Munroe snapped the file shut in his hand and tossed it onto his teak desk, wondering how Henley could even be considered a mouthpiece moving up the marquee. He shouldn't have to be filling his afternoon making do with someone else's sloppy work, but instead in court presenting his first witnesses. Unfortunately, those dock rats had disappeared over the weekend and without them the trial couldn't continue. It wasn't just about minor trafficking convictions. Richard wanted more, implicate some of the Tong members associated with the hop smuggling, and then use them to reach even higher up. No witnesses meant the mopes' alibis stood up, so they just walked out of the arraignment hearing today. The two Chinese never even cracked a smile or looked surprised.

He sighed, knowing he better forget about opium smuggling and put his mind towards the task at hand. Leaving an accident, especially one with a seventeener left lying broken on the ground, was still a crime deserving punishment. Richard pulled out his appointment book from the desk, knowing he'd have to go over a couple of depositions in person, as much as it bothered him. The pen had just started scribbling a notation for May 7th, when there was rapping on the office door's pebbled glass. Richard looked up to see Bruce Rathborne open it to stand in the doorway. The Chief DA didn't wait for anyone to invite him in, as far as he was concerned the whole City Hall prosecution wing was his. Even Richard's office, despite Bruce's continued discomfort around him. 

"I'm leaving for the night Richard," he said, clearing his throat, "Do you have a minute?" 

"Yes." Richard said, putting down the pen and rising from his chair. "Have a seat. Would you like a drink?" Richard indicated a plush leather chair in front of the desk. As he passed to the small wet bar he kept in the office; he thumbed another lamp to up the light. He wasn't in the mood for questions. 

Rathborne stepped fully into the office, one pudgy biscuit hook reaching back to close the door. He was much shorter than Richard was but about the same weight, and it had decided to settle in only a few areas instead of spreading itself around. He undid the lowest button on his vest, and it almost looked relieved. 

"Weak." The thought sprang from the darker places of Richard's mind, and he was hard pressed to keep a sneer from his face. Rathborne wouldn't last a day outside this city, this office. 

"No thanks on the drink Richard, this won't take long, " it bothered Rathborne that Munroe always wanted to extend their visits, despite the fact his discomfort was obvious. In fact, maybe that was why. "If he wasn't such a fine prosecutor..." but he let that thought trail off, remembering his news. It might relieve him of that burden, unless it was actually something far worse. "Seems some important people have taken notice of you up in Washington. I got a phone call today from a gentleman at the State Department. Asked if I would mind one of them coming on down here to see you, said they hadn't spoken to you yet, this was just a courtesy call to me." 

Richard poured himself a shot of whiskey, pouring the amber liquid into a heavily cut, square crystal glass. He added two ice cubes from a matching bucket as he considered what his boss was saying. He could smell Rathborne's dislike of him, but that dislike was twined about a need for Richard's legal expertise. The scent was pleasing indeed. 

Bruce fumbled with his belly brass, an Alma matter piece from Harvard, "Seems they might have a need for you, but I'll be damned if I know what for." Rathborne looked up and pierced him with his eyes. While the rest of him looked spoiled and pampered by excess, the eyes revealed the shrewd and calculating manner within. Bruce had kept this position for six years, and as with any high public office in San Francisco, the position was yours for only as long as you kept yourself at the top of the food chain. 

Richard met that gaze calmly, his own eyes empty of emotion. It was often said that the eyes were the doorway to the soul. Richard's eyes were like mirrors, seeming to reflect back whatever an observer wanted to see. He sipped his drink as he sat down behind his desk, his face composed in a genial mask he knew Rathborne disliked. 

A laugh barked forth from his heavy jowls, its casualness betrayed by the obvious effort it took. "I'm just not used to being left out of the loop like this, and we've had a bad run of luck lately." Bruce leaned forward in his chair, "Look, I'm sorry for what happened to you on the hop ring, its a damned thing to happen to anyone. The boat's been rocking around here for a while, and now we have one of Uncle Sam's finest coming down to see you." Bruce sat back and crossed his hands in his lap, while two fingers kept massaging the frat fob, and his eyes bent down to examine his front for lint. "You have any ideas on why Richard?" 

"No." Richard replied politely. He set the glass down on his desk and folded his hands before him. "I'm afraid I'm as in the dark as you are about this one, Mr. Rathborne." He chuckled in a bemused manner and then smiled. "But you can bet that as soon as I find out, you'll be the second guy to know." 

"Thanks for that," Bruce let the disdain slip into his voice, Munroe had always been casual with him, they were colleagues. Sarcasm was not expected from subordinates. Still, he had to be cautious... better keep it polite. Bruce checked his watch again and stood up, "I promised my wife I'd make one of charity balls tonight, and at the rate I break them soon she'll have mine. The man from the hill is coming in on Friday to see you. Thank you for your assurances on a full report." Rathborne called his goodnights over his shoulder as he left, leaving the office door open behind him, wondering what Munroe knew and what he didn't.

Richard sat a moment after Bruce left, eyes on the open doorway. "Interesting..." he murmured, then finished off his drink and closed the door. Richard went back to his calendar and penned in to call witnesses tomorrow on the hit and run to review their depositions. Turning one page back, he found a notation for seven; 'Lee Hoffman, dinner at Empire Club'. 

Lee had called on Friday saying he had important news, insisting it would interest Richard. Well, Lee had never let him down before. They had met when Richard first arrived in San Francisco to accept a position in the DA's office, and Lee was an investigator with the department. Time passed, Richard rose through the ranks and Lee went solo. Despite his lack of clientele over the years, Hoffman remained a thorough and reliable private eye. 

He was also a friend. After Africa, a lot of folks Richard previously called 'friends' just started to avoid him, but not Lee. When they had first got together upon his return, Hoffman merely raised an eyebrow and that was all. It never came up unless Munroe made the first move, which he didn't. Perhaps that was because Hoffman was an outcast just like he. Part Jewish, part Chinese; he wasn't quite accepted by either group. He was an outcast in a way, he'd just had more experience with it than Richard. 

Richard looked up at the wall clock and saw it was already half past six. That would give him enough time to get to the Empire Club, but not with a stop at home first. Lee was always early and didn't like to be kept waiting. He smiled, then grabbed his coat. It would do him some good to be amongst friends right now. He toyed with the idea of being exactly one minute late... and the smile grew bigger. 

After a walk in which he enjoyed watching the sun execute its purple dive to the horizon, Richard arrived in front of the three-story brownstone that housed the Empire Club. Richard shook his head, wondering how Lee afforded the steep membership dues of a $100 each year. But he was very proud of having been nominated and accepted in and invited Richard to dine there with him as often as their hectic work schedules allowed. Though the general public knew very little about the club itself, Lee had been happy to recite at length about the club's history and its august membership. From what Richard understood, the club, opened in 1930 by one Darius Stoner, admitted individuals who had undertaken long, arduous treks or people recommended for membership based on their adventurous and courageous spirit. 

Lee had joined shortly after his involvement in a child's kidnapping, the granddaughter of an aging British soldier now retired in the Bay area. The newspapers carried little of how he had been instrumental in solving the case, the police had taken most of the credit, it was widely known in law enforcement circles who had been the real hero. And the retired Brit knew as well, and personally sponsored Lee into the club.

Richard looked at his watch, then mounted the stairs figuring he'd killed enough time. He nodded to the valet attending the massive dual oak doors as one was swung wide for him. At exactly a minute past seven, Richard entered wondering how much Lee would dog him for it. 

In the lobby, the oak continued into the paneling stained dark, rich brown, with plush carpeted floors and large portraits on the walls of members now deceased. There were a few empty spaces and Lee had often joked that he'd live long enough to see this place sold before his own portrait hung there. Directly across from the front doors sat a wide marble staircase leading to the second floor. Richard knew only members were allowed to visit the second floor. A signed pass from Darius Stoner was the only way a non-member could be allowed access. 

In fact, there stood the man himself, talking with two valets whose job it was to guard the staircase. Surprising, because he normally spent his time in the New York City location. Richard had actually met the man on two occasions, and on both nights joined him, as Lee's guest, in poker games. What Richard knew of Darius himself, he'd learned staring over cards. While a shrewd businessman, having turned his inheritance into a considerable fortune, he was still a young man in his early thirties. His parent's had been a famed archaeological team; bent on exploring the world and their adventurous spirits had cost them their lives in a landslide near the Mongolian border in China. It was in tribute to them that he'd started the Empire Club.

Stoner was dressed in a tuxedo as he had been on the previous times Richard had met him, and wondered if Lee had invited him in for another card game upstairs in the 'members only' area. At that, Darius turned abruptly and looked right at Munroe, his brow furrowing beneath his well-groomed blonde hair. The expression changed to one of studied thoughtfulness, the same again as on each of the previous times they'd met, as if he trying to catalogue a specimen. It changed to a smile and Darius approached, warmly extending a hand. "Good evening! Pleasant to see you again Richard. Here to meet Lee?" 

Richard accepted the handshake, after checking for silver, and returned the smile with one of his own. "As you say," he replied. "Have you seen him about?" 

"I haven't no, but we've a number of members in for a Monday night. There's an upcoming sponsorship night for new blood coming up on Thursday," Stoner's flashed his smile again and chuckled, "Perhaps Lee might even try to persuade you to join." 

Richard raised an eyebrow. "Perhaps. A man could do worse than belong to a place like this that's for sure. Might one inquire as to what brings you to the Frisco location? I find no shame in saying that I've been beaten at poker by none better than yourself, and I'd love to have another go, if you've the time?" 

"I'm here till the end of the week at least, new members require at least a two thirds vote and I've agreed to chair. We're only having a few considered, but my schedule coincides so I thought I'd stick around." Darius' tone switched to a friendly conspiratorially whisper, "From here I'm heading to Hong Kong to oversee the opening of our newest club," Stoner added, "which will bring us up to four including London. I'm not sure that you're familiar with my family, but my sister Morgana has been spending a fair bit of time flying about the Pacific, and my brother Temujin has been travelling about Japan of late. Between the two of them, that's reason enough! There's also been some demand from members, so..." Darius spread his hands and smiled. "I must satisfy the paying clientele!"

"Somehow I think you get as much satisfaction from this as you give to others, old man." Richard replied, his mouth half turned in a grin. "There's more here than meets the eye. It's probably why I like it," he added calmly. 

Stoner gestured to his left, down a hall "I'm sure you'll find Lee waiting in the lounge, as you know you can't go further in the club without escort by a member. Now as far as a game I'm sure I can find an opening for an evening this week. I've never met a man with a poker face such as yours. Now if you'll excuse me, club business awaits. Enjoy your evening Richard, tell Lee I'll catch up with him later if his evening permits." With a wave to Munroe and a nod to the valets, Stoner turned away and up the stairs. 

"He's more than he seems," came floating into his mind from some darker place. Richard smiled, causing one of the valets to pause as he passed him. The club employee would have sworn that the tall well-dressed gentleman heading towards the lounge area had teeth like a dog. 

The lounge was just down a hall to the left of the entrance, with bathrooms on either side. As Richard entered the lounge, he scanned the room for Hoffman. There were four sets of tables and long mahogany bar, light reflecting off its polished surface, with a long line of stools, but none of those seated was Lee. Richard looked up to the second floor member's lounge, which opened out overhead so that they could await guests while still enjoying their fellow's company. Lee wasn't one of the faces staring back at his entrance. 

"A drink, sir?" beckoned the bartender, wiping a glass with a towel. 

"Double shot of whiskey." Richard replied, looking at his own reflection in the huge glass mirror that stretched the length of the bar back. For some reason it bothered him. Made him feel almost claustrophobic. One lip twitched upwards and Richard had to bite back the snarl that rumbled in his chest. These little emotional surges had been one of the prices he was paying, and he was grateful that so far he had been able to keep his passions in check. He wondered how long he could maintain that control however. He hadn't changed in almost a month now, and the longer he put it off, the more irritated and excitable he became. The bartender slid his drink towards him, then headed off to service another customer. 

Richard downed the drink in one quick motion, then removed his overcoat and hung it upon a convenient coat rack next to one of the many potted plants that festooned the bar area. The smell of the plant was comforting to him; it reminded him of older, more primal times, when Men still gibbered in caves at the sound of lightning, and he had owned the night. He could almost taste that fear again, at times like this. 

He sighed and returned to the bar, sitting down and motioning for another drink. As he waited for Lee to appear, he watched the men around him. They all seemed to be enjoying themselves, but in each of them something was hidden. Some tragedy or triumph, something that most people never see. He could feel it, almost smell it. 

It was a heady mix indeed... 

The bartender approached with another drink, almost warily so. He watched him out the corner of his eye as he lingered, almost hunching, over his second whiskey, eventually finishing it. "Sir, another drink while you wait?" he asked. 

"No." Richard said, his voice perhaps a little deeper than it should have been. There were sometimes other sounds hidden within his voice. Echoes of things that once stalked the jungles and called men food. 

The bartender blanched. 

Richard turned and went out of the bar and across the lobby to the concierge. "Could you tell me if Lee Hoffman is still in the building? And if not, can you tell me when he might have left, or if he had left a message behind for me? I'm Richard Munroe." 

The valet looked up startled, stammering a reply, "I'm sorry sir, but Mr. Hoffman has not been in the club this evening at all." He quickly flipped through a variety of papers at his wooden stand, "No messages at all, but I do have Mr. Hoffman down here for dinner at seven." he looked up and tried to regard the man before him with some sympathy. It was hard when the man's glare made him feel like... like prey! "I'm afraid that's all sir, just the reservation, no messages." 

"May I use your phone?" Richard asked, removing a small leather appointment book from his inner jacket pocket. The valet nodded an acknowledgement and pointed towards two booths off to the right side of the lobby. Richard entered one of the booths, the light turned on automatically as he closed the door and sat the stool. He searched through the listings until he came upon Hoffman's number, then took the phone from the valet and dialed. The number at Lee's residence rang eight times before he hung up in frustration. Next, he tried the office number, which rang three before being picked up. 

"Hoffman Investigations, can I help you?" Richard recognized the voice as Karen Smith, Lee's part-time secretary, and said hello. 

"How's the Empire Club Mr. Munroe? Sure wish Lee would take me there some time. You tell him I've typed up those notes he left earlier, but next time ta give me some more notice about coming in! He must feel bad if he's got you callin me." 

"He's not here, Miss Smith." Richard replied. "Do you know what time he left the office, and if he had anywhere else he was stopping off?" 

"He ain't? But he said he was on his way over there just after bein done here. He sounded over the top and pretty anxious to see ya Mr. Munroe." Karen paused to worry on a nail, "All I know's is he called me near six and said to come down to the office and type up some notes for him on the case he's been workin and put them in the safe, that he'd be bringin you by later. When you called I was just puttin 'em in and goin on my way." 

It wasn't like Lee to be late. To anything. And he'd never stood Richard up. Lee had been the one person who had stuck by him when he came back, even though Richard was sure Lee knew he'd been changed somehow.

"Do you think something has happened Mr. Munroe?" she started to sound worried, Richard knew Karen wasn't sticking around with Lee for the pay and the glamour of the job. As she once said "I like him personally, ya know, it ain't just business." 

"It's a possibility." Richard said, his voice calm. "I want you to stay there. I'm going to come to the office via the most expedient route Lee might have taken. If I don't see him on my way, we'll decide what to do next when I arrive." 

Richard replaced the phone on its cradle and left the booth. He then crossed the foyer and left a message for Lee with one of the valets. It read "Out looking for you. Call your office when you receive this. Richard". He left a dollar tip with the valet, trusting that greed would overcome sloth in the handling of his missive. He then collected his coat and hat from the hat check girl, and headed out into the night, tracing the most likely route he could think of from the club to Lee's office. 

Richard left the brownstone, shrugging into his overcoat as the San Francisco evening chill hit him with its clinging dampness. Two cabs sat by the curb, Richard stepped up to the first, knowing it was a fair ways to Lee's office down by Mission Street, just south of Montgomery. 

Richard had one foot on the running board, and the door open to the yellow Chrysler CD, when he heard his name called faintly. Turning to where the sound originated, he saw five doors down a figure staggering as if drunk, head bent and overcoat pulled tight. As he got closer Richard recognized Lee's face looking up to him, a brief smile of relief crossing his face, but there was something else. 

"Wait here." Richard told the cabbie. He left the door open and turned towards his friend, his face a curious mixture of concern and something else... 

Lee stumbled forward into Richard's outstretched arms, extending a clenched fist towards him. Richard smelled the blood even before he saw the dagger protruding from Lee's back, its hilt decorated with a carved dragon clenching a wheel its claws, while from behind a bird rose from the flames surrounding the mythical serpent. Richard knelt down under Lee's weight, as his coat fell open to reveal two more stab wounds in his chest, the dress shirt stained a deep crimson. 

On his side, Lee looked up to Munroe with pleading eyes, holding forth his tightly balled hand. He spoke in a ragged whisper, "Must... trust... you. Get... them. The others..." he paused to inhale, sending a shudder through him, "Stop them... stop...  Sung." A rattle escaped his throat and his eyes searched the air around Munroe for an instant, then Hoffman was still. 

The dagger was still in Lee's back, blood welling up around the blade. Richard lowered Lee to the ground, one hand wrenching the weapon from his friend's body as he did so. That he felt no queasiness at this act might have troubled him once. But no longer. The rules of Richard's life had changed, and whoever had done this to Lee would soon find out just how much. 

Richard looked up at the startled shout to see the valet that guarded the front door with his hand clenched over his mouth in surprise. More clamor followed as the cabbies got out of their cars lined up on the street and a few passer-by stopped to watch. Through all this, Munroe felt beckoned to look to the street as a '32 Ford V-8, its tan roof slung low over the brown exterior, sped by on the street, its engine coughing. Richard could make out three men inside, two in front and one in back. The one in back was Chinese; wearing a black fedora pulled down over his brow. 

From beneath, his two eyes coldly locked with Richard's. 
 

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