City of Dragons Read Online Free PDF Page A

two, probably twenty-one or twenty-two. Wore a scar on his upper cheek like a medal, making sure his hair was combed back so it could be admired. Looked Filipino.
    “Wanna dance?”
    “No, thanks. I’m a little sad. That’s why I’m playing this song, for an old friend.”
    He leaned in a little more, draping his long arms across the machine. “A tomato like you—sad—what a waste. Who is he? I’ll—” He made a gesture with his finger across his throat—“For you.”
    “He’s dead.”
    The kid lifted himself off the jukebox, pulled a long face. “Sorry, lady. But, you know, maybe it’s time to move on. Whadda they say at the movies? ‘Time—marches—on.’ ”
    He delivered the line in an imitation baritone. The others laughed.
    She shook her head. “I was reminded of it yesterday, when that boy got killed—what was his name?”
    A small, skinny one piped up from her right. He looked about seventeen. “Eddie Takahashi. Nicky knew him, dincha, Nicky?”
    The leader ran a finger along his thin mustache. Suddenly careful.
    “Yeah, I knew him. A swell kid.” The girls’ eyes were as wide as the cuffs on Nicky’s trousers.
    “It’s terrible. I hope they catch the killer. It’s so hard on the survivors—the family. He had family, didn’t he?”
    The skinny one answered again, finding a niche of self-importance. “I seen him with his sister a lot. They used to come here, sometimes. Kinda stuck up about her, her bein’ pretty an’ all. Didn’t let no one get too close.”
    Nicky snorted and took the bait. “I got plenty close. She ain’t that good-lookin’. But yeah, Eddie took real good care of his family. He was a good kid. We figure it was an accident, maybe.”
    Miranda looked up, met his eyes. Shrewd and calculating.
    “Such a tragedy. I expect it’s as you say, and a terrible accident. Thank you for telling me—it does make me feel a little less lonely.”
    She walked away, his voice behind her soft. “You don’t ever need to be lonely, lady.”
    She flinched, glad her back was to him. Benny Goodman and Martha Tilton followed her out the door.
    We meet, and the angels sing …
    Miranda pushed through the growing crowd already lining up for the Dragon Dance Parade, dodging strolling tourists gawking at pagoda architecture and wondering aloud how anybody ate anything with chopsticks. She reached the Far Eastern Bakery and swerved left, leaning against the Commercial Street side, pumps braced against the incline.
    She took out the deck of Fatimas from Fong Fong and lit one, closing her eyes. She wasn’t sure what she was doing or why. It was Sunday, her day off, and she could be watching ships dock at the piers, or feeding sourdough to seagulls, or listening to the radio and taking bets on when England would be invaded. She had so many things to do.
    She took another drag on the Fatima, then dropped it on the sidewalk and stepped on it with disgust. Weak and tasteless, probably older than the kid who sold them to her.
    Tea, coffee, sesame balls, sundae, and conversation. Not counting the lecture from Phil through Doyle. She wanted answers, needed answers, or at least the right questions. Before she visited the Takahashis. Grieving parents took a strong stomach, and she was fresh out of bicarbonate.
    The smell of moon cake floated out of the bakery. Miranda took out her compact and checked her face, dabbing some Midnight Red on her lips.
    A lot of gambling rooms in Ross Alley, tucked in basements down rickety stairs. Some of them were Filipino Charlie’s. The kid at Fong Fong had known Eddie, known his sister, probably knew something he shouldn’t. And he looked Filipino.
    Firecrackers exploded down by Portsmouth. She jumped out of reflex. Just the New Year, Year of the White Metal Dragon, a good luck year as long as you weren’t a Japanese numbers boy in Chinatown.
    She closed her eyes again. There was a Filipino dive on the edges of Chinatown, somewhere on Kearny or near it. Manila