White Ginger by Thatcher Robinson

easy.”
    He dropped his eyes and busied himself by removing his sparring gloves. He shook his head slowly as he pulled the gloves off. “Not very sporting of him.” He looked up at Bai and produced a sad smile. “Sorry,” he added. “I really don’t have any consoling words. Given the situation, I might have done the same thing. Jason’s protecting you. He’s doing everything he can to make sure there isn’t a trail that leads back to you. I can see that. I can understand it.”
    â€œI can see that, too,” she blurted, “but he doesn’t have to kill everybody I cross paths with.”
    â€œWho’s to say the Wah Ching in the basement wouldn’t have come after you, Bai. From everything I’ve seen, they make stupidity its own reward. There’s nothing more dangerous than idiots with guns.”
    The sound of running footsteps ended their discussion. Dan sprinted into the dojo and raced up to stand before Bai. “ Mah Mah says to hurry! Daddy called and said he would pick you up in thirty minutes. Mah Mah says you’re supposed to pack a bag. Are you going somewhere?”
    â€œIt would seem so.” Bai stood to put her arm around her daughter. “Your father and I have to take a short trip. I’ve spoken with Mah Mah , and you’re going to be spending tomorrow with Lee.”
    Dan looked to Lee for confirmation. He smiled wickedly.
    His voice was exuberant. “We’re going shopping.”
    Â 

Jason took Bai’s bag from her and passed it to the driver. She then scooted into the limo and settled into a plush seat while Jason positioned himself across from her. He turned to raise the frosted glass partition between them and the driver to ensure privacy. The smell of cured leather filled the compartment.
    She leaned back into the cushioned seat to relax. Her eyes shuttered as she looked out the window. The car cruised through Chinatown and then down to Bayshore, the avenue along the wharf, where the car took a right turn to drive past the Ferry Building.
    The Spanish-style structures had once housed the Port Authority and other municipal fiefdoms. Now, upscale boutiques and cafés catered to affluent commuters. The ferries, big, modern catamarans, transported passengers in relative comfort across the bay to Sausalito, Tiburon, Oakland, and as far away as Richmond.
    Bai felt a twinge of nostalgia while looking at the renovated structures. She missed the old Ferry Terminal, a cavernous depot with the charm of old San Francisco, before Starbucks was a fixture and cell phones made escape impossible. She missed the wooden benches, worn smooth with age; the hot dog stand and the caramel-corn vendor; and the cigarette and magazine stall where her grandfather had purchased cigars. Mostly, she missed the old ferries, which had been real ships, made of steel and wood, and smelling of salt-dampened air and diesel fumes.
    The memories from childhood lapped at her consciousness as the driver moved the car fluidly in and out of traffic. Drowsiness blanketed her as her eyes drooped despite a conscious effort to stay awake.
    â€œSammy Tu has surfaced in Vancouver.”
    Jason’s sharply delivered announcement roused her. She sat up slowly in her seat to shake off her lethargy. “I assumed we were headed for Vancouver. Is there any word of the girl?”
    â€œNo. As a matter of fact, I’m having a problem getting a fix on Sammy Tu. We’ve heard he’s in town. We just don’t know where. He’s keeping very quiet—strange for someone who’s trying to sell merchandise, which could mean the girl has already been sold and he’s just making the delivery. Or, it could mean he doesn’t plan to sell the girl and has found other uses for her.”
    Bai didn’t like the sound of that. “Other uses” for a pretty, young girl could mean any number of unpleasant alternatives.
    She offered