"I ain't looking to earn anything right now. Sorry." The next player threw the dice and again came up snake eyes. The little white spots on translucent red seemed to glow in the bright casino lights. "Dang," muttered Bean as the croupier pushed six thousand dollars worth towards him. "Let it ride." He flipped a hundred-dollar chip to the croupier.

"No, you seem to be working on losing money rather than winning it. That's a little strange."

"Gentlemen, place your bets," said the croupier.

"Most of the time, maybe." The next player threw a seven and whooped. Bean's six thousand vanished as quickly as it had appeared, and he rubbed his hands together in satisfaction. "There ain't no better way to flush money down the toilet than spendin' some time in Vegas." A blonde cocktail waitress came up to him with a mug of beer and a whiskey chaser, and Bean downed both in ten seconds, putting the glasses back on her tray and digging in his jacket for his wallet.

"Oh, sir, your drinks are comped," said the waitress when he tried to pay her. "The pit boss said you're the highest roller he's seen all week. I've got some dinner and room coupons for you too—"

"Ah, hell," grumbled Bean. "I didn't ask for none of that. Keep 'em." He gave her a hundred-dollar tip and pretended to swat her backside as she waggled it at him. "Get outta here and bring me the same again."

"Yes sir," the waitress giggled. "Is there anything else you'd like?"

"Nah," said Bean briefly, turning to the craps table again. "I go for brunettes." The waitress made a moue of semi-feigned disappointment and strutted off.

"Even if you're not interested in earning money," said the Chinese man, "I do have some information that will interest you."

"Gentlemen, place your bets," said the croupier.

Bean dug in his pockets and came up with one ten-dollar chip. "'Scuse me, dude, but I have to go buy me some more little plastic things." He pushed away from the craps table and headed to the line at a cashier's window, the Chinese man following. Plunking down several rolls of hundred-dollar bills, Bean scooped up twenty-five thousand worth of chips and turned to the gambling floor again.

"How much have you lost today, Mr. Bandit?"

"Drop the mister, dude. I'm Bean." The waitress came back, and Bean gulped his beer and tipped her again.

"All right, Bean. Why are you throwing money away?"

"'Cause this money smells, that's why. I don't want it any more."

"Really? Money is money, isn't it?"

"Most of the time. Who's 'we', anyway? Who you working for?"

"The Eight Dragon Triad," said the man blandly. "May we speak in private? My superior is in the bar."

Bean stared at him, his eyes narrowing and brows drawing down. "Just come right out and say it, huh?"

"My superior and I don't believe in obfuscation," said the man. "Unlike a late colleague of ours."

"No shit."

"Please, come into the bar. May we buy you a drink?"

"Beer," said Bean, and followed him into a lounge lined with vinyl booths. The Triad man ordered a pitcher of Samuel Adams and a vodka martini, then gestured to a booth in the corner of the room. One person sat there, a middle-aged Chinese man with cropped hair, slightly grey.

"Hey there," said Bean after a moment's silence. "426."

426 rose and bowed. "Please sit down, Bean. I am honored to meet you again."

"No shit? You Dragon fellas had a hot time that night. Ain't you carryin' a grudge?" He turned his eyes to the man who had led him into the bar. "Settin' me up? Bring it on."

426 showed his palms, a slight smile on his face. "We have no grudge against you, Bean. Rather the opposite, in point of fact." He indicated a seat. "I wish only to speak to you about those offers that were never made in San Francisco."

"I dunno." Bean shook his head slightly and stayed where he was. "I got business out there at the tables. It ain't likely I'm gonna accept the kind of job offer yer likely to make. I got a taste of that with Brown, and if he's a good example of the Dragon way of doin' business, I got my fill for a lifetime already." He turned to go.

426 cleared his throat. "Bean, you are a professional, and deserve to be treated as one. So am I a professional, although my area of expertise is different from yours. I promise you, if you will speak to me about this job, I will tell you the truth about it. No tricks, and I will take no for an answer. If you are not interested, may the gods speed you on your way. I believe you may be interested, however, when you hear the details." The blonde waitress brought their drinks, and the other man tipped her.

"What's yer name, dude?" said Bean after a long pause.

"I do not use my personal name in a professional capacity—something like you. I am always referred to as 426. My associate is referred to as 189." The man who had approached Bean in the casino inclined his head.

"What, that's all? A number? Code name?"

"My number is symbolic of my function in the Triad. It is a great honor to bear it, and I bear it proudly. Has no one ever asked you why you call yourself 'Bean'?"

"Oh, they ask," said Bean, finally cracking a smile, and sat down, grabbing the pitcher and taking a deep gulp of beer. "OK, Four. You want to talk, I'll talk to ya. But I got about sixty thousand still burnin' a hole in my jeans, so gimme a rain check on any work for a couple of hours. I ain't gonna leave this joint until I'm cleaned out."

"Indeed. Why is this money so dirty?"

Bean's expression went dark and disgusted, as if he had tasted something foul, and he took another swig of beer. "I ain't gonna get into that. No offense, it ain't something I want to talk about." His eyes focused on 426. "You know about it? About...that guy named Sly Brown?"

"I knew Brown, of course."

"You know what happened with him 'n' me? You said something about it at the pier."

"Brown had made an attempt to recruit you, but broke it off after tricking you into carrying a load of drugs. You pursued him to California and caught up to him in Hollywood. There he attempted to have you killed, and when that failed, he fled to San Francisco. You were helped by a young female bounty hunter named—"

"Yeah." Bean put up a hand. "Keep her damn name out of this, hey? If I bust a table in half or something, they're gonna throw me out of here before I've lost all this dough."

"You will become violent at the mention of her name?"

"I got a feeling I might." He stared at the bottom of his pitcher, angry sorrow briefly surfacing on his face.

"I see," said 426, watching carefully. "She planned to rescue Brown from the consequences of his own stupidity. That ended in his apparent death in a fire he set himself, and in your falling out with the young woman. She stole one million dollars in cash from Brown's office, which is still missing. You are wanted by the FBI and the San Francisco—"

"Just a freakin' minute. One million cash? Don'tcha mean half a million?"

Something flared in 426's eyes; a piercing focus that examined Bean's face and manner like an X-ray. "Brown had one million dollars of Triad money with him. None of it has been recovered. We are planning an operation to get it back from Ms—from the bounty hunter. She is still in San Francisco, but the money has not been turned over the FBI, to the best of our knowledge. It's logical, therefore, that she still has it in her possession."

"One million? A whole million?" Bean's eyes went wide, their expression half-demonic. "She screwed me out've that much dough?" His fists clenched and he looked around.

"If you're about to become violent, I'd suggest that you do it in a better cause, Bean. Help us recover the money, and you will get a share. Ten percent finder's fee—one hundred thousand dollars."

"I already got a share, Four." Bean stuck his hands in his pockets. "Everything that was comin' to me, and I kinda spent it already. Which is why I don't want to hear that little bitch's name."

"You got some of the money from her?" 426 raised his brows and drew down the corners of his mouth, as if confirmed of some fact of which he had been skeptical.

"The half million bucks Brown owed me. I was supposed to let her have half of it since she was helpin' me, but I guess she decided to take it all. She tried to hide it from me, but I found it. Now I'm wishin' I'd killed her. She's got another half million somewhere?"

"Apparently so," said 426, his air of reluctantly accepted corroboration deepening. "Brown had it in his possession, but after diligent search of his office, we have not found it. The only other person who could have known it was there, besides his bodyguard and driver, was your erstwhile partner." 426 glanced up through his lashes, turning his hand over to inspect his nails.

"God damn," said Bean.

"You have spent most of the $500,000 you took from her?"

"Yep. It's gone. Got about sixty thou left."

"That is unfortunate," said 426, pulling on his lower lip. "It was not Brown's to dispose of."

"Yeah, sorry. Yer gonna have to take that up with him."

"To the best of your knowledge," said 426 with a searching look, "is Sylvester Brown dead?"

"Sure he is. Burned up in that fire on the pier. I heard him yellin' blue murder in there, and it sure didn't sound like he got out." Bean chuckled.

"And…who put the .32 through Huang's head?"

"She did. Accident, she said, but I reckon she didn't want him to tell me where she'd hid the dough. Why're you so torqued about a lousy million, anyway? You Triad guys must make that in profits every couple of minutes."

"It is the principle of the thing, something I am sure you will understand. One instance of laxness or self-indulgence can undo an entire system."

"Maybe. Seems like you burned off that particular loose end. Auction off his fancy-ass cars or something if you want to get the cash back. It ain't my problem."

426 didn't laugh. He held Bean's gaze with two hard pupils, as bright and glowing as snake eyes under casino lights. "If the Eight Dragon Triad does not recover their money, it may well become your problem, Bean."

"That so?"

"I do not like to make idle threats, so I will not. I merely suggest that if your former partner has stolen that money, you are implicated by association. How do I know that you had no knowledge of the theft? You say you have spent half a million dollars. You and she might simply have split the one million dollars and gone your separate ways."

Bean snarled, his nose wrinkling like a pit bull's. "You think what the hell you want, Four. I am so far from giving a shit about you and your buds that I don't even care if you know I'm goin' back to Frisco right frickin' now, and I'm gonna find that girl and that money. That's the job you want to hire me for, hey? Well, I wouldn't take a dime for that. It's a point of honor."

"Very well," said 426, smiling faintly. "What do you intend to do with the money when you recover it?"

"I dunno. Burn it, if I had any sense. I'm so frickin' sick of this deal..." Bean stared off at the wall of the bar, something contending with anger behind his re-controlled expression.

"If you will return it to me, we will trouble you no more. Or...do what you like with it, and you can consider it a retainer. For six months, renewable and renegotiable. What do you say?"

"Be on yer payroll? I dunno. I ain't worked for anyone in a coon's age, and nothin's happened lately to change my mind."

"Oh, our proposal is not one that will change your life. Simply return to Chicago and take up your usual pursuits again. Once or twice a month, we will call you for a job, with plenty of advance notice. All that we would require is that you keep some space in your schedule for us, and refrain from taking our direct competitors as clients."

"Huh," said Bean noncommittally.

"Most of the work will be routine. We plan to run a regular route from Canadian ports through the Great Lakes, so you will meet a ship in Chicago or Green Bay, or possibly Detroit, and take packages to various drop-off points in the Midwest. You will be free to set your routes and procedures; we know very well that you work best according to your own rules, and we have no intention of cramping your inimitable style." 426 smiled pleasantly. "Your career has been of great interest to our leadership, Bean, as you know. We would like to consider you a comrade, not an adversary."

"Yeah? Why me?"

"Your ability and experience, of course—"

"There's gotta be something else going down, dude. There's other drivers than me, and there's plenty that wouldn't say no to a sweet offer like that. If you know anything about me, you know I ain't exactly the kind to jump at it."

"Perfectly. Yes, there is something else—your racial heritage."

"So that's what the hell he was on to," said Bean. He finished the pitcher and clonked it on the table.

"What who was on to?"

"Brown. He was babblin' about my parents. What frickin' difference does that make? I'm some kinda Injun halfbreed—who cares, besides redneck assholes? What do you care?"

"You are half Japanese, Bean. Did you not know that?"

"Ahh, horseshit," snorted Bean. "I ain't some little monkey that eats raw fish. Yer pullin' my leg."

426 looked blank for a moment. "According to Brown's research, your father was a famous yokozuna, a champion sumo wrestler, which may account for your size. You truly didn't know this?"

"No, I didn't, and if it's something you're gonna live and die by, better get up and walk out now. Thanks for the beer."

Taken aback, 426 stared at Bean for some time. "Well...we are an Asian organization..."

"That hires a white-eyes like Brown? Heh, heh."

"Point taken," said 426. "Well, you were originally singled out for your skill, not your background—that was the deciding factor, but not the only one." He waved a hand. "Your Asian blood is a fact nevertheless. I would still like to call such a professional my comrade. Does the proposal appeal to you in any way?"

"Yer talkin' drugs, I gather."

"I am. China White, the best and purest heroin in the world. The market expands daily, and we can afford to pay whatever you require. I should mention that you will receive your usual fee for each run, in addition to the retainer. We don't wish you to have any cause for complaint."

"You know, Four, I kind of like a guy that'll say what he means. That don't mean I'm a wage slave, though. And I don't like smack."

"I have heard that. I have also heard that you dislike betrayal. Is it not true that you originally stopped running drugs at the request of...the bounty hunter?"

"Where'd you hear that?"

"From Brown."

"No shit? How'd he know that?"

"The bounty hunter told him."

Bean's lips curled back from his teeth. "That little bitch..."

"She told him a great deal about you, and about your dealings with her. For instance..." 426 cleared his throat apologetically, tapping his fingertips together. "I mention this only in illustration, you understand. She told Brown you attempted to have sexual relations with her, and that she refused you—"

"Bullshit!" hissed Bean.

"A lie?"

"Yeah." His fists clenched on the table. "She was workin' on me and I didn't fall for it...at least, not in the end." Bean's head drooped and a few strands of his hair fell over his eyes. "I ain't no iron man, not when a girl like that..."

426 waited for a few moments, but Bean was silent, hand working over the lower part of his face. "She has injured you," he said quietly, but not with sympathy. His eyes seemed as cold as a lizard's as he stared at Bean's bowed head. "She has betrayed your secrets, cheated you, smeared your name. Regain your honor."

"By doin' what I promised her not to do, you mean? Two wrongs make it all right?" Bean looked at 426 with a suddenly haggard expression.

"Is it wrong to do what you are the best at doing?"

"What is it you do, Four? Ol' Red Mountain didn't say nothing about yer professional specialty. You the best at it?"

"I don't like to say it myself—"

"Yeah, yeah. What does four-twenty-six add up to?"

426 glanced casually around the room, then flicked back the right lapel of his jacket. The finely machined butt of a black steel Sig P229 automatic protruded from a close-fitting shoulder holster.

Bean's eyes focused on it and lost their weary questioning look, sharpening and closing off at the same time. The jacket fell into place again.

"I am Red Pole 426, chief of assassins. And yes, I am the best at what I do. I enjoy my work and I carry out my duty. I do not expect you to share that sense of duty to the Triad—not yet. But it is my guiding principle in all things."

"They got their own rules, huh? Duty equals murder?"

"Execution of our enemies and our wayward members. Every society must have order and accountability, and its rules must provide for punishment of crime. I have heard that you also make your own rules, Bean."

"Yeah...like I don't run drugs."

"If you place a woman's—that woman's—scruples higher than your own profit and profession, that is your business." 426 let out a slight snort through his nose. "It is not what I have heard about Bean Bandit, the famous Roadbuster, I confess. But image and reality are seldom the same thing." He rose and put down his drink, as did 189. "Ms. Rally Vincent seems to have the upper hand at last."

Bean let out a furious growl and kicked the table over, sending glasses flying. The bartender jumped, but stood still at 426's glance. "I don't want to hear that name, dude!" Bean surged to his feet, looming over 426 by a full head. "You think you can make me run in any direction you like if ya wave her like a frickin' red flag? Watch yer ass!"

"I apologize," said 426, holding up a hand. "To be honest, you seem attached to her still. I only mean to advise you against giving her such power."

"You think I got a weak spot or something? No way, Four. That day won't ever come!"

"If you say so. Would you like some time to consider my offer? Of course, every day that money remains missing increases the odds that you will not be able to recover it. Please treat the immediate situation as a separate matter from longer-term employment. Will you act now to prevent her from escaping with her ill-gotten gains? If you accept this as a job—no payment if you insist—the Eight Dragon Triad can mobilize its resources to aid you in any manner you choose, or keep out of it entirely. If not, we may act at cross-purposes and get in each other's way. Won't you take the logical decision?"

Bean glanced up at the mirrored ceiling of the bar, his image shattered into multiple tiles above his head. "Sell myself to ya for a little while?" He smiled tightly. "Yeah, yer makin' sense. If she can be a whore for half a million, why not me?" He stalked out of the bar, shoulders hunched, face frozen. A numbered Dragon flanked him on each side.


"Shouldn't we call the FBI?" asked May, opening Rally's rifle bag on the floor of Larry Sam's hospital room. "They could set up more guards or something!"

"I do NOT want to talk to Smith OR Wesson for ONE more second today…" growled Rally, coiling up a length of rope she had used to hoist the bag through the third-story window of the room. "But I guess I might have to." She took out her cell phone and dialed Smith's number. It rang several times and went to voicemail. "Ah, Agent Smith, this is Rally Vincent. There's a real wedge into the Eight Dragon Triad in this very room, and I know what it is, and you don't. It's about to draw an assassination attempt. Call me back." She clicked off and put the phone away.

"Yow," said May. She took out some C4 and several grenades.

"Let him get mad!" Rally pulled her CZ75 from the bulging bag and strapped on the shoulder holster. "And the ten-gauge… You locked the trunk?"

"Yes, I left the rifle there like you told me. You really think the FBI are going to care? They went over the car already. Though they didn't see that tracer!" May held up a small round item. "It was a good thing the body panels were bent, because I might not have found it otherwise. I left it functioning for now…do you want me to smash it?"

"No. I have an idea for that little thing. As long as I don't actually use a firearm that's illegal in California, they probably won't come down on me. They're Feds, not state officials." Rally loaded her shotgun and pumped the handgrip. "I doubt it would come in handy here, anyway. It'll be close-range work if the Dragons burst into the room."

"Oh, man…" said Larry from his bed, eyes bugging out at their guns and explosives. "I don't like this kind of stuff even when I'm mobile…"

"Don't worry, Larry. You're assassin bait tonight, but I have something for you." Rally took a Kevlar vest from the rifle bag. "I'll put this over your chest, doubled. That will absorb any handgun rounds, and you can pull it over your head if necessary. OK?" She tucked it around him, trying not to dislodge his tubes, and pulled the covers up over it.

"Ah ha ha...I don't think I've got anything to say about this, do I?"

"Nope," said Rally, smiling and patting his head.

"What's going on in there?" asked the San Francisco cop outside the closed door.

"Officer, you might want to call a little backup. Mr. Sam here is fairly sure that a Chinese mob assassin will be here in no time. Don't open the door unless we invite you to, OK?"

The cop made a strangled sound, and she heard him click on his radio. "Lieutenant, there's a possible situation…"

"May, keep an eye out the window. You have the door rigged yet?"

"Just about," said May, cutting a piece of wire with snips. "Anyone comes in without my say-so, he gets a BIG surprise!"

"Ack!" said Larry. "You might kill someone!"

"That's the idea," said Rally, loosening her CZ75 in the holster and putting on a pair of reinforced shooting range goggles. She waggled her fingers and did a quick draw, aiming at the door, then replaced the gun and shook her arms and legs to limber them up. "We are set. Let 'em come."

"Who the hell are you girls?" said Larry, appalled. "Where did you learn this stuff?"

"Ssshh…" said May, looking out the window. "I see two men. Dark suits, both Asian. Coming right to the front entrance."

"Either of them middle-aged, with a salt and pepper buzzcut?"

"No, they both look under thirty. They're inside."

"Just lieutenants, then. Take up position at the door." May moved across the room and grabbed her detonator cord.

The room phone rang, and Rally picked it up. "Yes?"

"There's a couple of visitors for Mr. Sam. His cousins, Edward and David Chang."

"Sure, he's awake," said Rally brightly. "Send 'em up!" She repeated the names to Larry.

"I have Chang cousins, yes. They live in New York and they have not flown out to see me." Larry settled the Kevlar vest around his torso a little more tightly.

"Officer, that backup here yet?" called Rally through the door.

"No, ma'am. On their way."

"Better get out of the line of fire, then. They are probably going to come in shooting." Rally's cell phone rang. "Rally Vincent here."

"Listen to me, you little—" began Smith.

"Agent Smith, I'm a little busy right now. UCSF Medical Center, room 351. Larry Sam knows the Dragon chief assassin very, very well. Two goons coming up in the elevator now." She turned to May. "Give them a couple of flash-bangs first, then leave the door ajar and duck. Officer! You out of the way?"

"I'm in the next room. Got my .45 peeking out the door."

"Sounds good. Keep your eyes closed when the grenades come—"

"Miss Vincent, what the HELL are you doing?"

"Keeping your wedge safe and sound. If you want to get here in time for the fireworks, step on it!" Rally eased the door slightly open. Here came the elevator—ching—the doors slid back—feet in the corridor. "They're coming, May." Jackets flipping back, the snap of two holsters, a sharp slide-click of two automatics cocking. She pointed at May, who pulled her pins, and waited until the men were nearly to the door. "Go!" May threw.

BOMF! BOMF! White-hot magnesium flashes, the shock wave hitting—"Aiiggh!" Rally darted out as the men yelled, left hands to eyes, the waiting room papers and magazines flying off the tables. KRAK KRAK KRAK KRAK said her CZ75, and she drilled two right thumbs and two right shoulders. One man caught his gun with the left hand and fired at her, ramming the door open. BAM! Rally skipped aside. KRAK! The bullet lodged in the wall behind Larry, and she took off the Dragon's left trigger finger at the same moment.

WHABAM! May's booby trap went off.

"Aagghh…!" The Dragon collapsed, most of his hair and clothing gone. The other assassin flopped around on the floor, screaming. Rally kicked their guns away and holstered hers.

"Good placement!" she said to May, and reached for her handcuffs as the elevator chimed again. Six or eight SFPD officers stampeded down the hallway, yelling.

"Freeze!" Since she was the only person still standing outside the room, the cops all aimed at her. "Drop the holster! Put 'em up!"

"Can I cuff 'em first?" said Rally, smiling. She let her ID flip open in her hand. "My name's Rally Vincent, from Chicago. Bounty hunter!"


"You…crazy…little…"

"Lady?" chirped Rally, sitting on Larry Sam's bed and holding his hand as a nurse checked his tubes and gave him an injection of painkiller. "C'mon, Agent Smith, we did good!" Dozens of police and FBI agents milled in the corridor, discussing security arrangements.

"Jesus…" Smith groaned, apparently unable to refute that contention. "You couldn't have called the cops?"

"We did!" said May, packing up extra grenades. "We were here already; they weren't!"

"I can see so many illegal items in this room you two could pull ten years if you aren't careful! Where in God's name did you get hold of THAT?" He pointed to one of May's frag shells.

"Gosh, it's not like they're hard to buy!" sniffed May. "I went shopping this afternoon and I scored pretty well for being an out-of-towner!"

"I think he's about ready to say something to you," said Rally, getting up from Larry's bed, but retaining his hand in hers. "Special Agent Peter Smith, meet Lawrence Sam, restauranteur and Triad expert."

"Hello," said Larry, his eyes already drooping. "Pardon me; I'm a little…"

"Hello, soldier," said Smith gruffly, but, to Rally's surprise, with a kindly undertone. "You bucking for a Purple Heart?"

"Kind of by accident…yes, sir." They shook hands.

"You willing to testify about the Dragons, soldier? Miss Vincent here says you have a hell of an angle."

"Yes, sir. I will tell you everything I've ever…heard." Larry glanced at Rally with a faint smile. "When I can sit up straighter, that is..."

"You get well, kid." Smith put a hand on Larry's shoulder and stepped back. "Nice call," he said to Rally, and headed for the door. "We're in your debt, Miss Vincent."

Rally's mouth fell open in shock, and remained that way. May finished packing and slung the rifle bag over her shoulder. "The nurse wants us to get out of here and let him sleep. The place is swarming with fuzz, so he's safe now. It's about bedtime for us, too!"

"Rally…" she heard faintly from the bed.

"Larry?" she answered softly, squeezing his hand.

"Thank you."

"I owed you. It's nothing."

"No, I owe you. If you hadn't come along…I might never have had the courage to do this. Thank you for bringing Smith...he seems like a good guy. I'll talk to him as soon as I can."

"Yeah? I'm not saying he's a great conversationalist or anything. I warn you, you may feel like giving him a whirlie within two minutes. Though at least he won't call you 'little lady'." Rally got up and put her purse on her shoulder.

"You…are not the kind of woman who's ever going to be a restauranteur's girlfriend, are you, Rally? You're incredible. Frightening…but incredible. It's going to take a hell of a man to keep up with you. I hope he deserves you…"

Unfortunately, she knew whom Larry meant. "Good luck, Larry. I know luck's supposed to be your stock in trade. But I think you deserve better than you got. Truly." She bent to kiss his forehead as his eyes closed, and one weak hand reached up. She let him guide her lips to his. Cold and dry, but with some promise of future warmth. "'Bye."

$100

"What do you mean by 'whore'?" 426's eyes narrowed. "If you mean to imply that service to the Eight Dragon Triad is—"

Bean laughed mirthlessly, striding across the casino floor with the Dragons following in his wake. "Ahh, I told ya the bitch was workin' on me. She tried to distract me or something. I found the cash in the trunk of her Cobra, and she always kept it double-locked. No one else could've put it there. She was tryin' to pull the wool over my eyes, so she jumped my bones right there in the car." For a moment his face contorted; his voice went hoarse. "Screwed me so sweet I couldn't see straight. Frickin' little slut."

"I see. But she didn't stop you from taking the money?"

"Nope. She had a gun on me, but she didn't fire. Wouldn't have done her any good anyhow—just a nine-millimeter." Bean shrugged his shoulders inside his armored jacket and zipped the front up halfway.

426 blinked in surprise. "She had a high-powered rifle. That would have penetrated your personal armor."

"Yeah, had it right in her hand, but she pulled out the automatic, that fancy Czech one. She likes that gun—keeps the long arms locked in the—" Bean stopped abruptly, eyes dilating and pupils contracting. He licked his lips, which were trembling oddly.

"Yes?"

"Nothin'." The slight tremor had spread to his hands, and to his breathing, but an unyielding will seemed to keep it in check as he spoke rapidly. "I'm gonna head back to Frisco. I'll keep that offer in mind. You give me a call if you want to get in touch." He flicked a business card at 426, took the one offered to him and headed for the elevators. 426 and 189 looked at each other, then at Bean's retreating back, and shrugged.

"What do you think, sir?" said 189.

"I honestly don't know," replied 426. "But we should give him a little more time. He will have to spend a few hours on the road back to San Francisco, and he will surely think it over on the way. If he contacts us, well and good. If not, we have done our best. Let us return to headquarters and make our report to Red Mountain." The two Dragons left the casino, hailing a cab outside in the night. "At any rate, his services will be useful for eighteen months at most. It will not be easy to kill that man, but I have time to think as well." A cab pulled up, and 189 opened the door. "Airport," said 426, and the Dragons departed.


"What would it be like, May? Just you and me?"

"Hmm?" said May drowsily.

"No one else. The two of us together the way it used to be, only us. The Gunsmith Cats..."

"No one else?"

"No one. Just us."

"It was nice. I liked it."

"So did I."

"I know you don't like Ken, Rally...but I love him."

"I know."

"I am a horny little slut, of course, so I worked in a whorehouse when I lost touch with him. That was just sex. I love Ken and when I make love with him, he's all I can think about. Maybe that means I have a blind spot...but that's the way it is. You can't always choose what is going to be your destiny in life."

"Is he your destiny?"

"Yes."

"You sound very sure."

"I am."

"I wish I knew what mine was."

"You will."

"Will I? I thought it was doing what I do. Bringing criminals back to jail. With you helping me."

"Maybe it was for a while." May rolled over in bed and put a hand under her head. "Things change."

"Does destiny change?"

"I don't know. Hey, Ral, you're only twenty-one. What's the hurry?"

"You're twenty and you already found yours."

"I found it a long time ago. But you don't think that was a good thing anyway. Why be envious?"

"It's just...Ken sees you as a little girl. He likes you that way, and you even took drugs to stay small for him. But you have to change, May. You have to grow up. That baby..."

"I know." May stroked her round stomach. "But it'll work out, you'll see. Me and Junior will be OK."

"You've been so sick. It's five months now and the book said the nausea would stop in the third..."

"Oh, some people barf all the way through! It's no biggie."

"I'll remind you that you said that the next time you lose your lunch on the street." May made a raspberry, and they laughed. "I love you, May, you know that?"

"I know. I love you too."

"Will I ever love someone the way you love Ken?"

"A man, you mean? I don't know."

"What if I fell in love with the wrong man?"

"The wrong man?"

"Someone who wasn't good for me. Someone who didn't share my way of looking at things."

"I don't know that I'd call that BAD..."

"But wouldn't that be the wrong kind of man for me?"

"I don't know if you can pick it that way. He's just who he is. He's not some kind of man, right or wrong; he's one man, a particular man, and he's the one you love. Nothing else matters."

"Maybe I'm a lesbian?"

May chuckled. "You sound hopeful."

"It seems simpler."

"Dealing with women? Really? After living with ME, you can say that?" May giggled.

"OK, maybe not!" Rally rolled her eyes in the dark.

"And it's not like it's something you can choose...well, you could choose to live any way you liked, of course, but I don't think you can change yourself from one to the other just because you'd prefer it that way or someone else would prefer it that way. You like who you like. You're stuck with 'em the way they are, women OR men!"

"Men are just so DIFFERENT..."

"Oh, not so different. They go about things differently, maybe."

"Well, sure, there you go."

"Well, they ARE people, believe it or not! They want the same things at bottom. Warm place to sleep, something to eat, and someone to love. Fire, food, frig. That's all it ever adds up to, no matter how you get what you want or what your tastes are. Burgers or roots and grubs or caviar; you have to eat something. Love comes in a lot of varieties too, but everyone wants it."

"Love? Really?"

"Sex, maybe. To be close to someone."

"But they're not the same thing, are they?"

"If they don't have something to do with each other, then neither of them has a lot of meaning. That's why they say 'body and soul'. I mean, I know I'm not the spiritual kind. I don't talk about purity or innocence when I talk about love. When I say I love Ken, I think about screwing him and I think about how he makes me feel in bed. But I've had a lot of men, more than most women would ever think about having. Some of them were rotten in bed and some of them were fantastic. Most of them I managed to have a good time with one way or another. Not a single one of them made me feel the way Ken does.

"I thought about him all the time when I was separated from him. I never forgot him even though I had all the sex I wanted and them some. So even for me it's more than just wanting sex, though I do want sex. Sex without love is a business transaction—you do me, I'll do you. Maybe money changes hands or maybe it doesn't. You scratch an itch. Plenty of people will think they're satisfied with that because that's all they wanted anyway. No problem, except for the fact that they haven't touched the essence of the matter. Like eating candy instead of a good meal and still feeling hungry. Sex with love...ahh. Now that's destiny."

"Does one ever...change to the other? Can people have sex just for...for a business transaction, and then have it turn into something else?"

"Well, sure, I guess so. That never happened to me, of course. I knew a couple of girls who ended up living with men they met at the house. But I always loved Ken. It was never business with him. I wanted him and when I let him know it, he wanted me too. Simple as that."

"Oh..."

"Are you trying to figure something out, Rally?"

"Maybe. I'm going to have to sleep on it..."

"Good night, then."

"G'night."


"Locked in the trunk," said Bean softly, leaning on the Up button in front of the casino elevators. "Locked in the trunk..." He repeated the phrase over and over as if his brain could not quite absorb or process the simple meaning of the words, mumbling through the fingers of his left hand and slowly moving his head from side to side. "Locked in the trunk. Took out the shotgun once, but never the rifle. Never used the damn rifle 'cause it wasn't legal in frickin' California..."

His fists clenched and his face grew alternately pale and reddish brown. "Hid it in the goddamn double-locked trunk. Never showed it to no one except me..."

His voice failed as the elevator doors opened. Bean got on and pressed the button for his floor. The elevator walls were mirrored, and he raised his head and looked at the endlessly repeated reflection of himself.

As the elevator ascended, an elderly couple waiting by the doors on Bean's floor heard a splintering, tinkling crash in the shaft, which repeated itself four or five times. The doors opened and Bean got off and brushed past the couple, shaking his opened hands with a peculiar look.

His knuckles were chopped to raw meat; small razors of glass sparkled in his fresh cuts. Remnants of the mirrored panels fell to the floor of the elevator and broke, spattering drops of blood from their surfaces.

"Jesus H. Christ!" whispered the man to his wife. "That guy punched all the glass out! Did you see what a mess he made of his hands?"

"He must have lost big," said his wife. "God, his face."

"Must have," said the man, looking after Bean. "But still."