“Why?”
“The whole mysterious thing you have going.”
“Mysterious thing?”
“Yeah. You keep appearing out of nowhere, then disappearing. Before I knew your name, I called you the Girl Who Walks Through Walls.”
She laughed. “Better than what they called me in high school.”
“What was that?”
“Freak, mostly. At least until I got breasts.” They passed a restaurant called Tasty Place, another called Seven Treasures, and turned down an alley. The glow of the street faded. Dumpsters overflowed, the smell of rotting trash sweet. At the back of an unmarked brick building she stepped into an alcove, knocked on a heavy door painted green.
There was the sound of a heavy lock, and the green door opened. Within was a small antechamber with a metal folding chair, a paperback book split facedown on it. The guard nodded at Shannon, gestured to a door at the opposite wall, and then leaned on a button. Cooper heard an electronic buzz of a lock.
“What is this place?”
“This is Lee’s. Social club.” She opened the opposite door.
The room beyond was bright with bad lighting, overhead fluorescents battling thick clouds of cigarette smoke. There were eight or nine tables, half of them occupied. No one looked up. The men around the tables—it was all men, mostly older—stared forward, lost in a game played with dominos. Loose stacks of bills were scattered between ashtrays and bottles of beer.
“You mean casino.”
“I mean a social club. They socialize over Pai Gow. It’s part of the culture. Chance and fate and numbers are more important here.” She started around the edge of the room. Sugary pop music played in the background. Reaching a table of seven men, she stopped and stood quietly. The men ignored them, all eyes on the dealer, a younger guy, prematurely balding, who slid stacks of tiles to each of them. The tiles clicked softly as the players arrayed them in sets of two. When the last tiles had been placed, all the players turned them over, revealing patterns of dots, and at once the table exploded in a burst of Chinese. Money moved back and forth.
Shannon touched the dealer’s shoulder. He looked up at her. “Azzi.” His face broadened into a smile that vanished when he saw Cooper.
“Lee Chen,” she said and squeezed his shoulder. “This is Nick Cooper.”
The dealer stood up. The man to his left collected the tiles and began to mix them as the remaining players placed bets.
“Hi,” Cooper said. He held out a hand. “Nice place.”
“Sank you,” Lee said. “You po-rice?”
“No. I used to be.”
“Not po-rice. Now you are fliend to Shannon.”
“Umm. Yeah. Yes, I am her friend.” The man’s pidgin threw him, one of the classic problems of operating in Chinatown. So much nuance could be lost when only the broad strokes of a question were understood. He’d have to keep his answers simple, be sure not to offend— Shannon was barely holding back laughter.
Cooper looked at her, then at Lee Chen. “You’re busting my balls.”
“Yeah, a little bit. Sorry.” Lee smiled and turned back to Shannon. “Have you eaten?”
“A while ago. Why, is Lisa cooking?”
“Lisa is always cooking.” He gestured at a young man lounging by the bar and barked a short command. The man straightened, hurried over, and took the dealer’s place at the table. The play shifted again, an easy rhythm of long practice. Lee put his arm over Shannon’s shoulder and the two started away. “Alice will be happy to see you.”
“She’s still awake?”
“Her mother made an exception.” Lee released Shannon, opened a door marked with characters that even in another language clearly read DO NOT ENTER, and started up a set of stairs.
“Who’s Alice?” Cooper asked.
“My goddaughter.” She smiled over her shoulder as they climbed. “She’s eight and a beautiful genius.”
“And why did he call you Azzi?”