“When you—?” Cly gave him a confused gaze, then shook his head. “Forget about schooling Houjin. Leave that up to his uncle.”

“Back in Seattle, where there are about fifty men to every woman?”

“More men than that, if you count all the fellas in Chinatown — and there’s no reason you shouldn’t.”

“And the women who’re there, you could count ’em on one hand … most of them so old, they could be his mother. Not that there’s anything wrong with learning from an older woman, mind you.”

“Can we change the subject now?”

“Sure. Why can’t we stay at the Garden Court?”

“How about we don’t talk at all. I like the sound of that even better.”

To the captain’s left, Fang laughed, silent except for a series of soft snorts.

“Not you, too,” Cly complained.

I didn’t say anything.

“You didn’t have to.”

“What are you talking about?” Houjin had been walking ahead, eyes up on the brightly painted buildings with their brilliant white latticework balconies and tumbling planters full of gardenias, daisies, and flowers with bright pink petals like trumpets.

“Nothing,” Cly said quickly. “Turn left up at the next street, will ya? We’re almost there.”

The Widow Pickett was not precisely what anyone had expected, but Kirby Troost in particular was quite charmed to meet her acquaintance. Said widow wasn’t thirty unless she was practicing witchcraft. She had a figure to inspire envy in ladies and lust in gentlemen, with a tall pile of hair the color of wheat and strawberries. As the black woman on the storefront stairs had predicted, the widow had no problem whatsoever providing shelter to the oriental men or anyone else, and before long two rooms were arranged, paid for, and settled in.

Fang and Houjin shared one two-bedded room, for Houjin could ask all the questions he wanted and Fang never appeared to mind; the captain and Kirby shared the other — though the captain never did bother with the skinny, too-short bed. As a matter of habit, he pulled the mattress onto the floor and flipped the frame up against the wall. He’d hang off the padding one way or another, but there was no reason to let his feet dangle in midair.

“You may as well settle in for the night,” he told Kirby Troost. “Go downstairs and see about some supper. The sun’ll be down in another hour.”

“You say that like you don’t intend to do likewise.”

“I figured I’d head over to the Garden and have a real quick business chat with my old friend.”

“You’re headed to the whorehouse without me?” he asked accusingly.

“Yes, but I can’t stay long, not with the curfew, and—”

Troost nodded knowingly. “And that’s why you want to go now. Shit, man. You must be scared to death of this woman.”

“Am not.”

“I’m coming with you. Maybe I’ve got the pocket cash to stay the night and you can have this whole room to your lonesome.”

Cly threw up his hands and said, “Fine. Suit yourself. Let me go tell Fang and Huey we’re headed out.”

Fang agreed to stay behind, and Houjin was so excited about eating the big weird bugs called crawdads that he was prepared to miss almost anything for the adventurous culinary fare. They planned to meet again at sundown to discuss the next day’s duties, and Fang signed, I’ll keep him out of trouble.

“Thanks. I do appreciate it.”

On their way out the door, Kirby Troost asked, “But who’s going to keep us out of trouble?”

“I didn’t know you understood his signing.”

“I’m picking it up as we go. It’s one-part Native, what they use between two tribes — and one part deaf-man’s hands, and one part something that’s just between you two. But it’s not so hard to figure out, once you get a few of the phrases down.”

Cly said, “It’s worth your time to learn it, I suppose — if you plan to spend any time with us.”

The walk to the Garden Court was only a few blocks, ten minutes of ducking beneath balconies, dodging the tickles of hanging plants, staying out of the path of the rolling-crawlers, and ignoring the insistent last calls of every tavern and pub house in the Quarter.

Troost hesitated in front of a sign advertising in no uncertain terms the availability of women and alcohol both, but Cly ushered him past it. The engineer complained, “It isn’t right — imposing a curfew on a place like this. This is a town made to stay up all night and toast the sunrise.”

“That’s one of the things it’s made for, but not the only thing.”

“I’m still right.”

“I didn’t say you weren’t,” the captain said. “I don’t know why Texas has done it, but I’m sure there was a good reason.”

Troost’s eyes didn’t believe him.

Cly sighed. “Whatever their reasoning, it doesn’t matter to why we’re here. And I’m frankly glad for it right now, because I don’t want to spend more time in the Garden than I have to.”

“You’re a madman.”

“I’m … happily attached.”

“So you agree with me.”

Cly escaped answering with a pointing jab of his long index finger at a swinging sign. “Look, that’s it.”

“Just like you remember?”

“The paint’s new.” He hesitated, standing still on the sidewalk and making two small, dark-skinned boys walk around him. “Otherwise, it looks pretty much the same.”

“You’re stalling. But we came all this way, and here we are. Let’s get inside and take a look around.” Troost set off down the walkway.

Cly surged forward and caught up to Troost with only a few long strides — just in time to open the door and propel himself inside it first. Kirby couldn’t decide whether to be annoyed or amused, but settled for amused and followed the captain into the plush, pretty lobby.

The carpets were red and maroon, laced with a buttercream trim, and the curtains were thick but colored to match. All the visible wood was dark with polish, age, and imported glamour. A long couch with a back curved like a sea serpent was pressed against the far wall, and a matching love seat was propped for cuddling inside the door to the right. Two plush solitary chairs that should’ve held one body apiece were spaced between the larger pieces of furniture, but in the nearest chair were two lovely colored women on the lap of a white-haired Texian — identifiable as such by a fluffy mustache that might have been made of a dove’s wings … and then by his accent, when he exclaimed, “Newcomers, girls.” Then to Cly and Troost, he said, “Y’all come on inside and make yourselves comfortable. Hazel or Ruthie will be downstairs in a minute.”

The women on the Texian’s lap smiled in welcome, but he showed no interest in letting them leave, so they stayed.

“Thank you, sir, I do believe I’ll do exactly that,” Kirby Troost declared, taking off his hat and making himself comfortable on the love seat. Cly was less certain. Partly for the sake of comfort, given his size — and partly because he’d rather not be crushed up against the engineer in such an intimate setting — he retreated to the couch and folded himself awkwardly, looking and feeling like a grown man sitting inside a dollhouse.

The captain asked the Texian, “You said Hazel and Ruthie. Is … is Josephine still here?”

“Miss Early? Oh, sure. She’s the woman in charge, but she’s not around — not right this moment. I believe she’s out with a family emergency of some sort,” he said vaguely. “Ruthie went with her, but she came back last night. Anyway, for what it’s worth to you, I don’t think Miss Early takes customers too often anymore.”

“No? I mean, no — that’s not … that’s not why I ask. She’s invited me here, to hire me for a job.”

“What sort of job?”

“I’m not too rightly sure yet. But I’ve finally made it to town, and I mean to ask her about it.”

The fluffy-faced Texian nodded and said, “Perhaps Hazel or Ruthie can help you out. They’re real competent girls themselves, and so’s Marylin. They’re the ones she usually leaves running the business while she’s out.”