Stealing the Dragon

Chapter Thirty

San Francisco, present day

Milfred P. James decided the guys running the union were nimrods.

Milfred, or Mill, as he liked women to call him, was tired and more than a little pissed off. Working customs for six hours straight was brutal, even wearing orthopedic shoes and the back brace his ex gave him last Christmas. Some genius in the union figured longer shifts gave them more leverage on the pension plan.

Mill would like to see the union bosses stand for six hours at a time, bending to open people’s bags, standing up again to scan the crowd, bending over again to open the next set. He’d been to union meetings and seen the beer guts on those guys, the tans from playing golf with their politician buddies every Friday. He’d give anyone five-to-one odds that those chicken-fuckers would be in traction if they tried to do his job for a day, let alone a week.

Six hours was a bitch.

Mill looked at his watch. Ten minutes to go. Then another five minutes to change his clothes in the locker room, then twenty minutes to drive home to South San Francisco. Ten more minutes to walk to the bar down the street, then another ten to throw back a shot of bourbon and finish off his first beer of the night.

A family that looked like they were coming home from vacation was headed his way, the mom looking exhausted, two kids talking nonstop-a boy and a girl, both teenagers-and the dad looking pissed. Early in his shift Mill might fuck with them just to pass the time, watch the woman get all crazy and blame the husband for looking so angry that he looked like he had something to hide.

But Mill was tired, and the clock was ticking. He unzipped two of the wheely-bags and lifted the flaps a few inches, then waved them off. He called it the quick-zip-you knew there was nothing inside, just going through the motions.

“That’s it?” asked the dad. “Not much for security around here, are you?”

“Stan, don’t argue with the man,” said the wife.

“Don’t start, Judith.”

“I’m not the one who-”

Mill raised both hands, palms out. “Judith.”

Judith whipped her head around, knocked off balance by the customs guy saying her name like that. She looked at Mill like he was a talking dog.

“Yes?”

“Give it a rest, Judith,” said Mill.

The husband jumped in with both feet. “What did you-”

Mill’s hands were still up as he pivoted toward the man. “Stan, put a sock in it.”

Stan’s head snapped back like he’d been splashed with cold water. The two teenagers started giggling.

Mill looked deliberately from Judith to Stan. “Been on vacation?” he asked pleasantly.

Judith was the first to find her tongue. “Well, yes. We took the kids to visit friends in Hong Kong.” She smiled pleasantly, back on firm ground, reflexive answers to simple questions.

“Swell,” said Mill.

“Excuse me?” said Stan.

Mill let his hands drop to his sides. “You got a choice, folks. You zip up your bags and go home, or you continue irritating the fuck out of me and I recommend you for a cavity search.”

“I don’t have any cavities,” said the teenaged boy, revealing a set of braces that looked like barbed wire.

Mill shook his head. “One…two…three…”

Stan and Judith got the bags off the metal table and the kids through the doors before Mill counted ten. He watched them scurry away, then screwed up his face and spoke in a nasal whine. “Not much for security around here, are you?”

God, did he hate this fucking job.

He looked up to see another wave of passengers flowing toward him, a tall Chinese guy in the lead. He was big, broad in the chest and shoulders, and he moved like he was gliding across the carpet. Must be a dancer or something.

As he came closer, Mill got a look at his face. Jesus, what a scary motherfucker. His eyes looked flat and lifeless, his mouth a straight line, but the first thing you noticed was that fucking scar, a black diamond ski slope running down the guy’s face. Mill felt his palms sweat just looking at the guy. He noticed the man scanning the tables, checking out the lines. He was probably just looking for the shortest one, but Mill wondered if he was giving all the customs guys the once-over.

Sure enough, he was coming to Mill’s table.

Mill looked at his watch. Two minutes to go. He looked back at the Chinese dude and tried to imagine himself telling the guy he’d have to stand for a search. Mill looked over his shoulder to see if Jeremy, his replacement, was headed this way.

Of course not. Jeremy was always late.

Mill looked back at his watch and made a decision.

“Welcome to San Francisco,” he said casually as he unzipped the black nylon duffle bag. Mill was halfway through the quick-zip when he caught a glimpse of metal. Shit. Sighing audibly, he pulled the zipper the rest of the way and revealed…a snow globe?

Amidst a bundle of shirts, underwear, and socks sat a snow globe six inches in diameter, a bright silver key sticking out from the bottom. Inside the globe two small figures of Chinese girls stood facing each other, one holding a fan, the other a sword. Before Mill could say anything, the scary guy reached out and turned the key.

A plaintive tune filled the air as the two girls circled each other, the one with the fan keeping the girl with the sword at bay. After an awkward minute during which Mill stared studiously at the snow globe while the man stared at him, the song ended and the two little girls seemed to tilt forward, an awkward mechanical bow. It was the strangest fucking snow globe Mill had ever seen.

“It’s for my niece,” said the man, his voice as deep as a well.

Mill smiled and nodded, feeling the sweat roll down his back. He zipped up the bag and waved the man forward, not saying another word.

He had to find another job. One without any unions.

Xan smiled as he walked through the glass doors and shouldered past the waiting families. He shouldn’t need any weapons for this trip, and he could always acquire them in Chinatown, but he liked to travel prepared for anything. He had made the snow globe himself. The gears were shuriken, throwing stars with razor tips. The flanges of the music box were metal darts. The wire spring coiled around the key had a finger-sized loop at each end and made an excellent garrote that could cut through a man’s windpipe in seconds.

Xan had not wanted to take this trip, but now that he was here, he planned on enjoying himself.