“Hell, no, I don’t stay at the Friendship. I only drink here. My company’s got me staying at the Jingtan on the other side of town. Goddamn place is full of Japs. Can’t stomach ’em. But that’s only the last two years. Before that I was in the south.” He shook his head, remembering personal horrors. “Coming here was like dying and going to heaven.” He put his hand out quickly. “But don’t go reaching for that scalpel just yet. I ain’t really dead. That was just a metaphor.”

“Simile,” she corrected him.

“Whatever.” He drained his glass. “So. Can I buy you dinner?”

“Afraid not.”

He grinned, unabashed. “Hey, I don’t mind a woman playing hard to get. I enjoy the chase.”

Margaret finished her vodka, its heady warmth making her bold. “I’m not playing hard to get. I’m just not available.”

“Is that tonight? Or ever?”

“Both.”

He chewed that over for a moment, then pushed his empty glass towards the barman. “Fill her up. You want another?” She shook her head. “So, where are you eating tonight—if I may be so bold?”

“She go eat banquet.” Lily had entered unnoticed. “And we late,” she said to Margaret. For once Margaret was almost relieved to see her.

“Banquet, huh? Quanjude Beijing Duck, by any chance?”

Margaret was taken aback. “How did you know that?”

“Because everyone from the President of the United States to even a humble forensic pathologist gets the Beijing Duck treatment. Enjoy.” He raised his glass then took a long pull at it as Lily steered Margaret down the hall.

“You know him?” she asked disapprovingly.

“No, I don’t know him. I just met him. Who is he?”

“McCord. Everyone in Beijing know McCord. He work for Chinese government, got guanxi, big connection. And he like pay Chinese girl for . . .” She broke off. Suddenly, uncharacteristically, self-conscious. “For . . . something no one else want give him.”

“Prostitutes? He goes with prostitutes?” Margaret was disgusted.

Lily pursed her lips. “And we no can touch him.”

VI