Free Dangerous Journey by Joanne Pence

misunderstanding!”
    “Yes, it was.” He was silent a moment, and then smiled. “God, C.J., I just thought of something! If you’re willing to help, I know how you can free me.”
    “Anything! Just tell me.”
    “There’s a man here, in the Chinatown section.” Alan was excited now. “He’ll help me; help us. I know he will!”
    “What do you mean? Is he a lawyer? What about bailing you out of here?”
    “There’s no need to spend money we don’t have on lawyers or bail! Believe me. Contact the man in Chinatown. Write down his address.” He spoke quickly.
    “Okay.” She began fishing around in her big purse. “Here’s my notebook.”
    “It’s 99 Duncombe, just up the block from Grant Avenue off Jackson Street. The man’s name is Mr. Yeng. He’s very influential. I know the British will listen to him when he tells them I had nothing to do with the theft.”
    She raised both eyebrows. “Why should he tell the British such a thing? What does he know about this?”
    “He knows enough. Give him the name, ‘Chan Li,’ and then say that I’m in prison and must be set free. Repeat that. Chan Li.”
    She wrote it down. “Chan Li. That’s easy enough. But who is this man? What does he do?”
    Alan sighed. “It’s better if you don’t know. Mr. Yeng will know. That’s all that matters.”
    “I’m on your side, Alan, but how can I help you if you keep me in the dark? None of this makes sense!”
    “What do you mean, ‘in the dark’?” He scowled. “I’ve told you everything. And I need you, C.J. I need you, just like old times. I used to be able to depend on you. Now, will you help me, or are you going to abandon me, too?”
    “Of course I’ll help you.” She stood, waving the notepad in front of her. “I’ve got my instructions. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
    Alan smiled at her. “You’re a good kid.”
    “You’ll be out of here soon.” She felt terrible at having to leave him there. “I promise.”
    Between the time change from Hong Kong to San Francisco and her anxiety over Alan, she was ready to drop. It was night, and the sky was dark. More than anything, she wanted to go back to her hotel room and get some sleep. But how could she when that would mean Alan would have to remain in prison even longer. Even one minute more than necessary was more than her conscience could stand. Her stomach growled. She last ate on the plane somewhere over the Pacific, hours ago.
    Forget about yourself, she ordered, while listening to every bone in her body creak with fatigue. Night was falling. A chill wind blew off the bay, and the fog had already rolled in and was blanketing the city.
    Feeling light-headed, she hailed a taxi, then leaned back against the cushions with a sigh.
    “Where to?” the driver asked.
    “Grant and Jackson. Chinatown.”
    Grant Avenue was lit up like a Christmas tree, the street alive with activity. The cab crept along, hardly able to move in the crush of pedestrians and other cars.
    C.J. soon ran out of patience with the slow pace. She handed the driver some money and got out a couple of blocks short of her destination. She pulled her light jacket tight around her. The breeze had turned cold. From open upper story windows, radios blared the wailing sound of Cantonese opera, while at street level, sales people chased down tourists to hand them flyers hawking shops and restaurants for dinner. Almost everyone seemed to stroll in one direction while looking the opposite way. People knocked against C.J. so often she felt like a bumper car at an amusement park. It almost felt as if she were back in Hong Kong, except that Hong Kong was about ten times more crowded, and the buildings much taller. Also, Hong Kong was a whole lot warmer.
    Finally she reached Jackson Street. Alan had told her that the street she wanted was “up” from Grant. When he’d said up, she realized now, he’d meant it literally. Jackson Street rose steeply from Grant toward the center of the