by Shadowscast
As the bus pulled back into traffic, one of the passengers who'd just boarded worked his way to the middle of the bus, near where Mac was standing. This passenger was a man wearing a baseball cap, sunglasses, a Hawaiian shirt, and Bermuda shorts. He had a camera slung around his neck and a bright pink fanny pack around his waist; the outfit screamed "tourist."
"Excuse me, excuse me," the tourist said to a man in a business suit, in a tone sufficiently loud and strident to overpower the roar of the bus, "I wonder if you could help me? I'm looking for the museum."
"The museum?" the man repeated. "Which museum?"
"Oh dear, I don't remember the name, precisely. I know! Hold on a moment. I have a map here." The tourist shook out a full-size street map of Hamilton. The bus was too crowded for this to be done easily—several people had to shuffle aside to make room. Everyone immediately around the tourist watched as he turned the map around, trying to find the museum in question.
Mac's attention was elsewhere—on the wallet-shaped bulge in the back pocket of the man the tourist was speaking to.
"There it is!" the tourist exclaimed triumphantly. "The Art Gallery of Hamilton!"
"Oh, no, you're going in the wrong direction," the man said.
Just then the bus reached its next stop. The tourist with his awkward map had everyone around him off balance; the whole group of people stumbled a step or two forward. Mac stumbled against the back of the man, and let his hand slip quickly into the man's pocket and out again. With the wallet tucked under his jean jacket, Mac stepped coolly out the bus's back door and walked away.
He kept walking, unhurried. "Never run unless you see them chasing you," he whispered to himself. Mac checked the reflection in a plate glass window as he walked by. No one was chasing him.
Mac couldn't help grinning. He giggled. That was fun! What a rush!
William Ramsey met Mac a few minutes later, by the car. William had already taken off his pink fanny pack and his Hawaiian shirt.
"Did you get it?" William asked.
"Yep," Mac said, very casual, as if he did this all the time. It'd been boring as hell practising lifting a wallet out of his dad's pocket a million times in the past week, but this made it all worth while.
William smiled, and ruffled Mac's hair. "Good man! That was brilliant! You're a natural." He unlocked the passenger side for Mac, then went around to let himself in.
In the privacy of the car, Mac handed the wallet over.
William opened it up and checked out the contents. "Very good. Was there much cash for you?"
"Twenty bucks," Mac lied, just in case his dad was thinking of going back on their agreement. Actually, the wallet had contained $43.59—more money than Mac had ever seen in his whole life.
"Good, that's your share then. The cards are good enough for me." William tucked the wallet into his own pocket, and started the car.
"That was great!" Mac exclaimed. He couldn't hide his enthusiasm. "You're the coolest Dad in the world!"
William's mouth twitched. "Of course, you needn't tell your mother about this."
Mac snorted. "I'm not stupid."
"No, you're not. In fact you're a very bright young man. I hope you realize that you don't need me to pull this game off. All I did was provide a made-to-order distraction. When you're on your own, you just have to look for opportunities. They'll come along."
"Yeah, but you are here to help," Mac pointed out. His dad had come back a long time ago, nearly three weeks. Mac was getting used to having him around, and he liked it. His mom liked it too. She smiled all the time, even when she was just home from her long shifts at the grocery store.
"Yes," William agreed. "I am, aren't I?"
"He's gone again, isn't he?" Mac slammed his schoolbag down on the floor and kicked it.
His mom didn't say anything, but Mac could tell. She should be at work right now, but she wasn't—she was sitting on the couch in her bathrobe, and her eyes were red, and there was an open whiskey bottle on the coffee table and a nearly-empty glass, and the air in the apartment was thick with cigarette smoke.
Finally, Anita looked up. "How was school today, honey?" she asked, with a feeble smile.
"I hate school." Mac kicked his bag again—this time it flew across the room. "Why did he leave?"
Anita shook her head, and hugged her knees to her chest. "I d-don't know," she said, her voice catching in a sob.
"Mom? Mom! Don't cry." Mac forgot to be angry; he ran over to his mom and put his arms around her. "I'm still here. It's OK, we don't need him, right?"
"Why d-did he leave?" Anita sobbed. "He said he loved me. He said it." She held on to her knees and rocked, weeping.
"Do you want a glass of water, Mom?" Mac offered. He still had his arms around his mom, and he didn't know what to do. She was scaring him.
"He said he loved me," Anita repeated. She said it again and again.
Finally Mac tried to move away, but his mom grabbed his arm. She stopped rocking, and sniffled, collecting herself. She looked at Mac. "Sweetie, when you grow up, don't—don't say it like he does. Not like he does. Never say it until you mean it, until you mean that you're going to stay with her for the rest of her life."
"OK," Mac agreed. He didn't bother to point out that girls were stupid and he'd never want to let one touch him, let alone get into this love stuff. His mom was hurting his wrist where she was holding it, and tears were falling down her cheeks again.
"Good boy." Anita pulled Mac to her chest and hugged him so hard he couldn't breathe. "Remember this."
He would.
Hong Kong, April 1993
"So, Li Ann, who was that guy who picked you up from school yesterday?" Loretta asked, with a twinkle in her eye.
Li Ann sighed. "My brother," she said without looking up from her lab book.
"23.4 centimetres," Yuan said. Li Ann noted it. The three girls were performing a physics experiment in which ball bearings ran down a ramp and then fell onto a piece of carbon paper. The activity wasn't very engaging, and really didn't require three people, so Loretta entertained herself by teasing Li Ann.
"I don't think so," Loretta sang out with a grin. "This was a white guy. A tall, gorgeous white guy."
"Like I said. My brother." Li Ann picked the ball up, put it at the top of the ramp, and let it go again. Yuan ran off to chase it.
Loretta frowned. "Huh?"
"He's adopted." Li Ann wondered whether Loretta was really so stupid, or if it was just that she thought the bubble-head act was attractive.
"Oh, well, then he's not really your brother."
"Not that it's any of your business, but he is my brother. Blood isn't everything, all right?"
Yuan spoke up. "This one's 22.9 centimetres."
"But you're not related, really," Loretta insisted, "So it'd be OK for you to have babies together."
Li Ann groaned, audibly. "That's disgusting. You're talking about my brother. Adopted or not, I'm pretty sure that's illegal."
"Well, if you're sure—how about you introduce him to me?" Loretta grinned hopefully.
Li Ann frowned at her, hoping she could induce some sort of feelings of shame in the other girl. Trust Loretta the ditz to fall for Mac. They'd be perfect for each other. Life was one big joke to Mac, and one big fashion show to Loretta. Of course they both had to be the centre of attention all the time, but that could work if they stood close enough together. Only problem was, if Loretta and Mac started dating, Li Ann might have to see Loretta outside of school. "He has a girlfriend," Li Ann said. Well, for all she knew, he did.
Hong Kong, July 1993
Michael caught up to Mac in the hallway just outside his room. "Hey, wait!"
Mac turned around, lifting his eyebrows in query.
The hallway was empty, other than the two of them. "I want to fuck you now," Michael said with a tight smile.
"Right now? I was just going to go out, I'm meeting some people-"
Michael cut off Mac's protests by shoving him against the wall and kissing him roughly. Michael knew Mac was supposed to meet a friend in a few minutes. Michael came on to Mac now because he wanted Mac to object, to push him away, to give Michael an excuse to push him harder. Maybe even to hurt him. He loved it when Mac fought back. Fighting before sex was the hottest foreplay Michael could imagine.
Mac disappointed him this time. He clasped his hands around Michael's ass and pulled him closer, murmuring "Yeah, my friend can wait," against Michael's lips.
And suddenly Michael found he just wasn't interested. A moment ago he'd craved the feel of Mac's lanky body pressed between him and the wall—now he felt indifferent, even a little disgusted. He pushed away. "Never mind, it's not a good time."
"What!?"
Mac watched, confused and frustrated, as Michael walked away. Michael hoped that Mac would chase him, grab him, and challenge him over the insult, giving Michael an excuse to overpower him and take him by force after all. That scenario had played out a time or two in the past, and it had ultimately been fantastic sex. Unfortunately, recently Mac had been becoming less and less willing to fight Michael. Without looking back as he walked away, Michael listened to the silence behind him and knew that Mac was standing there staring at him with that hurt, confused expression on his face. Then he heard the unmistakable thud of two fists pounding against the wall. Mac still had the fire inside him; he just wouldn't show it to Michael anymore. Michael walked away.
Hong Kong, September 1993
It was after midnight. Michael lay in his bed, satisfied. Mac was at the mirror with the light on, dabbing away blood from his shoulder where Michael had scratched him. The scratches weren't deep, but Michael hadn't wanted him to get any more blood on the sheets. The servants would talk; servants always talked.
Mac caught Michael's eye in the mirror. "I want to sleep here tonight," he said quietly.
Michael grimaced. Not this again. "You can't. You'd get caught in the morning."
"Not if we set the alarm early enough."
"You'd have to set the alarm for 5 am to get out of here before the maid starts cleaning the floors."
"So? I'll do that." Mac walked over to Michael's digital alarm clock and started pressing buttons.
"Stop it!" Michael snapped. "I don't want to get up at 5."
"You don't have to. Just ignore the alarm."
"I can't get back to sleep if I wake up that late." Realizing he was just making up excuses, Michael stopped. This wasn't how it worked. He didn't have to make excuses to Mac. "Get out of here."
Mac wasn't in a compliant mood. He came back to the bed and sat on the edge. "I want to stay. We never sleep together after sex any more. I miss it."
It was true, Michael reflected. He hadn't acted on any conscious decision, but it had been months since they'd shared a bed for any time after sex. Mac always wanted to snuggle; Michael always wanted space to himself. He couldn't fall asleep with someone warm and breathing in his space. In the beginning, when they'd just started having sex, Michael hadn't minded lying awake next to Mac. It had turned him on to see Mac so vulnerable and deceptively angelic in his sleep. Over time, that fascination had paled. Mac wasn't a challenge anymore. "I don't."
Mac's hands clutched at the blanket and he stared down at them. His mouth pulled into a tight line. Obviously Michael's curt dismissal had wounded his brother. What had Mac hoped for? An apology and a cuddle?
Michael lifted a hand to stroke the soft hairs at the nape of Mac's neck. "How long has it been since you've had a woman?"
"What?"
"How long?"
Mac shrugged. "Not since before that time my dad came here."
"That was two years ago. You need a woman."
"Why?" Mac met Michael's eyes with a confused look, bordering on hurt. "I'm happy with you."
"No. You're annoying me with this affection shit. What we do is sex, Mac. Just sex. You want affection, you need a woman."
Mac laughed softly and tried to kiss Michael. When Michael pushed him away, Mac said "You can't fool me Michael, I know it's more than that. You said you loved me."
"I'm serious, Mac." Michael's voice became very cold. He wouldn't fight Mac; a fight would end up in sex, and that would just encourage Mac. Michael needed distance. He needed Mac to stop thinking of the two of them as boyfriends or something. This whole thing had gone too far. What if Father found out? "Find a woman and leave me alone."
"Just like that? Find a woman?" Frustration and anger were creeping into Mac's voice. He was realizing that Michael meant what he was saying. "How am I supposed to do that?"
"Same way every other man in the Family does, little brother." Michael let his tone go dry and mocking. "You go to a brothel, you put your money down, you pick a pretty one-"
Mac moved so fast that Michael didn't even catch on to what was happening until he realized he was flat on the bed and his jaw hurt. He jumped up to retaliate but Mac was already gone, slamming the door behind him.
Hamilton, Canada, October 1982
Paul and Christian were waiting for Mac at the bottom of the hill behind the school, right at the edge of the grass where it met the asphalt schoolyard. With their heads close together, they were intently comparing hockey cards. Mac cleared himself a spot in the grass beside them by picking up the crushed beer can that was in the way and hucking it at the brick wall of the school. It hit the wall high up.
"Nice throw," Paul said. "Did you get them?"
"Of course." Mac produced three cigarettes and a lighter from his pocket.
"Told'ja he would," Paul said to Christian. Christian looked impressed, and a little nervous.
Studiously casual, Mac handed the cigarettes to the other boys, then put his between his lips and lit it. He handed the lighter to Paul, who did the same and handed it to Christian. Christian held the cigarette in one hand and tried to light it, but when he flicked the lighter nothing happened.
"You should put it in your mouth to light it, you gotta, like, suck the fire in," Paul explained helpfully.
"You gotta push in that little plastic thing at the back of the thing that you flick on the lighter," Mac added. "It's the childproof lock," he added with a grin. He took a drag on his cigarette and blew the smoke out, enjoying the cloud it made.
Christian put his cigarette in his mouth but he still failed to get a flame from the lighter.
"Here, let me," Mac offered. He took the lighter and flicked it the right way, and held it to the tip of Christian's cigarette. Christian inhaled, and the flame took.
Mac and Paul watched, amused, as Christian choked on the smoke.
"Don't worry, man," Mac said, thumping Christian on the back, "Everyone coughs the first time."
Paul cleared his throat and spat on the grass beside his feet. "Hey, know what Becky told me?" he asked. Becky was his older sister.
"No, what?"
Paul tapped the ash off his cigarette, and tried to look wise. "In England, they call cigarettes faggots."
Mac snorted. "They fucking don't!"
"Do too."
"Don't."
"Do."
"I was born in England, I should know."
While Paul considered the logic of Mac's last statement, Christian broke in with a question. "What's a faggot?"
"It's a really wussy guy," Paul explained.
Mac shook his head. "Mom said it's a man who kisses another man."
Paul spat again. "Ew."
"Better than kissing a girl," Christian said. "That's disgusting."
The other guys shrugged agreement.
A couple older boys rounded the corner of the school and sauntered towards Mac and his friends.
"Uh, oh," Paul muttered under his breath. It was Jason and Brad. They were a couple grades ahead of Mac, Paul and Christian, and they liked to bully younger kids.
"Hey, look at the juvenile delinquents!" Jason taunted. "I know no one sold you those things. Didja steal'em from your mom? Gimme one." Christian, looking pasty, handed his to Jason.
"I'll have yours," Brad said to Mac.
"Fuck you," Mac said casually, and blew smoke in Brad's face. He wasn't worried—Brad and Jason were bigger, but they were outnumbered two to three.
The smoke in his face really pissed Brad off. "Fuck you, you son of a whore."
"Hey!" That got Mac angry. He tossed the butt of his cigarette to the ground and stood up, clenching his fist. "Fucking watch what you say about my mother, or I'll beat the crap outta you!"
"What?" Brad grinned. "You can't beat me up for saying the truth, shithead. My dad says your mom's a whore."
Mac clenched his fists harder. "She is not."
Paul and Christian both looked like they seriously wanted to be somewhere else, but neither of them moved.
"Oh yeah?" Brad raised his eyebrows. "So why do you think she has a different boyfriend every night?"
Mac exploded. He threw himself at Brad so hard that he knocked him over onto the asphalt of the school-yard. "She's not!" he yelled, trying to punch Brad in the face. Brad moved his head and Mac's fist hit asphalt hard enough to skin his knuckles. Brad grabbed Mac and tried to throw him off, but Mac clung and they just rolled over each other in a mess of punching and kicking. Mac was dimly aware of the three other boys standing and watching, not interfering. Then one of Brad's punches connected with Mac's face, hard, over his left eye. Mac saw flashing lights and darkness, and the asphalt seemed to tip so that he had to cling to it or else fall off the world.
He felt a hand on his shoulder. "Are you OK?" Paul asked, anxiously.
The ground tilted back to horizontal, and Mac raised his head. Brad crouched a few meters away, with his hand to his mouth. He lowered his hand and Mac saw his lip was bleeding. Mac felt some satisfaction. "Yeah, I'm OK. Let's get out of here."
When Mac got home, Anita was sitting at the kitchen table. Mac went to the bathroom to wash the blood off his knees—which were scraped—and his hand. He looked in the mirror. His eye was starting to swell shut. His cheek was scraped, too. It all hurt, and he looked kind of stupid. But he felt OK because he'd given Brad as good as he got, and Brad was bigger than he was.
Mac went out to the kitchen. The smell of cigarette smoke was very strong. Anita was sitting at the table with a full ashtray, and she had a lit cigarette in her hand. As Mac watched, she pressed the lit end against the back of her arm.
"Mom!" Mac ran forward and knocked the cigarette out of her hand. A round red mark showed where it had made contact. "Stop it!!"
Anita shrugged. "I had another headache. Burning my arm makes the pain in my head go away."
"I don't think you should do that, Mom," Mac said. There were several round scabs on Anita's arm where she'd done it before, all in the last week. It scared Mac when she did it, but he didn't know how to explain this to her. She said there was nothing wrong with it, and she was the grown-up.
Anita hadn't really looked at Mac yet; she hadn't noticed he'd been beat up. He wasn't sure if he was relieved or disappointed. Anita picked up the cigarette Mac had knocked out of her hand, and put it in her mouth. She was wearing the pink housecoat with the holes in it over the blue jogging suit, and she obviously hadn't brushed her hair that day.
Mac's stomach growled. He looked at the kitchen clock; it was nearly six. He thought there should still be a couple of hot dogs in the freezer. He checked—yup.
The small frying pan was still clean, so he put it on the stove. He cut some butter and put it to melt in the pan, and when it had melted, he put two frozen hot dogs into the pan. His stomach growled some more at the smell of the hot butter.
"What happened to your face?" Anita said suddenly.
Mac had his back to her. "Nothing," he said.
"Don't fucking lie to me, kid," she warned him in her no nonsense tone.
"OK, I got in a fight." He kept facing the stove. He turned the hot dogs over with a spatula.
"Not over a girl, I hope."
"No! Jesus, who'd fight over a girl?"
"Right, you're only ten. Don't worry kiddo, you'll understand later." Anita chuckled, and Mac shrugged. "What was it, then?" Anita insisted.
Mac mumbled something.
"Didn't hear you," Anita said.
"...Brad said you were a whore." Mac spoke softly, angrily, staring at the hot dogs and turning them over and over.
His mom didn't say anything for a bit. He wanted her to deny it, to tell him it was all lies, to thank him for defending her honour. She didn't say anything. He felt a sick nervous feeling in his stomach. "Mom?"
"Well, sweetie, you gotta remember, I lost my job when I was sick a while ago, remember? And we need money for rent, and the phone bill, and the hydro bill, and the cable bill, and food, and clothes...."
"Shut up, Mom!" Mac spun around, the spatula held high in his hand. His mom's droning list of things they needed money for was making him feel as angry as he'd felt when Brad called her a whore in the first place. She hadn't denied it. She was a whore. A hooker. Like Brad said.
Anita shook her head. "You don't know what you're talking about. This is complicated, it's a grownup thing."
"I know what a whore is!" Mac shouted. He slammed the spatula down on the table. "You're an awful mother! I hate you!"
Anita started to yell angry denials at him. He had to get out of there. He ran past her to his room. He slammed the door shut and locked it, and threw himself on his bed. He was so angry he started to cry, and he shoved his face into his pillow so his mom wouldn't hear. He heard her pounding on his door and yelling things about how he was an ungrateful little bastard and he deserved to be homeless if he didn't like how she paid the rent. Then the smoke detector went off, and Anita went away.
Mac stayed face down on the pillow. He stopped crying, and he felt tired. He was still hungry, and his face hurt. The smoke alarm stopped beeping. After a while, there was a quiet knock on his door. "What?"
"It's me. I have supper for you." Anita's voice was soft and calm now.
Mac padded to the door and opened it. His mom was there with a hot dog in a bun on a plate. His stomach growled. He took the plate, and opened the bun. The hot dog was completely black.
Anita grimaced. "Sorry, it's all there is."
Mac took a bite. "It's not too bad," he said with food in his mouth.
Anita sat down on the floor and hugged Mac's knees. "I'm sorry, honey. I'm doing the best I can." And she started to cry.
"It's OK, Mom," Mac said. He felt terrible for yelling at her. He patted her head. "It's OK, see?" He took another bite of the disgusting hot dog.
"I love you, sweetie," she sobbed.
"I love you too, Mom."
Hong Kong, September 1993
Li Ann leaned against the low wall with her elbows resting on top of it. She gazed out over the rooftops of Hong Kong and past them to the inky sky.
She heard the door to the rooftop garden open and shut, and she turned to face the unexpected visitor. Her hands drifted to her sides, loose and empty, ready for anything. She'd never yet been in a real fight, but she'd been training for years, and she'd been warned many times: always be ready. We live a dangerous life.
Anyway, it was just Mac. She'd thought he was asleep, along with the rest of the household. It was nearly 1:30 am, and they all would be having breakfast with the godfather at 8:00.
"What are you doing up here?" he asked, coming closer. He sounded pissed off. He'd probably expected to have the garden to himself, just as she had.
Li Ann shrugged. "I couldn't sleep. I wanted some fresh air."
"There's no fresh air in Hong Kong." Mac kicked at the bottom of the wall. He was definitely upset about something; Li Ann would bet it wasn't the air pollution. She was mildly curious. Anyway, here was something to distract her from thinking about the nightmare that had woken her up.
"Why are you here?" She asked the question to his back; he'd taken off back to the door connecting the rooftop garden to the house. He didn't leave, though—he just picked up the iron rod leaning by the door and set it into its brackets, barring the door from the outside. Now no one could come up to the roof from the house.
Li Ann frowned. "Why'd you do that? Is anyone else even awake?"
"Michael is." Mac said that with a hard edge to his voice.
"You two had another fight?"
Mac ground his knuckles into the rough bark of one of the shade trees. "Yeah."
Li Ann was far from surprised. Her brothers fought like wild dogs whenever they weren't ignoring each other or working together like a dream. Sometimes she felt left out, but most of the time she was glad to keep a safe distance. Mac and Michael injured each other pretty regularly in training—actually, usually it was Mac who got hurt. Neither of them had ever hurt her, and she'd never hurt either of them. It wasn't that they were going easy on their kid sister, it was just that when they sparred with each other, they seemed to forget that they weren't actually trying to kill each other.
"Should I call an ambulance?" Li Ann asked, mostly sarcastic. "The police, maybe?"
Mac raised an eyebrow, looked at the door. "Nah, the bar'll hold."
"OK, so what happened?"
Mac shook his head. "I can't tell you."
Li Ann put her hand lightly on his elbow, and guided him towards the wall where she'd been standing before. "Why? Maybe I can help."
"I can't tell you," he repeated. "It's... guy stuff." He still sounded angry.
"So?"
"So you're a girl."
Li Ann looked sideways at him. He'd never pulled any 'you're a girl' crap on her before, ever. He was covering for something. She'd call his bluff. "Get over it. I'm done high school, I've trained with you for years, and you know Father's sending you, me and Michael out on a job soon. The three of us. As a team. So I need to know what's up with you two."
Mac leaned on the wall and stared out at the city for a few moments. Li Ann watched his face, and saw the moment when he decided to tell her. He sort of smiled, but not really, and he sighed. Then he turned to face her. "All right," he said in a 'you asked for it' kind of voice. "Michael told me to go to a brothel and hire a prostitute. And I punched him out."
Li Ann felt cold. So much for finding a distraction. The material of the nightmare came right back to her: she was lying on the bed in the brothel, waiting for the next customer. In the dream, the waiting was the worst part. She knew it was going to be terrible, but she couldn't run away—she'd been tied to the bed. In real life, she'd never actually been tied. It had been invisible ropes of need and shame that had kept her in the brothel. In the dream, the ropes were physical, and cut into her wrists, hurting her as she struggled to escape. When she'd thought she'd die of fear in another moment of waiting, she'd woken up.
With those images rushing back to her, Li Ann felt cold and angry and she needed to attack somebody. "You think it's that disgusting?" she asked Mac in a voice like knives. "Those women are so awful you'll punch Michael out for suggesting you sleep with one?" Even as she ripped into Mac, she knew she wasn't making sense. Prostitutes were disgusting. The shame of those nights with those men would live with her forever.
"What?" Mac said. "No! Fuck, that's not what I meant!"
"What did you mean, then!?" she shouted.
Mac stared at her, momentarily stunned. Had Li Ann ever yelled at him before? Probably not. She normally went in for icy glares and cold silences.
"It's—it's not right," he stumbled, after his pause. Li Ann stared at him, breathing hard. "I wouldn't use a woman like that. That's what's disgusting. He was talking about the women like they were meat. Like you buy them off the shelf."
Li Ann was still angry. Whether it made sense or not, she had to be angry at Mac, because he was there. She turned her back on him and tried to make her voice calm. "You talk a good line. Like William. But you're just another man."
"Hey! Leave William out of this!" Pain mingled with indignation in Mac's tone.
Li Ann knew she was fighting dirty, bringing up Mac's biological father. She just had to batter Mac away with words until he left her alone. "Well, you sound like him. Telling me what you think I want to hear."
"I don't understand. Li Ann—" he was almost pleading. "I was just telling you the truth. You asked, and I told you. I don't know what you want to hear."
"Why should I believe you? All the men go to brothels."
"I don't."
"Why?"
They froze, staring at each other. There was some sort of balance. Li Ann started to feel the anger ebb away, and she became a bit more aware that her rage at Mac was irrational. Mac just stared. Then he opened his mouth and from the twist at the corner of his mouth she was sure he was going to make a joke.
"I'm gay," he said.
She giggled. The last of the rage melted away, and she laughed, and she remembered how Mac could be so great. He could make a joke out of any situation. Often that annoyed her, but sometimes it made everything OK.
"No, really," she said. "Tell me why you're different from all the other men."
He walked away from her and sat at the picnic table. She followed him, wondering. He sat staring at the table top, and it seemed to her that he was really upset about something. She remembered how he'd been when he first came up to the roof. She put a hand on his shoulder. "Come on," she coaxed, "tell me."
"All right," he said, very softly, "but you can't tell anyone. Ever."
"I don't tell secrets," she promised.
"My mother was a prostitute."
"Ah." Li Ann let out a little sound of surprise. She hadn't expected that. If he was making this up, she'd kill him—but he looked totally serious, and even a little scared, like she might use this information to hurt him.
"I remember when the men used to come to our apartment, how much I hated them. I could never go to a brothel, remembering that."
She believed him. She'd never seen him so intense, or serious. "So your father was one of them?"
Mac shook his head. "No, my parents were married when I was born. They split up when I was a baby, though, and later Mom got sick, and lost her job, and that's when she started the—you know."
Li Ann took Mac's hands. "I promise I won't tell anyone."
He squeezed her hands, and smiled a bit. "Thanks."
"So what are you going to do about Michael?"
Mac's expression darkened. "Avoid him for a while, I guess. 'Till he forgets about it." He shrugged. "He's probably already gone to sleep. I guess I'll go back down. You coming?"
Li Ann shook her head. "I don't feel sleepy enough yet." She knew that if she went to sleep again tonight, the dream would come back. She'd rather push through 'till morning, drink lots of coffee, and sleep like the dead tomorrow night.
"Wanna borrow one of my textbooks?" Mac offered. "They put me to sleep like-" he snapped his fingers.
Li Ann let herself smile, but she shook her head. "I've got my old ones, thanks."
"No really, I swear, UNIX is more boring than anything else in the universe. You should need a prescription to buy the manual, it's such a powerful sedative." He waited for her to react, and when she didn't, he shrugged. "Oh well. See you at breakfast."
Mac unbarred the door and left. Li Ann let out the breath she'd been holding. She'd come so close to telling Mac about the dream. If he'd just asked her directly, 'what's wrong?' she probably would have. She was disappointed and relieved at the same time. Like she'd expected, he was too self-centred to really wonder what sent Li Ann up to the roof at night. Or maybe that wasn't fair—she'd told him that she just couldn't sleep, and he'd believed her.
It was fine. She was glad she hadn't told him. She'd forget the dream faster if she didn't talk about it, and she'd be happier facing Mac at breakfast knowing that he still didn't know that Li Ann had been a child prostitute before she came to live with the Tangs.
He didn't know, did he? A few years ago, Li Ann had asked the godfather whether her brothers knew where she'd come from, and Mr. Tang had said that Michael knew, but not Mac.
Mac didn't know. If he'd known, he would have said something tonight. It wasn't his style to keep a tactful silence.
She'd never suspected anything like what Mac told her tonight, though. After William visited a couple years ago, Li Ann had thought Mac had been raised by his father before he joined the Tangs. Weird how even though she and Mac saw each other every day, he'd never told her anything about his life before the Tangs.
'No,' she corrected herself, 'it's not weird. I don't want to talk about my life before the Tangs. So why would I ask him about his?' She shook her head. There was no life before the Tangs.
Paris, France, October 1993
"Clear. Go."
Mac heard Michael's voice through the mini receiver tucked in his ear. The hotel security was still down. Mac nodded to Li Ann.
Li Ann pushed the hotel cart up to the door of suite 842, and knocked on the door. Mac tucked himself flat against the wall beside the door.
"Qui est-il?" queried a male voice from inside.
"C'est votre petit déjeuner, monsieur," Li Ann replied.
"Un moment, s'il vous plaît."
Mac kept his dart gun ready. He didn't remember much French from his classes back in Hamilton when he was a kid, but he understood enough to tell that everything was going as planned, and the door should open in a moment.
The occupant of the suite, Harry Wolfsheim, had in fact ordered breakfast from room service about twenty minutes ago, as he had every morning since arriving at the hotel. Li Ann and Mac had intercepted the breakfast in the service elevator, and now Li Ann was wearing a white hotel staff jacket and pushing the cart with Harry's eggs benedict and orange juice.
The door opened, and Li Ann started to push the cart through. When it was halfway through, fully blocking the door, she tilted her head upwards in the prearranged signal.
Mac stepped quickly into the doorway and fired over Li Ann's shoulder at the beefy man taking the cart from her. The dart struck, and the man's face twisted in surprise and rage. He started to reach under his jacket, probably for a gun, but Li Ann threw all her weight against the cart and it struck him hard, right at groin level. He yelled and fell down.
The big man was not Harry. Mac stepped past Li Ann and scanned the room. A thin, grey-haired man in a housecoat stared at him with a terrified expression, raising his hands in the air. That was Harry. Mac shot him. Harry fell backwards against a table, slid to the floor and lay there with his eyes closed. Mac winced. "That'll leave a bruise."
Li Ann shut the door to the hall, and Mac cautiously entered the other room in the suite, the bedroom. They'd been told Harry had just the one bodyguard, but it always paid to check.
The room was blatantly expensive, with thick carpets, textured wallpaper, and a wrought-iron bed. It was also empty. Mac went back to the outer room, where Li Ann was checking Harry's pulse.
"Slow and steady," she said. "The bodyguard's the same. Fast asleep. Let's get to it."
Li Ann stood guard by the door, while Mac found the room's built-in safe. It had a combination lock, and Harry would have set the combination when he first arrived. Mac spun the dial experimentally once, and grinned. It was a high-quality lock, but he'd beaten better.
He closed his eyes for concentration, and willed his heart to slow down. This was just like practising at home. He just had to feel it.
It was hard. His nerves were interfering. It was his first real job, and he was running on so much adrenaline he could hear his blood rushing in his ears.
"Get down!" Li Ann whispered. Mac jumped away from the safe, and tucked himself down behind the couch. Li Ann flattened herself against the wall beside the door. Then nothing happened. After a moment, Li Ann said "Sorry, just my imagination."
Obviously Li Ann was nervous, too. It was the first time for both of them.
Mac went back to the safe, took a deep breath, and tried again.
He was proud of his ability to crack safes. It was the only thing he'd ever tried that he was better than Michael at. Michael was faster than Mac, and stronger. He was better at sparring, better at gymnastics, and better at shooting. He usually beat Mac at go and chess and backgammon and every other game they played. Damn it, he even spoke better English than Mac did. But Michael had never managed to break into a combination lock by feel, and for Mac it came like breathing, and that was why Mac was here with Li Ann while Michael was distracting hotel security.
Mac smiled, and the safe opened. He reached inside and pulled out the small, black velvet bag. "Bingo." He peeked inside, and then pulled a diamond out and pinched it between his thumb and forefinger, holding it up to the light. "Nice. One point five carats, I'd guess. Good colour. I think there's about fifty of them in the bag."
Li Ann gave him a tight grin. "Great, now clean off the safe and let's go."
Mac pulled a wipe out of his pocket, and rubbed down every part of the safe he'd touched. He didn't wear gloves because he needed such high sensitivity in his fingers to crack the safe—but it would be bad to leave fingerprints.
When he finished, he joined Li Ann by the door. He held up the bag, and shook it a bit. "Was it good for you? It was good for me."
Li Ann shook her head. "It's not over yet. Come on." She put her hand on the door, but Mac stopped her.
"Li Ann, wait. You're practically vibrating. You're too nervous to go out there."
Li Ann glared at him. "I'm getting more nervous the longer we take. Michael won't be able to keep hotel security down forever. What if they've found the waiter we took the cart from?"
"When we're nervous, we make mistakes. You've got to calm down a little. Here, hold this." He handed her the bag. "Turn around. OK, now think about something really relaxing. Think about a warm sandy beach." He started kneading Li Ann's shoulders.
"You're insane," Li Ann hissed. "We've got to get out of here."
"In a few seconds." He let his thumbs dig into her back between her shoulders, and moved them in circles. He couldn't really feel her muscles through the layers of clothes she was wearing, but she moved her head a little in a way that suggested the massage was helping her more than she admitted.
Honestly, he was trying to relax himself more than her. His knees were shaking, and he hoped she hadn't noticed.
Suddenly Li Ann reached over her shoulder and grabbed his hand and twisted around so that he had to fall to his knees so his wrist wouldn't break.
"Fuck!" he yelped. "I was just trying to help."
"We're leaving now," Li Ann said.
"OK," Mac gasped. She let him go. "We leave now."
Hong Kong, two days later
"I would like to propose a toast." The godfather held his champagne flute high; the bubbles sparkled in the light from the chandeliers. "To my sons and my daughter, working together."
The toast was echoed around the ballroom, and glasses clinked. Li Ann smiled shyly and sipped at her champagne. She stole a glance at her brothers. Michael, dressed in a white tailored suit, glowed in the attention. His cheeks were flushed and his eyes sparkled. Beside him, there was Mac. Mac was Michael's dark counterpart, wearing black and an understated smirk. Then he caught Li Ann looking at him; he winked at her, and she turned away and covered her mouth so he wouldn't see that he'd made her giggle.
Honestly, Li Ann was giddy. They'd done it! After years of preparation, she and Mac had finally joined Michael, and pulled off their first job for the family. The diamonds they'd stolen were worth about one million on the black market. As Tang operations went, that was pennies, but what was important was the flawless execution they'd managed, individually and as a team. That was the reason the godfather had thrown this party for them.
Li Ann snuck another peek at her brothers. She wondered if Mac felt as strange as she did, suddenly yanked out of the shadows and made guest of honour at this gathering of, at a guess, at least two hundred friends of the Family. She suspected that he did. Something about his ironic detachment struck her as forced—a protective covering, maybe.
Michael, on the other hand, was lapping up the attention. She watched as he shook hands with several white men she recognized from times she'd served tea at Father's business meetings. Then a man she didn't recognize came to greet her and congratulate her. She wondered whether he knew the nature of the achievement he was lauding. As soon as she got rid of him, she looked around to see where Mac was.
Mac! Why did she keep thinking about Mac? There he was, over by the bar, getting another glass of champagne. She found herself staring at him. He said something to the bartender, and they both laughed. He leaned casually against the bar, one elbow on it, and surveyed the room. The way he moved, he reminded her of a cat. Smooth, and maybe a little lazy, but ready to react like lightning at any moment. And damn, he caught her staring. He raised his glass to her, and took a drink. She turned away.
She'd found herself weirdly fascinated by him ever since that night on the roof, when he'd told her about his mother. Suddenly her chronically shallow, childish older brother had a deep dark secret, and she couldn't stop thinking about that whenever she saw him. His mother had been a prostitute, just like Li Ann. As a child he'd watched the johns come into his home and disappear into his mother's room, and maybe he'd felt some of the same despair that Li Ann had felt when they'd come to her. And at this moment he was walking towards her.
Mac had left his champagne flute at the bar. The band had struck up a waltz, and the crowd was shifting to clear a dance floor. "Wanna dance?" he invited her.
Li Ann set her glass on a table. "All right."
He took her hand and led her onto the dance floor. She couldn't help but notice how warm and strong his hand was—and dry, too, not sweaty like that guy's who'd taken her to the ball after her high school graduation.
"You look great," he whispered, putting his arms around her.
She gave him a puzzled look. "What do you mean?"
"Oh come on Li Ann, it's the usual script," Mac teased. They started moving—neither of them knew more than the most basic steps, but at least they weren't stepping on each others' toes. "I say 'you look great.' You say 'thanks' and you blush and giggle, and maybe you tell me I look handsome."
"I blush and giggle?" She raised an eyebrow, trying to give him a withering look. She'd hoped he hadn't caught that blush-and-giggle moment earlier. Damn. She'd blame it on the champagne. And she was flushed now—why was she feeling so hot all of a sudden?
"Right, maybe not. Anyway, I've hardly ever seen you in a dress before," Mac said.
"I don't like them. It's too hard to kick someone in the face when you're wearing a dress."
Mac looked thoughtful. "Hey, that's a good point. I'll keep it in mind when I'm picking out my outfit for our next job. Also, do you think mother-of-pearl earrings would go with these shoes?"
Li Ann automatically looked down at his shoes before thinking. Damn! She managed to stop herself from laughing, until he grinned at her, and then she gave in. She missed her step and stumbled against him, chuckling.
"How much champagne have you had?" he asked her.
"One glass. Not even." They got back in step.
"I bet you'd be a cheap drunk," he mused.
"Oh, you are not going to find out." The idea of drinking enough to lose her self-control terrified Li Ann. She'd never had a drink at all before tonight—but tonight someone had put the champagne glass in her hand for the toasts, and she'd decided one drink couldn't hurt. In fact, one drink had been rather nice. "Now stop talking," she told Mac, "or I'll go dance with Michael."
"I'll be good, I promise," he whispered, and then he actually was.
And Li Ann danced, wondering how the lights got so dazzling, and Mac's suit got so soft, and why did he smell so good, and why did she feel so alive?
Tokyo, Japan, December 1993
"Well, the sushi's good here," Mac murmured softly to Li Ann.
Michael, busy talking to their contact Kobo, shot a glare at Mac across the table. Li Ann glanced sideways at him in a scolding kind of way.
Mac popped another piece of maki into his mouth and chewed. He knew he was supposed to keep quiet, but it was hard, he was bored. They'd been here for about three quarters of an hour already. Michael was doing all the talking with Kobo, because neither Mac nor Li Ann knew enough Japanese to do much more than ask where the bathroom was.
Kobo was a sweet-looking old man. He smiled all the time. Looked like somebody's grandfather. Probably was someone's grandfather. He was also high up in the Yakuza, which was why he was interested in the disk Mac, Li Ann and Michael had stolen from the Japanese bureau of Interpol. Michael's job now was to negotiate favourable terms. Mac knew it would take a while, but still... he wanted to move his legs. He longed to go outside and breathe. He felt like he was going to explode with all this being still and quiet and polite.
He took a sip of his saká. His cup was almost empty.
Li Ann looked completely calm and cool, infinitely patient. He wondered how she did it.
A waitress glided in between the rice-paper screens that had been erected around their table for privacy. She discreetly passed around the table, refilling each of their cups of sak».
"Arigato," Mac thanked her when she reached him. She smiled at him, but didn't say anything. She'd already learned that only Michael and Kobo at the table actually spoke Japanese.
The waitress left. She was pretty. Mac wished she'd stayed longer.
He was so bored.
Suddenly, there was the sound of a door banging and a harsh shout. Everyone's head snapped up in surprise.
"It's the police," Michael said quickly.
"Shit," Mac breathed.
"Stay cool, keep your heads down," Michael instructed them. "We were just eating here, right?" Kobo was already reaching for his chopsticks, which he'd laid down some time ago in the heat of the negotiations with Michael. "They might be looking for someone else."
One of their screens crashed to the floor. A scowling uniformed police officer shouted something at them. Mac didn't know what he'd said, but standing up slowly with his hands in the air seemed like a good idea, since that's what Michael and Kobo were doing.
Kobo's smile was gone.
Other diners were being ushered quickly out the exit of the restaurant. Five police officers were surrounding Mac and his companions with their guns drawn.
"Yeah, they're probably looking for someone else," Mac murmured in Cantonese. That earned him a hard crack on the ribs with a night stick, a string of really impolite-sounding Japanese from the guy with the stick, and death glares from both Michael and Li Ann.
A new player entered the restaurant. It was a fit, middle-aged Japanese man wearing a long beige trenchcoat. The looks the policemen gave him let Mac know that he was in charge.
He walked towards them, the lines in his face forming a deep scowl. He stopped a couple meters away, facing Kobo.
"Kobo," he said, with a tone of immense disgust and satisfaction. Then he said several more things which Mac couldn't follow.
Kobo responded. His tone was sullen and defiant.
Mac's arms were getting a bit tired, but with the number of guns pointing at him he figured twitching would be a bad thing. Some of the cops looked a bit stressed out, and they might overreact.
The conversation between the trenchcoat guy and Kobo was apparently over. A police officer approached Kobo from behind, and grabbed his wrists. The policeman pinned Kobo's hands behind his back, and started to march him out. Mac noted with some surprise that the policeman hadn't actually handcuffed Kobo.
Kobo got marched right out of the restaurant. The guns around Mac, Michael and Li Ann still forbade movement. Mac could see Kobo now through the restaurant's plate glass front window. There were several police cars parked out front, and Kobo was being taken to one of them; its back door opened.
Then Kobo twisted somehow, and the policeman who'd been holding him fell to the ground in obvious pain. The little old man took off at a run.
The man in the trenchcoat pulled out a gun, aimed, and fired.
The plate glass window spider-webbed; for a moment the scene outside was obscured.
Then the glass came showering down, a tinkling diamond rain. Outside, they could see Kobo lying on the sidewalk in a little puddle of blood which got bigger as they watched.
Mac caught the look on the face of the man in the trenchcoat. It was a look of deep, visceral satisfaction. Mac shivered.
Mac, Li Ann and Michael were patted down and their weapons were taken away, and then they were shepherded into three different police cars. There were plenty of guns trained on them at any given moment, but the fate of Kobo alone was enough to discourage resistance.
Li Ann sat on the splintery wooden bench in the holding cell, and worried.
She was in the basement of what seemed to be a small precinct station, somewhere outside of downtown Tokyo. The place had only one holding cell, though it was divided in half down the middle by thick iron bars and chain link. Michael was in the other half, pacing like a caged tiger. She'd been here for four or five hours—she wasn't sure, as her watch had been taken away. Michael had been thrown in just after her. Mac hadn't shown up yet.
Li Ann felt deeply afraid, verging on panic. This was only her second job for the Family, and it had all gone to hell. She didn't even know if Mac was alive. She didn't know what she and Michael were under arrest for—she'd asked Michael and he didn't know either. What if she ended up in Japanese prison for the rest of her life?
When she closed her eyes she saw the glass shattering, and Kobo lying on the concrete in a pool of blood.
She felt the walls closing in on her. She felt tears starting up in her eyes, and she hated them. She felt dizzy. She knew she should breathe more slowly, more deeply, but she couldn't quite get that message to her lungs.
A door opened, and there was shouting. Startled out of her panic attack, Li Ann looked up and saw the man in the trenchcoat leading Mac down the stairs into the hallway outside the cell, accompanied by a uniformed policeman. She felt relieved for a moment—until she saw the blood on Mac's face.
There was more shouting in Japanese. The door to the cell opened. Mac was thrown in, and Michael was dragged out. The man in the trenchcoat disappeared up the stairs with Michael.
"Mac!" Li Ann gasped, running to the fence that separated them.
Mac stumbled against the far wall, then braced himself against it. "Li Ann?" he asked without looking. "You all right?"
"I'm OK. What happened to you?"
Mac raised some fingers to his mouth and then looked at them, examining the blood. Then he wiped them on his pants. Li Ann noted that with worry. Mac was normally a diva about his clothes; he'd freak out at the idea of getting blood on them unnecessarily.
"He doesn't like me, I guess," Mac said.
"Who?"
"The guy in the trenchcoat. I think his name's McCoy, by the way. Weird name for a Japanese guy."
"Come here," Li Ann begged him. He was still hunched over, leaning against the far wall. He wouldn't be any better off close to her, she knew, but she still wanted him close as though she could help him somehow. Anyway, if he got close they could talk quietly so the guard couldn't hear, in case he happened to understand Cantonese.
Mac crossed the floor, favouring his right leg. He hooked his fingers through the chain link near hers.
Li Ann winced, seeing him up close.
"It's not as bad as it looks," Mac tried to reassure her. "Really. I'll be, uh, fine. Later."
His lower lip was swollen and bleeding, his cheek was bruised, and it looked like he'd been punched in both eyes. That, and he was limping.
"Did you try to get away?" she asked.
"What, after what happened to Kobo? Hell no. McCoy roughed me up while he was questioning me."
"He speaks Cantonese?"
"No, English. Guess he figured I'd understand it, since I'm white. And you're safe, I told him you don't speak English. He doesn't speak Cantonese. I tested him. So he couldn't question you without a translator, and I don't think he wants witnesses when he questions people. Too bad he found out Michael speaks Japanese."
They shared a silent moment of worry over what was happening to Michael at that moment.
Then Mac said, "Want to know how I know he doesn't speak Cantonese?"
Li Ann wasn't really curious, but she asked anyway, "How?"
Mac grinned, showing that at least his teeth were intact. "One time after he hit me, I yelled 'orange sticky candy with bunny ears!' And he didn't miss a beat, he shouted at me to shut up and he hit me again. If he'd understood, he would've had to react somehow."
Li Ann couldn't help smiling at Mac's absurdity, even while she stared at the appalling evidence of the beating. "But you should be careful. I think that man is evil. I saw how he looked when he shot Kobo. He enjoyed it."
"Yeah. I saw that too." Mac rubbed her fingertips with his through the fence. "Michael'll be OK, don't worry. I don't think McCoy's going to do anything more than play with us a bit. He must have to answer to some kind of rules."
Li Ann wished she were sure of that. And she wished she could reach through the bars and wipe the blood off Mac's face and touch more than just his fingertips for comfort.
He caught her look. "Hey, cheer up," he urged her, "it could be worse."
Li Ann shook her head. "Like, how?"
"What if the police hadn't come, and after dinner Michael and Kobo had decided to take us to a karaoke bar?"
"That wouldn't be worse than this." Li Ann wasn't in the mood for stupid jokes.
"Wow," he said very seriously, "I guess you've never heard Michael sing."
Li Ann laughed accidentally. All right, maybe she was in the mood for stupid jokes. She suddenly felt a rush of affection and admiration for Mac, who could get arrested and beat up and thrown in a Tokyo jail and still put effort into making stupid jokes to try to make her feel better about it all.
The tender moment was broken by the opening of the door at the top of the stairs. A uniformed cop walked down and talked to the prison guard, who shrugged, grabbed his keys, and came to their door. He opened it. Li Ann and Mac stared at him, confused, and he waved them over, and then herded them up the stairs.
McCoy and Michael were standing in the precinct's small office space. Michael wasn't handcuffed or anything. McCoy looked deeply unhappy.
"They're letting us go," Michael said, very quietly, in Cantonese. "You ever wonder how powerful the Tang family is? This is how powerful."
McCoy drove them to the airport to make sure they got on the next available flight out of the country. He was obviously not pleased to let them go, but determined to make sure they didn't stay in his country a moment longer than necessary. They ended up split between two flights—Michael on a direct flight to Hong Kong, and Mac and Li Ann on another which left at the same time, but included a one-hour stopover in Taipei.
McCoy handed them their tickets at the security gate. "If I ever see you again," he said softly in English, "I'm liable to shoot you first, and look for an excuse later."
Mac snatched his ticket out of McCoy's hand. "Why thank you, I did enjoy my stay in your beautiful country." Michael and Li Ann took theirs in silence.
Inside the departure area, Michael took both Mac and Li Ann by the arm. "I'll see you in Hong Kong," he said. "I'll talk to Father. It'll be all right."
"See you there, bro," Mac replied. They clasped hands briefly, and Michael left. Mac stared after him for a moment, then turned to Li Ann. "Right. Let's find our gate."
They got a lot of funny looks as they walked along. Not only was Mac strikingly tall and Caucasian, he still looked and walked like he just lost a bar fight. When they passed a washroom, he went in and quickly washed the blood off his face, at Li Ann's suggestion. When he came out he looked a little better.
They got to their gate just in time; the flight crew closed the door right after them. They were seated in the last row at the back of the plane, where there were only two seats because the washroom took up the rest of the space. Li Ann took the window seat. Mac grimaced, folding himself into the tiny space. His knees pressed into the back of the seat in front of him. "Ow," he whispered, touching his right side.
Li Ann winced on his behalf. "You hurt there?"
"Yeah. Where that cop hit me. Probably just bruised."
The plane started to taxi.
Under his breath, Mac started singing the line from the John Denver song. "I'm leaving, on a jet plane, don't know when I'll be back again...."
"I hope we never come back," Li Ann said.
"Yeah? I still want to see Mount Fuji." Mac went back to humming the song. Li Ann took one of the in-flight magazines from the pouch in front of her, and stared at the pictures.
The plane roared down the runway, and finally the acceleration of takeoff pressed Li Ann back against her seat. Japan dropped away underneath them. Li Ann felt her eyes filling up with tears, and she closed them.
"Hey, Li Ann? What's wrong?" she heard Mac ask. "Everything's OK now."
No it wasn't. Things done couldn't be undone. "I've never seen anyone killed before."
"Oh," she heard. And she felt Mac's hand close around hers and squeeze. She squeezed back. She kept her eyes closed, and felt tears run down her cheeks. She kept remembering Kobo smiling at the dinner, greeting her politely in the little Cantonese he knew, chatting with Michael.... He'd been such a sweet little old man.
She felt ashamed at crying, too. She was supposed to be hard. She was supposed to be cold. She was an ex-prostitute, she was Triad. Mothers told their little daughters stories about women like Li Ann to scare them into being good. She wasn't supposed to cry over the death of some ganster she didn't even know.
She felt something soft dabbing at her cheeks. She opened her eyes and saw that Mac was wiping her tears away with the linen handkerchief he kept in his pocket. She felt warmth rush to her cheeks. "I'm sorry, it's just—I've never seen anyone killed before," she repeated.
He put the hanky into her hand. "Take this. It's OK. I understand. And I won't tell anyone."
Li Ann wiped her eyes. "Thanks. Have you?"
"Huh?"
"Seen someone... kill someone... before?" Her voice caught on the phrase, and she bit back another sob.
"Oh." Mac shrugged. "I guess. Yeah. Just a few times. It gets old fast, believe me."
"I need to, um, blow my nose. Is that OK?" Li Ann asked awkwardly.
Mac sort of laughed. "Don't worry about that. I'll throw the hanky in the laundry when we get home."
Li Ann blew her nose, and tucked the hanky in her pocket. She felt calmer now. They were flying above the clouds, which were lit cotton-candy pink and yellow with sunrise. It was beautiful out there, and there was no sign of land. She put her hand in Mac's again without really thinking about it.
"We've been up for, like, thirty hours now," Mac pointed out. "We should try to sleep."
"Yeah," Li Ann agreed. It was a good idea. So they both put their seats back the fraction that the airplane allowed, and closed their eyes, and dozed. Holding hands.
Despite the discomfort he was in, Mac was exhausted enough to fall into a deep sleep on the plane. He didn't wake up until the flight attendant came around to make him put his seat in its upright position for the descent. He woke up disoriented, not remembering where he was or why he couldn't move his legs or why his face hurt, or whose hand he was holding.
Li Ann sat there blinking, looking similarly confused. She let go of Mac's hand to push her hair off her face. "Where are we?"
"Taipei," Mac remembered. "Almost."
Li Ann stared at his face. "God, you look awful."
Mac touched his face. Ow. His eyes felt puffy and his lip felt huge. Also his right side hurt. He experimentally shrugged a bit, and felt a jolt of pain. Shit. Maybe the rib was cracked. Oh well, nothing he could do about it until they got back to Hong Kong. "No, it's OK, haven't you read any fashion magazines lately?" he said to Li Ann. "All the models look like this. It's the latest thing. I had to pay McCoy, like, four hundred dollars to do this to me. And that was a bargain."
Li Ann laughed, reluctantly.
The plane landed in Taipei. Mac struggled painfully out of his seat and discovered, to his relief, that he could still move his legs. He limped down the aisle to the front of the plane, and out into the pedway. Li Ann then slipped to his left and tucked herself under his arm. It actually didn't help him walk much, but he was touched that she'd noticed his difficulty and was trying to help him. If it'd been Michael here with him, he wouldn't have done that.
They found the gate for their connecting flight without much trouble. Then they had an hour to kill. Li Ann went and got them bowls of noodles for breakfast, since they'd slept through the breakfast on the plane.
After they finished the noodles, Li Ann asked Mac how he was doing.
"All right," he said, "You?"
Li Ann shrugged. "All right. Thanks for being there for me earlier. On the plane."
"Where else could I have gone?" Mac pointed out. "We were strapped in."
He kind of expected her to glare at him for teasing her when she was trying to be serious, but instead she smiled at him. "I'm glad it was you and not Michael," she said. "He doesn't know how to make things better like you do."
"Huh?" Mac was honestly confused by her remark.
"I mean...." Li Ann trailed off. She touched his cheek and met his gaze with bright eyes. "I mean...."
And then she kissed him.
Just lightly. Just a brush of their lips, and then she pulled away looking startled, as though he had kissed her.
He hadn't expected that. But it had felt right. They'd held hands all morning in their sleep. They'd walked through the airport with his arm around her. A barrier had been breached.
He remembered dancing with her in October after Paris. He'd been seriously turned on that night; she was beautiful, and strong, and she was soft and she smelled good and all those female things... but she was Li Ann, so he knew nothing could, nothing should happen between them.
Only now, when she kissed him, he wondered 'why not?'
"I'm sorry," she said.
"No, it's all right." He caught her chin and stopped her from turning her head away. "I don't know where that came from, but I liked it."
"I'm sorry," she repeated, "I didn't think, I mean your lip, it must hurt..."
"It's OK," he whispered. "That's a good kind of pain." And he kissed her.
Hong Kong, a week later
Mac was just drifting off to sleep when he was startled awake by his bedroom door opening.
Michael walked in, closed the door behind himself, and came to sit on the edge of Mac's bed. He was dressed in his white suit. He smelled like alcohol and cigarettes; he'd been out at the race track, and probably a bar after that.
"What do you want?" Mac asked, sitting up and rubbing his eyes.
"What's going on with you and Li Ann?" Michael asked in a calm, even tone.
Mac's heart skipped a beat. "Nothing."
Michael's expression got dark. "Don't lie to me Mac, you know I hate it when you lie to me."
"What do you think is going on?" Mac countered.
In response, Michael put a hand on Mac's chest and shoved him down onto the bed.
"Agh," Mac gasped. "Fuck! You know I've got a broken rib!"
"So tell me. Are you lovers now?"
"Yes," Mac hissed through teeth gritted against pain. There was no point in lying to Michael; he'd find out eventually, one way or another. Not that Mac and Li Ann had actually had sex yet, but they'd been hiding in corners and kissing all over the house.
Michael let go of Mac. Mac gasped with relief.
"That's good," Michael said.
"What?" Mac stared at Michael. Michael didn't look angry; he looked satisfied. Happy, even.
"I told you to find a woman. It took you long enough, but Li Ann's even better than a prostitute."
"Um, yeah," Mac agreed weakly.
Michael suddenly grabbed a handful of Mac's hair and kissed him, hard and deep, like he hadn't in a long time.
"Oooohummm," Mac moaned under Michael's rough lips. He felt fire in his blood immediately, a hot hard warmth in his groin.... Li Ann didn't want to have sex, she said she wasn't ready yet, and a week of kissing and nothing else had left Mac right on the edge of breaking.
Michael shrugged his jacket off. Underneath, he was wearing a holster with a gun in it. He pulled off his pants, and his underwear. He pulled out the gun—and he didn't put it down. Mac froze, staring first at the gun, then at Michael gazing at the gun. Mac felt another spike of fear.
"I want you to suck on my gun," Michael said, his voice deep and throaty. "Like it was my dick."
"Uh, no," Mac squeaked.
"Unload it first," Michael said, handing Mac the gun.
OK, unloading it was a good step. Mac popped the clip out and set that on the table, and Michael snatched the gun out of his hand.
Then Michael pushed Mac flat on the bed again—ouch! fuck! the rib!—and jammed the barrel of the gun between his lips. It was cold and hard, and it grated against Mac's teeth. He started to protest and Michael pushed the gun between his teeth when his mouth opened. Michael moved so he was straddling Mac. Mac was grateful and surprised when Michael didn't actually put any of his weight on Mac—he was finally being careful of Mac's cracked rib.
"Suck on it," Michael demanded.
"Fug oo," Mac mumbled angrily around the metal shaft in his mouth.
"Suck on it," Michael repeated. At the same time, his free hand found Mac's dick and started playing with it.
And Mac was hard. Goddamn fucking hell, he was as hard as the gun Michael'd stuck in his mouth.
Mac closed his lips around the gun.
"Close your eyes," Michael ordered him. "Imagine it's my dick in your mouth"
Mac closed his eyes. Michael's demand didn't really make sense. The gun's barrel was cool while Michael's dick was hot. The metal shaft was much narrower than Michael's, and boxy.
Still, Mac moved his lips, bobbed his head a bit, even moved his tongue as though he was sucking the gun off. Meanwhile, Michael's hand caressed Mac's penis in long, firm strokes, and Mac felt a glow of pleasure building. His mind started to fade out. It was Michael's dick he was sucking, and any minute now Michael would come in Mac's mouth, explosive like a gunshot.... Michael pushed the gun in too far and Mac gagged. Michael eased up just a little with the gun, but stroked Mac faster and faster.
And then Mac came. He let out a muffled cry around the gun, he bit down on it, whimpering, he arched his back, he yelled.
And he felt a wet sticky warmth on his bare abdomen, and he knew it hadn't come from himself. 'Michael came from that?' Mac marvelled, fuzzily.
The gun pulled out of his mouth. Mac lay on the bed with his eyes closed and listened while Michael cleaned himself up, put his pants back on, grabbed his clip off the table, reloaded his gun, and finally left.
"Wow," Mac sighed.
Hong Kong, February 1994
Li Ann lay back on her bed, smiling, while Mac kissed her up and down her body. He nuzzled one of her breasts, and sucked on the nipple, and she gasped and giggled a bit at the tingling. She'd never let him take her bra off before. Her heart beat fast. Her skin felt extra-sensitive. She let her fingers tangle in Mac's hair.
Then he roamed down to her hips, and started to tug her panties down a bit, kissing the hollow of her hip.
"Stop," she ordered him, yanking him quickly away from there by his hair.
"Ow!" he yelped. He rubbed his scalp. "A simple 'no' would have been enough."
"Uh, sorry. You took me by surprise."
"I want to make love to you, Li Ann," he pleaded, his big brown eyes wide open.
"I know," she sighed, sitting up. She trailed one finger down the middle of his chest. "I'm just not ready yet."
"Are you worried it'll hurt?" he asked. "'Cause it's true it sometimes hurts the first time for the woman, but it's not too bad, and it's better after that."
"Mac," Li Ann said drily, "I'm not a virgin."
"Oh," he said. Then "Oh?" again, confused, reconciling that with three months of 'I'm not ready yet.' Then he looked at her, his eyes narrowing a bit like he was thinking hard, and he said "Oh," again, soft and low, like he'd just understood something.
Li Ann turned away from him and lay down, pulling the covers up around her shoulders for protection; she suddenly felt more than naked, she felt transparent. She thought Mac had suddenly, without being told, figured out everything about her past. And Mac did not rate highly in the traits of perception and sensitivity; if he could see it all so easily, then probably everyone could. "I don't want to talk about it," she insisted.
"All right."
She was afraid he'd ask her questions. She was afraid he'd try to comfort her, and break down her fragile barriers of control. But she was forgetting something: what attracted her to Mac in the first place.
"Hey, I'm hungry," he said. No hint in his voice of what just happened. "Want some ice cream?"
"Ummm, not right before sleep. I want to sleep now."
"Can I stay?" he asked, infinitely hopeful.
"No."
Mac sighed, and rolled over to the side of the bed. "See you tomorrow, then."
Mac padded barefoot away from Li Ann's room. He stopped and leaned against a wall and groaned. He was so turned on, and she was so not ready.
"I'm not a virgin," she'd said. But she freaked when he got anywhere near her panties. Mac remembered how he'd been with Michael, back in the beginning—wanting the touching and the affection, but scared of the sex. He'd bet practically anything that Li Ann was coming from the same place he'd been back then—she'd had some really bad experiences with sex. Maybe even before she came to the Tangs, when she was just a little girl.
Not for the first time, Mac wondered how Li Ann had ended up with the Tang family. He wouldn't even have guessed that she was adopted if he hadn't been here for a year before her. She never talked about the times before. Neither did he. And he didn't want to, so why would he expect her to? He wouldn't.
Mac found himself standing outside Michael's room. He pushed the door open and walked in.
Michael wasn't asleep. He was sitting up in bed, reading a book.
Mac walked over to the bed. "Fuck me," he begged. "Now."
Michael didn't question it this time. He threw his book away, grabbed Mac's wrists and threw him onto the bed, and devoured him.
Hong Kong, July 1994
The night was steamy hot, and the air-conditioning was broken. Li Ann lay on her back on the floor, completely naked. Mac had a bowl of ice water, and he kept dipping a washcloth in it and then rubbing that over Li Ann, and himself. They were surrounded by towels to catch the drips.
Li Ann hissed at the cold when Mac touched the cloth, freshly wet, to her breasts. "Mmm, do that again."
"OK," he said, and did.
Li Ann felt the ice water drip down the sides of her rib cage. A bit of it pooled in the hollow around her belly button. Li Ann lifted her head to see it, and the movement made it run away. Beyond her belly button, she could see her dark patch of pubic hair. She took a moment to marvel that she was actually naked, with Mac, and not feeling weird about it.
It was too hot to feel weird.
Mac wet the cloth and rubbed it on his face, and smiled. He wet it again and let it drip on her right thigh—the drips running down the inside of her thigh, touching where she had never let him touch.
The heat made Li Ann feel soft, and lazy, and open.
She thought then that maybe she would like to try it. Sex. With Mac. Maybe. Was she ready? Was he the right man to do it with? Hard to decide.
"What are you thinking?" she asked him, looking for a clue.
He shrugged. "Nothing."
She sighed happily and closed her eyes. There was the sign. Mac was the antidote to the darkness that lurked around sex. He was bright and open, not worrying about hidden meanings or secrets. He'd showed her how to survive in Tokyo with jokes and lightness, and he would do the same now.
"Where are you hot now?" he asked, swishing the cloth around in the bowl. Ice tinkled against its porcelain sides.
"Here," she said, letting her fingers trail down between her legs. It was true. Thinking about sex with Mac, she suddenly felt warmer between her legs than anywhere else. That was a good sign, right?
"Uh?" he said in surprise. "Um, I don't think you want me to put ice water there."
"No," she agreed. "Something else."
"Li Ann?" He said her name all tentatively and wonderingly. She found that strange—she wasn't giving him anything particularly special, after all.
"I want to try sex tonight," she said.
"You sure?"
She wished he hadn't asked that, but she supposed it would have been rude of him not to. "Yeah. I mean, I know it's too hot, but...."
"No, it's OK." He covered her mouth with his in a hungry kiss. When he broke away again he said "I have to go to my room to get a condom. Is that OK?"
"Yeah," she said, glad he'd thought of that. That need hadn't even occurred to her.
He pulled his pants on and left. She got up onto her bed and waited, feeling the heat heavy in all her limbs, the sweat dripping off her forehead. She didn't think about what was coming, or anything at all.
Mac came back and pulled his pants off again, and joined her on the bed. He started kissing her all over. Really all over. She let out a startled yelp when she felt his tongue on her sex. He stopped, looked up, asked "Is that OK?"
"Yeah, it's OK," she breathed, and nudged his head back down.
She felt nervous, but it was too hot to get tense. Wherever Mac touched her their skins slid across each other, slippery with sweat.
She felt an odd and unfamiliar sensation down around where Mac was licking her. It was warm, and tingly. She thought she liked it. She wasn't sure.
Mac stopped that, and kissed his way up her chest again. "What do you like?" he asked. "What do you want me to do?"
"I don't know," she said. "I'm not used to this. I don't know how it goes."
"Well, what do you like when you pleasure yourself?" he tried.
Li Ann frowned. "When I what?"
"When you masturbate."
"Oh." Li Ann felt herself blushing. "I, uh, I don't."
"You don't?" he repeated, sounding kind of confused.
"No. I don't masturbate."
"Oh, Li Ann," he sort of sighed, and nuzzled her arm. "All right. I'll experiment. Tell me if you like something or you don't, OK?"
He kissed her on the mouth—he smelled strange, like her, but she didn't mind that. Then, with him still kissing her, she felt his fingers teasing her sex. The warm, tingly feeling came back.
"I like that," she said against his lips, "I think."
His fingers moved faster, and maybe slipped inside her a bit. She felt hot between her legs, and open. The warm, tingly feeling got bigger and bigger.
And then suddenly her thoughts fizzed and exploded, and she felt tight in places where she'd never known she had muscles, and it felt good, wonderful, and she couldn't stop herself from crying out.
"What was that?" she whispered when she could.
"I think you had an orgasm," he answered in a warm, teasing tone.
"I never had one before," she whispered.
She felt him caressing her arms and her breasts, but she felt so loose and relaxed that the sensations seemed remote.
"I'd like to be inside you, Li Ann," he said after a bit. "Would that be OK?"
She knew what he meant. She'd avoided looking at his dick, but she could see now at the edge of her vision that it was hard and erect. She knew this was part of sex. It was the part that made her really nervous—only right now, she felt so good, so relaxed and warm and liquid that maybe it would be OK. "Yes," she said. "OK."
He put the condom on. She felt the tip of his penis bumping against her, and then she felt a familiar-unfamiliar fullness. Unfamiliar because it didn't hurt.
"You're really wet," he whispered.
"Is that good?"
"Yes."
Then he started to move. She remembered the up-and-down motion. She tried not to think about that. It was Mac on top of her now, no one else.
"You feel so good," he murmured, closing his eyes. She lay quietly, wondering. He moved in and out of her faster and faster. His face was really quite pretty.
Then he gasped, and froze on top of her, his face twisted into an expression something like pain but somehow different.
He sighed, suddenly loose again, and rolled off her. "That was amazing, Li Ann," he murmured into her ear. "That was wonderful."
"That was... interesting," she admitted.
"Interesting?" he repeated, opening one eye to look at her and raising an eyebrow.
"Well, I think I liked it."
"Good," he murmured, snuggling against her.
It was far, far too hot for this, but she didn't push him away. She closed her eyes, and waited for sleep.
Li Ann tried to move her arms, but they were tied to the bed. Her legs were tied, too. She looked down at her body and saw that she was wearing a white t-shirt, but nothing else—no pants, no underwear.
A man came in. It was a short, grey-haired Chinese man with bad skin and bad teeth. She wanted to scream, but she knew that if she did he would beat her, and no one would stop him.
He untied the string that served as his belt, and let his pants fall down. His huge, burgundy dick pointed straight at her. It was too big. It wouldn't fit in her. It would break her.
"No, please..." she begged.
He just leered at her, and straddled her, and poked it into her.
She felt herself ripping. She screamed.
She woke up.
Li Ann sat up in bed, whimpering.
"it's ok," she whispered to herself, "just another dream, it's not real...."
There was someone in bed with her.
She frantically scrambled out of the bed, landing on the floor with a painful jolt. Just as she hit the floor she remembered: Mac. Mac hadn't left the room. He'd fallen asleep in her bed, after they had sex.
She pulled herself up onto the bed as quietly as she could, hoping that somehow he'd slept through everything so far. She didn't want him to wake up. She didn't want him to know about the nightmares.
Miraculously, he was still asleep, snoring lightly.
She sat on the bed and hugged her knees. She didn't know what to do. Going back to sleep right now was not an option. Usually when she woke up from one of her nightmares, she'd go walking through the house, or up on the roof. But she didn't think it would be right to leave Mac alone in her bed.
So she just sat there and waited. Waited for her heart to stop racing. Waited for morning to come—it would, eventually, it always did.
After a while, she became aware of a change in Mac's breathing. He made a sort of groaning noise. His breath got faster. Li Ann stared at him. Was he having a nightmare, too? She felt an odd, unexpected twinge of panic. Mac wasn't supposed to have nightmares. Mac was supposed to the one who made jokes all the time, who never let anything get to him.
Mac, still sleeping, moaned again, and his face scrunched up in an expression of pain or fear, and she had to stop it. She grabbed his shoulder and shook him.
"Mac, wake up!" she demanded.
"Gah!" he gasped, his eyes popping open. He stared at her, wide-eyed, as though trying to comprehend who she was. Then he said "Li Ann," in a sort of wonderment, and he turned over and buried his face in the pillow. He shuddered once, and hugged the pillow.
"We can't sleep together," she said. "You have to go."
"What?" He sat up. "Sorry I woke you up...."
"You didn't, I woke you up. I want you to leave now."
"But-" he protested. He laid a hand on her shoulder. "It's too hot tonight, I know. Hey, I'll get more cold water."
"No, just go," she insisted, rubbing her cheek sadly against his hand. "We can't sleep together."
"Why not?" He traced her cheek with his fingers. "I really want to spend the night with you. I want to hold you all night—OK, when it isn't so hot—and wake up next to you in the morning."
Li Ann shook her head. It was impossible. She couldn't do it. When she slept, her carefully constructed shell dissolved, exposing the terror and pain that lurked inside. She couldn't stand for anyone to see that. And if Mac had nightmares of his own, she didn't want to know about them. She wasn't strong enough. But she didn't want to drive Mac away. She loved being with him, just not asleep. He was so fun, so playful, so sweet to her.... Miserable and confused, she decided to tell him the truth. "I don't want to share your nightmares. I don't want you to share my nightmares. I just want to be happy with you, and leave the rest out of it."
Mac frowned. "What nightmares?"
Li Ann turned her face away from his. "I don't want to talk about it. That's the whole point."
"No, I mean, I wasn't even having a nightmare. Really. I was just dreaming about Michael."
Li Ann managed a wry smile. "Well, it looked like you were dreaming he was killing you or something." She put her finger on Mac's lips to stop him from replying. "I don't want to talk about it," she reminded him. "So can we do it? Just be happy together and leave the rest out?"
"And 'the rest' includes sleeping together?"
"Yes. I guess I wish it didn't, but..." she shrugged, not meeting his eyes.
"Hey, come here." He kissed her on the lips. "Being happy together sounds good to me. Who needs the rest?"
Hong Kong, August 1995
Mac sipped at his beer and looked around the room while he waited for Michael to come back. He still couldn't quite believe that he was here. Michael had never brought Mac to a party before—it wasn't part of their relationship. They worked together. They had sex. But they never just hung out together as though they were friends. They usually didn't even go to the races together, though they both went separately, but today they'd gone together and both made winning bets, and Michael had brought Mac here to celebrate.
Mac didn't recognize anyone in the room. Michael had greeted a few of them as friends. Mac didn't know where he stood with these people—he didn't know whether they knew who he was, or what they thought he was to Michael.
Michael came back, his eyes shining with excitement. "I bought something for us."
Mac perked up. "What?"
"It's a surprise," Michael said. "Come with me."
Michael led him upstairs. As they passed by artwork and expensive furniture, Mac admired the taste of whoever owned the mansion they were in.
They entered a small, carpeted room lined with couches. A few people sat and lounged on the couches. Two of them were sharing a large hookah which sat on the floor between them.
One man stood up at their entry and grinned at them. Mac noted his gold front tooth with amusement, and his ostentatiously expensive rings. "You ready now?" the man said.
"Yes," Michael replied.
"Three hundred fifty dollars," the man said.
Mac raised an eyebrow as Michael pulled out a wad of bills, and traded it for a little plastic baggy of white powder.
"Is that what I think it is?" Mac asked Michael, under his breath.
"It's very fine cocaine," the man with the gold tooth said. "Very pure. I tried it this morning."
There was a glass coffee table in the middle of the room, slightly grungy, covered with empties and overflowing ash trays. There was also a razor blade lying in the middle of it. Michael knelt by the table and pushed things aside to make a clear place, which he wiped clean with his sleeve.
"Come on," he said to Mac, "it's my treat."
Mac shrugged to himself, and joined Michael by the table. "Have you done this before?"
"Of course," Michael said, "haven't you?"
"Hadn't got around to it. Too busy serving food to the poor with Li Ann, that kind of thing." Actually Mac had held back from doing any serious drugs because he didn't want to fuck up his body when he was doing such heavy physical training all the time. But hey, Michael kept the same routine Mac did. If he could manage it, so could Mac. "So is this how you keep your youthful figure?"
"Huh?" Michael said while he tipped some snow onto the table and divided it into two lines with the razor blade.
"This woman I know, she's a model, she uses coke all the time. Says it keeps her thin."
Michael gave him a slightly puzzled look. "It can suppress the appetite, yeah."
Mac gave up the small talk—always a struggle with Michael, usually they just fought or fucked—and took the straw Michael handed him.
Mac knew what to do—he had, after all, seen people doing coke at parties before. Feeling vaguely ridiculous, he put the straw in his nose and snorted his line. Then he handed the straw to Michael and sat back. He didn't feel anything to start with other than a burning sensation in his sinuses, and an overwhelming urge to sneeze, which he suppressed by pinching his nose.
Michael did his line, then stood up and extended a hand to Mac. "Come on. I know somewhere we can go."
Mac followed him out the door and down the hall, slightly stunned that Michael was leading him by the hand with other people around.
And suddenly—wow. It hit him. He felt exhilarated, euphoric, fantastic. He felt faster than a speeding bullet, stronger than a freight train.
Michael pulled him through a door into an empty bedroom. "This is going to be the most amazing sex you've ever had," he promised.
Mac believed it.
Hong Kong, December 1995
Mac picked at his food, and wished time would go faster. For the first time in several weeks, the godfather had arranged for a small, intimate dinner with his children—and Mac was trapped making polite conversation with Mr. Tang, Li Ann and Michael all at once, for another hour at least.
Mac had been avoiding being in a room with all three of them at once, lately. It felt far too potentially explosive. There was Li Ann, who he'd been dating, sort of, for two years, and having sex with semi-regularly for a year and a half. Sitting between her and Mac at the round table there was Michael, with whom Mac had been having sex semi-regularly for about four years. Michael knew about Li Ann, but Li Ann didn't know about Michael. And then there was Mr. Tang, who Mac loved and respected as a father and who he desperately didn't want to let down, but he knew he was letting him down, in far too many ways. The godfather wasn't supposed to know about Mac's intimate relationships with either Li Ann or Michael, but Li Ann and Mac weren't nearly as careful as Michael and Mac were, and Mac suspected that Mr. Tang knew Mac and Li Ann were lovers, and that he did not approve.
With all these undercurrents, something had to give.
On top of all that, Mac wasn't feeling well. He took another bite of shredded eel and chewed it slowly. It was one of his favourite dishes, but he just wasn't hungry.
"...and I think we should reward Tsing's loyalty, perhaps with a promotion to a management position in the Durban business. Or, if he wishes to stay in Hong Kong because of his family..." the godfather was saying. Li Ann and Michael both appeared to be listening intently. Mac couldn't focus. His nose was itching and burning, and running. He sniffled, and pulled his linen handkerchief out of his pocket to blow his nose as discreetly as possible.
"...profits are up," Michael was talking now, "but I'm hearing more people all the time talking about pulling out before the Chinese government takes control..."
Mac's nose started to tickle like crazy, and he realized he was about to sneeze. Fuck. He covered his mouth and nose with the handkerchief and turned away from the table. "heCHsh! hiCHsh!" he sneezed twice.
Li Ann, across the table, gave him a sympathetic look, and he replied with a weak grin. He'd told her he had a cold. Actually, it was the fucking coke messing up his nose.
"Mac," the godfather suddenly addressed him directly. Mac struggled to focus. "Have you made any progress getting past T.R.M.'s firewall?"
"Sort of. I ran a program to look for weaknesses and I didn't find any way in...." Mac sniffed, and dabbed at his nose with the handkerchief. It was tickling again. Shit. "I think we'll need to get physically insi-ah....ahhh..." Fuck! He rubbed his nose, trying to make the sneeze go away. He could see Michael glaring at him out of the corner of his eye, while Li Ann winced sympathetically. "We need to get inside. I wrote a virus, and if I can download it onto their syst-ahh...choo!" Mac groaned silently, holding the handkerchief over his nose again. It was getting worse. He needed to sneeze again. Why did this happen to him, not Michael? Michael'd been using longer than he had. It wasn't fair. "If I can get it onto their system," he tried again, his words muffled by the hanky, "it'll make a back door for us." That was as much as he could manage. He turned away from the table again—away from his father, so towards Michael—and breathed shakily into the handkerchief, waiting for the next sneeze. His eye!
s were watering, but he could see that Michael was giving him a look of profound disgust. "eh-chsh!" He blew his nose, and when he lowered the handkerchief he saw blood. Fucking hell. He folded it quickly so no one would see, and he stood up. "I'm sorry, Father," he said quickly, "I'm feeling sick. I've got to go."
Mr. Tang's concerned expression made Mac feel like shit. "Should I call the doctor?" the godfather asked.
"No, it's just a cold, I just need to lie down," Mac said, edging toward the door.
"By all means, rest now," Mr. Tang agreed. "We can talk business tomorrow."
Mac rushed out of the room before anyone could say anything else. He went straight to his bedroom, grabbed a box of tissues, and threw himself down on his bed.
It wasn't long before Michael intruded. He scowled at Mac. "You ever do that again, I'll kill you."
Mac sat up. "What, sneeze? Sorry, in the future I'll check with you first."
"Don't get smart with me." Michael's posture spoke of barely restrained violence.
Mac considered provoking him more, just for the hell of it.
"You know what I mean," Michael went on. "Father's not naïve. You let him see you like that again, he'll start to wonder if you're using. And when he starts wondering about you, he'll start wondering about me."
Michael was right, and Mac knew it. And the last thing Mac wanted was for the godfather to find out about the drugs; just imagining the godfather's disappointment in him made Mac feel nauseous.
"Well, what the hell can I do?" Mac demanded. And sneezed.
Michael paused, actually considering the problem. "Stop using so much coke. Or at least stop snorting it. Ever try freebasing?"
Mac shook his head.
"You should." Michael gave a tight grin. "The rush is intense."
There was a knock at Mac's door.
"Who is it?" Mac called out from his bed. Michael kept quiet.
"It's me," came Li Ann's voice through the door.
Mac looked to Michael. Michael shrugged, and went to open the door. Li Ann was standing outside with a bowl on a tray. She raised her eyebrows at Michael's presence, but just said "I brought you some broth."
"Uh, thanks," Mac said. "I'm not really hungry..." He was touched, though. Li Ann brought him soup. Michael threatened him with physical violence. Maybe there was a lesson in this?
"You should eat anyway," Li Ann insisted, bringing the tray over to Mac's bed. "Keep your strength up."
"She's right," Michael said, totally earnest. He stayed near the door, but didn't leave. "And it was very good of you to bring the soup for Mac, Li Ann. I hope you don't catch his cold."
Mac glared at Michael behind Li Ann's back. "She won't."
Li Ann shrugged. "I don't care, it's just a cold."
Michael gave Mac a darkly warning look, and finally left.
"What's with him?" Li Ann asked.
Mac shrugged, and sneezed. He blew his nose carefully, hoping it wouldn't start bleeding again with Li Ann here. "Bad mood. With Michael, who knows? Maybe his shoes are too tight."
"Come on, eat," Li Ann urged him again.
Mac took the bowl and the spoon and started sipping at the broth, realizing that was the only way she was going to leave him alone.
"Michael's intense," Li Ann mused in a quiet tone. "He scares me sometimes."
Mac looked at her sharply. "What? Why? Did he do anything?" If Michael had started threatening Li Ann....
"No, of course not!" Li Ann said, as though the idea was bizarre, and Mac felt reassured. Still, he wanted to know what Li Ann saw in Michael that scared her. Mac feared Michael and loved him, hated him and admired him, often all at the same time, notably during sex. Li Ann's relationship with Michael was, Mac thought, simpler.
"So, what is it about him?"
Li Ann shrugged. "The way he looks at people. Like he's wondering whether they'd scream if he stabbed them." She shook her head, and laughed uncomfortably. "All right, I don't know where that came from."
"Been watching late-night TV again?" Mac suggested. He sipped at another spoonful of soup, and thought about what Li Ann said. Considering what Michael liked to do with Mac, Li Ann might even be right.
Mac wondered suddenly why he let Michael do the things he did to him. It had all been going on for so long, it seemed like always. That in itself was not a good enough reason.
It had been a long, long time since Michael had said "I love you" to Mac. It had been a long time since Mac had felt at all safe when he was near Michael.
And here was Li Ann, bringing him soup because she thought he was sick. Li Ann knew how to fight, but she'd never get pleasure from hurting someone.
Mac knew right then that if he ever had to choose between Michael and Li Ann, he'd choose Li Ann. It was a no-brainer.
Only problem was, if it ever came to that, Michael would probably kill him.
Hong Kong, August 1996
Li Ann stripped the last of her clothes off and crawled onto Mac's bed, joining him there. "I wonder what kind of assignments Father's planning to give us tomorrow?" she mused.
"Dunno. Hope it's something fun. Probably won't be though, not with him talking about 'responsibility.'" Mac pouted, and tickled his fingers down Li Ann's back.
Li Ann grinned, and flicked his nipple with her finger. "Why do you always think about fun? This is serious work we do!"
"Well, I'd have more fun if you'd let me." Mac said it without rancour; he couldn't really be annoyed with Li Ann while he was kissing her breasts.
"Are you still upset I wouldn't let you take that trophy? How were you planning to escape on a motorcycle with that huge thing?"
Mac shrugged. "I'm innovative. I would've figured something out." Actually, that was a good point, and not something he'd thought of at the time. Last night, when they did the job at the Trade Association, he'd been high on speed, and that made it easy to act without thinking about the long-term consequences (like five minutes in the future). It'd made everything bright and exciting, and maybe he'd been more reckless than he should have been, but it had been fun.
Mac kissed Li Ann on the lips. That was enough to end the conversation. She returned his kiss hungrily.
They made love.
Afterwards, they lay on the bed together. Mac felt comfortably numb. Li Ann lay with her head snuggled against his chest.
"What are you thinking?" she asked, after a bit.
Mac laughed. "What do I ever think about?"
Li Ann tickled her fingers across his chest. "Nothing."
"And that's why you love me," he replied smugly. She'd told him that much, more than once. If he thought about it hard, it wasn't an especially good reason—but compared to the complexities of fear and pain involved in Michael's attraction, it seemed nearly idyllic.
Li Ann gave him a teasing smile. "Do you love me?"
Mac cringed inwardly. Not that again. He didn't know why, but he just couldn't say it. Not to her, and not to Michael. Making a joke out of it, he pretended to look at a watch on his naked wrist. "Wow, will you look at the time...."
"You know you do," Li Ann assured him affectionately. She gave him a light kiss. "You just don't know how to say it yet."
"Mmmm." Mac felt the same happy glow he had the first time she'd said that to him. He'd never even managed to confirm her faith with a nod, but somehow she seemed to understand. Li Ann was amazing. He was really glad he'd decided to get her a present today. "I've got a surprise for you," he said, reaching under his bed to pull out the bunch of white roses he'd hidden there earlier.
Li Ann sat up to receive the flowers. "They're beautiful," she said. Then, in a playful tone, she added, "Now, how did you fit them under your jacket?"
Mac pretended to be wounded. "I paid for those."
"Really? You're slowing down." She put the roses down. She was still joking with him, but something in Li Ann's tone spoke of real disappointment. Mac understood when she added "White roses mean friendship. Red ones mean love."
Damage control time. "Everyone sends red," Mac explained. "They're boring." Li Ann turned her back to him. "You get the white ones, you'll know they're from me." He kissed her shoulder, hoping that would get him off the hook.
Damn the secret language of flowers. Even without knowing it, he'd still managed to avoid telling her he loved her. But he did love her, and she knew it—wasn't that enough?
"You ever wonder what else we could be doing?" Li Ann asked out of nowhere, in a pensive tone.
"I always wanted to be a jockey." Yeah, a 6 foot 4 jockey. Mac snickered at his own joke, muffling his laugh in her shoulder. And then suddenly he felt one hell of a flash of foreboding. It filled him with a strong, inexplicable conviction that everything was about to change, that everything was about to end. He considered Li Ann's question more carefully. "Why'd you ask me that? You wanna leave or something?"
"It's all I know," was Li Ann's cryptic reply.
The foreboding was still pulsing in Mac's awareness, and it drove him to cross a barrier he'd never breached before with Li Ann. "You know," he said, pretending casualness, "you never told me how you got started." Of course she hadn't. It had been the number one unspoken rule between them from the very beginning. He asked now because... he didn't know why. Because he'd just developed a premonition that everything he counted on was about to fall apart.
He didn't expect her to answer him. He expected her to glare at him and leave, actually. Instead, she snuggled her head against his chest and said "I come from Canton province." She sighed.
Mac's feeling of foreboding got even stronger. Why the hell was Li Ann telling him this now, after all these years? Did she have the same strange feelings he did?
At the same time, he was fascinated. The mystery of Li Ann's past drew him in. He squeezed her arm encouragingly.
"When I was twelve," Li Ann went on, "my family sold me. I was the fourth girl, there wasn't any food. The woman who bought me brought children across the border."
Li Ann stopped there. Mac could more or less guess the rest. When he'd wondered about Li Ann's past, that scenario had occurred to him. It happened way too much around here. "For prostitution?" he said.
Li Ann nodded. Mac hugged his arm a little tighter around her, hoping he could bring her some sort of comfort, far too late.
"Father won the business from the Zhong family, and when he found out how old the girls were, he just let us go."
Mac gave her a little smile. "Except for you, huh?"
Li Ann rolled over, and her expression got brighter. "I stole his wallet. He thought I showed promise."
Mac grinned. He hadn't expected that. Wow. Li Ann was even cooler than he'd realized.
She kissed him. "That's why I could never leave," she explained, and kissed him again.
"I'm glad," Mac said, returning the kiss. The weird foreboding feeling started to fade away. She could never leave, he could never leave, nothing was going to change any time soon....
Li Ann suddenly looked over at the clock beside the bed, and Mac followed her glance. It was nearly 1:00 am.
"I have to go," Li Ann said.
"No you don't," Mac said, instantly falling into his part in their usual game. He'd try to convince her to stay the night—and she'd refuse. But hey, he could try. It was kind of like the game where she tried to get him to say that he loved her, and he couldn't. They had to keep playing, just to show that they still cared. "You stay."
He tried to distract her with a kiss.
It didn't quite work. She broke away from the kiss, looking troubled, but she didn't try to leave again. "We have a problem," she said instead. "Michael's been acting strange."
Mac's sense of foreboding snapped back into being, big time. He put his hand around Li Ann's shoulder. "What do you mean?"
"I think," Li Ann said carefully, "he thinks he's in love with me."
Mac laughed uncomfortably. "He'll get over it." Fuck. Michael in love with Li Ann? Mac hadn't seen that one coming, not at all. But as soon as she said it, he could believe it. Li Ann was beautiful, perfect, amazing—and she was with Mac. Of course Michael would want to possess her.
"He never gets over anything," Li Ann said in a flat tone.
Mac imagined them together, without himself in the middle—Michael acting like he did with Mac, Li Ann acting like she did with Mac. The thought made him sick. Michael would destroy her. "Hey, hey," he said, touching her face, "Michael doesn't know how to take you away from me." He kissed her, so that she couldn't see the worry in his eyes. "I'll figure something out," he promised.
She was right, of course, Michael never got over anything. And Michael always got everything he wanted. Mac didn't know what he could do to protect Li Ann—but he'd think of something.
Li Ann broke away from the kiss, and sat back, looking thoughtful. "You know..." she said, "You never told me how you ended up here, either."
"My dad abandoned me in Hong Kong when I was twelve. You know that—you met him." Mac knew he was being evasive, and it wasn't fair after what she'd told him that night, but he couldn't help it, it was such a thoroughly ingrained habit.
"But how did you end up with the Tangs?"
Mac sighed. He hadn't told anyone this story since Michael, years ago. "I saved a Tang soldier's life."
Li Ann's eyes widened. "Wow. That's better than stealing Father's wallet."
"Not really." He wondered how she'd react if he told her the whole story about Tom, and the hit men, and how he'd got into the Tangs by killing a man when he was thirteen. He didn't want to tell her that. "I didn't do anything much, the whole situation just kind of ... happened."
He hadn't told her much, but she let that thread go. "What I was really wondering about," she said, "is what happened with your mother."
"My mother?" Mac repeated. Shit. Why did she ask that?
"Remember, you told me about your mother." Li Ann took his hand and stroked the back of it. "How she was a prostitute. You understand, now, why I reacted so strongly when you told me?"
"Yeah..." Mac said.
"And she raised you, right? And William wasn't around? So how did you end up in Hong Kong with William?"
That was a bad, bad question. Li Ann waited, expectantly. Mac felt hollow, and cold, and a little dizzy.
There was only one thing to do. A straightforward lie.
"She killed herself," he said.
"I'm sorry," Li Ann whispered, and wrapped her arms around Mac. He couldn't relax in her embrace. He kept explaining, fleshing the story out, telling it so that it was almost true. It was almost true. It could have been true.
"She'd been depressed for a long time. I didn't really understand it—I was just a kid, right? I think that's why she lost her job, actually, and ended up selling her body. After she killed herself, I was put in foster care. They knew I had a father, but it took them a long time to track him down. Well, it seemed like a long time to me, but I guess it was pretty good, considering. Four months. I don't even know how they found him. He was in Peru." Mac relaxed a little, getting into marginally safer territory. The parts about his father were all true, and he didn't mind at all talking about what a bastard William was. "So he came and got me, but I guess he didn't really know what to do with me. He just sort of dragged me along while he did his thing. That lasted, I don't know, about a year. It was fun at first. He got me to help him out on some of his cons. He told me I was his protégé. But then, I don't know, he was a terrible father. We fought more and more. Finally one time, while we were in Hong Kong!
, we had this huge blow-up and I just walked out. I was so mad at him. I didn't ever want to go back."
Li Ann hugged him tighter. Mac let himself lean against her. "So, you struck out on your own?" she asked.
He laughed without humour. "Well, a night on the street changed my mind. The next day I found my way back to the hotel. I was ready to apologize. But when I got there... he was gone."
"How could he do that?" Li Ann murmured. It wasn't really a question, but Mac answered it anyway.
"Because he's an irresponsible, slimy bastard."
Li Ann stifled a yawn. Then, looking completely appalled at herself, she apologized to Mac.
"S'OK," Mac said. Then he yawned too, and grinned. "It's contagious. It's really, really late. We'll have to sleep."
"Yeah." Li Ann slid to the edge of the bed and stood up. She leaned over the bed to kiss him one more time. "Good night."
"I really wish you'd stay," Mac said softly.
"I know." Li Ann started to pull her clothes on. "But you know I can't."
"I know." Mac got out of bed and started to get dressed, too.
"What are you doing?" Li Ann asked.
"I'll walk you back to your room."
She shook her head, and laughed.
The finished dressing, Li Ann grabbed her flowers, and then they snuck quietly through the house to Li Ann's suite. Once inside, Li Ann put the flowers down on a table and Mac pressed her against the wall to steal one more kiss.
"OK, you have to go," Li Ann murmured against his lips.
"Oh, yeah?"
"Uhm hm," Li Ann said, not very convincingly. Mac started to get hopeful—there was no reason they couldn't end up in Li Ann's bed now, right?
"Make me," he teased, kissing her again. Li Ann smiled.
"Let him stay," said a third voice. Mac and Li Ann leapt apart, startled. It was Michael! What the hell was he doing in Li Ann's room?
"I'm sorry about the hour," Michael said. "I couldn't find you, so I waited here."
Li Ann and Mac came farther into the room. Li Ann looked very uncomfortable. She must have suspected that Michael knew about her and Mac—but he'd never caught them kissing before.
Mac perched on the arm of Li Ann's yellow couch, and waited to see what kind of shit was going to go down tonight.
"No problem," Li Ann said to Michael. "I'm going to make some tea." She tried to leave, but Michael grabbed her arm and stopped her.
"I've got some news," he said. "My father's reassigning me, sending me to Singapore. I leave in two weeks."
First Mac just caught the "my father" bit. Michael had been doing that more and more lately, acting jealous of Mac and Li Ann and their place in the family. It really grated on Mac's nerves when Michael did that. Mr. Tang was a father to Li Ann and Mac, too.
Then the rest of what Michael had said sunk in. "What the?" Mac whispered to himself. Reassigning? The way Michael'd just said it, it sounded permanent. But that wasn't possible, was it? Mac stood up, and felt himself grinning in his confusion. "Wait a minute. He's going to break up the team?"
"Not completely," Michael said. He took Li Ann's hand. "He's given me permission to marry you," he said to her. "As soon as possible."
Li Ann grinned helplessly, looking as desperate as Mac felt. Michael kissed her hand, and then met Mac's gaze and gave a toothy smile. Without another word, he walked away. Li Ann watched him go, then turned to Mac, appalled. They stared at each other for a moment, two helpless and lost children.
"You'd better go," she said then, with an air of finality.
"But shouldn't we-" Mac started.
"No." She put her hands on his shoulders and gave him a gentle push. "Just go."
He went—to the only possible place. Michael's room.
Michael was sitting on his bed, taking his socks off. He looked up when Mac opened the door. "What do you want?"
"What the hell is going on?" Mac demanded, just barely managing not to slam the door when he closed it behind himself. He stalked over to the bed and loomed over Michael. Michael just gazed innocently up at him. "Where'd all this come from?"
"I've been in love with Li Ann for a long time. Why don't you sit down, Mac?"
Mac didn't move. "In love with Li Ann?" he repeated. "You never said anything about that."
"But surely you understand." Michael held his hands out, in a conciliatory gesture. "I mean, you love her, too. She's—she's a goddess."
Mac clenched his fists. "But what about me? You're just going to take Li Ann and go to Singapore and—and leave me?" His voice cracked on the word "leave." Fuck.
"I have to, Mac. We couldn't go on like this forever. We're grown up now, and I've got to start thinking about taking over the Family someday."
"I'm part of your Family," Mac said through gritted teeth.
"You are," Michael agreed easily. He finally stood up, standing with his face a few inches from Mac's. "And you'll still be involved in the operations here, right? You'll have even more responsibility with me and Li Ann out of town."
"Fuck you!" Mac swore desperately. "I'm not talking about business here."
Michael didn't flinch. He stood there in his tightly-wound calm, and asked "And what else is there?"
Mac couldn't stand it anymore. He grabbed Michael by the shoulders and kissed him, hard, so hard that it hurt. "There's that," he hissed. "There's everything between us."
Michael pulled away from Mac and tugged his jacket to straighten it, looking annoyed.
"There's nothing between us to stop me from leaving," Michael said.
"What about love?" Mac demanded.
Michael laughed. "Love?"
"You said you loved me," Mac reminded him.
Michael shook his head. "I never said that."
Bastard. "Yes you did. You used to say it all the time." Mac felt threads of panic creeping in through his anger. Michael wasn't dumping him, was he? He couldn't. He loved him. They shared... something intense.
"I never said it," Michael insisted, keeping his infuriating calm smile on. "You never said it either."
"I...." Mac trailed off. That much was true. He'd never said it. He loved Michael, he knew he did, right down to his bones—but he couldn't say it. The same as Li Ann. He loved them both, but he'd never been brave enough to say it to either of them. But there was no way he was going to sit back and lose them both. "You don't really want Li Ann," he said. "She wouldn't satisfy you. She wouldn't let you do the things we do together."
Michael raised his eyebrow. "You don't know Li Ann as well as you think."
"I know her better than you do."
"You don't know what she did before she came to live with us."
"Yes I do." Michael looked surprised, and Mac felt some satisfaction. Never mind that Li Ann had only told him tonight—and how did Michael know, anyway? Maybe he'd known from the beginning. Mac had been only fourteen when Li Ann came into the Family, and no one had told him anything about her. Michael had been eighteen, and already participating in some of the Family's business. Anyway, the point was—"She was in a brothel. And she hated it. She was twelve, Michael!"
Was Mac trying to protect Li Ann from Michael, or trying to stop Michael from leaving him? He didn't know—it was all mixed up, and his thoughts were flying wildly from place to place. Both. It was both.
"It will be different with Li Ann than it is with you," Michael agreed. "That's fine. That's natural."
"How about I come to Singapore with you?" Mac suggested, struggling to say it casually.
"I don't think that would be wise," Michael said. "We can't do this anymore, Mac."
"This?" Mac's voice cracked on that word.
"You should leave now."
Mac stared at Michael. Michael's face was closed. He looked at Mac like he was a stranger.
Michael was dumping him.
Something snapped. Before he knew it Mac had spun around and grabbed Michael's desk chair and smashed it, hard, against the desk. One of the legs broke off in a mess of white splinters. Mac kicked the remains of the chair, and then felt his arms pinned to him. He fell to the floor with Michael on top of him.
"You shouldn't have done that," Michael said in a calm and dangerous voice. "It's the middle of the night! What if someone heard?"
"I don't care!" Mac yelled. "You can't just do this to me!" He tried to get away but Michael had a good hold.
Michael grabbed a handful of Mac's hair and pulled his head up by it. Tears came to Mac's eyes from the sharp pain. "I can do whatever I want to you," Michael said very, very softly. "And you'll like it. For instance.... sit up." He slid off Mac.
Mac sat up and stayed on the floor, keeping a wary eye on Michael, who now sat just in front of him, looking intense.
It didn't even occur to Mac to leave. It seemed like some kind of reprieve was coming. Michael had that hungry look now, which meant sex was on his mind.
Michael reached into his coat and brought out his gun.
Mac's heart sped up. He didn't like the suck-on-Michael's-gun game. Michael liked it though, a lot. If they did this, maybe Michael would realize he could never leave Mac.
Michael held the gun loosely, pointing the barrel towards Mac's head.
And he cocked the trigger.
Mac felt his heart just stop. "Aren't you going to unload it?" he asked. His mouth was suddenly dry.
"No." Michael's eyes gleamed. "Now suck on it."
It ran through Mac's mind that he could refuse. That he should refuse. That even though Michael was pointing a loaded gun—a loaded gun with the safety off—at Mac's head, it wasn't like he was going to shoot him, so Mac didn't have to do what he said. Sucking on a loaded gun—that would be pretty fucking stupid.
By the time Mac's brain had finished with that train of thought, Mac's mouth was already wrapped around the barrel of the gun.
His dry tongue rasped against the cold, bitter metal.
Mac's pulse was thumping in his ears. He closed his eyes. He was terrified, and it was such a rush. It felt like he'd just done a hit of speed.
With Michael, love was fear and fear was sex. Despite his terror, Mac felt his dick straining against his pants—and then he felt wonderful release, as Michael managed one-handed to undo Mac's fly and pull his dick out. Michael began to gently stroke Mac's penis, still holding the gun to his mouth.
"I could kill you," Michael said, softly and gently. "All I have to do is squeeze my finger. Maybe I'll wait until you're coming, so you can die in ecstasy. That would be a nice way to go, wouldn't it?"
Mac opened his eyes wide to see Michael looking at him in an almost tender way. Mac's fingers dug into his own knees—he didn't dare to try to touch Michael.
"Suck on the gun," Michael reminded him. "Imagine it's my dick."
Funny thing was, after Michael'd started playing this game with Mac, every gun Mac touched had made him think of Michael, and of sex. It had been pretty inconvenient sometimes, trying to hide a hard-on at the firing range.
They'd never played with a loaded gun before.
Mac tried to swallow. He had no spit. The gun tapped against his teeth.
Michael stroked Mac's dick harder, and faster. Mac moaned in pleasure and desperate fear. Michael had been talking about killing him when he came. He wouldn't, would he? Mac would find out soon. He could feel the wonderful tension building in his centre. He could feel the cold, deadly rod in his mouth.
Mac came, in a flash of brightness and blankness, and for a moment he wasn't sure if Michael had killed him or not.
Mac heard a click, and he blinked. Michael had just re-engaged the safety on his gun, which he then set aside.
"Take off your clothes," Michael said.
Fuzzily, Mac complied. His pants were sticky with cum, anyway. Damn.
Michael had taken off his pants, too. Now he pushed Mac over onto the floor and entered him. "You're mine," he said, starting to move.
Mac felt himself getting hard again. It felt amazing when Michael fucked him. He was angry as hell at Michael for the stunt with the gun—but it was normal to be angry at Michael while they were fucking. It hurt—Michael hadn't bothered with lube, and Mac wasn't exactly relaxed. But pain was a common aspect of sex with Michael, too. It was all part of the package. Mac moaned, "I'm yours."
Michael drove himself into Mac again and again, and Mac's body buzzed with pain and pleasure and adrenaline. He wanted it to go on forever.
Too soon, Michael tensed and froze on top of Mac, and then rolled off him to sit loosely on the floor. "Get out of here," Michael said. "Don't let anybody see you."
Mac knew better than to argue this time. He quickly pulled on his clothes—including his soiled pants—and made his way back to his room, quiet like a mouse.
He fumbled with the doorknob on the door to his own room. His hand was shaking too much. He tried again, and got in.
He pulled his clothes off again. He felt unsteady on his feet. He held his hand up; it was visibly trembling.
The gun. Fuck, the gun. Michael'd made him suck on a loaded gun until he came.
Michael was going to kill him. One of these days Michael was going to go too far, and he was going to kill him.
Unless, of course, Michael just left, like he'd said he was going to. Mac wasn't sure he could survive that, either—especially if Li Ann went with Michael. If Li Ann stayed, it would be all right. Li Ann wouldn't really marry Michael, would she?
Mac felt sick. He needed help.
He went to his dresser and opened the sock drawer and fished out the box that was hidden in it. He sat on the floor and opened the box. He measured a portion of heroin powder into the spoon, and used the eyedropper to add the mixture of water and lemon juice. His hands were shaking, so he had to do it all slowly and carefully, bracing his arms on his knees to try to steady them. He lit a candle, and heated the mixture. He sucked it into the syringe. He spilled a little bit doing that. He swore at his trembling hands.
He injected the heroin. Almost immediately, he felt calm. The night's events became remote, and sort of unimportant. He thought about the gun, and it didn't matter at all. He smiled. He crawled into his bed and felt warm, and soft, and comfortably numb.
Hong Kong, the next day
"Guess I should have figured this wasn't really about the noodle industry, huh?" Mac said, staring around the room at the guns. He'd come with Mr. Tang to the flour mill where he was supposedly going to learn responsibility, and it turned out the mill was a front for a major gun-running operation. Holy shit. The room was huge; there were at least twenty men in here, loading and unloading and checking the guns.
"The assault rifles are for the horn of Africa," the godfather explained. "The heavy ordnance goes to the Balkans, and the Tek-9's to America. A very good seller," he added. "Popular with the young people."
Mac swallowed, following his father through the room. "Not very appealing," he said. He felt betrayed. Yes, he knew the Tangs were a crime family—but he'd thought it was all white-collar crime. Industrial espionage, questionable dealings with the tax authorities, sure. The odd theft here and there. Good times, all that. But not... dealing death. "I mean, you think about what these things get used for?"
"Then don't think about it," Mr. Tang advised him calmly. "Think about what it means to us."
Mac followed his father into the safe, stared at the stacks of money, and thought about it.
Mac felt like crap from not enough sleep, too many drugs, and too much stress. Michael was taking Li Ann and leaving. Michael was unbalanced. He could have killed Mac last night. Li Ann wouldn't be safe with him, that was for sure. But for all that, Mac would have stayed in Hong Kong. This was his home; this was his Family, which had saved him when his real family had fucked him over and left him for dead. Loyalty was a central tenant of life here, and even if Michael betrayed Mac, Mac would not betray the godfather. At least, he wouldn't have... until this. The guns. The godfather sold guns to feed wars and murders and genocides.
It was time to leave.
Mac was terrified at the realization, but as soon as the thought formed, he knew he had no choice. If Michael didn't kill him outright, he'd lose his soul to this gun-running operation. There was no other way.
He thought about it more as he followed Mr. Tang along to the next leg of the tour. He admitted to himself that for the last year or so he'd been dying by degrees. He knew he was doing way too many drugs. That had crept up on him. It had started with Michael, and Michael was tied up in all of it because Mac turned to drugs for help now when he couldn't deal with Michael. If he could just get away from Michael, he'd stop it all. Make a fresh start.
He decided: he'd talk to Li Ann. He'd explain about the guns, and then she'd see that they didn't have to stay with the Family. They owed the Tangs a lot, but not this much. They could run away, and start a new life together. Mac would stop doing drugs. They'd hide in some corner of the world where Michael could never find them.
Everything would be OK.
Hong Kong, a few days later
Mac sat at his computer in the plant manager's office at the flour mill. He stared blankly at the screen, miserably making escape plans for one.
Li Ann was off somewhere having dinner with Michael. She'd made her choice. Mac had told her about the guns and it didn't matter to her. Her loyalty to the godfather still overrode every other consideration, including the fact that she didn't want to marry Michael.
She didn't know Michael, not like Mac did. Mac was tortured by indecision over that. What if he'd told her what he knew about Michael, and what it was like to be with Michael? That might have changed her mind. But then of course she'd need to know how Mac knew those things. If she found out Mac had been Michael's lover before he'd been hers, and in fact for the whole time he was her lover, she wasn't very likely to run away and start a new life with him. She was more likely to shoot him, actually.
But he shouldn't let that stop him. That was unbelievably selfish. She needed to know, before she tied herself so tightly to Michael that she couldn't escape.
But he couldn't tell her. He couldn't. How could he possibly even broach the subject with her?
The door to the office slammed open and Mac looked up, startled, just in time to see Li Ann overpower the guard who was trying to stop her from getting in. She twisted his wrist so his gun was pointing at his face. "Tell him to put it away, or I'll make him swallow it," she said. Her expression was bleak.
Mac was so surprised he almost laughed. He stood up. "I've seen her like this," he warned the guard. "You'll swallow it."
The guard gave up, and Li Ann closed the door behind him. She walked into the room and met Mac, face-to-face.
"I'll go with you," she said. She looked like she'd been crying.
Something had happened. That was obvious. Mac was torn between fear about what it had been that changed Li Ann's mind, and elation: she was coming with him!
"I know they're gonna kill us," she went on in a trembling voice, "but if I stay here I'm as good as dead, and if I'm going to die I want it to be with you."
Mac kissed her, and then wrapped his arms around her in a tight hug. She was shaking. Fuck. Was it Michael? What had he done?
"I prom-" Mac started, then stopped and pulled away a bit so he could look her in the eye. "I promise you, we're not going to die, OK?" Li Ann nodded, and Mac grinned. She was with him. They could do it. They could get away from here and start a new life. "I got a plan."
End Part Two
Hamilton, Canada, June 1981
ac held on to the rail to keep his balance as the city bus lurched to a halt. It was rush hour, and the bus was crowded. He was surrounded by adults, so he couldn't see to the front of the bus where the new passengers were getting on.
