Free Stealing the Dragon by Tim Maleeny Page B

desk. A corner had been draped off, doctors and nurses milling about on this side of the curtain. Cape assumed they’d taken those needing immediate medical attention to one of the many hospitals around the city, but the white lab coats were on hand in case anything new cropped up on the island.
    Men and women wearing a variety of uniforms and suits were scattered around the area, most holding clipboards, a few carrying tape recorders, most of them Asian. The men, women, and children from the ship sat on their cots, on the floor, and stood around in small groups. Cape noticed that the refugees talking with various officials looked very serious, even worried, but those chatting amongst themselves looked happy and relaxed. It was as if they knew their journey was almost over, the promised land just beyond that door, if only the men and women with the clipboards would promise not to send them back.
    Before Cape could get his bearings, a tall Chinese man with broad shoulders walked toward him, wearing khaki slacks and a navy blazer with no tie. As he approached, Cape took note of his short black hair, salted gray near the temples, and dark eyes sitting high on an open, friendly face. His wide mouth curved into a smile as he extended his hand.
    “Cape Weathers?” The man’s grip was firm, his hand dry and callused.
    “Mitch,” said Cape, shaking his hand. “How’d you know who I was?”
    Mitch broadened his smile. “Beau said you dressed like you were still in college.” His gaze moved from Cape’s running shoes, past his jeans, and over a black T-shirt covered by an old white dress shirt, unbuttoned and untucked. “Or a reporter,” he added.
    Cape shrugged. “Saves on dry cleaning.”
    “He also told me your nose was broken,” added Mitch. “Several times.”
    Cape touched the bridge of his nose lightly, where it took a slight left turn before resuming its course. “Not for at least a year.”
    Mitch nodded, then looked over his shoulder before gesturing toward the door. “Let’s go for a walk.” He took off his jacket and draped it over a chair, rolling up his shirtsleeves. As he turned the cuff of his left sleeve, Cape noticed a dark tattoo at the edge of his wrist, but Mitch had stepped outside before Cape could catch the design.
    The view across the water toward San Francisco was distracting, the morning sun having burned through the fog. A few sailboats followed in the wake of a tanker moving slowly under the bridge, close enough to reach with a brisk swim. They walked for a couple of minutes before talking, both men squinting from the glare off the bay. They stopped beside a stone bench but neither sat down.
    Mitch said, “You mind my asking, what’s your interest in the ship?”
    “I don’t mind you asking,” replied Cape.
    “But you’re not gonna tell me,” said Mitch, nodding as if he already knew the answer. “Beau said you were a very private detective.”
    Cape shrugged.
    “But he said he doesn’t hold that against you,” added Mitch, “and that neither should I.”
    “Guess we’re off to a great start.”
    “Your client involved in this?”
    Cape thought of Sally, realizing he didn’t have a client. “That’s what I’m trying to figure out.”
    Mitch nodded, looking out toward the water. After a moment, he seemed to make a decision, gesturing toward the bench. He took a seat on one side.
    “You’ll tell me what you find out?”
    Cape thought about it before responding. “If I think, it will help the case and not hurt my… client …yeah. I’ll tell you, or Beau.”
    “But not the feds?”
    Cape shrugged. “I’ll tell anyone I think can help, you want the truth.”
    Mitch nodded. “What do you want to know?”
    Cape looked over his shoulder toward the main building. “Where did those people come from?”
    “Fuzhou,” said Mitch, his intonation shifting as he said the name. “It’s on the northeast coast of Fujian province in China. A lot of human smuggling starts