“Next time bring the damned Hand with you, will you?” Patience said while knocking loudly on the window.
“It’s not like you gave me time to gather my things.”
“Graft it onto your body or something.”
I glanced up at the roof and saw Not Sailor peering over the ledge. “I’ll get right on that, assuming we live.”
A very confused-looking man approached the window and threw it open. “Can I help you?” he asked.
“We’re on a scavenger hunt,” Patience said, climbing through the window and into the man’s apartment. “It’s for charity. You don’t mind, do you? Thanks. You, uh, might want to lock up behind us.”
I followed Patience through the window, across the apartment to the door, and into the hallway.
As we careened down several flights of stairs, I realized that I had left not only the Hand of Glory in Sailor’s apartment but also my backpack. With my keys.
Finally making it back out onto the street, we paused to take a breath.
“Now what?” Patience asked, holding the apartment building’s door open for a young woman to enter. I heard the thundering sound of Not Sailor’s boots flying down the stairs.
“Run!”
We hurried down the street, our progress slowed by the usual congestion in Chinatown. The busy sidewalks and streets jammed with cars should have worked to our advantage by making it easy for us to get lost in thethrong, but not this time. Patience stood out in the crowd. Not Sailor would spot her in a moment.
“We have to get inside somewhere,” I said as we hurried along, dodging shoppers picking over the fresh greens on a sidewalk display. “You’re too conspicuous.”
“Me?” Patience said. “What about you? You don’t exactly blend into the neighborhood, either, in your vintage getup.”
“Fine, we both need to get our keisters out of sight. Suggestions?”
Patience yanked me into a large souvenir shop. We moved toward the back of the shop, where we pretended to browse a rack of silk robes. The shop was packed floor to ceiling with colorful merchandise, which, combined with the dim lighting, would make it difficult for someone on the sidewalk to spot us.
“Do you have a cell phone?” I asked Patience, keeping my head low to hide my face, though my eyes were fixed on the front windows. “I think it’s time to call Carlos to the rescue.”
Patience reached into her skirt pocket and handed me a square piece of glass encased in plastic. It was much more complicated than other cell phones I’d seen. I stared at it and handed it back to her. “I have no idea how to work this thing. You dial.”
“What’s his number?”
Dangitall.I always thought of myself as having a good memory, but I couldn’t remember his number. I was clearly out of sorts lately.
“You don’t know it, do you?” Patience said. “Why don’t I just call 911?”
“What are you going to say?” I asked. “We’re being chased by someone currently in lockup?”
“I’ll think of something.” Patience rolled her eyes and started to dial. “Aw, crap—duck!”
We crouched behind the rack of silk robes just as Not Sailor paused in front of the store. The shop owner, a petite middle-aged woman, stared at us nervously from her seat near the cash register. Patience put her finger to her lips in the universal shushing gesture, which seemed only to make the woman more agitated.
“Please,” Patience whispered loudly. “That man outside is chasing us. He’s bad news. Very bad man.”
The shop owner glanced at the sidewalk, where Not Sailor was staring into the shop, stone-faced. She stood, grabbed an emerald green silk robe, and marched across the store, flinging open the door.
Patience and I exchanged a worried look. “Be ready to bolt,” Patience whispered.
“Robes for sale!” the shop owner shouted loudly at Not Sailor in a heavy accent, thrusting the robe at him. “Very nice robes. I make you good price. Come, come! Come in!”
Not Sailor ignored her. He took an old-fashioned watch out of his pocket, checked it, then turned and left.
The woman locked the door, walked back toward us, and winked. “That should take care of him,” she said, the accent gone. “Would you like me to call the police for you? That was one mean-looking fellow.”
