Ghosts of Chinatown Read Online Free PDF Page A

fine, Piano Man. Hell, maybe you’re not crazy either.”
    Todd rubs his neck curiously where the cigarette was, then wheels around, puzzled—the street person is gone. “Where’d he go?”
    “Where’d who go?”
    “The guy. The guy was right here. He ate your butt and spit and out a brand new fag.”
    “Right.” Cam claps Todd on the back. “I take it back. I’m still the only non-crazy here.” Cam points to a rundown dive of a restaurant with a flickering neon sign reading “Ho Inn.”  
    “What’s that?”
    “That, my friend, is my favorite place in Chinatown and that is where we are going to party down.”

Chapter 7
    Angela Carter pounds on the door of the Shanghai Gallery. This stunning nineteen-year-old girl with blonde-streaked brunette hair and movie star figure, mutters, “Asshole.”
    Liang opens the door and without looking at the hottie in a low-cut blouse with torn jeans announces, “I’m sorry but the suite is rented. Good luck on finding another place.”
    Liang begins closing the door but Angela sticks her foot in the door to prevent him from shutting it. “Don’t ignore me.” She steps inside.  
    “There are no vacancies. I rented the piano suite half an hour ago.”
    “This is the last place in the world that I would stay.”
    “Then please stop bothering me and go away.”
    Angela glares coldly at the incredulous Liang while Jasmine suppresses a laugh in the background. Angela speaks with an American South accent. “Your name is not Liang. You are Huang Jen Ru, formerly a set designer in a dinky little theater in Beijing called the Xing-xing Xiyuan, or in English, the Double Stars Theater. Fifteen years ago, your wife left you and a young daughter to be the mistress of a real estate developer, convinced you would never amount to anything… She was right.”
    Liang’s puzzled eyes narrow on Angela as she ambles toward the back of the gallery where Jasmine watches amusedly from the sofa. Liang speaks in controlled anger. “You? How do you…”
    “How do I know what I know? I’m just getting started.” Angela stops, spins around and resumes coldly. “Years later, you met Susan Drysdale, an American actress and single mother who was touring China when Zaphos, her fringe theater troupe, played at the Xing-xing. Single man, single woman, both in theater, both lonely, it was a natural and the two of you got hitched. She convinced you to come to Vancouver because there were hundreds of thousands of Chinese living in this fine city that would appreciate how wonderful you were and how amazing you could transform their cultural lives. You actually thought you could make your delusion of becoming a theatre director come true and instead of going by your real name, you changed it to Liang because you thought it sounded more exotic.”
    The offended Liang snarls, “Who cares about ancient history? Who are you?”
    “My oh my. Getting a little testy, aren’t we? Maybe a little picture is worth a thousand words.” Angela takes out a photograph and shows him. It is a photo of Liang and Catherine, the awkward teenager that Todd ran into in the stairwell in China. Liang looks at Catherine’s eyes—one is green, the other blue... just like Angela’s. “Do you know who I am now... Father?”
    Liang suddenly realizes with a burst of clarity... “Omigod. Catherine. Catherine! I didn’t know. I didn’t recognize you.”
    Angela sneers. Coiled, pent-up emotion charges out. “Poor, awkward, unhappy Catherine Drysdale died when Jasmine died. Do not resurrect her... ever.” She smiles seductively. “But like the roc, sexy, sensual Angela Carter has risen.”  
    Jasmine rises and kisses Angela/Catherine. “Hello, Angela. It’s been awhile.”
    Despite her beauty, there’s an edge to Angela that’s sharper than a machete. “Five years. Three hours in a gym every day, training and learning karate and mixed martial arts. Lovers with the Mafia and Yakuza who taught me how to turn