Except then, I’d never know the truth about my sister’s death.
And I have this feeling that there’s so much more that Ricky isn’t telling me about Vanessa. There’s a lot I would put up with just to get a few more scraps of her, a few more memories, a few more impressions of that little sister I remember would always complain every step of the way any time our family went on hikes, and then, at the top of every ridge and mountain, she would let loose and yodel like she was in “The Sound of Music.”
Tears creep at the corners of my eyes, and I’m thankful for the bruising and blood to hide them when Ricky turns around, holding a shirt that says “I heart Disney” and wearing a pair of skinny jeans that leave nothing to the imagination.
“Is that what you’re going to wear?” I say.
“There’s nothing else that will even remotely fit me. If I die — even if you kill me — find something else to put on me before you let the police or coroners find me. Hell, I’d rather even die naked. Promise me that?”
“Promise,” I say. “I still hate your guts and want to kill you, but I can promise you I’ll not let anyone find you wearing these clothes.”
Even as I say that, not all the words feel like the truth in my mouth. Yes, I’d never let anyone find any person wearing those clothes, but the rest of what I’ve said? I’m not so sure.
“Your turn.”
Ricky steps away from the clothing bin, and I take my turn. I find a V-neck BTS t-shirt and a set of jeans that fit so well that they make me smile. Dressed, I turn around and tap Ricky on the shoulder.
“You were just about to tell me something about Vanessa and how she died. I want to know. Now.”
The door thunders open, and the old woman who met us earlier storms in. She’s holding a large hairpin decorated with ajade and emerald peacock, that has a long dagger blade. Her eyes are as impassive as stone, but her mouth is set in a line as sharp as her knife.
She looks down at the dead Russians and shakes her head. “They are disgraces to their families.” Her eyes narrow at Ricky. “Even worse than you. Though even I find it difficult to say because you are the filth who has brought these disgusting interlopers to our door. I should stab you in your other shoulder. I should gut you and have my grandson take your carcass into the desert to feed the vultures. Except I doubt even the vultures would want to eat something as disgusting, vile, and pathetic as you. Look at you — you’re bleeding all over my floor. Fix yourself up. Put a shirt on. Pathetic.”
Something breaks inside me and unleashes a burning fury that makes me forget about my sister. All I see is red. All I feel is a compulsion to step forward.
I place myself between Ricky and the old woman. Am I about to go to war against an old woman to protect the man who killed my sister?
I don’t know. Then I raise my voice, and the words follow.
Oh fuck.
“Bitch, he saved my life. He took down three fucking thugs with his bare hands, a bath towel, and his cock. Without him, who knows many of you old, mahjong-playing bitches would have died? Judge him all you want, but he’s better than you give him credit for. And if you want to threaten his life, fine, but you need to know that you’ll have to get through me first, and I have no compunction against beating your old ass.”
Chapter Twelve
Ricky
The old woman hesitates. Then she snaps something in Chinese, and Adriana retorts in lightning fashion. The old woman’s eyes go wide. She gives me a look up and down that feels as deep as a cavity search, and then she nods.
“I apologize,” she says with a slight inclination of her head to me and a nod to Adriana. “Maybe you are a better, bigger man than you seem.”
It doesn’t sound like much of a compliment or an apology — she’s still holding her hairpin knife, and I’m still beat to all hell and wearing a Disney shirt and skinny jeans — but it feels like more. And there’s a strange heat in her voice, too. A heat that lingers in her eyes as she gives me a second look that she quickly averts when I glance in her direction.
What the hell is with her?
“Thank you, ma’am,” Adriana says.
The old woman sniffs. “Ma’am? Do not talk to me like I am some soldier dressed in a wrinkled, dirty uniform with the smell of gunpowder and sweat clinging to me like a whimpering child. You may call me Madam Lin.”
“Yes, Madam Lin,” Adriana says.
Madam Lin clears her throat. “My grandson is a doctor. A very smart young man. Single, too, should you come to your senses,” she says with a sideways look at Adriana.Come to your senses? What the hell is that about? I think. But before I canraise my voice, she continues, “We are very proud of him. He went to Harvard Medical School. Graduated with many honors. He is coming here to help some others who were hurt. I will ask him to look at you two as well. There are some other men coming as well… one of our members, her nephew is the head of the local Triad. It is a shameful thing, because he did so well in school and could have been a lawyer. He even studied to be one and had opportunities to intern at several prestigious firms, but declined. Despite the shame, he is useful sometimes, too. These men will becoming to clean up. Do not speak to them. Do not look at them. Just let them do their job.”
“Yes, Madam Lin,” Adriana says. She casts a look at me like she wants me to answer, but my mind is still spinning around Madam Lin’s earlier statement about Adriana coming to her senses.
The old woman’s eyes turn to me in a probing way. I feel the weight of her age, her intelligence, her judgment, all in the way she arches one delicately manicured eyebrow. Despite looking down on her, I feel tiny.
“Yes, Madam Lin,” I say.
