There was arrogance to that gaze. It told Richard he was nothing but a body waiting to be found. It said that the city belonged to him, and that there was nothing anyone could do about it. It was both a promise and a threat. So much could be said with but a simple look. It was one of Richard's most valuable weapons in the courtroom. Richard looked away from the car, but not before letting a trace of fear creep into his own visage. Let the man think he had won the day, that Richard was nothing but a pampered dandy terrified by what he was seeing. 

"Somebody call a cop." Richard said, his words thick. He held Lee's body tightly to him, and presented to the world an appearance of anguish and grief. Inside, however, he was already scribing the oriental's face onto the landscape of memory. He lifted his friend's body and headed back up the stairs of the club, tears beginning to stream down his face. The crowd's emotions swirled around him, and inside he drank them up. 

The gathered parted before Richard, while startled of the body he held they were frightened by the feral light in his eyes. The doors to the club opened and there stood Darius Stoner. "By God! In here!" he shouted, recovering from his initial shock, "Dr. Armstrong has been summoned from the member's lounge to..." Stoner saw the grief etched on Richard's and let the words trail off. He simply stood aside and let in the man bearing his awful burden. 

Richard nodded once, in confirmation of the man's unspoken question. Once inside, he gently lowered Hoffman's still body onto a divan. The dagger was a heavy weight in Richard's coat pocket, but there it would stay if he had anything to say about it. Now to the matter of what Lee held in his hand. He had been holding that hand out to Richard as he had approached, and now Richard gently pried the fingers open. Crumbs fell out as the hand opened, revealing a cracked and broken fortune cookie sat in the palm. The fortune itself, written on thin grease stained piece of paper, was Chinese. Richard carefully smoothed the paper out, staining it red as he did so, and regarded it for a moment. Then he put it in his other coat pocket. He felt someone moving up behind him, and turned. 

Stoner went to rest a hand on Munroe's shoulder, but pulled back his arm. A snippet from a phrase darted across his mind "... get your hand bitten off..." What this man may be feeling he didn't know, but the sorrow was obvious to anyone that dared look, yet most eyes were averted because there was something else there, something dreadful. Darius motioned most everyone from the lobby and advised the valets to stand outside before turning back to Richard, watching as he carefully removed his friend from his coat, then draped it across the body as the room emptied. His movements were slow, almost reverent. When done, he turned wiping at his eyes. 

"The police are on their way here. I already know you could have had nothing to do with this Richard, regardless the doorman will attest to that as an eyewitness. As I understand it, there wasn't even anyone nearby." Stoner shook his head at the waste of such a good man. "Look, you're a prosecution lawyer, you know the routine taken by the police in." he paused, looking for the right word. He decided there wasn't one, not for the man who stood before him. "...in a murder. But if you need to leave for some reason," and with that Darius glanced to the slight bulge in Munroe's pocket that was reddening with blood, "I'll understand. Sometimes we have to do what we must." 

"No." Richard replied his voice heavy and low. "I'll talk to the police. I more than anyone know exactly what they should be told." He watched as Stoner absorbed his statement, the tears in his eyes stopping as if a spigot had been plugged. His face was hard, and he knew the change was coming. He welcomed it. 

Stoner met Richard's eyes directly, and was startled by the golden glowing fire there, yet he pushed forward. "This is no ordinary club, and neither are our members. The path others choose is not always ours. Lee was one of our own. Count on one thing Richard, every resource at the club's, at my, disposal will be brought to bear on this. Any help you may need, you can count on." With that, he held forth a business card for Richard. 

"Lee was the only one that didn't leave me. Didn't turn from what had happened to me, Mr. Stoner. He was a man who understood what honor was, and duty. He taught me that by example." Richard's hands twitched. "I appreciate your offer of help, and will no doubt be calling upon you shortly." He took the man's card and pocketed it. "If I could beg a small favor of you, before the police arrive?" 

"Certainly, anything!" responded Darius, grateful for something to do. 

Richard handed him the fortune. "Translate this for me please." Darius would have sworn that the backs of the lawyer's hands were... hairier. than they had been a few moments ago. Richard then reached into his pocket and handed Darius the dagger. "And keep this safe. It's best that I not have it while talking to the cops." 

Darius took both items and turned to the nearest valet, " Wrap these in a towel from the washroom and take these up to my office now. But, they aren't there. Understand?" Satisfied with the man's response, Stoner turned back to  regard Richard; the man's voice had grown deeper, like the sound of bone grating. Was it grief or... something else? Darius shook his head, deciding the events of the evening had jarred his normally substantive composure. He also decided he needed a stiff drink when this was over. 

Richard could feel his jacket getting tight in the shoulders, his shoes were beginning to cramp his feet. He told himself that now was not the time for this, at least yet, taking a deep breath and closing his eyes. The smell of Lee's blood swirled in the air, enticing Richard to let go. But he couldn't. Too much needed to be done on the human plane. That other realm would have to wait. When he opened his eyes a moment later, the darkness had left them. He smiled weakly. 

Sirens gently broke the silence that had fallen, then grew as the police approached. What followed was chaos, but as a lawyer Munroe understood the order in it all. The police arrived and immediately made clear they were in charge, herding witnesses and others around, closing off one area then another in the name of gathering evidence. No one could leave until accounts were taken of what happened, followed by addresses and phone numbers to contact later. Outside there were other bulls running about looking for clues in the nearby vicinity, checking gutters and trashcans for something that might provide answers. It was a hurricane, and from where he stood against the wall Richard watched the eye of it.

"Can anyone tell me if there was a dagger or not?" bellowed the gruff voice. All eyes in the club lobby turned to Detective Lieutenant Leo F.X. Monahan as he stood with eyes heavenward and arms outstretched. His normally ruddy complexion even redder as frustration leapt into his voice. Richard knew the Irishman was an honest cop, and tough. A large man, he still carried strength in heavy frame despite his forty-seven years.

Darius Stoner stepped forward to stand before him, "We've already told you Lieutenant, there is no dagger that we can tell of."

"Yeah? Well, this old lady," he thrust his pen to the side, targeting an elderly lady who'd been a passer-by, one of the few to stick around for questioning. Monahan, realizing his words, lowered his head to her. "Uh, pardon me ma'am," he interjected, before returning a baleful glare to Stoner, "Witnesses on the street said they saw a dagger, now in here I'm lookin at the body and there's no dagger!"

Stoner realized the man was getting angry, and decided to at least give him an actual target. "There is no dagger. Now I'm sure you realize the nature of this club, and some of the many established citizens of this city that frequent it. I'm not sure how many are here this evening, but I'm sure they would appreciate being able to carry on with their evening as opposed to looking at this." Darius gestured to Lee Hoffman's body, now covered in a sheet, then looked over to Richard hoping his eyes alone could provide a mute apology for the harshness of his words.

Monahan's face grew even redder as he stabbed a finger towards Stoner's face, then let out a long breath as he choked back his reply. Snapping his notebook shut, he withdrew his hand and stormed off to where the staff phone sat in the lobby entrance, almost bowling over the club employee who attended to guest arrivals.

Richard Munroe had taken this all in from where he stood, watching as Det. Lt. Corcoran approached. Short and wiry, Corcoran was an almost direct counterpart to Leo Monahan. At twenty-seven, Richard knew he stood unusually high in the graces of certain members of the police and had, according to rumor, earned his place on homicide through favors and connections. He told his tale, waiting at times for the appropriate questions from Corcoran, despite knowing in advance exactly what he would relate.

Corcoran's brown eyes regarded Munroe with sympathy. "That should be all Mr. Munroe, if we need anything further we can contact you at the DA's office. Det. Monahan and myself will compare our interview notes and see if there's any questions we forgot to ask." As he put his notebook away into his trench coat, he added, "I know Lee was a friend of yours, and I am very sorry."

"Thank you, detective." Richard replied, shaking the man's hand.

Leo Monahan shouldered his way into the conversation, "I'm not sure I like what's going on here Munroe, but there's not a lot I can do about it. People have a funny way of dying around you!" He paused, again realizing the abruptness of his words.

Lamplight reflected back from Richard's eyes. "Yes, they do, don't they?" he all but whispered, a look of pain crossing his face. Inwardly, Richard was amused at the coppers factual manner and total lack of tact, but he had a part to play.

He turned to Corcoran and said "The meat wagon is on its way, get the other bulls together," he indicated the three uniformed beat cops, "and get this all tidied up, we're on our way." Monahan waited for Corcoran to get out of earshot before turning back to Richard. "Lookit, I'm sorry, but the facts are there. One missing dagger. Now I know you're a good lawyer, not like a lot of them shysters. You actually manage to put guys in the stir fer a while. I'm gonna leave it at this for now, but if I need you, come running." Monahan worried at his fedora with both hands. "I... uh... I'm really sorry about Lee. He was a good man, bein' part slope and all, and I worked with him on that kidnapping case a few years back. Damn low what the department did to him, if it wasn't for Hoffman..." he looked over to the body, "But I guess it ain't bothering him now." With that, Monahan nodded goodbye, putting his hat on and barking orders around him on his way out the door.

Staff were hustling about now, cleaning up and graciously offering drinks to the witnesses that had come in from outside. One of them approached Richard. "Sir? Mr. Stoner wished me to advise you he's in his office now looking into your 'urgent matter'. Also, a young lady named Karen Smith called, sounding quite upset, about fifteen minutes ago asking for yourself or Mr. Hoffman. I wasn't sure what to say, other than that you were currently detained. She said that she was at Mr. Hoffman's office and would await your call."

"Please call her back and inform her to stay where she is. Tell her I'll be there within the hour." Richard asked, his eyes on the doorway through which they'd taken Lee's body. "I'll be with Mr. Stoner should anyone have need of me." He headed towards the stairwell, his composed mask of grief sliding off his features like water off a window glass.

One of the employees stopped Munroe from moving up the stairs by putting himself between them. "I'm sorry sir, second floor is for members only. Mr. Stoner's office is down the hall. This way please," he beckoned, walking through the lobby area, passing the two phone booths on the right. Passing through two more oak doors, Richard found himself in a hallway, the valet pointing to an open doorway on the right. "Through here sir, Mr. Stoner awaits you in his office."

Richard stepped into a small room containing a desk, currently unoccupied, and a telephone switchboard against the far wall. A young lady sat, smiling at him nervously and indicating another door to Richard's left, as she connected the various incoming and outgoing lines in the building. He knocked on the door she indicated once, then pushed it open.

Darius Stoner looked up at Munroe as he spoke into a phone, "Well, keep trying his line please until we get him. Its important." He hung up the phone and regarded Richard in the lamplight. "Please sit," he said, "Food is on its way, just sandwiches, but I'm certainly not in the mood for anything heavy. If you wish a drink, just help yourself," he then indicated a bar at the back with his empty glass, "In fact, get me another please, whatever you're having."

Richard regarded the man for a moment before accepting the glass. In the low light, his eyes positively gleamed. "Have you deciphered the fortune?" he asked, turning towards the bar.

Darius looked back at Richard in astonishment. "It's not everyone who can read Chinese you know!" Begrudgingly he added, "I actually read a little myself, but what I could make out is gibberish. It may be an odd dialect. I was just actually trying to get a hold of someone that might help with that. Hopefully we can reach him later and try to get this mess sorted out. What in the hell was Hoffman working on to cause this?"

"It had something to do with someone or something named Sung." Richard replied.

Darius looked like he had been doused by a bucket of cold water that had reached inside and chilled his soul, freezing his eyes wide in astonishment. His face struggled to say something, then Stoner's lips set in a thin line and as suddenly as the reaction had occurred, it dissipated.

"One day, Mr. Stoner," Richard said, "You'll have to tell me what that look was all about."

"And one day Mr. Munroe, I may have to. Pray that I don't." The look on Stoner's face stated in no uncertain terms that this line of inquiry was closed. Darius sat back in his chair and folded his hands. "The fortune and the dagger are locked upstairs in the strong room of my private office on the third floor. Only I have access to that area so it will be quite safe there. This is the regular manager's office, since I'm rarely here. I hope you understand our rule about members only past the first floor. That, and I didn't want to draw undue attention to you."

"Not that you don't do that quite well on your own," Stoner thought to himself. Twice previously when playing cards, he'd thought Munroe a cold fish but kept in the context of the environment and wrote it off to an excellent poker face. These circumstances cast him in an entirely different light.

Stoner watched as Richard poured two glasses of water, over ice. The lawyer handed him his glass with a smile. "You did say you'd have what I was having, after all," he said by way of explanation. The big man then sat down in the heavy leather chair, arms on the armrests, legs crossed casually. All trace of the grieving friend was gone. 

"Well Mr. Munroe, what next then?"

"Lee's secretary knows more about his current case. I will be going there straightaway, to see what she can tell me." He raised the water to his lips and took a sip, regarding Stoner over the glasses edge. There sat a man who was completely in charge of his life, Richard thought, followed by a curiosity as to who or what he had destroyed to achieve such a lofty position. If there was one thing Richard knew with diamond clarity, it was that everything had a price. He smiled again, a wolfish thing, full of teeth.

For all his civilized appearance, this man truly startled Darius in a way he could not understand. It was like in some way he was looking upon a distant ancestor of his own. He couldn't help but think about a wolf in sheep's clothing. It was like the suit and career were simply a thin veneer to be pulled back to reveal... what? Stoner knew the answer lay just beneath the golden eyes that somehow seemed to reflect back at him in this light.

"I appreciate your assistance in this matter. Lee thought highly of this place, and of you."

Darius smiled at that, with just a shade of bitterness. "Lee deserved a place here, as much as some of the member's could not overcome their own prejudices of his background. Well, its not much of a toast," he said regarding the water, "But, to Lee." Darius raised his glass in salute, and then the phone rang. Setting the glass aside, he answered, "Yes?" He listened for a moment, then beckoned Richard over to his desk. "It's a young lady named Karen Smith. She 's asking for Lee or yourself and sounding quite upset."

"The aforementioned secretary." Richard said, reaching for the phone. "It's best I talk to her."

"Thank goodness I got ya Mr. Munroe! I called earlier, but some stuffy guy said you couldn't come ta the phone. I was waitin, then I tried Lee's home. Someone picked it up, but there was nuthin on the line, just breathin, see? I hang up, next thing ya know the phone rings here. I pick it up thinkin its you or Lee, but it was just that same creepy silence!"

"Karen, its Richard. I'm leaving the club now. We'll talk when I get there. Don't leave, don't open the door to anyone but me, and if Lee has a gun, fetch it, cock it, and sit aiming at the door. Shoot anyone who comes through it. Make sure that your back is to a wall, and not a window. Draw the blinds, and turn out the lights. I'll be there in fifteen minutes." His voice was calm, as though he was reciting a laundry list.

"Al-alright Mr. Munroe," Karen breathed, then steel crept into her voice on the exhale. "Alright, just hurry okay? Is Lee with ya?"

"I'll be there as fast as I can, Miss Smith." Richard said. "Goodbye." He placed the phone gently onto its receiver. And he smiled that smile again.

The one with drums behind it, and fire.

"Might I borrow a car?"

"That's the one thing we don't have, you'll have to grab a cab. There's always at least one out front."

Richard nodded. "Then I shall take my leave of you. I will contact you, should I learn anything that would help, and I ask that you do likewise." Richard removed one of his cards from a wallet and placed it on the desk. He studied Stoner for just a moment more, then turned and left the office, saying nothing else.

Darius Stoner looked at the closed door Richard Munroe had just left through when the phone on his desk rang. "Yes? Oh, you've got him. Please put him through please." Darius switched hands, then leaned back in his chair, the leather creaking out its resistance. "Hello? Sorry for the lateness of my call," Stoner looked up at the wall clock and swore to himself realizing it was already half past nine, "but I have a favor to ask. I'm in need of a man with your particular skills Elias Kane."

Elias wiped at his eyes with the back of his free hand and tried to concentrate on what Stoner was saying. He had suffered quite a few late nights of recent, in fact had just gone thirty hours without sleep at all. The phone had woken him from a dream that he couldn't.... and probably didn't want to... remember. "Is it an emergency, or will it wait until morning, Mr. Stoner?"

"That will depend on your point of view Elias. I'm not sure if you've met one of our members, Lee Hoffman at any of our dinners or just about the club."

"I believe that I met him about a year ago, yes," Elias answered, "Though you know how bad I am at remembering names."

"Well, Lee died tonight. Murdered, practically on the steps of the club itself. A friend of Lee's found him; Hoffman died in his arms from what I can understand. Well, Lee was clutching a fortune cookie in his hands.  That's why I'm calling you. The fortune is written in Chinese, which in itself is not startling, but from what I can make of it, its complete gibberish!" Stoner paused for a sip of his drink, realized it was still the water Munroe had poured for him and grimaced, wishing for something stronger. "I know you've had success translating a few odd tomes in our library here and that you read Chinese. I'm hoping you can help with this." Darius' voice grew stern, "Lee's friend believes it might hold a clue to his death. I'm inclined to agree. Most of all, I'm calling because I trust you."

"And I value that trust. Give me about twenty minutes, Mr. Stoner, and I will be at the Club. You've piqued my interest."

Darius hung up the phone, deciding twenty minutes gave him enough time to get a real drink and put in an appearance in the club. Despite many of the member's adventurous backgrounds, death had visited them at one time or another on their journeys. This was home, sacred from the outside world, immune to such dangers. More than a few of them would be shaken, or at least concerned.

Stoner walked out of his office and left word with the lobby valet to advise Mr. Kane to expect him in the Cathay Room. The setting was at least appropriate.
 

Out on the street, Richard hopped into the back of the nearest cab and gave directions, asking the driver to step on it. As they drove across town, Richard reflected on the evening, memories sliding through Richard's thoughts. Times long past with places and people that he'd never seen before. Images of icons that depicted the newest, and oldest, part of him, scratched onto cave walls, or carved into wood and brass and gold. Aromatic scents from herbs thrown on fires. Music. And blood. 

Always blood. Richard looked down at his hands again, and he remembered the hot slickness of Lee's blood.

"Did you ever have one of those moments..." he asked the cabbie "...of absolute certainty?" He saw the driver frown in the rear-view mirror. "When you knew what was going to happen, no matter how horrible or wonderful that something might be? And that in the knowing of it, you found absolutely no understanding of the why?"
The driver looked into the rear-view mirror at the man in the back seat, his heads lowered. "Just once senor. My grandmother," the man smiled, "said goodbye to each of the children the night she died. And it was in the way she looked at each of us, she knew she was gonna die. And we all knew as well." The cabbie's expression grew wistful at the memory.

"Did you ever call out to some higher power, and have that calling actually answered in a way that was tangible? And then regret it, because it cost you your soul?"

The fond memories drained from his face as the cabbie realized this was no philosopher in his hack, maybe the man was loco. He didn't appear drunk, but was talking crazy, and part of what he saying made Luis scared. "No senor, nothing like that.' he responded quietly, not looking in the rear view mirror, trying not to give the man leave to speak again.

The street looked quiet as the cab drove onto Mission Street and approached the four-story building, run down as it was, where Lee had kept his office. As the cab pulled in front of the building, Richard tossed the driver four bits and got out onto the street. The driver got a clear look at Munroe's face then, turned away and muttered his thanks. As he drove off in search of another fare, the cabbie swore softly, "Madre de dios!" he thought, "Those eyes!" Had he been seeing things? Or had he picked up El Diablo himself? Luis crossed himself and decided he was done driving for the night after all.

Richard climbed the stairs to Lee's office, his senses alert to anything that might be lurking nearby. Though how something could lurk in a lighted hallway was beyond him. He went up a couple flights of stairs, until he came to Lee's floor, and then stopped. In front of him was Lee's door, its pebbled glass reading back the painted words 'Hoffman Investigations'. "Karen." he called out. "It's Richard. I'm going to open the door."

"Mr. Munroe? I'm in Lee's office!" Karen shouted, but Richard's keen hearing picked it up almost as if she were beside him.

Richard remembered the layout even before he'd opened the door; the cramped outer office where Karen worked and visitors, on the rare time when there was more than one, sat waiting their turn. The cool, damp San Francisco air blew in from a window on the right. The left wall held a calendar from a local bank and a couple of framed photos of Lee taken with clients.  Behind her desk was the door to Lee's office. "I'm coming in, Karen." he said as he approached the door. "There's nobody here with me, you shan't have need of the gun." 

"It's okay Mr. Munroe, is Lee with you?"

Karen saw Richard enter the main office, and as usual whenever she encountered this unusual man, the hair rose on the back of her neck.  Still, Lee trusted Munroe so she should too. And the look on his face tonight was somehow... different. Not quite as hard and cool as usual.  All of a sudden, everything fell into place. "Oh god, no. Lee?" Karen let the question fall away as she dropped the gun to the floor and both hands went over her mouth, as if to hold herself back from finishing the sentence, keep it from becoming reality.
"Dead." Richard said softly. "He died in my arms tonight, at the club." He watched as she began to tremble, as her eyes grew bright with tears. "I'm sorry. There was nothing I could do to save him."

Karen swayed on her feet as sorrow gripped her body. Salt-water rivulets ran down her cheeks without a whimper, she didn't make any sound at all. She walked over to the window across from the door, the only window in the room, which gave, had given she corrected herself, Lee a view of Mission Street. Karen stood looking out onto the street, wishing there was activity on it instead of the same emptiness that filled her heart.

"But there is something we can do to find those responsible and see to it that they pay. Would you like that, Karen?"

"Yes," Karen turned, wiping at her eyes with the back of her hand. She remembered something her mother had said, before dying and leaving her alone at sixteen. 'People that don't believe in revenge ain't never been seriously given the rhubarb.' "Yeah Mr. Munroe... I'd like that."

"I need to know what he was working on. You must tell me the particulars of his last case."

"Lee's workin'," Karen stopped and tightened her eyes, "Was workin a case for this high falutin dame named Jennifer Grant, lookin for her missing fiancée. Lee was only at it fer a week, but he was comin up roses on this one. I never knew why, just he'd come in after the office'd shut down wearin that smelly apron, then start makin notes." She waved at a white apron, stained all over, hanging off the back of the door, then smiled up at Munroe, "You know how he'd hated usin a typewriter. He said tonight to type up the notes, get a report ready for tomorrow, see? He said it was all but over and after we'd celebrate fer sure... Lee figured this one was gonna make him famous. He never got over what'd happened with the kidnapping." Anger crept into her voice, "Now I guess he'll have his name in the papers like he wanted."

"Unfortunately, the file I typed up is locked in the safe. Like I said before, I was just leavin when ya called, I'd already stuck it in there. He left it open for me when I arrived, nuthin valuable in there anyway, well," a smile crept onto her face, "cept bullets for the gun." She started laughing, "I stood there fer an hour guardin the door with an empty piece." Her laughter gave way to more tears and a sort of relief. "But, the notes Lee wrote are sittin right on his desk."

Richard turned to regard the desk, when all his senses went wild. He heard the fire escape, running past the side wall window of the front room, creak as someone shifted their weight. He smelled gasoline, at first faintly, and then it almost assaulted his nostrils, as its source became evident. A bottle with a flaming wick crashed to the floor just in front of the main office door. As the glass broke, its contents spilled forward, while he heard another fall out of sight but the sound told him it was also out in the room.

Karen was as tough as nails, but she'd ran her course tonight, letting out a scream as the only doorway out was consumed in flames.
 

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