City of Dragons Read Online Free PDF Page B

lady? Doctor can help. You don’t want a baby, lady? Doctor can help. You need some extra money to help Bobby stay in school, lady? Doctor can always help. Rape’s a dirty word, lady. You asked for it.
    The women never called the cops. They just went away, finding refuge in a new kind of aloneness, drowning guilt in a bottle of rye. It was their fault, after all. They asked for it.
    He roamed her body up and down again, fast, his tongue involuntarily licking lips suddenly dry. Threw a glance to the back rooms.
    “I’m a certified doctor of Chinese medicine. An examination will be necessary, Miss. If you don’t mind, of course.”
    She adjusted her hat again, making her voice come out small.
    “I haven’t been to a … to one of our doctors yet. But a friend said—said to try a Chinese doctor. You can—I would appreciate—” She dropped her voice on a cue of embarrassment, looking up at him from below the hat brim. “I’m sorry—I don’t know your name.”
    He bowed easily. “My name is Ming Chen. My American name is Mike. Mike Chen. Doctor Chen.”
    She held out her hand, wishing again for her gloves. Not the hands of a collegiate virgin. More like a Scotch-Irish peat picker.
    “Thank you … Doctor Chen. Are you the only doctor here?”
    He looked furtively toward the back rooms again.
    “My father. My father and I own this business. He’s also a doctor. Now, if you’ll follow me …”
    He put up a closed sign and locked the front door, then led her down the hallway. Shelves of small glass jars, some opaque, some dusty, lined the dark wooden cases.
    Miranda pointed to the bottles.
    “Are these more medicines?”
    “Yes.”
    More like drugs. She wondered whether Mike Chen sold cocaine or heroin or still clung to opium. The hallway ended in a dingy gray room with a daybed and a rust-streaked sink. Left corner was curtained off in orange-red brocade. He picked up a pack of Lucky Strikes on the bed, lit one, and gestured to the drapes.
    “Please—undress there. I’ll put a robe over the curtain for you.”
    “Do I—do I have to? Can’t you—can’t you examine me like this?”
    He eyes drifted toward the daybed. “It would be better—”
    “But Doctor Chen—I heard—I heard there was a murder near here yesterday, and—well, I’m a little frightened.”
    Nervous titter. Skirt smoothed down her hips. He took a drag on the cigarette, smiled at her indulgently. Forgot to ask her name. Too busy salivating.
    She raised her arms above her head and took off her hat, laying it on an upholstered chair. There were cigarette burns on the arms. Indentations that looked like rope marks. She remembered, suddenly, the burns on Eddie Takahashi’s face.
    Miranda was pulling her arms out of the small tweed jacket when she felt him close behind her. He put his right hand on her waist.
    “You should relax. The medicine works much better when you relax. Go behind the curtain. I’ll fix you up. All right?”
    He was close enough for her to feel his breath on her neck and his erection pushing through the tweed of her skirt. She fought the impulse to kick. At least the tweed was thick, good for more than just the San Francisco fog. She walked quickly behind the curtain.
    “Did you—did you see it?”
    He was opening an ornately carved, three-legged armoire that tottered against the opposite wall.
    “See what? What are you talking about?”
    “The murder. I understand it happened right before the—the Rice Bowl Party yesterday.”
    She bent low and mimicked unrolling her stockings, watching him through a worn spot in the thin brocade. He took an old silk robe out of the armoire and stared at the curtain that separated them.
    “Don’t worry about that. There won’t be any more killings. I’m holding a robe for you. Let me know when you need it.”
    She looked behind her. A small, dirty steamer trunk, lid unlocked. She opened it slowly, coughing so he wouldn’t hear the creak. A couple of opium pipes, old