Past the kitchen doors, there was a hallway that held extra high chairs, two restroom doors, and a set of swinging double doors. Since I had the hallway to myself and I didn’t see any camera there to witness my snooping, I went for the double doors. I pushed one in a couple of inches and peeked inside.
Rows of metal shelves hinted that the space was used as a storeroom. But remembering that Hung had come in through a rear entrance to the restaurant, I wondered if there was more back there. Naturally, instead of wasting the opportunity by doing something smart like going to get my partner, I went through the doors on my own.
The room had the musty-sweet smell of uncooked rice, which made sense, given the dozens of large bags lined up on some of the shelves. There were also thick metal doors leading to what I assumed were walk-in freezers.
I passed the shelves, careful to listen for voices and look for cameras. I walked down a row formed by two shelving units. As I neared the end, voices reached me. They were speaking in Chinese, so I had no idea what the words were, but based on the volume and velocity of the words, the man and woman were arguing. I peeked between the shelves to see them each wearing the uniforms of waitstaff.
I stopped to listen in case they suddenly decided to switch to English. Unfortunately, they selfishly continued to argue in their mother tongue. Plus, I’d been gone too long for a normal potty break. I backed down the aisle again and went to the other end of the storage room. There, I found a metal door that had some high-tech security keeping it on lockdown.
It was only when I turned around to go that I saw the camera pointing at that door, and the damning red light that blinked to indicate I was being filmed.
With my heart thumping, I scurried out the double doors and back down the hall. I ducked into the bathroom, smeared on some lip balm—the closest thing I had to makeup—and went back out. It wasn’t easy to act natural when you’d just been caught snooping, but I gave it the old college try. I slowed my steps to a normal pace and tried to look like a woman who was headed back from the john.
However, the instant I sat back down, Morales said, “What did you do?”
I made a show of pulling a pair of chopsticks from their paper. “Nothing, why?”
“You’re a terrible liar.”
I sighed. “A camera caught me snooping in the storeroom.”
“We should go.” He started to rise, but I grabbed his arm.
“Not yet. For all they know, I wandered back there by mistake. We need to find Hung, and my gut’s telling me he’s here. There’s a door back there with enough security on it, it practically screamed ‘villain’s lair.’”
He looked about as thrilled by that plan as he would have if I’d suggested we get his-and-hers colonics. “Did you know I never had high blood pressure before I met you?”
I smiled. “It’ll be fine. Come on—I’m starving.”
As we passed through he archway to the buffet room, I whispered, “By the way, there’s a back exit to this place, so if something happens, run like hell.”
He nodded. “Also, the bartender’s armed.”
“Good to know.”
“And while you were gone, the couple in the booth broke up and the woman is now getting loaded at the bar.”
I looked back across the restaurant to where the bar was located, and sure enough, the blonde was slumped on a stool while she attacked a cosmo and told her sad tale to a thin, stoic Chinese man behind the bar. He looked like he was trying to figure out whether he should shoot her or himself just to end it.
I piled some cashew chicken on my plate. “This is fun, right?”
Morales focused on scooping some rice on his plate, but his brows rose in a contrary manner. “Your idea of fun worries me.”
“I mean the date part. Maybe we should try it for real some time.”
He set down the rice spoon and turned to me. “Yeah? You’d be into that?”
I frowned at him. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
He shrugged and busied himself piling more food on his plate. “You just seemed like you wanted to keep everything casual.”
“I said a date, not a wedding.”
He snorted. “Understood.”
Behind us, a door opened and a kitchen worker came out to refill one of the food trays.
“Does it seem odd to you that they have so much food coming out when there are so few customers?” I asked.
“Maybe they have a late dinner rush.” I piled some beef and broccoli on my plate and tried to move down the line, but I ran into Morales’s back. I went up on my tiptoes to see what the problem was and spotted a man in a black suit barring our way.
The man dipped his chin in a mockery of a bow. “Detective Prospero. Special Agent. Please come with me.” There was no question in his words, no request. He was clearly sent to deliver a command. “She’s waiting for you in the kitchen.”
Morales and I exchanged a look. There was no time to debate. The smart side of my brain—the one that kept me alive all those years—wanted to cut our losses and run. But the other side of me—the cop side that wanted to solve the case by any means necessary—was in charge. She told my smart side to pipe down and pay attention.
“Lead the way,” I said.
As I expected, he made his way toward the ornate door on the side of the restaurant farthest from the buffet. I tried not to imagine a gang of martial arts experts waiting to ambush us on the other side.
“Guess this answers the question of whether anyone was watching the camera’s feed,” Morales observed.
The man walked in front of us, seeming unconcerned that we might run. I glanced behind me and finally understood the reason—the four businessmen from the other table with suspicious bulges under their jackets had situated themselves in front of each of the restaurant’s exits.
I got Morales’s attention and jerked my head toward the closest guard. His expression grew even grimmer.
I should have felt comforted that they hadn’t requested that we surrender our weapons, but we were so outgunned, it didn’t matter. I reached up to break my amulet, but Morales grabbed my arm.
“Bad idea,” he whispered.
“Why?”
“It’ll only anger her.”
I wanted to ask who her was, but I had a bad feeling I already knew.
“Whatever you do,” he continued in a low tone, “don’t stare directly at the horn.”
I’d expected our host to lead us into a private dining room. Instead, he took us back down that dark hallway and through a pair of swinging doors that led into the massive kitchen. After the empty dining room’s calm, this place was a riot of noise and movement. Even the air was chaotic with the warring scents of hot oil, sizzling meat, and the delicious aroma of sautéed ginger and garlic. But instead of making my mouth water, the scene we walked into made my tongue go dry.
Four women in matching embroidered tunics made of green silk and black pants stood in a line. Their hands were folded in front of them, and no weapons I could see. However, I got the definite sense that they’d be able to kick both our asses easily if we made a wrong move.
They parted like a green tide to reveal the petite figure of a woman who looked like someone’s grandmother. She stood behind a butcher block that was shiny from age and stained from use. She wore a simple black tunic and wide-legged pants. She wore no makeup and her hair was pulled back into a bun. No frills, no fuss.
Of course, she didn’t really need to accessorize with the horn jutting from her forehead like a crooked jade finger.
Remembering Morales’s warning, I tried really hard not to stare at it, but even for the Cauldron, a woman with a horn was pretty bizarre.
“Do you have a warrant, Special Agent Morales?” Her voice was deeper and more resonant than I expected. She also clearly had not forgotten Morales. That didn’t seem like a good development.
“I don’t know what you mean,” he said. “We’re just on a date.”
“A date. Of course.” She smiled but the emotion didn’t reach her eyes. “In that case, you have to try our house specialty.” She nodded to one of her handmaidens, who removed a roasted duck carcass from the row of hooks over the counter.
“You ever have Peking duck, Detective Prospero?”
“You have me at a loss,” I said. “You know who I am, but I haven’t had the pleasure.”