Dim Sum Asylum(37)

The narrow street was pretty, bathed in muted watercolor-wash lights. The buildings’ walls were cast in the warren’s blue-tinged shadows, but splashes of brighter colors dappled the storefronts. Red-orange lanterns and yellow neon streamers pushed the cobalt back, washing the walls and cobblestones in sunset and purple tones. There was as much Japanese influence as Chinese in this neighborhood, doorways half covered with grungy noren and framed by stone figurines massive enough to jut into the already tight walkway. Murmurs of conversation seeped out from open windows, but it was hard to make anything out past the rattle of old air conditioners working extra hard to move the warren’s stagnant air.

I had to step carefully past a cut-through window advertising salted cod blocks because of a stream of dirty water trickling down the side of the building and into the street, but Trent splashed right through it, muddying his no longer bleach white sneakers.

“People are watching you,” Trent muttered, coming up close behind me. “Not me. You.”

“Yeah, I know.” I didn’t like the looks of a guy standing under a pink neon splash of kanji promising massages and good conversation. He stiffened when Trent drew up to me, and his hand twitched, but he caught himself before reaching for his waist. Covering the motion by lifting his hand up to straighten his collar, I spotted the red kitsune crest tattooed on the inside of his wrist. “Give me some space. You’re making people nervous.”

“I don’t—”

“We’ll talk about it later, okay?” I sounded as reassuring as I could, but to be honest, I was more intent on reaching our destination than soothing Trent’s nerves. Something was going on in the warrens, in Chinatown, actually. My gut was telling me trouble simmered in the air around us, but other than the coiled tightness in everyone we walked past, I couldn’t tell what the problem was. “We just need to get inside.”

An orange traffic cone sat at the end of the side street. It’d been there for as long as I could remember, or maybe it was simply replaced any time it looked worn. I’d never thought much about it, but there it was, an odd beacon of tangerine in the blue dankness.

An old-school round red door took up most of the wall at the street’s end, nonsense kanji running around its arched iron inlay. Enormous foo dogs sprawled on either side of the door, their tongues curled up over their noses, and the right one’s ear was docked, a gold ring piercing its tuft. They were ancient watchers, squat bodies and dense, but I’d seen them run down a man who mistakenly thought he could stab a whore he’d purchased for an hour. Their bright blue manes curled down over their pure golden eyes, but they saw everything happening in the street beyond.

And if by some off chance they missed something, their keeper would have them up off the ground and onto their prey before the next flicker of neon.

Yokugawa had been guarding the front entrance of Kingfisher’s nearly every time I’d approached the red door. He dwarfed his dogs, and when he leaned forward to sniff at my face, he blocked out most of the light around me.

“What the fucking Hell?” Trent gasped. “Dear… gods.”

“It has been a long time since I’ve seen you, Tombo.” His breath was rank, pushing out of his nostrils, and the air fluttered my hair. Tilting his ruddy ox head, he eyed Trent, flexing his muscles in a display of dominance and warning. “And you’ve brought… what to us?”

“A partner. My new partner.” I turned to introduce Trent, who was a bit white around the eyes. “Trent Leonard, I am giving you the pleasure and honor of meeting Yokugawa of the Chiba district. Yokugawa, this is Trent Leonard, my new partner.”

I didn’t blame Trent for blanching. Gozu were rare and people-shy, but Yokugawa wore his difference proudly, perhaps even defiantly. Easily seven feet tall and muscled thickly, he wore next to nothing when he stood guard, simply a loincloth to advertise his brawn. He didn’t need to. Anyone taking one look at his heavily sculpted body and broad taurine head would think twice about challenging him. Well, anyone sober. There’d been plenty of inebriated people who’d thought to take down Yokugawa in a fight, and as far as I knew, every single one of them ended up as a smear on the street.

“Are you taking him inside?” Yokugawa barked, and the dogs lifted their heads, mildly concerned for a moment, but then rolled back over to continue their nap. “She won’t like it.”

“She’ll be fine,” I reassured him, but I wasn’t too sure she would be. I’d never brought another cop here. But I ached from the explosion, and we needed information. “It’s nothing much. Just need to talk to her.”

“If she tells me to kill him, will you stop me?” His nostrils flared again, and I gave Trent credit for not reacting.

“I will have to, Yoku.” I held my hands up in apology. “He’s my partner. For what it’s worth, I will regret killing you. What will become of the dogs? I can’t take them. I have a cat.”

It took a second before my words hit Yokugawa’s sense of humor, but eventually they did, and he burst out in a rolling laugh hearty enough to rattle the doors down the street. Slapping my back, he nearly slammed me into one of the dogs, and I coughed, losing my breath and gaining probably another five bruises.

“Okay, I will let you in,” he announced, then placed a massive hand on Trent’s shoulder, patting him gently. “You come in too.” Reaching down, Yokugawa grasped the front door’s iron ring and pulled it open, revealing the chaos and noise beyond. “Welcome to Kingfisher’s, little man and Tombo. Try to stay out of trouble. She’s still a little mad about what happened the last time.”