Dim Sum Asylum(52)



“Sure thing. I just need to….” Standing was a challenge, one I wasn’t sure I could master, and Trent had the same doubts because he grabbed at my arm, holding me steady while I tried to find the bottoms of my feet. “Shit, what the Hell is wrong with me?”

“Probably exhaustion coupled with the aftereffects of downing a lot of rotgut. From the smell of your sick, I’m thinking the bartender stopped serving you top shelf at some point and switched to toilet gin.”

“Shit, gin makes me puke.”

“I noticed. My bathroom noticed. So did my shoes.” He smirked at my snarl. The skin pulled up across his cheek, whitening the lightning-struck scarring near his eye. “They’re outside on the balcony. The jury’s still out on whether or not they’re ever going on my feet again.”

“Juniper berries. It does weird things to Odonata. I’ll buy you new shoes,” I promised. “Right after I piss.”

“Forget about the shoes, Roku. Go use the bathroom. I left a toothbrush out on the counter for you to use, and if you want to take a shower, there’s a pair of sweats and a T-shirt. By the time you’re out, coffee will be done, and then you and I can hash a few things out.”

“Like the whole splice thing?” I tried for an arched eyebrow but only succeeded in tangling my forehead into a knot, or at least that’s what it felt like. “Or maybe the instant slushie action you pulled in the warren? Trying to pin you down is like wrestling with a gelatinous cube. ’Course not like you’ve been around.”

“First, it was my day off. One I took and apparently you didn’t. Second, I needed… some time to think it all over. There’s… it’s complicated, okay? I don’t know… I’ve got to work some things out in my head, but we can talk some.” His chest and shoulders briefly blocked out the sun when he turned, his body crowding into me against the end of the couch. “And when we’re done with that, we can move on to how you’re the heir to a yakuza organization, then talk about how we’re going to get our case back. Because as far as Gaines and the rest of SFPD is concerned, we’re going to have our asses parked behind a desk rubber-stamping traffic tickets until someone with an ounce of common sense catches this killer.”




I USED all of Trent’s hot water. Mostly by standing under the spitting showerhead, talking myself out of a justifiable rage at being pulled from my case. I could see Gaines’s point of view. I was too entrenched in the investigation, and not as an inspector. Even if I could fast-trot my way into Gaines’s good graces and somehow convince him I could work the murders without Jie or my grandfather affecting me, he always had his trump card—the unsuccessful attempt on my life—to play. And he’d lay that card on the green felt before I could even blink if it meant adding another foot of distance between me and the Takahashi.

Gaines was wrong. Nothing could create that distance. My grandfather would never allow it. He made that very clear in his own oblique, twisted way when I stood shoulder to shoulder with him over my dead daughters’ bodies. He wasn’t going to let me slip the leash he’d put on me more than a decade ago, and he was about ready to yank away any slack he’d given me, his impatience to bring me to heel overriding his long-game plan of letting me run myself down and surrendering.

The list of people who wanted me dead was a fairly long one—at least ten from the last count of my immediate relatives, but many of them had their own gray shadows who’d happily shove a knife into my ribs if asked. Probably a lot of them would be onboard with the idea without even a whisper from anyone. All it would take was one guy who’d fallen out of favor with one of the younger Takahashi and the idea that killing me would solve all of his social and economic problems.

My back was still slightly damp when I pulled on the T-shirt he’d left for me, and it stuck almost immediately. I had a small debate about whether I’d go commando under the sweatpants, then finally decided it didn’t really matter, so I shoved all my clothes, including my briefs, into the bag he’d given me. My eyes were still bloodshot, according to the slightly fogged-over mirror, but I wasn’t going to get any prettier staring at myself.

“Okay, MacCormick, time to get busy.” I felt better, I reassured myself, even as I sighed in deep relief when I turned off the lights before I left. The wash of darkness calmed me. It could keep the searing brightness off me if I simply stayed behind the bathroom door. That promise lasted less than half a second before reason took over. Trent would come looking for me, and I still had to go toe-to-toe with Gaines. Squaring my shoulders, I took a deep breath and stepped outside to go find my partner.

Thankfully, he’d closed the blinds enough I could walk into the living room without feeling like a member of the Bela Lugosi fan club, and even better, there was an enormous cup of coffee waiting for me on the table.

“Wasn’t sure if you were hungry,” Trent said from the kitchen, and I gagged at the mere mention of food. “Yeah, I didn’t think so. Coffee for now. Maybe some soup or something later.”

“Later being next month,” I grumbled as I picked up the mug. The steam rising from the slightly off-brown brew was amazing, and after I took a sip, I savored the hint of sugar in it, the trail of sweet chasing the hard chocolate punch of the rich medium roast. Every nerve in my body unknotted, and I slowly sank into the lumpy couch, finding the divots I’d made with my ass and shoulders. “Fuck, this is… perfect. Thanks.”

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