Reflecting the Sky by S. J. Rozan Page B

so—confusing. So illogical and unreasonable. So Chinese.”
    “Do you mean to tell me,” he said, taking the cigarette from his mouth, “that when you’re being confusing, illogical, and unreasonable, it’s genetic?”
    “You know what I mean.”
    He shook his head. “I don’t. No offense, but you people are no different from anybody else. Everyone wants the same thing, in the end.”
    “Which is?”
    “To protect what you love.”
    A trickle of sweat slid down my cheek. I wiped it away and asked, “That’s what it’s all about? Love?”
    Bill didn’t answer. I said, “What about greed? Revenge? Wanting to make someone suffer? Those things aren’t about love.”
    “No,” Bill said. “They’re about protection.”
    The amahs talked and laughed in the shade and the children ran and splashed in the frog pool. Bill and I sat silently until his cigarette was done.
    “Okay,” I said, “suppose you’re right. I’m dubious, but suppose. Who’s protecting what around here?”
    “I don’t know,” Bill said. “But I can think of a few people to ask. The uncle. The desk man. Iron Fist. The old lady.”
    As my cell phone rang, I added, “And the new client.”
    Bill’s questioning look held me as I answered the phone in English with a businesslike “Lydia Chin speaking.”
    Natalie Zhu wasn’t impressed.
    “We can speak in English if you prefer it, Ms. Chin,” she said dryly, in Cantonese. “Or perhaps you’d rather Chinese?”
    Oh, all right, I thought. So I wasn’t fooling you. Big deal. It was worth a try. “Let’s stay in the habit of English,” I said, as cool as she was. “For my partner.”
    “Fine,” she agreed, switching languages. “Can you talk freely?”
    “I’m in the park at Kwong Hon Terrace. No one’s near but Bill. And you?”
    Bill had his eyes on me, waiting to be filled in, so I mouthed “Natalie Zhu” for him and watched him raise his eyebrows.
    “I am on the balcony,” Natalie Zhu answered, and I had an image of her steely small form, cell phone pressed to her ear, standing in the hot breeze on the twenty-sixth floor, commanding the view over Robinson Road, the roofs of the Central skyscrapers, the harbor. “I told Steven I had to make some calls putting off other work in my office as long as this situation continues. You are not surprised at my calling you?”
    “Did you expect me to be?”
    “I had hoped you would not. I had hoped an understanding had passed between us.”
    I wouldn’t exactly call it an understanding, I thought, just a direct look in the eye, just held an extra second, just a little more contact than was necessary if all you were really doing was throwing us out.
    “I understood you would call,” I told her. “I don’t yet understand why.”
    “You are investigators,” she said. “Sent by Gao Mian-Liang. Wei Yao-Shi”—Old Mr. Wei—“always spoke most highly of Gao Mian-Liang. Now tell me: Why did Gao Mian-Liang send you here?”
    I answered honestly. “He told us it was to deliver the jade and a letter to Mr. Wei’s brother, and to bring Mr. Wei’s ashes.”
    “Pardon me, but that seems unlikely.”
    “To us, too. Earlier today I called and told him what had happened and asked him, in view of the situation, if there was anything further he could tell us. He said there wasn’t, but that we should do whatever we felt needed to be done.”
    A pause as she digested the fact that I’d told Grandfather Gao that Harry had been kidnapped. She might have made an issue of it, but all she said was, “And what do you feel needs to be done?”
    “I’m not sure. But I can’t say, Ms. Zhu, that I think this is just a simple kidnapping, or that getting Harry back is going to be as easy as meeting a ransom demand.”
    “Nor do I.”
    Oh, really? “Well, then,” I suggested, “why don’t you tell me what you do think? And tell me why you’re calling us in secret, instead of speaking to us in front of Steven and