“Hold up,” he said. “Didn’t Puck say something about Charm meeting with a Chinese guy in a black Mercedes?”
“Crap, you’re right. When I saw the car last night, it niggled at me, but I didn’t make the connection. Has to be the same guy.”
“Signs are definitely pointing to yes. While you were on stakeout last night, I did some research. You’d mentioned yesterday that Volos was working a deal with a Chinese company, so I looked at recent news in the business section.”
“And?”
“And turns out Alexander Hung owns several businesses.”
“Dry cleaning,” I said, repeating what Dixon had said.
He nodded. “Yeah, but he also owns a company called Waidan Imports.”
“What kind of company is that?”
“They distribute imported alchemical supplies—beakers, herbs, and shit. That’s the company he’s relocating here. I guess they’re refurbishing one of the old steel factories. It’s supposed to bring a lot of jobs to Babylon.”
I shook my head. “Good luck convincing people of that.”
“What do you mean?”
“I forget you’re not from around here. It goes back to the steel bust. The alchemist who came up with the new way of processing steel was a Chinese alchemist. Once all the jobs moved overseas, it left a lot of raw feelings in the hearts of all the steel workers who lost their livelihoods.”
“I guess that makes sense, sort of.”
“It’s one of the reasons people are so pro buying ‘made in America’ crap,” I said. “There was this period back in the ’80s where people would publicly burn any products marked made in China.”
“Well, that explains why I can’t find any decent dim sum here.”
“Yeah. But I guess maybe it’s been long enough and people are desperate enough for jobs that they’d be willing to overlook it.”
“You’re forgetting that Waidan is an American company. Alexander Hung is Chinese-American.”
I laughed. “To lots of people around here, anyone who ain’t white ain’t American. You know that.”
“Sadly true.”
I looked out the window at the broken-down buildings that made up the Cauldron. The city needed an infusion if it was going to survive. John Volos thought more magic would fix things, but I wasn’t so convinced.
Letting that depressing train of thought slip away, something else occurred to me. “I don’t suppose you ran into this Alexander Hung when you were undercover,” I said.
“Never heard of him before, but if he’s high enough up the food chain, he’d keep himself clear of the street-level shit.”
“I guess this sort of ruins your theory that the Fangshi players in town are probably small potatoes.”
He pulled the SUV into a spot down the block from our destination. “The Fangshi is a huge syndicate. There’s no reason to believe Hung or any of the other potential players here are in any way tied to my past.”
“I hope you’re right.”
He tossed me a careless wink. “’Course I am, Cupcake.”
The Golden Thread was one of several apothecaries in the Cauldron that sold clean magic potions. They were basically like drug stores in that they also sold convenience items, but the potions were dispensed by a registered wizard instead of a pharmacist. The other difference was that with the right word, a lot of those wizards might also sell you dirty magic potions they cooked on the side or distributed for the covens.
The business was located about three blocks from the massage parlor. There was nothing special about the decor to differentiate it from any other apothecary. The area nearest the door held a long counter from which the wizard dispensed his potions from glass jars stored on the shelves that lined the back wall. The center of the wall held a pass-through window where another wizard worked to cook more complex potions. At the back of the store, there were stand-alone cases that held sundries.
“Welcome to the Golden Thread,” he said. “How can I help you?”
The man behind the counter had long blond hair pulled back into a neat ponytail. His apothecary uniform consisted of a starched white apron and dark jeans. A name tag on the apron read, Jake. It was common for wizards who worked with the public to wear aprons instead of wizard’s robes because the general Mundane population didn’t like the reminder that they were buying magical products. Much easier to digest the idea that wizards were like chefs who cooked rather than sorcerers who cast spells to create potions.
“Hi,” Morales said, “my friend told me I could get a special potion here.”
Jake’s smile remained polite. “Well, potions are our business.”
I hung back behind Morales, which gave me a chance to watch the wizard. He had an ouroboros tattoo on his left wrist that match the one on mine. That meant he was both a made member of the Votary coven as well as a certified apothecary owner, which was odd since he’d have had to go through rigorous testing to be certified to make and sell clean magic. Not to mention there were government oversight and pesky taxes involved in running a legit potion business. Of course, like me, he could have left the coven and gone legit, but seeing how he was running an apothecary in the middle of Votary territory, it was sort of a stretch. Especially since we knew he sold at least one person an illegal and dangerous virility potion.
Playing it cool, Morales leaned in to whisper to the guy. “I was supposed to say Priapus?”
Jake’s expression morphed from professional to feral. “Get the fuck out of here.
Morales reared back and held his hand up. “Whoa, calm down, guy.”
“Are you a fucking cop?” he growled.
I put my hand on my sidearm, which had been hidden under my jacket. “Everyone relax.”
“Hey, Lenny, we got a couple of pigs out here asking about that shit Basil sold us.”
A pale face surrounded by long shaggy hair appeared in the pass-through window. “Fucking Basil.”
“Look, man,” Jake said, “we didn’t know that shit was dirty.”
Morales crossed his arms. “Oh, yeah? Then why was there a secret password to get it?”
Jake looked around quickly, as if he knew he was caught. “All right, we knew it was dirty-ish. But we tossed the rest of the pills, I swear. I don’t want no beef with them dragon ladies.”
I perked up. “What do you mean?”
“The day after Basil got his ass exploded, Krystal LeMay came in with a little old Chinese lady and four chicks dressed like ninjas and shit. Said if we had any more of Basil’s shit, we had to give it to them. We said we sold out, but once they were gone, we flushed that shit.”
“What did they look like?” Morales asked.
Jake rolled his eyes. “I told you, man—they looked Asian and shit. The ninja chicks were hot, though.”
“Damn straight,” said Lenny sing-songed like a chorus.
And they were all women, which ruled out Alexander Hung, I thought.
“Oh” Jake continued, “and the old broad had a horn.”
“A horn?” I asked.
“Fuck,” Morales whispered.
He lifted his index finger to his forehead and pointed to a spot just to the right of center. “One tiny horn, just here. It was green. Like a fucked-up unicorn or some shit.”
“We heard the Votaries were partnering with the Chinese,” I said because Morales had gone uncharacteristically quiet. “Why would they be hassling you?”
He made a disgusted sound with his mouth. “I plead the Fifth.”
I shook my head. “You’re not under arrest, idiot. We’re looking for the person who killed Basil. But if you keep giving us a hassle, we’ll make an exception.”
“I don’t know what to tell you.” He sighed and raised his hands, all innocence. “I’m legit, but occasionally I’ll connect an interested customer with a special product.” He shrugged. “Times are tough, you know?”
“Uh-huh,” I said. “The Chinese,” I prompted.
“So, Basil came to me a few weeks back and said he had this new connect. Chinese wiz who’s running a special potion. Said it’s super hush-hush because it’s a sex potion.”
“He didn’t want Aphrodite to find out,” I said, nodding.
“Right. The Hierophant ain’t exactly forgiving, if you get my drift.”