Iâll be right back, and then we can chat.â
She all but leapt away from the table in her rush to get away from him and wove around tables looking for Daniels, who was nowhere in sight. She glanced over hershoulder to see if Max was watching her. He was. She waved and darted behind a column. A small crowd of people had descended on the bar. Sheâd have trouble getting the bartenderâs attention. She also couldnât make a dash for the lobby, because it was in Maxâs line of vision. Her anxious gaze fell on the door to the ladiesâ restroomâout of sight, and that was good enough for her. She stepped inside the bright room, leaving behind the chatter and smoky haze of the club.
SIX
Bo held out a chair as he stealthily scanned the dim speakeasy, looking for the telltale flounce of blond hair. Gris-Gris wasnât as busy as it should be this time of night, but there were still enough people to make it difficult to spot someone across the tangle of candlelit tables and dancing bodies.
âYou owe me for this, Yeung Bo-Sing,â Sylvia said in Cantonese as she sat down in the chair he offered, using the formal Chinese surname-first pattern to emphasize that she meant business.
Then again, Sylvia Fong always meant business. The twenty-year-old switchboard operator lived with her twin sister in an apartment two floors above the one Bo grew up inâone he still kept but rarely usedâjust off Grant on the northern edge of Chinatown. She occasionally helped him when he needed to listen in on telephone conversations, and he made sure the building superintendent knew that he couldnât screw her over on rent or bamboozle his way out of repairs.
âYou said you werenât busy tonight,â he told her. Thehouse band was loud, so they had to practically shout at each other to be heard. âBesides, Iâm buying you a drink. Your boyfriend surely wonât mind two friends catching up.â
âNo, he wonât.â Her ruler-straight short bob swayed as she slowly shook her head. âBut no club in the city would make you pay for drinks, and you wouldnât beg me to race over here with you in this nasty weather if you didnât want something.â
True.
Thanks to the widow Cushing moving the
Plumed Serpent
, Bo had been able to oversee the loading of tonightâs runs from Pier 26 instead of staging everything across the Bay. This saved him a couple of extra hours of work, but it was already past ten. He hoped Astrid hadnât already moved on to another speakeasyâor decided against coming here altogether.
âOnly one thing would make you look that nervous,â Sylvia said. â
Sheâs
home from college, isnât she?â
Bo sat where he could see the bar and the door. âWho do you mean?â
âPssh. Donât play dumb. The blond Swiss girl.â
âSwedish.â
Sylvia widened her eyes and pretended to pant, mimicking small dog paws with her hands. âThis is you, wagging your tail and begging for her to scratch your ears.â
âA bit lower down than my ears,â he said with a smile.
She laughed. âLucky her.â
âYouâre a boon to my ego, Miss Fong.â Bo had known Sylvia several years, and even though things started off lustily between them, it had been quick burning and short. But she was funny and easygoing, and they had not only remained friends but become closer. A rare joy, she was. âWhy arenât we together again?â
A stupid question, because they both knew why. Sheâd been uninterested in being hampered by a serious relationship, and heâd been harboring, well, whatever
this
was for Astrid.
Then, of course, there was the other thing.
That
night. The night he didnât want to think about right now.
But she only said, âBecause my mother would just as soon me marry a convicted murderer.â
âMm. Thatâs something I hear a