Page 63 of The Killer’s Mark

‘That’s so passive-aggressive. You want me to sort it?’

‘Be my guest.’

He handed his phone across. Two minutes later, she handed it back. ‘Yeah, I dunno what she’s done, but I can’t fix that shit.’

The white waiter came over. Esmerée was right: he did have bug eyes. Kind of looked like a surprised Stephen Merchant. Or one of those weird goldfish. He took their drinks order. They each asked for a Diet Coke. Esmerée wanted ice. Poe didn’t. The waiter returned with their drinks. He handed them menus then left them alone.

Esmerée opened hers but didn’t study it. Instead she looked over Poe’s shoulder.

‘What about this guy then?’ she said. ‘He has a tattoo on his hand, I think he’s Chinese, and he’s heading our way. If he sits near us, shall I ask him if he knows Kai?’

Poe turned, about to say he would do the asking. But then he thought it was moot. The guy was heading directly for their table. He glanced down at Poe, then pulled out the seat opposite him. Esmerée budged up to give him room.

‘I gather you’re looking for Kai Jin.’ He had flawless unaccented English.

‘Where did you hear that?’ Poe asked carefully.

‘Are you or not?’

‘We are.’

‘Then it’s your lucky day,’ the guy said. ‘You’ve found him.’

Chapter 53

The man claiming to be Kai Jin was in his forties. He wore a black suit and a white shirt. No tie. The tattoo on his hand was a dragon’s head. Of course it was, Poe thought. The Chinese loved dragons. Then he checked himself. He’d made an assumption. The man might not be Chinese. Poe was aware there were ways to differentiate between people from East Asia, but he wasn’t sure what they were. Saying that, he was in a Chinese restaurant, and he was in Chinatown. On the balance of probability, the man sitting opposite him was likely to be Chinese.

Poe didn’t think he was Kai Jin, though. He didn’t look like an artist. He looked like a gangster. He was vibrating a dangerous energy. Reminded Poe of the sound that pylon cables made when it rained. So instead of asking the man how he’d found him, he turned to Esmerée and said, ‘Run.’

Esmerée didn’t hesitate. The man was blocking her in, but she was fifteen and didn’t mind diving to the floor and sliding under the table. She skidded beneath Poe’s legs and was up and out of the restaurant in under ten seconds. She stopped by the window, but Poe mouthed, ‘Run,’ again.

She did.

‘Who was that?’ the man said, bemused.

‘My padawan.’

He frowned.

‘My friend uses the word sometimes,’ Poe explained. ‘I have no idea what it means.’

‘Why are you looking for me?’

‘You’re Kai Jin?’

‘I am.’

‘I don’t think so,’ Poe said.

‘Do you know what Kai looks like?’

‘I don’t.’

‘Then how—’

‘Because Kai is a gifted artist and the dragon tattoo on your hand is cross-eyed. In fact, it’s so cross-eyed, when it cries both sides of your hand will get wet. You’re a Poundland Lisbeth Salander – the man with the boss-eyed dragon tattoo.’

The man smiled. Fixed. Not amused, but afraid to lose face.