Murder On The East China Sea by Mark W M Smith

Author:Mark W M Smith [Smith, Mark W M]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2018-11-03T04:30:00+00:00

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

AS QUICK AS the door latched, I skedaddled like Granddad Pierce once the dishes cleared the table. In my haste, I turned onto a wrong street and stumbled down a dark alley.

Tiptoeing along the middle to avoid kicking a garbage can or stepping in unfettered waste, my mind sorted the implications of my discovery. I squinted, trying to recall its exact shape.

A cop’s lapel pin? Dropped during an investigation? Could that happen?

Foggy memory banks crackled out an idea that this specific pin was worn with civvies. Maybe talk overheard at a barracks mixer. Or I’d seen something similar while attending a True Blue Air Crew soirée.

My foot landed in squishy, prompting a high-stepping dance. Searching the murkiness for goo pulled my attention from questions about coppers and their insignia.

I stomped my foot, barking out loud, “Dammit!”

The words ricocheted off my throat, stimulating my heart for take off. I lengthened my stride.

A blast of light jumped at me.

I dodged into shadow.

“Gaijin!” a grungy middle-aged woman whispered from the opened doorway. “Come, come. Anything you knee. Five dollar.”

“Shit,” my lips declared. Whisper Alley. Sakahaichi to the regulars hiding their naughtiness from wives and lovers. “No, no. Me fine,” I replied in Americanized avoidance.

Her door closed. Another popped open. “Gaijin! GI! Ten dollar sucky!”

“No thanks, lady. I’m just looking for my car.” I stretched my legs to full stride. “You people need to review your marketing plan. Raising prices to entice buyers? Sketchy.” Even as I uttered the phrase it occurred that this was precisely aligned with American marketing tactics.

Bam! Light flooded my path from door number three. This time from the left.

I hopped right.

A small female form shot from the luminance. Her silky dark hair wrapped around me. A dainty hand grabbed my sleeve.

Stunned, I stared into her sixteen-year-old face. Her exquisite features startled me silent. Escape scenarios raced around my prefrontal cortex. Sex with her was out, no matter the price.

She pressed into me. Her breath caressed my face. “GI Soldier? Come, come.” She tugged my shirt toward the open doorway.

I dug in. “No way, young lady. I can’t do that.”

She pulled harder. “Come on, American man!”

“I can’t. You’re too young.”

Her hair fanned out with perfection as she spun to thump my chest with a tiny fist. “Oh see! Me okay to take off clothes for tough guy soldier, but no talkie talkie!”

The comment flooded me with both arousal and shame. Her face matched the lithe gymnast from the strip club. My cheeks flushed hot. “You can’t be over sixteen.”

“Oh?” She toe-lifted to match my height.

Her absurdity broke a grin free.

“How old I am naked?”

A sharp inhale of self loathing knocked my jaw loose. “I— ”

“I no want fuck you,” she said with a twist toward the door. “Come.” Her strength increased by ten. “Yakuza looking GI boner.”

Stumbling after her I asked, “GI Boner? Who the hell is that?”

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