Karl needed to regain control of the conversation. He had little faith that they’d reach an immediate accord, but more pressure might set him up for a follow-up visit.

  “I’m not a damned idiot, Canni,” Karl offered. “I’m not wearing a wire or recording anything, so I’m going to lay this out for you because I’m paid to resolve security disputes, and people extorting the restaurant is a security problem.”

  “Extortion is such an ugly word,” Canni replied. “You better be careful I don’t sue you for harassment and slander.”

  Zaena cut through the air with her hand. “Judge Jorge says those who invoke the law in petty defense of their bad deeds should be wary of it coming back to haunt them.”

  “Judge Jorge?” Canni looked confused. “The guy on TV?”

  Karl cleared his throat loudly. “Let’s cut to the chase. Consider this an ultimatum, Canni. I’m not here to clean up San Francisco. I’m here to make sure a single restaurant can get what it needs without getting gouged. You want to take a slice at some point in the chain, that’s fine by me and my boss. You go too far, the cops and FBI can handle you, but right now, this current deal? It’s crap.”

  Canni slid off the desk and cracked his knuckles. He inclined his head toward the group of men behind him. “My secretary will testify under oath that you came here and threatened me, threw punches, maybe flashed a gun. Whatever. Self-defense is a beautiful thing.”

  “Do you want the cops looking into you?” Karl asked.

  “Do you?” Canni snorted. “I don’t know what piece-of-trash bitch is pulling your strings now, but I’m no Demon Overlord, and the Crimson Wind isn’t going to protect you if you’re in deep with criminals. Everyone knows that.”

  Karl growled. “I was going to leave it for today, but now I’m pissed. You’re going to agree to back off right here and right now or you’re going to regret it, asshole.”

  Canni circled his hand in the air. His men spread out. “You’ve got a rep, but you’re one guy, and you’re not taking on this many guys with one chick.” He frowned at Zaena. “Even one who’s not that hot but somehow strangely compelling. Like I said, it’s my damned ex-wife all over again.”

  “If you have any fondness for me,” Zaena replied with a weary sigh, “perhaps you will reconsider your violence.”

  “You don’t have to get beat up, sweetheart.” Canni pointed at a chair in the corner. “You sit there and keep your eyes closed until the end. I’ll tell you what you need to say if the cops show up. Damn. You know what? I’ll even give you a job if you want. We could use more office help.”

  “You’re going to harm Mr. Smith. Is that what you’re saying?”

  “I’m going to take advantage of my right to self-defense,” Canni explained. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to kill him. I’m just going to convince him not to come into this place and shoot off his mouth again.”

  Karl nodded to Zaena. “You take the guys on the left. I’ll take the guys on the right.”

  Harsh laughter filled the room. Karl smiled. Sometimes a man needed exercise.

  Chapter Twelve

  Karl lifted his fists. He’d thought Canni would throw the first punch, but the boss stepped back, smirking and motioning his men forward.

  The room was big enough to accommodate all the large men but not wide enough for a lot of dodging and running. There was no cover other than the desk, and it didn’t provide much. A firefight would turn deadly.

  No one was going for a gun yet. That was helpful.

  He’d trust his reflexes and Zaena’s magic if it came to that. He didn’t mind a fight, but it was easy to be brave when he was standing next to a living weapon.

  Zaena moved to Karl’s side and kicked off her heels. It was a good thing she hadn’t worn the skirt she’d eyed as her first choice.

  A dismissive thug continued his advance. “Don’t think I won’t hit a woman. You ain’t so hot anyway.”

  “Don’t think I won’t hit a moron,” Zaena replied.

  Karl and the other men laughed at her joke. He knew which sitcom she’d stolen the joke from, but she’d used it appropriately and in context. Canni grinned and nodded with an approving look in his eyes.

  Done with laughing, the thugs sneered. They were cocky. Too cocky. They should have rushed in right away and tried to overwhelm Karl and Zaena, but instead, they strolled forward in a feeble attempt at intimidation. That might have worked better if they weren’t all smaller than Karl except for Canni, but he remained back.

  One man stood face to face with Karl. His breath stank of onions. Another towered over Zaena.

  The thug facing Karl slammed his fist into his palm. “I’m gonna enjoy messing you up, Smith. It’s been a long time since I’ve beat down a cop.”

  “Haven’t you heard?” Karl asked. “I’m not a cop anymore, pal.”

  “Once a cop, always a cop.”

  “Maybe.” Karl headbutted the man. “I didn’t do this a lot when I was a cop.”

  The thug howled in pain and grabbed his face. Blood poured from his broken nose. Karl finished him off with a wide hook and a grin.

  Zaena copied the injury with a palm strike to her closest opponent’s face. A snap-kick to his neck sent him to the ground.

  “What the hell is going on?” Canni thundered, staring wide-eyed at his two downed men. He clenched his jaw. “Damn it. She is like my ex-wife.”

  Two thugs surged toward Karl. He repaid them by clotheslining both. He didn’t have time to punch them out before another man roared and lunged at him.

  Zaena ducked a punch and jumped into the air to smash her knee into the head of her opponent. She battered his face with her elbow before leaping off him to dodge another man. A roundhouse kick from Zaena launched her latest tormentor into the wall with a yelp.

  The lunging thug caught Karl in a bear hug and squeezed. The thug was shorter than Karl but had a good thirty pounds on him. He tightened his grip with a wicked grin.

  Karl grunted and pushed. He snapped the hold and kneed the man in the groin. The man groaned and doubled over. The bastard should have worn a cup. He yanked up the man’s head by the hair and pounded him with a bloodied fist before dropping the worthless lump on the floor. He then punched out the men he’d knocked down before.

  He stepped back and raised his fists, ready for more. Zaena’s spinning roundhouse kick nailed the only man in the room left standing, other than Canni.

  The gangster stared slack-jawed at the pile of semi-conscious bloodied thugs on the floor. He shook his head in disbelief.

  “You want to keep going?” Karl asked, gesturing for the man to attack. “I’ve got plenty of ice at home for my knuckles.”

  Zaena brushed at a bloodstain on her jacket with a sigh. “Are dry cleaners good at getting out this kind of stain? I like this jacket. It has sentimental value. I bought it when I first came to the city.”

  One of the thugs on the ground groaned and pushed up until he was on all fours. He glared at Karl and reached into his jacket.

  Karl shoved his hand into his pocket to grab his weapon. Canni kicked the gun out of his man’s hand. It clattered against the wall. He crushed the man’s already battered face with his fist.

  Zaena blinked and jumped back with a confused expression. Karl surveyed the room, gun in hand, looking for anyone else interested in taking the fight to the next level.

  “Why?” Zaena asked.

  Canni tucked his loose too-long tie under his jacket, then knelt to wipe blood off his shoe. “I’m not interested in a bunch of trouble. When I came to town and took over this racket, I only did it because I thought it’d be easy money, and it was until now.” He stood. “I don’t know what you’ve heard, but ninety-five percent of what I do is legit. There’s decent money in being a middleman. People getting shot makes things get messy.”

  Zaena lowered her hands. “Don’t you enforce your will through threats of violence?”

  “A threat’s one thing. A little pressure keeps a man paying a premium, but people start dying, then the cops come.” Canni grimaced. “Or worse, the Crimson Wind. I don’t know if the rumors are true and Smith has a line to her, but I don’t need that kind of trouble. I figured a little slap around wouldn’t get her here, but dead bodies are a different thing.”

  Zaena folded her arms. “Then why not eliminate your extortion? You already admitted you run a profitable business.”

  He offered a sheepish grin. “Can’t blame a man for wanting to make money, can you?”

  “I certainly can.”

  Canni snorted. “That’s the first thing you’ve said that was the opposite of my ex-wife.” He wandered among his fallen lackeys and headed toward the hallway door. “Fine. I was thinking of going straight anyway. If it wasn’t you two, it’d be the Wind, and if it wasn’t her, then it’d be the cops. It’s like no one wants to let people make money through crime nowadays.”

  “Funny, that,” Karl replied.

  Canni gestured for them to leave. “I’ll pull back on the premium fees and threats.” He tapped in his code and opened the door. “This is crap. I should start a hedge fund. If you’re going to rob people, might as well do it the fancy way.” He stopped halfway through the door and looked at Zaena. “Any chance I could get your number? We both know Smith doesn’t appreciate what you’ve got.”

  Zaena offered a soft smile to the gangster. “I’m not interested in pursuing any romantic entanglements at this time. I appreciate your offer to turn away from crime, though, Mr. Canni. I trust you’ll immediately call the relevant parties to eliminate the premiums being imposed on the Sleeping Dragon?”

  He waved. “Whatever. Maybe I’ll give my ex a call, too.”

  Karl inclined his head toward the door. “I think we made our point. You should give Tony a heads-up about the supplies, and I think we should hire some security guards for the opening just in case. If that’s okay with you. That shouldn’t be too much of a risk.”

  “I doubt anything dangerous will happen, but it’s a good chance to experiment with conventional defenses.” Zaena walked to the door, stepping over downed gangsters. “This ended up far less violent than I anticipated.”

  Karl laughed. “This was not violent?”

  “I said far less violent, not non-violent.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  A couple of days later, Zaena smiled from her corner table at the Sleeping Dragon. Diners, locals from the neighborhood as well as from the greater Bay Area, filled the restaurant. A steady stream of delicious-smelling food flowed out of the kitchen, carried by eager servers to the hungry customers.

  Zaena was all but finished with her meal: spinach soup with century eggs. Tony had a good touch. His ability to bring out subtle flavors bordered on genius. She despaired that he might have wasted his life as a low-level criminal if she hadn’t convinced him to take another path.

  Despite technically being the owner, she wore another disguise, though her expensive red silk dress and elaborate hairdo were more appropriate for a movie premiere than a modest restaurant. Many of the other patrons were dressed nicely, but she stood out.

  A man passed her and gave her a warm smile. He offered a suggestive wink. Grace’s efforts might have concealed her identity that night, but they’d covered up less of her beauty than her last disguise.

  Zaena finished her soup before making her way to the back. The staff had all been briefed on her disguise. To her surprise, Tony told her no one found it odd.

  Waiting until few people were looking that way, she headed to the corner of the restaurant and into the kitchen. Humidity and heat washed over her. She almost summoned a spell to fight it off.

  They needed to add more fans in the kitchen. She didn’t want the employees to suffer.

  Cooks focused on their stations. Tony stood in front of a massive wok working on fried rice, his spatula’s movements precise, like he was battling an invisible foe. Zaena stood transfixed in admiration.

  “Problem, boss?” Tony asked without looking her way. “Nothing’s come back tonight that I’ve heard.”

  “No, I was just checking in,” Zaena replied. “My viewing of Undercover Boss suggests that is a valid and useful strategy.”

  Tony laughed. “It doesn’t work if we know your disguise.” He picked up a plastic container filled with shrimp and tossed them into the wok. “Things are great. I’m sweating like I’ve run a marathon, but it’s a good sweat. I know I’ll be exhausted later, but this is damned cool.”

  “Then I’ll leave you to your work,” Zaena replied. She headed toward the door and raised her voice. “Remember, everyone is getting a bonus for their fine work on opening night. The investors have authorized me complete discretion in that regard.”

  There were a few appreciative glances and nods, but everyone continued to focus on their work. She needed to let them concentrate. She opened the door and made her way back into the dining room, spinning to avoid two servers hurrying back into the kitchen.

  She worked her way across the room to the table on the other side, where Karl and Grace sat. Grace waved her to a chair.

  “You should have sat with us from the beginning,” she insisted.

  Zaena took her seat. “I thought it important to get a variety of perspectives during opening night.”

  Karl sipped a bottle of Pearl River Beer. “Things are going well. Almost too well.”

  “You think so?” With a flick of her wrist, Zaena summoned a partial sound wall around their table to muffle conversations both ways. She might not have needed it in the cacophony of the crowded restaurant, but she’d rather speak freely without worry. “Should I be patrolling?”

  Grace finished the dumpling she’d popped into her mouth. “No. You’ve got your rent-a-cops, and for that matter, plenty of real cops.” She motioned to a six-top in the center of the room. The chief of police sat there in full dress uniform, along with his family and a member of the Board of Supervisors. “You have to imagine they’ve got their guys keeping an eye on this place.”

  “I was somewhat puzzled by their arrival,” Zaena admitted. “From what I understand, they didn’t make it clear who they were when they made their reservations.”

  “Not everyone wants to throw their status around.” Karl finished his beer and set the bottle down. “It’s like you’ve been saying, Zaena. Of course, cops and politicians care. Even if you don’t do anything else with this building but run this restaurant, you’ll have achieved your goal. This place is a big symbol of rebirth and all that crap.”

  “What a poet you are,” Grace observed with a smirk.

  “I’m just saying the plan’s working. We turned the heart of crime in old San Francisco into a slightly upscale Chinese restaurant. Everyone in the city likes that idea. I wouldn’t be surprised if the mayor shows up at some point.”

  Zaena quieted as a server approached to refill their drinks. The woman had a new bottle for Karl and cups of tea for Grace and Zaena. She was surprised because a different woman had been taking care of her at the other table.

  After the departure of the server, Zaena sipped her tea, taking in the dining room. Others watched her table, some recording. She wasn’t sure if they were reporters or people taking note of the overdressed woman sitting with Karl Smith and Grace Kwan, the publicly mysterious CEO of the White Ruby Company.

  Grace looked her way. “People are appreciating what they see.”

  “Do you think it’s too much?”

  Grace motioned at her green cheongsam. “I haven’t worn one of these since my cousin’s wedding, and that was…a while ago.” She gestured around the room. “You might be slightly over the top, but most people are at least a little dressed up.”

  “I worry we’re sending a message that this is a place only for the elites,” Zaena noted. “That was not my intention.”

  “Nothing wrong with a little class on opening night,” Grace countered with a smile. “Just think of it as aspirational.” She smiled at a mother chatting happily with a young girl in a corner booth. “It’s weird how much this place has changed. It would have been impossible to imagine this a year ago.”

  “Do you think I should have invited Mr. Bloom?” Zaena asked. “He could have written a story on the change.”

  Karl choked on his beer. He pounded his chest a few times and caught his breath. “Hell, no. That would have been a terrible idea.”

  “You think so?”

  “I know so.” Karl eyed the bottle as if it had betrayed him. “Canni proved that not everyone thinks the Crimson Wind is obsessed with protecting this place. If you had told that reporter to show up, he’d make the obvious connection between you and the Wind. I think it’s better for us if people think of this as a place that people, including the Wind, might be watching rather than a base.”

  “I see.” Zaena thought that over.

  She might not be planning to reveal her true nature to the public at large anytime soon, and that decision brought with it practical considerations. Once people knew she was an elf, would she conceal where she lived? The risk of not doing so would be to invite attacks, but hiding would convince suspicious humans she was plotting something. For every success, there was a future challenge.

  “Besides, we’ve got a food critic here.” Karl subtly nodded at another table, where a man was happily downing roasted duck. “He looks like he’s having a good time.”

  “Should I have Tony approach him?” Zaena asked.

  “Sheila’s been taking care of him,” Grace noted.

  They’d recently hired Sheila as the general manager. In practical terms, she shared many of the management responsibilities with Tony, although he had the final say about recipes and the kitchen. Despite that, everyone agreed it’d help to have someone with formal restaurant experience manage the staffing and logistics.

  The critic leaned over and whispered something to his wife. She chuckled and whispered back.

  Zaena raised a finger to her mouth. “I’m going to cheat a little. I want to hear what the critic is saying, but that’ll require me to drop the sound curtain.”