She placed eight gold Panda coins into the inside zipper-pouch of the black carry-all. In her pants pocket was a thousand dollars in folded hundred-dollar bills. She’d still need heaven’s help, she knew, but at least the numbers were on her side.

Having a Ball

A huge Chinese crowd thronged the lobby of the Westin, milling and mixing its way toward the music inside the ball-room. The gourmet-dinner portion of the event had concluded, the awards had already been presented, and the liquor was flowing freely.

Jack straightened his jacket and joined the shuffling, swaying procession heading toward the bright lights and raucous laughter. Inside the cavernous ballroom, a Filipino rock band was banging out “La Bamba.” The crowd near the stage bopped and hopped to the beat. Young Chinese-American ORCA interns were letting off corporate steam as Jack scanned the crowd for Alex. Lots of men in tuxedoes and old money all around, thought Jack.

All the sophisticated ladies wore jazzy gowns and the scene was loud, jamming, and everything looked fabulous. Jack made his way toward the stage. More women, shiny dresses, glittering jewelry, and coiffed hair. A flute of champagne in every delicate hand.

He heard quick exchanges of repartee everywhere. Everyone looked rich and carefree.

Alex suddenly emerged from a group of designer tuxedoes and shimmering outfits. She was radiant in a gold dress and heels, with all the fine accessories, reveling in her moment. She came toward him with a long lingering smile, followed it with a kiss on his cheek.

“Finally,” she said. “Glad you could make it.”

The group of CADS and ORCAs noticed Jack, and his familiarity with Alex.

“Ladies’ room calling,” she said, smiling. “I’ll be right back. Go ahead and mingle.”

“Sure,” Jack said, scanning the hundreds of exquisitely dressed Chinese. He watched her walk away, a gold sheath swaying to the music, until she disappeared into the masses. He wasn’t the mingling type, he thought.

One of the CADS greeted him with, “You must be the lawman Alexandra told us about.” Another lawyer-type turned and said, “Why don’t you regale us with some of your adventures?”

Jack was momentarily speechless, holding his thoughts but displaying a smile on his face. Regale? he mused. I’m here to entertain you? He bit down inside the frozen smile. Adventures? Murder and horrific brutality were adventures? He wondered if it was too soon to dislike them, and decided to wait until Alex returned.

Abruptly, ADA Bang Sing stepped from the group and came to Jack’s social rescue.

“Detective,” Sing said, “I hate to talk shop but can I have a word?”

“Sure,” Jack answered, gratefully. “Excuse us, gentlemen.”

They stepped away, joining another crowd beside one of the mobile bars.

“Don’t mind them,” Sing explained. “They get a little obnoxious after a few drinks.” He paused, then grinned.

“You know how lawyers are.”

“Yeah, right,” Jack said, smiling. “But thanks anyway. Anything new with the Johnny Wong case?”

“No,” Sing replied. “He’s still cooling at Rikers. But he’s getting more calls from Hong Kong.”

“He’s allowed calls?” puzzled Jack.

“E-mails,” Sing said.

“About what?”

Bang Sing shrugged. “That’s all I know.”

Jack took a breath, saw the group of CADS from the distance. They were partying hearty to the booming beat, and oddly enough, he felt happy for them. They deserved it. For their time and commitment to righteous causes. Party on, by any means necessary.

At the bar, they pounded beers. “Thanks again,” Jack repeated, wondering now about Sing’s relationship to Alex. Relationship?

“Sure thing,” Bang Sing toasted, “sure thing.”

It seemed as if the crowd parted for Alex as she returned, a vision more lovely than Jack had recalled. She took him by the hand, led him away from ADA Sing and the crowded floor.

They lit up cigarettes near a side exit, refreshed by the cool night air.

“This is great,” Jack said. “But for the record, I did try to call you last night.”

“Last night?” Alex sounded puzzled.

“It was late,” Jack continued. “Some man answered.”

“Man? Who?” she challenged.

“Don’t know,” Jack demurred, “didn’t ask.”

“Well, the bunch of us went room-hopping,” Alex recalled. “Drinking nightcaps. Why didn’t you leave me a message?”

“It was late. I didn’t want to interrupt.” Jack crushed out his cigarette.

“Interrupt?” she said skeptically. “Interrupt what?” She paused. “Were you annoyed?” Another pause as she finished her cigarette. “Wait … you weren’t jealous, were you?”

“Jealous?” Jack laughed, “Me? Why would I be jealous?”

Alex smiled a knowing smile, shook her head at him. “Right. Who’d be hitting on me anyway, right? The lady’s got baggage, going through a divorce, has a kid, drinks too much …”

“I didn’t mean that,” said Jack defensively. “I never said that.”

Alex took his hand again. “Come on, let’s go,” she said quietly.

“Where?” he asked as he looked back toward the ballroom. “You’ve got music, alcohol, right in there.”

“I’ve had enough drinking and dancing for a weekend,” she offered. “Plus I owe you a rain check. From New York.”

“Yeah,” Jack remembered. “Espresso, with sambuca.”

“You’ve got a good memory,” he heard her say. “Then again, you’re a cop.”

He put out his cigarette, said, “Okay, sure,” and followed her back through the crowd.

In the Mood for Love

Her suite was small but featured two single beds and some countertop space that also served as TV stand and coffee table.

“Weren’t you rooming with someone?” Jack asked as Alex prepped the coffeemaker. She was a bit tipsy in her heels, and he noticed the bottle of sambuca had already been opened.

“Joann left already,” she answered. “She had an eleven o’clock flight.” She dimmed the light from the table lamps.

“Red-eye back to New York, huh?”

“Right.” She poured shots of the sambuca liqueur.

Jack could smell the coffee brewing, then the fragrance of herbal shampoo, or body spray, as Alex nudged up beside him, high heels off now, in her bare feet.

“So, how was your weekend?” she asked, lighting a cigarette.

“You wouldn’t believe it.” He wanted badly to tell her, to brag a little, but knew better. She helped him out of his jacket, draping it over the lone chair.

“Try me,” she challenged.

“Let’s just say I caught a bad guy.” He grinned.

“Always the good cop, huh?” she quipped, taking a sip of the liqueur. She clicked on the bedside radio to a bluesy saxophone tune, then dialed down the volume to low.

He noticed a wood-and-brass plaque with her name on it and an inscribed crystal bowl on her night table.

“Congratulations,” he said admiringly.

“Thanks,” she replied with a big smile. “Coffee’s almost ready.”

He resisted the urge to hug her, to taste the sweetness of the sambuca that glistened on her lips.

“What?” she said as she noticed his stare. “Is there something on my face?”

“No, it just feels good to look at you.”

“You drunk or something?” she teased.

“Nowhere near as drunk as you are,” he teased back.

“Oh yeah?” She poured a little more liqueur over the coffee in the little Styrofoam cups and took a sip. “Here you go,” she said, abruptly planting a soft kiss on his lips, the taste of espresso trailing her smoky breath.

He took a steamy sip of the mixture.

“You know this will keep you up,” he warned.

“Exactly,” she grinned. “My final night in Seattle. I want to make it last.”

They savored the aroma, then rested their cups on the countertop. She closed her eyes and slowly rolled her neck. He massaged her taut shoulders, which brought a deep sigh from her. He smelled a musky scent emanating from her.