Jackal (14 page)

I caught sight of the highway and remembered what Loo had said about Old Town. If the roads were as bad as he’d said, Lin Tan’s bike would be useless there, whereas I’d be just fine. BMX bikes were designed for rides like that.

I pushed every ounce of energy I could into my thighs and rocketed toward Old Town.

So did Lin Tan. By the time I reached the highway, he was too close for comfort. He raised the pistol and took a couple more shots at me.

POP!

POP! POP!

I put my head down and somehow managed to cross underneath the highway without getting a bullet in my back. The nicely paved road I was riding on came to an abrupt T, and I made a hard left turn onto incredibly uneven pavement. I began to skid, so I drove my left heel into the ground. My shoe bounced and skittered across asphalt that was more uneven than any mountain bike trail I’d ever ridden. Thankfully, I managed to right myself and put my foot back onto my pedal. That really hurt. There was no way Lin Tan would be able to ride a road bike here.

I reached another T-shaped intersection and randomly decided to make a hard right as Lin Tan reached the first gnarly section of road. I heard him cry out, and there was a
loud metallic crash as he dumped his bike. If I hadn’t been so terrified, I would have laughed out loud. As it was, I continued deeper into Old Town as quickly as possible.

After just one block, however, I had to dismount. I would have been fine continuing to ride this stretch if it were daylight and I was empty-handed, but attempting to ride now in the dark while juggling the large dragon bone container was just too much.

I hurried along, pushing my bike, when I passed in front of a low building with an open front door. The doorway appeared empty, but when I went by, a large hand suddenly shot out of the darkness from behind me and clamped over my mouth. I tried to spin away, but the person’s other hand took hold of one of my belt loops and held me fast.

I dropped my bike and tried to elbow my assailant with my free arm, but it was no use. The other person managed to keep me at arm’s length like a man holding a snake far away from his body.

I began to grunt out of frustration and effort, and the person who was latched on to me whispered, “Shhhh!”

It wasn’t much of a statement, but I could tell that it wasn’t Lin Tan’s voice. It was too raspy, like the voice of an old man who had smoked far too many cigarettes.

I relaxed, and so did the grip across my mouth. I turned slowly to see the old man who’d watched my tricks from the bike lane. He smiled his toothless grin and motioned for me to come inside. I grabbed my bike and pushed it into the little building. He closed a door behind me.

As far as I could tell, this was the old man’s house. It was tiny, to say the least, but it was tidy. It consisted of a single
room with no windows, and no bathroom that I could see. There was a small table and two chairs in one corner, and a bed in another corner. On top of the table was a little gas burner with an empty wok as well as a handful of lit candles.

A boy was sitting on the bed. He looked about six or seven years old. I guessed he was the old man’s grandson or maybe even his great-grandson. The kid didn’t seem at all interested in the fact that his old caregiver had just accosted a foreigner. He was too busy reading a kung fu graphic novel.

The old man pointed to the wok and rubbed his stomach. He was asking if I was hungry. I was, but I didn’t want to impose any more than I already was, so I just shook my head and took off my helmet.

The old guy shrugged and pulled a circular bamboo object out of a threadbare bag that he had slung over one shoulder. The object had a diameter of about nine or ten inches, and it looked like a wheel that had been wrapped in newspaper. The old man unwrapped the newspaper, and I saw that there were actually two “wheels” that had been woven together with string. Sandwiched between the wheels were uncooked dumplings. It was some sort of dumpling steamer.

Figured.

The old man lit the small gas burner with one of the candles, then poured some bottled water into the wok. He nested the dumpling steamer against the inner walls of the wok above the water, then pulled a lid from a cupboard and sealed the wok. Some steam still managed to escape the lid, though, and within minutes, the entire room smelled like Chinese food.

Delicious
Chinese food.

Whereas the dumplings I’d smelled earlier in the minivan seemed oily, these did not. They smelled fresh and somehow soupy, probably because they were being steamed with water.

I
loved
soup. My stomach began to growl, and the old man laughed. He rubbed his stomach again, and this time, I nodded.

He seemed pleased. After a few more minutes of steaming, the old guy removed the lid. I thought I was going to pass out from the sheer awesomeness of the aroma that billowed forth.

The old man removed three bowls and three sets of chopsticks from the cupboard along with three Chinese soup spoons, which seemed odd to me. He dished five dumplings into each bowl and handed me and the kid on the bed a bowl, a set of chopsticks, and a spoon.

I had no idea how to use the chopsticks, so I just held them and the spoon, and waited to watch and see how the others did it. However, they just stared back at me. It was clear that they wanted me to go first.

I shrugged and set the chopsticks down. I scooped up one of the dumplings with the spoon and popped it halfway into my mouth. The dumpling wasn’t all that big, and I could have easily gotten the entire thing in there, but I didn’t want to appear greedy. I bit down, and there was a sudden explosion of heat and steam and deliciousness that gushed into my mouth and ran down my chin.

Soup! The dumplings were filled with soup as well as meat! Genius!

I scrambled to catch the meat and as much soup as possible with my spoon before it dribbled off of my chin and onto the floor. It was the best soup I’d ever tasted in my life. Eating it for breakfast might even top huevos rancheros.

The old man and the kid laughed, and the old man looked genuinely happy. He gave me a big thumbs-up, then he and the boy dug into their dumplings, popping each one into their mouths whole. They used their chopsticks to handle the dumplings, but held their spoons at the ready in case any soup attempted to sneak out of their mouths.

I followed their lead, except I used the spoon for every step of the operation. Each time I bit into a dumpling, the same amazing combination of sensations and flavors filled my mouth and splashed over my tongue. I was in heaven.

When I’d finished, I tried to give the old guy some money, but he wouldn’t take any. It frustrated me, but at the same time it was obvious that sharing his meal and sheltering me had made him happy, so I let it go. I waited about half an hour more, then decided I should leave. Lin Tan was probably long gone. Since he had fired a gun, though, there were bound to be police officers crawling all over the place.

I motioned toward the door, and the old guy seemed to know what I was planning to do. He shook my hand, then pantomimed that I should wait. I remained seated at his little table while he opened the door and peered outside. He slipped out the door, returning a few minutes later. He flashed me an okay sign, and I stood.

I picked up the upside-down container of dragon bone and frowned. This was going to be a pain to transport.

The old guy snapped his fingers to get my attention, and
he opened the cupboard next to the one that held the eating utensils. He pulled out a roll of duct tape and handed it to me. I patched the crack in the plastic dragon bone container, then I patched my backpack. I put the dragon bone into the pack and tested the pack’s strength. It was as good as new.

I handed the duct tape back to the old man and tried to give him some money again, but he still refused.

I grabbed my bike to leave, then realized that I had no idea where I was going. If I went back to the apartment, the police would surely stop me. After all, there were at least a hundred people who’d seen the guy Lin Tan was shooting at. Most of those people had also heard him yell “Dragon bone!” The police would definitely confiscate the substance, canceling out the very reason I’d come to China in the first place.

I thought for a moment about maybe leaving the dragon bone here with the old man, but that was just plain stupid. What I needed to do was head straight to Hú Dié and her dying mother before anybody even knew that I’d left Shanghai. This meant that I probably couldn’t take the bike with me. I got the little kid’s attention and motioned for him to come to me. He did, and I handed him my bike and the helmet.

I don’t think I’d ever seen a happier kid. He squealed with delight, and I looked over at the old man, who appeared as if he was going to cry. I nodded to the old guy, and he bowed. Then he pressed an old baseball cap and a tattered scarf into my hands and shuffled me to the doorway, pointing up the street, away from the direction I’d come. He was
thinking the same thing I was thinking, that I needed to mask my identity and skip town.

I pointed in the same direction that he pointed, copying him, and then he gestured right with his arm, then left, and then right again. He was showing me the way out. I mirrored his gestures, and he gave me another thumbs-up.

We shook hands one more time, and I wrapped the scarf around my face and placed the hat on my head.

Then I hurried off into the darkness.

Getting out of
Old Town was the easy part. Figuring out what to do next proved to be much more difficult.

The opposite side of Old Town was a part of Shanghai that looked exactly the way I imagined a Chinese city would look—lots of crowded tall buildings covered with glowing neon signs and streets spilling over with people. There were no bike lanes here, however, and very few bikes, probably because the traffic was so congested. I couldn’t have ridden here even if I’d wanted to.

I walked past dozens of people, and nearly every one of them stared at me. I was beginning to think they all recognized me from the billboards, but then I caught a glimpse of my reflection in a storefront window. I looked ridiculous. What I was wearing was worse than not wearing any disguise at all. I totally looked like I had something to hide. I ditched the scarf and hat in the nearest Dumpster and
headed into what I took to be the Shanghai equivalent of a convenience store. It was time for more drastic measures.

I cruised the aisles, grabbing everything I could think of: scissors, black hair wax, surgical masks, cheap sunglasses, a hairbrush, and a pocket mirror. I took the items to the cashier and paid with some of the money Ling had given me.

I walked a couple blocks before I spotted what I needed next. It was a McDonald’s. I bypassed the counter and headed straight for the restroom. Luckily, one of the two stalls was empty, and I went inside, locking the flimsy door behind me. I worked as quickly as I could, chopping at my shaggy hair along the sides of my head and flushing the blond clumps down the toilet. Next, I slathered my head with the black hair wax.

I pushed my hair straight up in the center, forming a wicked thick and tall Mohawk. People tended to not stare long at guys who had Mohawks, especially crappy ones like mine.

I put the pocket mirror, scissors, hair wax, and everything else except the sunglasses and a single surgical mask into my backpack alongside the dragon bone. I slipped on the mask and sunglasses and stepped back out into the night.

My disguise worked. People not only didn’t stare at me, they went out of their way to avoid me, giving me plenty of space. I even freaked myself out a couple times after catching a glimpse of my reflection in a window. It wasn’t so much that I looked mean, it was that I looked
disturbed
. It was mostly because of the hack-job haircut, but the
sunglasses added a nice demented touch, too. I’d chosen hot pink frames.

I walked a few more blocks before finding the final item I needed—a prepaid cell phone. As luck would have it, the person behind the counter spoke English just fine, and I spent the rest of the money Ling had given me, plus half of what my parents had given me.

But it was worth it. I left the store and dialed Hú Dié’s number, which I had memorized.

“Wai?”

“Hú Dié?” I said through the surgical mask. “It’s me.”

“Jake!” she said. “Where are you? I do not recognize this number.”

“I bought a prepaid cell phone. I’m in Shanghai, but I need to get out of here. Lin Tan is after me.”

“Lin Tan? Are you sure? I thought he—”

“I’m positive. Look, I don’t really have time to talk about him now. I want to bring the, you know,
stuff
to you. What’s the best way for me to do that?”

“I am not sure. I believe I am being watched.”

“By whom?”

“I do not know, which makes it a problem. Maybe it is one of Lin Tan’s associates?”

“Does he even have associates anymore?”

“I am not sure. My father and I have been under surveillance before, and I am certain it is happening to us again. At least, it is happening to me.”