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.

I'm Leavin' You © Chester Burnett (Howlin' Wolf)
Why Should I Hang Around; I Got the Blues © Big Maceo Merriweather

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 Twenty-Six

"Good to see you back, Bean." Louis put a hand on Bean's shoulder as he passed by his booth. "Hope your luck is holding out."

"Hey, I'm alive." Bean stubbed out the remains of his cigarette, coughed and reached for his pitcher of beer, which held only dregs. "Thanks for the welcome."

"My privilege." Louis stepped behind the bar of the Blues Room and drew another pitcher. The musicians on the stage started up a slow rhythm. Bass and drums throbbing, guitar wailing, keyboard jamming, and a deep voice growling out a blues lyric. Half a dozen couples crowded on the tiny dance floor. Bean's head nodded slightly in time to the beat, his expression dark and guarded. His leather jacket lay folded on the seat beside him; he wore a collared shirt, his hair slicked back.

"Well maybe in the mornin', I don't know
Baby don't know, just how soon
But I'm leavin' you…

Woman I've got to put you down
Well if you can't treat me right
Ain't no use for me hangin' around…"

Someone slid into the booth with him: a woman about his age. Her legs were long, her skin smooth and copper-brown. "Hey, this seat's lookin' lonely."

"If you say so." Bean nodded at the cocktail waitress who brought him his refill and reached for his wallet to tip her. The woman ordered a drink.

"Haven't seen you here before, sugar. But Louis seems to know you, so that's an endorsement."

"Yeah, we got a little acquainted the other day." Bean drank deep.

"My, you're awfully thirsty." The woman smiled, softening the firm elegance of her features. "Oh, I won't pretend I don't know who you are. I heard about that one-sided fracas. Right outside the door of this club."

"Yeah?"

"Louis's account of your fighting prowess is expanding with the passage of time. I thought he might be exaggerating."

"Reckon he was."

"Oh, I don't know." Her eyes lingered on the breadth of Bean's shoulders. "I'm not gettin' that impression." He returned the appraisal, his glance passing over the low neckline of her dress.

The woman's drink came and Bean passed a bill to the waitress before she could open her purse. "Why, thank you. Bean, right?" The woman extended a hand, slim bracelets tinkling on her wrist. "I'm Lucille."

He examined her again before shaking hands, his sharp eyes narrowed. "Pleased to meet you, Lucille."

"What you looking so doubtful for, Bean? When a good-lookin' woman sits down with you in a club, you got to wonder why?" Her smile grew wider. "Well, a fightin' man has to watch his back, I suppose."

"You might suppose that." He withdrew his hand.

"You want to dance? You strike me as a man with coordination."

"Thanks, but I ain't much on dancin'."

"Then you mind if I finish my drink in your company?"

"Nope." He brought out his cigarettes with an inquiring gesture. Lucille gave him a smile of assent but held up a hand to refuse a smoke. Bean lit one and left the pack on the table. He took a drag and coughed again, deep and rasping in his throat.

"Gracious, Bean, that's a hella cold you got there."

"Naw, it ain't contagious." He took a swig of beer. "I got me a few lungfuls of smoke. Ten days ago, so it's not botherin' me much now." But he stubbed the cigarette out and didn't light another.

"Lungs full of smoke? I guess you did." She leaned closer. "You're the guy with the red car."

Bean stared at the stage with a distant look in his eyes.

"My cousin's a firefighter. He was there. He saw you drive up in that car, he saw you take that girl into the fire, and he was surprised as all get out when both of you came out again."

"Guess I was too. A little." Bean half-smiled.

"Didn't she end up in the hospital? I read that in the papers. She was on oxygen for a while, poor thing."

"She's OK. They let her out Monday afternoon." Bean fiddled with his cigarettes.

"That's good to hear. You took her some flowers while she was sick?" Lucille touched his arm. "Gave her a visit or two to cheer her up?"

"Too much fuzz around." Lucille shook her head in reproof, and he rolled his eyes. "She ain't the flower kind anyway. But she was gettin' lotsa swag. Bags 'n' boxes goin' in all day long."

"I'm not surprised. She's the celebrity of the month." She waited for a response and when none came she cocked her head. "You didn't get the same treatment, sugar. They didn't even mention your name. But then you did say somethin' about the fuzz."

He made a noncommittal quirk of his mouth. "I prefer it that way."

"I see, you like your privacy." Lucille leaned back and rolled her shoulders against the upholstery, raising her breasts. Bean's eyes wandered down her throat and torso. "You have that reputation…Roadbuster."

His gaze flicked up like a knife. "I gather my name's circulatin' in the Frisco rackets."

"All over the streets by now, honey. The king of the road, visitin' from Chi-town and cuttin' himself a swath."

"Yeah, I cut that swath right through some of those rackets." Bean's right hand went to his jacket and straight to an interior pocket; he slid his gaze from side to side, taking in the whole room at a glance. "Got some friends waitin' for you outside? Bring it on, babe."

Lucille shrugged with one shoulder and pursed her full lips. "Some of us local citizens be willin' to give you a welcome, Bean, 'least for the right price. Some others who know of you—well, the less said the better." She glanced up under her lashes. "You judge for yourself whose side I'm on."

Bean suddenly grinned, and then settled back and took a drink. "What's your line, Lucille?"

"I'm a good listener."

"A nose, huh? Your game is info?"

"I talk to a lot of people. No harm in talk, is there?"

"Depends." He considered for a moment. "Seems I just handed you some dope. What you offering in exchange?"

"Who do you want it on?" She swirled the ice in her glass. "That lady we were discussing?"

"Good as anything."

"Well, she's always written up in the same paragraph with one of those guys she rescued. That Larry Sam is a dish, honey, if his pictures don't lie."

Bean's expression fogged over. He put an unlit cigarette between his lips.

Lucille tapped her chin with an index finger and peered at him. "You know about the Sam banquet?"

He frowned. "Banquet?"

"The Sams and their friends are holding a big event to celebrate. Sunday—three nights away. She's the guest of honor along with her little partner. The word's being passed that you'd be welcome too."

"No shit."

"Uh-huh. It's a flag of truce. Some guy called Agent Smith is guaranteeing no arrests that night."

"Smith, huh?" Bean shifted the cigarette to the other side of his mouth. "Sounds like a real party."

"Oh, it's gonna be a humdinger—about two hundred people and all the food and booze they can hold. Everybody who's anybody in Chinatown is going to be there. Even the mayor's planning to put in an appearance. Speaking of celebrations, rumor has it the Sams are going to take the occasion to announce their son is engaged."

The cigarette fell. Bean picked it up and tried to put it in his mouth again. He paused and coughed in a harsh, croaking rattle.

Lucille watched him, slowly shaking her head. "That enough dope for you, Bean?"

"Yeah." The cigarette disintegrated in his fingers.

"So you going to take them up on the invitation?"

He glanced up at her. For a fleeting moment, the ice cracked. He clenched his jaw and froze his features into a hard mask, but Lucille's eyes went wide and warm.

"Honey, I've been wondering about that deal with you and her ever since I heard about it." She played with a few drops of water on the table, moving them around, merging and separating. "Maybe it makes sense that a woman would want to save her man from burning up in a fire, even if it was a mutha-crazy thing to do."

"Maybe." Bean rubbed his temples with one hand, hiding his face.

"But why would a guy like you ride straight into the valley of death with her?"

"Sounds like you think you know the answer to that, Lucille." He showed his teeth. She flinched.

"Hey, be cool. If I'm asking that question, so are a lot of other people."

"Like it's everybody's damn business? Well, crap—I guess I can't stop 'em from talkin'. Unless I get my hands on whoever's spreading shit about me." He cracked his knuckles in a rolling volley.

"There's plenty of word going around, Bean, though I wouldn't call it shit. You probably want to know the sound of it, considerin' it's got to do with your rep. I'm just the messenger, dig?"

His scowl eased somewhat, though his brows still creased over his scar. "The Roadbuster ain't gone soft, if that's what they're saying." His voice rose. "That day ain't never going to come."

"Soft? When you almost got burned up just to finish a job? Lost your car and still got yourself shy of the cops?" Lucille gave a melodious laugh. "Now why on earth would anybody be sayin' you'd gone soft?"

Bean said nothing, his jaw working. He finished his beer, wiped his lips with an aggressive swipe and shoved the empty pitcher away.

"I don't know that I'd believe all the yap I heard. Unless I heard it straight from the source. But what I hear sounds kind of…" She watched Bean's face as if what she sought could be read in a blank page. "Well, I only know how it looks to me. Just plain heartwarmin'. If that's a word anyone should apply to you."

Bean signaled to Louis, who had already drawn him a fresh pitcher. The waitress put it down in front of him and took away the empty one. He gulped two-thirds of it in twenty seconds.

Lucille's expression was soft and earnest. "This isn't really business, Bean. I won't be repeatin' anything about you. I just can't quit thinking about it ever since I heard the story, that's all."

Turning in his seat, Bean watched the musicians and ignored her.

"She said she didn't want me, why should I hang around?
Hey, why should I hang around?
And that if I hang around, I would be jail house bound…

"I love that woman, more than she will ever know
Yes, I love her
Hey baby, more than you will ever know
But if you drive me away, I won't be back no more…"

Lucille rapped the table and stood up. "Sorry, I just like to talk. You have a nice evening, Bean. I'm going to say only one more thing to you, because I never could keep my big mouth shut."

Without moving his head, he bent his unsmiling gaze on her.

"Remember, she's a woman. Black, white or brown, we got certain things in common. Other than sentimental ideas, that is."

"Yeah. So?"

"So I remember being that young. She's not liable to come straight out with it, and no one can read that book when the leadin' lady don't know how the story goes." Lucille leaned a little closer and put a crisp emphasis on her words. "But if you don't even be stickin' around to ask her, you never gonna know how it ends."

Bean's eyes slid to the stage and back again. "Ask her what?"

"Never mind, honey. Good night now. I'll go drink with Louis."

"Naw. Hold on a second, Lucille." He briefly closed his eyes, exhaled, and rose from his seat. "I guess I remember how to dance."

"All right, let's dance." She held up her arms to him.

"Just tell me baby, just tell me baby
What can I do to change your mind?
Hey hey, baby can I change your mind?
I got the freight train blues, the tracks is out-a line…

You got a man in the east, an' a man in the west
Just sittin' here wonderin' who you love the best
Hey hey, what can I do to change your mind?
I got the blues for you baby, you keep me worried all the time…"

In the narrow corridor that led to the toilets, Lucille pulled Bean's shirt collar aside and put a fingertip on the side of his throat, just under the parallel red scars. Mouthing a cold cigarette, he looked down at her.

"You did that for her too, didn't you?" Lucille moved her hand to rest on his chest.

"I got a debt in regard to that lady."

"I suppose you do. But you got to tell her, y'hear? It all be for nothin' if you don't say nothin'."

"What the hell am I gonna say?" He rolled his eyes at the ceiling.

"That you're made like a real man. Your inside workings ain't welded steel and bulletproof glass. That's nothing to be ashamed of, being a real man."

He took the cigarette from his lips, leaned down and kissed her hard. Lucille let out a gasp, but it wasn't in surprise. She looked at Bean with melting eyes.

"Now what was that for, sugar?"

"You're a pretty lady, Lucille." He hooked an arm around her waist and bent to her lips again. Lucille's eyes closed; she clung to his shirt front and pressed against his body. Her mouth parted for him. Bean pulled back from the kiss and examined her with a cool glance.

Her eyes opened and she smiled with a tinge of regret. "I know what you're after, Bean. I don't need you to pretend anything for my benefit."

He straightened up and folded his arms. "Guess not."

"So let's talk business first, to avoid any misunderstanding on either part."

"Fine by me."

She pursed her lips. "I imagine you don't want to stay in the same place two nights running. Or leave a paper trail at hotels. So you figure I might be able to provide you with a safe flop...if I like you enough not to sell you to the highest bidder."

"Yeah, well…lately I've been sleepin' in my car. It's kinda distinctive, so I got to move it every couple hours. If the Frisco blue ever gets a good whiff of me, I might have to cause some damage." He chewed the inside of his cheek and looked up and down the corridor. "You got a garage at your place, Lucille? Parking off the street?"

"Why yes, I do. Easy enough to make room for your ride, big man."

"What's the rate? You want cash?" He reached into his jacket.

"Well, the parking fee's negotiable. I'm not in the habit of takin' money for a warm bed. Not yet, anyway." Lucille glanced down and up again into his face. "I didn't sit down with you just because I wanted to pass the dope, honey. I'm old enough to say it straight out." She guided Bean's lips down to hers.

"Guess you are."

"One night at my place, and then you'll be moving on." Her eyes filled with greater regret. "No charge, Bean. Just follow me home, park that car and come on inside. I'll even cook you breakfast."

He smiled down at her, though his eyes remained distant. "Oh, I always settle my tab, Lucille."


"I'm reaaady, Froggy!" May let herself into Rally's room, jumped on the bed and giggled. Her bright, flouncy maternity dress flew up and down, flashing her panties. She landed on her back and grinned. "You must be feeling a little distracted these days, Rally."

"Why do you say that?" Rally leaned towards the mirror and opened her mouth wide to put on her second coat of mascara.

"You haven't even asked about your CAR!"

"Huh? I thought you said they were keeping it in the Federal Building garage for me. I didn't really feel up to driving anyway." She smacked her lips, blotted them with a tissue and applied lip gloss. "But I'll take the limo to the banquet—it's no big deal. I'll get plenty of time behind the wheel when we leave tomorrow."

"Oh, no. No limo for you." May bounced up and took Rally's elbow. "Get your shoes on and come down!"

"I'm not ready! I still have to—"

"You're gorgeous! Let's go, they're waiting."

"Who's waiting? Not Roy—he's riding in that chauffeured wheelchair van with his wife." Rally picked up her garter holster and her little Du0, hiked the stiff brocade skirt of her new cheongsam up around her waist and strapped the gun on her left thigh between the top of her stocking and the bottom of her garter belt. "Oh, I meant to ask you. Did it come yet? It was supposed to arrive today!"

"It's in my purse, so don't worry—we'll surprise him at the banquet. Come and see!" May tugged her towards the door. Rally hauled her cheongsam down, grabbed her red satin evening bag and slipped on a pair of matching high-heeled pumps. She couldn't walk very fast in them, but she followed May to the elevator.

"What's the big mystery, anyway?"

"Nothing mysterious about it! Our ride is here and he called up to the room." The elevator doors opened to the hotel lobby. Rally stepped out and looked around. Pete Smith came forward, Sue Wojohowicz just behind him,.

"I'd be honored to escort you lovely ladies to the party." He grinned at them and spread his arms. "And I'm dressed for the part tonight." She had never seen Smith in anything other than baggy sport coats; tonight he had on a good dark suit and red tie.

"You certainly are, Agent Smith. We'd be honored to accept." May bounced over and slipped her hand under his elbow.

Wojohowicz wore a short, spaghetti-strap cocktail dress—the first time Rally had noticed her legs, which were long and curvaceous in a muscular way—and a romantically curled hairdo. In heels she was well over six feet, and she had put on enough makeup for a fashion model. For a moment Rally didn't even recognize her.

"You look great, Agent! Totally glam."

"Sue, please. Tonight at least, I'm just Sue. You are going to knock them dead in that dress, Rally. That fits you like a glove."

She linked arms with Rally as they crossed the lobby and went out through the revolving glass doors. Heads turned at the sight of them: a tall, athletic blonde and a slim, shapely brunette arm in arm, each dressed to the nines and sparkling with jewelry. Rally put some runway strut into her walk in spite of herself.

Wojohowicz smiled at her. "I hear you're not wild about this whole thing. I don't want to hog your limelight, because heaven knows you deserve it, but if you want me to try to draw off a little of the attention…"

"Perfect. You definitely picked the right outfit for it! Thanks, Sue."

They all descended the steps to the street. Smith signaled to the doorman, who spoke into a walkie-talkie. From somewhere nearby resounded a deep engine note, something as familiar to Rally as her own voice. Her GT-500 Mustang Cobra, shining blue and white, rounded the corner of the hotel and stopped directly in front of them. The uniformed parking valet at the wheel jumped out and gave the keys to Smith, who tipped him.

"Thank you, sir. But just getting to drive that car one block already made my night!"

In the early-evening light, the Cobra had a different air from the last time she had seen it. Not just a good wash and wax? Rally took a closer look and let out a whoop.

"Pete! You FIXED MY CAR!" She ran to it as fast as she could in those heels and embraced the roof and windshield. The scrapes and scars were gone; even the missing chrome and cracked window had been replaced. Everything sparkled, smooth and sharp and shiny. May jumped up and down, giggling and clapping at Rally's delight.

"Courtesy of Uncle Sam." Smith beamed at her. "Full engine tune-up, lots of bodywork and a custom glass job. What else was I going to do with that jalopy while you were in the hospital?"

"That's SO sweet of you!" Rally threw her arms around Smith's neck and gave him a kiss on the cheek. He turned red. "And you tooled it around town just a little in the process of getting it repaired, right?"

"Well…" The red burned a little deeper. "I didn't think you'd mind."

"Of course not, Pete. You're welcome!" She gave his hand a hearty shake and took the keys. "But tonight, I'm driving!"


At a large hall with a big parking lot in front, Rally slowed and pulled over. An attendant in a red uniform gestured her into a space by the street. Cars were still arriving, both private sedans and rented limousines, but a large crowd in evening dress stood outside the tall double doors of the hall, talking and milling around.

"Are we late or early?" Rally got out and retrieved her purse. "Why hasn't anyone gone in yet?"

"Wait and see." Smith handed Wojohowicz out of the back seat.

Someone blew a whistle when their party approached the hall, and a gong clanged several times. The people moved and parted, creating a large open space right in front of the building. "Kids to the front! Move back a little more!" several attendants shouted, running around and directing the crowd.

Rally looked around in curiosity. An attendant escorted them to the front ranks, opposite the doors. Roy and his wife were already there, accompanied by several of the injured in their wheelchairs or on crutches. A phalanx of dress-uniformed police and firefighters stood around them. Children scrambled for the best seats on the pavement with an air of anticipation.

Rally said hello to Mrs. Coleman and greeted Roy with a hug. Most of his burn dressings were gone, his beard was growing back and irregular patches of shiny pink skin clustered on his face and hands.

"Hey, tiger!" May gave him a well-aimed kiss on the cheek. "How handsome could he be, huh, Rally?"

"You girls look like a million." Roy smiled at them and aimed a thumb at the open area. "Seems that something's about to happen now that you've arrived."

"Certainly looks that way." Rally saw the Sams file out of a side entrance to the hall and join the crowd. Larry beamed at her and Vanessa waved. People shuffled off to the sides to keep from blocking the front doors and revealed a group of seated musicians with two big drums, a gong and cymbals.

Smith laughed. "Oh, we're in for a treat. The fire department granted a waiver at special request."

"Really? What is it?" May jumped up and down. "I want to see!"

The gong sounded again. Two men in oversize smiling masks and flapping red robes ran out from the building and into the middle of the open space; they lit strings of tiny red firecrackers and tossed them in the air. The children cheered.

Heavy drumbeats pounded through the rapid detonations and the cymbals clashed. Joined by the brassy clanging of the gong, the music grew strident and rapid. The masked men ran back and pulled the tall double doors wide.

From the opening issued two strange creatures, one after the other. They had huge, colorful heads with flapping mouths and blinking, long-lashed eyes; their bodies were bright fringed cloths that undulated up and down to the beat. Their legs, one pair under the head and the other under the body, were human and dressed in fringed kung-fu pants and slippers. The rhythm of the instruments was loud, martial and thrilling, constantly changing tempo and emphasis.

"A lion dance!" shrieked May. "Oh, wonderful!"

Each lion pranced and shook, its head jerking up and down and its eyes blinking. The pairs of dancers moved in practiced unison as one being, the lions circling around each other. They worked in figure eights and darting lunges, moving towards the street, and then ran around the perimeter of the open area and started again. Though stylized and highly decorated, they had a sinuous, feline quality.

The masked men brandished fans, striking martial-arts poses and enticing the lions to chase them. Rally watched in delighted fascination, laughing at the goggling eyes and exuberant movements of the puppet heads. Even the furry, sequined ears flapped back and forth. The children gasped and giggled when the lions sidled up to sniff at them and 'ate' offered pieces of paper from their hands. More firecrackers went off in deafening sequence.

"That's what they needed the waiver for," said Smith, covering his ears. "The noise chases those pesky bad-luck demons away."

"Aw, even firecrackers are illegal here? Give me a break!"

Both lions approached closer with many elaborate figures of the dance. When they stood in front of Rally and May, they made low bows, shaking their huge heads back and forth. The drums and gong and cymbals rose to a crescendo of noise. The masked men brought out two enormous decorated papier-mâché balls, and each lion got up on one and balanced there. They rolled the balls around by walking on them, the dancers exhibiting impressive athletic grace and coordination.

When the lions dismounted, the men removed the balls and laid down heads of lettuce tied with string. The lions investigated the lettuce with catlike caution, made short runs at it and scampered away, mouthed it with their heads low to the ground, tossed it in the air, tore it to bits and scattered it all over the parking lot. Then the masked men ran around with buckets, throwing handfuls of small red paper envelopes that fluttered everywhere. The children ran to gather them up with happy yells and everyone applauded and commented.

"Well done! Good dance! Plenty of luck!"

This was apparently the finale. The lions made another circuit of the open space to take their bows and ran back into the building. Breaking up, the crowd milled around again while the musicians trundled their instruments away. Rally had expected the guests to go straight into the hall, but again everyone talked and jostled in no apparent order.

Larry waded through the throng with his entire family in tow. The Sams escorted Rally, May, Roy and the FBI agents to the front and up to the doors. They paused there. In the press of the crowd, no one moved to enter, but all of them seemed to be watching Rally. She took Larry's elbow and whispered into his ear.

"All right, is there something I'm missing? Why isn't anyone going inside?"

Larry leaned in. "The guests of honor have that privilege. After you."

"Oh, come on. This is your family's party!" She gestured at the doors. "I'm going to feel stupid going in first."

His smile widened, and his parents looked at each other and nodded approvingly.

"Please, you and May step inside."

She could tell this was a politeness game, and so decided to play along. "Nope. You and your parents first."

"Out of the question. We could not dishonor our guests."

Roy chuckled, obviously enjoying the banter. Wojohowicz scanned the crowd from her high vantage point, not paying much attention.

"After you." Rally tried to shove Larry inside.

"No, after you." He pushed back, but it ended up as half an embrace, his arms circling her waist. People laughed and applauded, especially the Sams.

Rally's face flamed and she stepped away. "Lar-ry!"

"All right, etiquette is satisfied now." Larry's eyes sparkled. "So go ahead."

"No way."

"Oh, for crying out loud—I'm hungry!" May stamped her foot.

"Then we're going in together!" Rally linked arms with Larry on one side and May on the other, and they walked across the threshold. Everyone poured in after them, sorting out their own order of precedence.


Apparently Chinese banquets did not include cocktails beforehand or any pause before the dinner service. Rally had no sooner been escorted to her seat, the honor place at the head table with May beside her, than Mr. Sam rose to speak. He looked lost for a moment, and Vanessa rummaged through her backpack and handed him a creased index card.

Seated directly opposite Rally at the point nearest the kitchen doors, he held up a glass of liquor. Each big round table had two bottles of Chivas Regal and ice buckets standing on the central turntable, but no wine or other drinks except pots of tea, though 7-Up was distributed to the tables with children.

"I apologize to you, honored guests," he said, consulting the index card, "for this poor and meager dinner. There are very few dishes tonight, all of them badly cooked, and not much to drink. These are all the pitiful scraps our humble family could gather to honor these brave Gunsmith Cats ladies, who have saved the life of my son more than once with their guns and bombs." He changed to Cantonese, probably repeating his words, which were obviously only ritual modesty. Various and enticing odors wafted from the kitchens. Larry smiled at her from his seat beside his father, sharing the joke.

"Please drink to these brave ladies, honored guests." The room stood with a scraping of chairs. "We owe them more than we can repay, because we owe them the life of my son, which is better than a mountain of gold. We do not know what we can give them in return. Except to give them a place in our family forever!"

He lifted his glass and drank, as did everyone other than May and Rally. Rally blushed, feeling as if every pair of eyes was on her, which of course they were. Most unsettling to her was the adoring look on Larry's face as he toasted them and lowered his glass. To give them a place in the family? It wasn't easy to miss the implications of that. May looked excited and basked in the attention, but Rally had trouble raising her gaze from the tablecloth. She breathed a sigh of relief when everyone sat down.

Waiters ran out with steaming towels in baskets. When the diners had cleansed their hands, the first course followed. A large round platter of beautifully arranged and garnished cold sliced meats and other less identifiable items was set right in front of Rally. Her mouth watered, but she glanced around to gauge whether she was expected to start on the appetizers right away. Larry signaled with a tiny motion of one hand. She wished she had read up a little more on the customs, but apparently she was doing all right. The Sams smiled and nodded at each other again and a rustle of approving whispers went through the room. Rally counted fifteen slowly until Larry winked at her; she eagerly picked up her chopsticks.

Mr. Sam served the soup course from a porcelain tureen, handing the filled bowls around the table. More toasts followed from every table: to the FBI agents, police and firefighters present, to the hosts, to the not-yet-arrived mayor, to the lion dance troupe, to the food itself. Every rich and luxurious course was as pretty as it was tasty, and the Sams kept urging her and the other guests to take more of every dish, picking out the best pieces for them in spite of repeated refusals. For some reason there wasn't any rice, but Rally didn't miss it.

The crowded room didn't buzz with conversation, exactly; the guests applied themselves to eating with such dedication that the clinking of glasses and serving spoons and loud slurping was the major source of noise. Everyone complimented the food in extravagant terms, so Rally followed suit, which wasn't difficult. The liquor vanished rapidly and was replenished. Rally drank a glass of whiskey and water, finding it went surprisingly well with the food. May drank 7-Up with the children. Little bean-filled pastries and sticky-sweet dumplings of mysterious composition were passed around after every course, along with toothpicks.

Glancing around between helpings, Rally noted the large number of brightly dressed small children and babies in attendance. Their parents held them on their laps and fed them, or let them nap in strollers parked along the side of the room. Near her, the adults at another table cooed over a baby and handed it around. Rally felt a touch on her shoulder, and suddenly she was holding the squalling, red-faced kid on her lap, her back stiff with surprise and panic. Roy toasted her with a grin and Smith snorted.

The Sam elders and their friends chattered in Cantonese. Larry appeared behind her chair and took the drooling little monster from her, to Rally's intense relief. He crouched and spoke next to her ear.

"Sorry. We tend to assume everyone adores the ankle-biters. I'll deliver him back to his parents."

"Aw, let me hold him." May held out her arms. Larry passed the baby to her with a smile. "Are you a widdle boy, huh? Cutesie-wootsie widdle booboo boy!" The brat quit crying, smiled with toothless gums and waved his tiny hands in the air. "I'm gonna have a widdle booboo boy like you, yes I am. He might look a lot like you, you cutesie-wootsie!" She nuzzled his fat cheeks, burbled a few more ridiculous endearments, passed him to the willing Mrs. Coleman and turned to Rally with a dreamy smile. "Aw, I can't wait to have my very own baby to cuddle. Three and a half months to go!"

"May, if you talk like that to Junior, I'm going to have to bring my earplugs!"

Wojohowicz laughed in commiseration. She switched seats with Smith to sit next to Rally and poured her some more Chivas. "I think you're a career woman at heart, Rally."

"You can say that again." Rally sipped the liquor and took a deep breath. "I am not ready to settle down in any way, shape or—" Larry was looking at her, so she broke off and turned a little away from the table. "I think us girls are of one mind on that, right?"

"Right." Wojohowicz smiled and nodded, picking up her own drink. "Though I'd have to say I'm as settled as I want to be." She raised a toast and drank. "Married to the Bureau, honey. I couldn't imagine it anywhere else."

"Th' Bureau," repeated Smith, also raising his glass. He was definitely a few sheets to the wind; all these toasts required a strong constitution or a very light hand with the whiskey.

"Then I'm glad for you."

Wojohowicz put a hand on her arm with a slightly boozy air of big-sister advice. "Have you ever thought about becoming an FBI agent, Rally? All you'd need to do to qualify is get a college degree, and by the time you did that, you'd be old enough."

"Ah…no, I hadn't thought about it."

"You've got time. Lots of people don't join until they've had some experience elsewhere. Pete was in the Army, and then a cop in Atlanta for several years while he went to school. We've got law degrees, MDs, MBAs. It's a good crew."

"Well, I see you really enjoy what you do." Rally suppressed a grimace and casually glanced around. However much she might like individual agents, a career with the Justice Department really didn't seem like her cup of tea.

"So…" Wojohowicz glanced around just as Rally had and patted her hair in an almost nervous way. "Have you heard if Bandit's planning to come, maybe later in the evening? You told him the Bureau would guarantee safe conduct?"

"Bean?" Rally rolled her eyes, folded her hands on the back of her chair and propped her chin on them. After almost two weeks with no communication at all, she had started to wonder if she had to write Bean off for good. She still ached to see him; she felt restless and troubled not knowing his exact whereabouts or why he had stayed so strictly away from her. Something seemed to be eating a hole in her, every day enlarging the void where he wasn't. But anxiety and irritation overlay other feelings at present and now her first words to him would probably sound peevish, at the least. She pushed away the thought of the longed-for tête-à-tête she had been rehearsing for days, originally in hope and later in frustration. "Well…it wasn't exactly possible to invite him. At least not officially. Larry tried."

"He tried?"

"He spread the word every way he could other than taking out ads in the newspaper. Including the flag of truce. So Bean did get an invitation, as far as that goes." Her eyes wandered to the main door as if he were about to stroll through it, his hair slicked back and his hands in his pockets. "The Sams would love to have him to fuss over, because after all he took just as much part in the big rescue as I did, if not more. I think he trusts Pete's word, so the SFPD shouldn't be a problem for him." She glanced over her shoulder at Roy, who was looking a little drawn and not eating much of this course. "But there are other considerations, I suppose. I honestly don't think he's going to show up."

She looked back at Wojohowicz and was mildly startled to see a very feminine expression of piqued disappointment cross the agent's face. "Uh…were you counting on him or something?"

"Me? I work for Uncle Sam. He's the only guy I can count on." With a sigh, Wojohowicz downed her drink and Smith poured her a big splash.

Rally wasn't sure if jealousy was the correct emotion at the moment, but realized that Wojohowicz had been working on a crush for a while now. Actually, she felt more sympathy than rivalry—she knew exactly what conflicts Bean's attractions could arouse in a woman. Smiling, she shook her head. "You like the dangerous ones, Sue?"

"On my recreational time, at least." Wojohowicz winked and drained half her glass at a throw. "Well, the hell with it. I'm here to enjoy the party and back you up. It'll be a pleasure no matter who I have to dance with."

"Dance? Oh…yeah." Rally turned to look at the stage, which had been set up for a six-piece band. "Dancing after all this food? Ouch. I wish I hadn't picked such a tight dress!"

After at least two hours of solid eating the last course was finally carried out, a huge whole fish decorated with vegetables cut into fancy shapes. The waiters deposited the platter with the head pointed towards Rally and stood back. At her look of trepidation, Larry made a little circling motion of his forefinger. With a sigh of relief, she turned the fish to face his father and bowed. Mr. Sam gravely nodded in return and demonstrated how to serve oneself a portion from the thing. The table imitated him. Rally took only a taste of the fish, intending to play with it rather than eat another bite, but in the next moment a white-filmed eyeball the size of a shooter marble landed on her plate. Another choice morsel for the guest of honor!

"Huh?" She wasn't used to her food looking back at her, and gave an involuntary shudder. Concealing a smile, Larry raised his brows and stroked his chin. He wasn't going to be any help this time, the bum. She glanced at May, who shrugged. Roy perked up a little and nudged his wife. Smith and Wojohowicz turned to see what was going on.

It was plain what she had to do, and she had to do it alone. Rally gritted her teeth and mustered up her courage. Half the room now seemed to be watching her with bated breath. This might be the most difficult thing she had attempted since she had reached San Francisco, and she wondered if her strength and ingenuity would be equal to the task. She readied her weapons and took a deep breath. All she could do was try.

With her own eyes squinted half shut, she picked up the fish eye in her chopsticks, dropped it as far back on her tongue as she could and gulped it without chewing.

If she hadn't been drinking strong stuff all evening, it probably wouldn't have made it all the way down. She thanked God that it did, gagged a little at the sound of the congratulatory applause and immediately poured three cups of steaming tea on top of everything she had eaten.

A token bowl of rice was served, which no one touched. The hot towels came out again and the waiters put bowls of fruit on the tables. Well, she'd lived through the meal. However, that probably wasn't going to be the roughest part of this evening, not by a long shot.


When the tables were cleared and wiped clean, the waiters moved some of them away from the stage to free up the dance floor. Someone got up on the stage, took a microphone and said a few words in Cantonese. The band, which had eaten at a table with the lion dancers, began to tune up their instruments. The Sams bustled back and forth, checking on the band and whispering in the ears of a few dignitaries.

Rally came back from freshening up in the women's restroom and looked around. That must be the mayor just arriving with his entourage. He sported a mustache, a colored pocket square and an easy smile. After doffing his sharp fedora, he took the microphone for a few minutes and spoke in unctuous politician's tones to applause and flashing of cameras. He was saying something about the dead and injured city employees and private generosity, but Rally was not listening with even half an ear.

Bean, damn him. Where was he, anyway? Had he picked up the invitation, and if he had, what had he decided? What was he doing, what was he thinking? Her left leg jittered up and down with a cramp and she kicked off her heels to relieve her aching toes. Could she even imagine at this point that his thoughts had anything to do with her?

More liquor appeared on the tables along with fresh glasses and plates of sweets and Rally found her chair again. She gratefully accepted a drink from Mr. Sam and nursed it as the crowd swirled around her. Various people clasped her free hand and murmured things she barely heard. Wojohowicz struck a hip-cocked pose a few yards away, and to Rally's mild amusement, a number of the men gathered around her and eagerly offered to refill her glass. The agent winked at her and tossed her blonde curls. May gobbled pastries and licked her fingers.

The waiters brought out a large red and gold box, put it on a table against the wall and hung above it a banner printed in Chinese characters. The mayor came over to the head table; Rally and May stood up to shake hands and hear congratulations. He led his entourage to the red box and said some more words while gesturing to it. After taking an envelope from one of his aides, he posed with it held just above the box, dropped it in with a flourish, shook hands all round and departed with more flashing of cameras. The crowd jostled under the banner.

She looked up to discover that many people were crowded around the head table as well. The photographers edged to the front and aimed at her and May. The youngest Sam girls, Jade and Cassandra, hauled two big handled bags to the table and sidled shyly away.

"More…fucking…presents…" moaned Rally in a very low voice and slumped in her chair, feeling way past tipsy. May patted her back and Roy rolled up with an encouraging smile. She had never been so grateful to have good friends with her, but had a powerful impulse to jump out of her chair, run screaming through the kitchens and out the freight entrance to freedom. She sat up straight and awaited her fate with a pasted-on smile.

"We're very sorry to inflict these worthless trinkets on our honored guests." Larry had a big smile and Vanessa rolled her eyes. "My family hopes you will forgive us for the very small quantity of gifts we have given you, and for their poor condition. Here are some ill-chosen odds and ends that are all we could afford to get for you."

"No problem," muttered Rally.

Larry reached into the first bag and handed a big gift box to May. Her face lit up; she tore off the red and gold ribbons and lifted the lid. "Oooh! Baby clothes! How totally cute!" She held up a little red jacket and hat and scrabbled through the tissue paper again. "Wow! How many outfits did Junior get?"

Mrs. Sam beamed, and her middle daughter Emerald spoke for her. "Eight, plus coats, shoes and toys. There are some gift certificates in there too. Mom's really happy for you since it's a boy."

"Oh, thank you! It's perfect!" May jumped up and distributed hugs.

Larry brought out a gift from the second bag and looked at Rally. "This unattractive, useless piece of junk will only clutter up your house, but we beg you to accept it anyway."

She prayed for strength and took it from him. In the wrappings, the box felt heavy and much firmer than cardboard. She tore the paper away. Dark, highly polished wood, and on the lid was set a bright brass plate inscribed with her name, the date and dedications from several Chinatown merchant associations. This looked like the most expensive present so far.

"Go on, open it." Larry looked at her with a shining expression and flashes went off all around them. "I'll hold the box—just lift the lid." He put a hand underneath it and raised it for the cameras.

Rally opened the box. Inside, with its two fifteen-round magazines nestled alongside in leather-lined compartments, was a vintage customized CZ75. Its gleaming metal shone like a flawless mirror, its levers were handmade and it had been fitted with dark full-checkered walnut grips. She lifted out the gun, entranced, and rested it on her palms. A storm of applause thundered through the room.

Rally checked the chamber, put in an empty magazine and popped it out again. All the edges were skillfully smoothed and rounded. She twirled the gun, forward and back, snapped it into her grip and sighted on the wall above the stage. The spectators let out a collective "Ahh."

Custom tritium night sights winked little green eyes at her, and the front strap was scale-textured under her fingers for a no-slip grip. On the left side of the frame "Rally Vincent" was engraved in script letters, gilded to stand out against the polished steel.

"It's gorgeous," she said in awe. "What a beautiful gunsmithing job—and I know what I'm talking about." A hearty ripple of laughter. Holding the CZ75 across her chest, she posed for the cameras with a smile. "Thank you so much. This is JUST what I wanted! But I can't bear to think of getting a single scratch on it. How can I take this little beauty out on the street?" She laid it back in its compartment with a sigh of real happiness.

"Probably in this," said Larry, and beckoned to Vanessa. She pulled a leather case from the second bag and put it in Rally's hands.

"You know that I'm a passionate advocate for removing concealable firearms from private hands, and that thing doesn't even have a child lock, but I guess you're qualified to shoot it at the right people. So here you go."

Rally opened the case to find a sleek tooled-leather shoulder holster. She thanked the Sams again, tried it on, holstered the new CZ and posed again, then returned everything to the presentation boxes. Vanessa and Emerald took the gifts and lined them up on the table for everyone to admire at close range. May tugged on Rally's dress.

"Hey. Roy is getting ready to leave—his wife is out in the parking lot waiting for the van service. We have to give him HIS present!" They ran over and captured him near the door. "Roy! Wait!"

"Hey, kids." He looked very tired and was probably in dire need of a painkiller. "You girls stay at the party and have a good time—don't worry about old Roy. He's not up for dancing tonight anyway."

"We won't stop you. We just wanted to be sure you got this before you left." Rally rubbed her hands in anticipation while May dug in her purse and came up with a windowed business envelope. Roy took it when she held it out and looked surprised.

"Open it. I bet you'll feel a lot better when you see what it is." May giggled. "We got hold of a police benevolent fund in Chicago, and they really came through for you when they heard what happened!"

Roy cocked a brow at them and opened the envelope. For a moment he seemed speechless with the check in his hand, looking at May and Rally with dazed, blinking eyes.

"Five thousand dollars!" squealed May. "A grant of five thousand dollars, made out to Detective Leroy G. Coleman!" She hugged Roy, who absently patted her head.

"Well, that's a nice check." Roy looked it over again, squinting at the numbers. "A very nice check. I'll have to thank them for their generosity…and I'm grateful to you girls for thinking of me."

"Enough for your plane fares, all this van service you've been needing to get to the hospital, and a ton left over! What are you going to do with it, Roy?"

He didn't answer for a moment, still looking at the check. Then he glanced up and searched the room with his eyes. "Ah, there it is."

"What?"

Roy took hold of his wheels and creaked forward. "Anyone want to lend a hand if I get hung up on a table? This place is a little crowded for maneuvering."

Rally jogged after him. "Where are you going?"

"I'm going over to the other side of the room, Rally."

Roy rolled up to the red and gold box under the banner. It had a large slot in the top and little red Chinese gift envelopes sat in stacks around it. He picked one of them up and opened the end. Taking a pen from his jacket, he laid the check out on the table and endorsed it. After folding it twice to make it fit, he inserted it in the envelope.

"Roy?" May's eyes went wide.

He turned to them, an odd smile on his face. "If one of you would be so kind…I can't reach the slot from here."

Rally's lips quivered. "You don't want the money?"

"Of course I want the money. There's other people who need it more than I do. This dinner is doubling as the fundraising kickoff for all the people who got hurt on that awful night, and their survivors. That's the reason I decided to show up even though my wife wanted me to rest before we fly out tomorrow. Thank you for getting me such a nice check—it's great to be able to make a decent donation to the cause. You girls can take the real credit for this one." He gestured at the donation box. "Put it in, please."

"But...but you haven't even shown it to your wife!"

"I know." Roy winked at her. "And I'd appreciate it if you didn't mention that to her."

"Uh…OK. Whatever you say." Rally took the envelope, looked at it for a moment, and put it into the slot. Roy's wife came to collect him, and the Colemans said goodbye to the Sams and left.

The band started up, playing covers of current pop songs alternating with slower numbers probably calculated to please the older guests, and both adults and children headed for the dance floor. Some of the guests began to trickle out the door, as it was past ten o'clock, so the place grew less crowded. Larry asked Rally to dance, one of his cousins took gallant charge of May, and soon they were gyrating in the changing colored lights from the stage. Little girls in bright dresses bounced up and down between the couples. Naturally Larry was a good dancer, sure of foot and able to fake his way through a two-step, so by the time Rally took a break to sit down and drink something, she was smiling and a little sweaty.

Many glances and smiles came her way from the Sams' friends and relatives as she crossed the room on Larry's arm; she knew she was the source of a great deal of speculation. A group of old men called Larry aside, so she headed for the table where Larry's mother and eldest sister were sitting with May. Emerald, Jade and Cassandra were all dancing, and seemed to have enough energy to go all night.

"That's a nice cheongsam. You look good in Chinese clothes." Vanessa reached up to take Rally's hand, and then pulled her down to speak in her ear. "I'm pretty sure you didn't pick it on purpose, so don't get too upset, OK?"

"What?"

"You're probably wondering why everyone's hypothesizing even harder about you and Larry than they were before tonight."

"OK, why?"

"That's a dragon and phoenix pattern."

Rally sat and looked down at her brocade front. She had loved the intricate colors on the red ground and the style of the elaborate frogs that closed the top, so she hadn't taken long to select her party dress. "What about the pattern? It's pretty, isn't it?"

"Dragon is male, phoenix is female. Male and female combined, get it?" She made a joined-hands gesture and raised her brows.

Rally's jaw dropped, but she covered her mouth and tried to muffle her yelp. "This is a wedding dress?"

"Chinese brides change outfits a couple of times during the marriage festivities, so that's a flexible designation." Vanessa glanced from side to side and spoke even lower. "But yeah, if this was a wedding banquet and you were the bride, that's exactly what you would be wearing at this point in the proceedings."

"Oh, shit!" Rally flushed as red as the brocade and crossed her arms over her chest. "I didn't know!"

"Of course you didn't. They all realize that—they're not laughing at you. They just think it's awfully cute."

"Oh, man…May! Why didn't you tell me this was a Chinese wedding dress?"

"Huh?" May looked up with a mouthful of sweet custard tart. "Wedding dress? What would I know about weddings?"

"Never mind!" She glared at Vanessa. "Oh, gee, why'd you have to tell me? Now I'm going to be all self-conscious."

Vanessa shrugged and smiled. "I wanted to see how you'd react. Don't worry, you passed."

Rally threw up her hands and went to find Larry with her cheeks still hot. Why hadn't he told her first? Because he thought she'd worn the dress as a signal? He was talking to Smith with a glass of 7-Up in his hand.

"You just tell me when you want that letter of recommendation." Smith clapped Larry on the shoulder. "It'll be in the mail as fast as I can type."

"Thank you, sir. For everything."

"No problem, kid. Happy to be of service."

Rally looked from one to the other. "Letter of recommendation for what?"

"Quantico." Larry actually blushed.

"Quantico? You're going to join the—?"

"That's right. I'm looking into becoming an FBI agent."

Rally clapped her hands together, suddenly overjoyed. Maybe she wasn't cut out for Justice, but Larry? Somehow it seemed perfect. "Going to fight the Triads officially?"

Larry nodded with quiet purpose. "It's my life's work anyway. I might as well carry it on full-time."

"This man is going to be a damn valuable agent," said Smith with an air of pride. "He may be self-taught, but he's probably one of the foremost experts on Triad operations in this country. And I'm the one who recruited him. Not a bad item to put at the bottom of my service record." He stuck out his hand and gave Larry's a hearty shake.

Maybe Wojohowicz had mentioned the FBI to her at her boss's instigation. If so, he must have known it was a very long shot, but at least he had a protégé now. "Larry…I need to talk to you." Rally nodded at Smith and drew Larry towards the main door where it was a little quieter.

"Sure." A warm smile and a glance that made her quiver a little. He put his glass down and pushed the door open. "Here, let's go outside for some fresh air."

"Good idea. It's getting sort of stuffy. Not to mention loud!" They walked down the front steps of the hall and circled through the parking lot.

"I saw Vanessa talking to you. Something about…?"

Rally laughed. "Oh, Larry! I wish I'd taken your sisters along when I shopped for a Chinese dress. It seems I've turned up in the equivalent of a white lace gown and veil!"

"And you look absolutely beautiful in it, Rally." Heading around the side of the building, they came out in an enclosed space at the rear of the hall with a loading dock and an alley in back that led out to the street. A dumpster sat next to the loading dock. They passed a couple of truck trailers belonging to a party rental supplier that were parked by the wall of the next building.

"Gee…thank you, but I think I need to mention that I didn't…"

Larry led her down the vacant truck ramp to a somewhat concealed spot at the base of the loading dock and paused there. A single shaded light over the freight doors cast a circle of illumination but left the alley and the farther reaches of the space in darkness. "Rally…I am so proud of you. My parents are impressed beyond words. You were wonderful tonight. Why didn't you tell me you'd been studying Chinese etiquette?"

"Uh…well…I just sort of picked it up here and there." She gave a sheepish grin.

"Their friends were impressed too. My father gained a lot of respect by honoring such polite guests. And, of course…" Larry looked down, smiling almost tremulously, and reached for her hand. "Now they have no doubts about you. At all. You could have been born Chinese."

"That's a very sweet compliment, Larry."

"When my father said you had a place in our family, it was hard not to whoop out loud. Surprised the heck out of me, I'll tell you!"

"It kind of startled me too. I know you're very big on family."

"It's hard to overstate that. I may be a modern man of the world—but I'm Chinese and a Sam first. My family will always be the most important connection I have."

"Well, your parents including me and May in that connection is just about the highest honor I can imagine receiving from anyone. I'm very grateful."

"You really think so? I'm glad about that." Larry took her free hand, so she reclaimed the other. A pure and powerful emotion lit up his handsome, intelligent features. "I'm so happy it was you who saved me…because I don't know to whom I'd rather owe a debt like that. I'd like to try to pay it off for the rest of my days."

"What is this, save a guy's life and you're responsible for him forever?" She laughed and poked him in the ribs.

"You've saved my life not once, but three times. Somewhere in there I guess I got a clue to my own feelings. And now, I know I need to go for broke and quit worrying about the details. Almost dying will do that to a man."

"Uh…well, that sounds nice." How could she politely decamp to a public place? Quickly, before she had to hurt a nice man she really liked? "Um, it's getting a little chilly out here—"

"I hope this doesn't come as a shock, but I have to tell you. I will never be able to forget you, Rally; as a matter of fact…" Larry drew her into his arms. "I love you."

"Oh my God—Larry, I don't know what to say—"

His mouth came down on hers, a gentle kiss turning into something more ardent. A strange sensation stirred in her: soft, warm, safe and tender. It was nothing like the way she felt in Bean's arms. For an extended moment she hung in a rose-colored limbo, one part of her longing to return his feelings. Larry Sam would be a wonderful, considerate lover...and an eternally devoted husband, which he clearly was going to propose to her. Only a fool would turn him down. Wouldn't she?

"Larry—" Rally turned her face, but laid her head against his chest, where his heart beat hard.

"Please. Won't you stay longer in San Francisco? Or come back soon?" His face was flushed and earnest, filled with yearning. An awful pang penetrated her. "I love you. I've known it for weeks and I've never been so happy, even when I was fearing for my life. Thinking of you is what kept me going and helped me heal. Could you ever—"

"I…I don't know." Rally drew back a little in his embrace, guilt and distress twisting inside her. "I like you. So much."

Disappointment subdued his expression, but the light still remained in his eyes. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to put you on the spot. But I had to tell you tonight, before you left for home. I hoped maybe you already knew."

"I think I had an idea." A tear trickled down her cheek. Larry bent and kissed it away. "Oh God, Larry, I'm so sorry. You're the sweetest guy…"

"Please, will you consider it? I would never pressure you, my darling. I just don't want to let you slip away."

On an impulse she put her arms around his neck and pressed her face to his shoulder. Larry held her close, rocking slightly from side to side. What was love, or the seeds of love? This warm, vague feeling of friendship and sort-of attraction? If you held on tight enough, if you didn't look around or move away or think about it, could warmth grow into something more? Passion wasn't everything, passion faded with familiarity and even turned to hatred—her parents' vicious fights had proved that to her over and over. It might be better to start small. Lower your sights to the possible, never hang your hopes on the moon and stars, because people were only human. No one person's love could set fire to every corner of your soul…

Some distance away, someone coughed. Rally looked over Larry's shoulder and spied the glow of a cigarette by the corner of one of the parked trailers. Lit with a match, drawn on until bright and taken from the mouth. Briefly, the flame vignetted a long, angular face and a mane of black hair.

"Bean?" Rally whispered. "Oh…my God."

Larry started and turned, his arms still around Rally. "What? Bean Bandit?"

The cigarette glowed again and moved. "Yeah." Bean's voice sounded scratchy and harsh. "That's me."

A tall dark shape detached itself from the trailer and rotated its head on its muscular neck. Rally knew that stance: that measured, leonine, lethal power. She gripped Larry closer, her heart suddenly pounding.

"Sneaked away from the crowd fer a little hanky-panky with yer sweetie, I guess." The slow, deliberate cracking of Bean's knuckles echoed off the surrounding walls. "So how you makin' out there…Loverboy?"

He spat out the last word like a bit of gnawed bone.