his skin coloring, the acidic wash on the outside, would be affected by the hot water and soap?
He immediately studied his arms and legs through the mountains of suds. To his great relief, the diluted acidic skin dye was holding its own.
The next couple minutes were a weird combination of anxiety and repose for Nolan. The warm water felt great, as did the hookers’ hands roaming all over him. It would have been so easy for him to just give in, lie back and let the party girls do their thing.
He had to remember that kicking up a fuss now would surely arouse the goons’ suspicions. As it was, the gunmen were no longer in sight; Nolan guessed they were probably searching their clothes, as part of their job of making sure he and Twitch really were OK.
But tempted as he was, Nolan had to stay strong, keep his wits about him and try to get out of this place, in one piece, as quickly as possible. He glanced over at Twitch, hoping he was staying strong, too. But what he saw instead was his colleague obviously succumbing to temptation. He had settled very deeply into the tub and, his immediate woes apparently forgotten, was obviously enjoying every move the hookers made. In fact, Twitch seemed particularly enraptured at the very moment Nolan looked at him.
Nolan just shook his head. Here he was, feeling like he was stuffed into someone else’s body, in pain from head to toe, with all kinds of bad outcomes swirling before his eyes.
And there was Twitch, flying high on Chinese vodka, getting a hand job.
* * *
BATH TIME AND all it entailed lasted more than thirty minutes.
When it was all over, their clothes were returned to them washed, dried, ironed and folded—a smokescreen for them having been searched.
Nolan and Twitch had dressed quickly, but found the two goons were waiting for them once they were done. The gunmen silently looked them up and down. Then one took out a tape measure and, without a word, quickly measured Nolan and Twitch, both height and shoulder width. Nolan and Twitch just stood there, totally baffled.
When it was over, one goon handed Nolan a slip of paper with an address on it. Then he said: “Good luck, Frankenstein.”
Seconds later, Nolan and Twitch were back out on the crowded, dirty street. It was now almost 11 P.M. That had taken way too long. Time was really slipping away.
Nolan read the address the goon gave him and they went to check it on their shirtsleeve maps. Only then did they realize the washing process had destroyed their Shanghai street grids. All that remained were two blurry ink stains.
But even worse, Twitch realized all their bribe money was gone, too, stolen from his pants pockets
“Those motherfuckers,” he roared, turning back toward the cathouse before Nolan stopped him. “Those fucking thieves…”
Was God just playing tricks on them now? Nolan wondered. They had no radio, no transponder, and now no assassination weapon, no maps or bribe money. It was like they were suddenly walking around lost and naked.
Now they had to strongly consider just making a run for it. Get back to the ship and try to get out before all hell broke loose.
But again Nolan believed they were just too deep into this thing for that. With the promise of the sugar and the ship, and now the gift of sex from the Boss himself—for all he knew, not showing up at the next station might result in half of Old Shanghai gunning for them, and the rest of Whiskey as well.
So, they no longer had a choice.
They had to continue on.
* * *
LUCKY FOR THEM, their next stop was just a half-block away from the cathouse.
They found the place by pure chance. They’d stumbled along for a few steps, past a gang of armed men lurking in a nearby doorway, and suddenly the address written on the slip of paper was in front of them. It was another rundown apartment building.
Nolan knocked on the door, and yet another beautiful Asian girl let them into yet another apartment. But this one was dark and full of shadows. There was no music, no perfume. And while the apartment was packed with people, they weren’t hookers. They were gritty armed men—Sunny Hi’s foot soldiers, no doubt. They were all sitting on the floor, smoking something from glass pipes.
An opium den—with lots of weapons in sight.
The gunmen were chattering and getting high. But when they