Russian Hill (Abby Kane FBI Thriller - Chasing Chinatown Trilogy Book 1)

RUSSIAN HILL

Chasing Chinatown Trilogy

Book One

(Abby Kane FBI Thriller)

Ty Hutchinson

Chapter 1

Jerry and Vicki burst through the door of their hotel room in a fit of giggles. She led; he followed. She dropped her purse, then removed her brown wig before spinning once like a ballerina and falling back onto the king-size bed.

“I had such a wonderful time today.” Vicki let out a breath and smiled. “Isn’t San Francisco the best city ever?”

“Charming and quite loveable,” said her husband as he collapsed onto the bed next to her. He buried the side of his face in the soft pillow, causing his cheek to squish upwards and clamp his eye shut.

“The day unfolded perfectly. It couldn’t have happened any better.”

He lifted his head. “There was a little planning involved.”

She jabbed a finger into his ribs. “You know what I mean, silly.”

“Boy, I’m beat.” He cuddled the pillow and turned his face away from her.

“Me, too, but we have dinner reservations at Top of the Mark and I’m looking forward to it.”

Jerry didn’t need to look at his wife to know she had pouty lips. Her voice conveyed her stance. He also knew that, if he looked at her, she’d hit him with fluttering eyelashes. He never could say no to that. “Okay, we’ll rest for a bit,” he mumbled.

The comfy pillow top sucked the couple into its dreamy grasp, slowing their breaths and muting the knock of their heartbeats.
Just for a few seconds…

In fear of losing the night to an early bedtime, Vicki reached over and pushed her husband’s arm until he rocked back and forth.

“I’m up, dear.”

She continued.

“I’m up,” he said louder.

“We have to motivate, or we’ll both fall asleep.” She swung her legs off the bed first. “Come on; get up. I’ll shower while you get the pictures ready.”

By now, Jerry had eased himself into a sitting position on the edge of the bed, his eyes still closed. She walked over to his side, grabbed both his hands and pulled him to his feet.

“My camera is in my purse.” Vicki gestured toward the desk.

She disappeared into the bathroom, ignored the tub, and stepped into the shower stall. She fiddled with the hot and cold knobs until the water temperature was perfect. She stood still, letting the drops massage her neck and back as she recounted the day in her head. Those thoughts produced a smile. She lathered bath gel across her arms and belly but stopped at her breasts. There, she traced a straight line across her chest a number of times before snapping out of her trance. She continued showering and washed away whatever remaining desire she might have had for sleep. She then wrapped her short, black hair in a fluffy white towel and slipped on an equally soft robe before exiting the bathroom.

“I feel so much better,” Vicki announced as she approached Jerry from behind.

He sat at the desk, browsing through a photo organizer on his laptop. He had plucked photos one by one and dragged them to a desktop folder titled Piper.

She leaned down and let her arms rest on his shoulders. “What pictures are you thinking of using?”

“There are a bunch of good ones, but I’ll show you the ones I think are the best.”

He clicked on the folder, and it sprang open. “This first one is of you and Piper on the ferry.”

“Oh, yeah, that’s a good one. We look like we’re having fun.”

“Here are the two of you eating cotton candy at the pier. It really shows off Piper’s beautiful, hazel eyes.”

“Indeed.”

“This one is from our hike in Muir Woods. You two were trying to stretch your arms around a redwood tree. Remember that?” he asked, twisting his head around.

“Those trees were so tall.”

“But I think what will really seal the deal here is the video.”

“I’m glad you recorded this time around.”

A black rectangle popped up on the screen, and a moment later footage of a young woman with a ponytail began to play. She walked on a trail while looking up at the trees around her. Every now and then, she would playfully look back at the camera. “Why are you filming me? You should be filming your wife in all this beauty.”

“Oh, it’s just that we’re both having such a wonderful time with you,” said a male voice off camera. “I want this for memories. Isn’t that right, dear?”

“Absolutely.” Another woman’s voice could be heard outside the frame. She stepped into view and hooked arms with the young woman. “Trust me, Piper; he has a ton of pictures of me. It’s nice not having to be the focus of his lens.”

“You both look great,” said the male voice.

The young woman let go an innocent laugh. She appeared unaware of her beautiful Mediterranean looks. Her long locks started with dark roots until right above her shoulder, where they began to lighten into perfect, washed-out surfer strands at the tips. She stood tall at six feet even and sported long, graceful limbs. The cut-off denim shorts and gray, San Francisco Giants T-shirt she wore complemented her naturally olive complexion, and her cross-trainers perfectly highlighted her slender calves.

The three had left the paved path of the park, where most visitors spent their time, and ventured on to one of the many trails that crisscrossed the surrounding forest. Forty minutes later, and without passing a single other hiker, they reached a beautiful clearing and rested. Birds could be heard talking to each other while the leaves rustled every so often from the gentle breeze—a calmness foreign to most city dwellers.

“This reminds me of growing up in Ohio,” Piper said from the screen. “It was so quiet there—only the sounds of nature. Nothing more.”

“This is the part we’ve been waiting for,” said the man as he poked his finger at the volume button on his laptop, maxing it out.

Piper had been looking straight up toward the trees while slowly spinning around. As she turned toward the camera, the older woman entered the frame with her right arm cocked back. She firmly planted both feet before swinging her arm around in a wide arc as hard and as fast as she could, driving a small hatchet directly into Piper’s chest.
Thunk
. The force nearly toppled the young woman, but the older woman grabbed her shirt and steadied her before backing out of the frame.

Piper’s eyes widened as she looked down at the instrument buried deep in her chest. Her bottom lip trembled as a dark, red stain spread from the hatchet and across her shirt. She took a few quick breaths, looking straight into the camera. A moment later, she dropped to her knees. The camera followed. Still, she focused on the lens, unable to speak and barely breathing.

She reached out with one arm, her only way to convey the two words her mouth no longer could:
Help me
.

And then she fell.

The camera followed as she hit the ground on her left side, her eyes still gazing at the lens.

One breath. Then another. Then nothing.

Jerry closed the video window and looked up at his wife.

“Bravo! Excellent work, my dear,” Vicki cheered. “I love how you followed her to the ground. Brilliant.”

“I couldn’t have done it without you. You have a great arm. And that disguise—I love you with longer hair.” He stood up, grabbed his wife by the waist, and gave her a kiss. “But Piper is the real star, a wonderful participant.”

“Shall we upload before dinner?” Vicki asked.

“Yes, of course. I’m very excited about this one.”

Jerry sat back down and clicked on his Games folder, then on a dragon icon. The screen went black before a gold and red, animated dragon appeared, snorting a few breaths of fire before morphing into a logo with the title “Chasing Chinatown.”

He entered a password, and a few seconds later, a map of the world appeared with a waypoint in Toronto and San Francisco connected by an arced line. Two cartoon turtle avatars dressed in nautical outfits appeared in the upper right-hand corner over the words “Team Carlson.”

“Just think; six months ago we were bored and looking for adventure. Now we’ve logged five thousand miles and left our mark in two major cities, all thanks to this little program.”

There were five links to the left of the map: Attractions One through Five. Jerry clicked on the third and started uploading photos. Within a few seconds, the transfer was complete. A confirmation message appeared, followed by another stating that their content was under review.

“I hate this part—the waiting.” Vicki took a seat on the bed and leaned back on her hands.

The wait seemed like an hour, but only thirty seconds had passed before the screen erupted into fireworks and the word “Congratulations!” appeared. After the light show, the header titled Attraction Four turned from red to green. Jerry clicked on it, and a graphic of a paper scroll appeared. It unraveled, revealing a message:
Good fortune comes in many forms. Find the right one for your next clue.

Vicki sat up and leaned forward for a closer look. “Good fortune? Could they be any less clear?”

Jerry looked back at his wife. “Don’t worry; we’ll figure it out. We can talk it through over dinner if you want. But for now, let’s enjoy the fact that we completed three Attractions.” He stood up and pulled his wife off the bed. “We’re on a roll.”

He danced with her, spinning her around before dipping her back, her towel falling off her head and her robe opening, leaving her naughty bits in plain view.

Vicki smiled as he brought her back to a standing position. She planted kisses all over his face before pulling away. “You were so right about this trip. I’m glad we did it.”

“Yeah, me, too. I’m having a killer time.”

Chapter 2

Dim Sum Sunday.

That’s what Ryan and Lucy had come to call it. I had fallen into the habit of taking the family out for brunch every Sunday. We all enjoyed the outing, especially my mother-in-law, Po Po. She had made friends with a few of the shopkeepers in Chinatown and used that time to talk, most of it gossip. She felt the need to converse in her native language. I didn’t crave it like she did, but I could understand. The language was a part of her and needed to be expressed. Plus, sometimes a story is funnier in Chinese.

I spoke English most of the time, and so did the kids. But they were learning Cantonese—not Mandarin, the official language of China—because Po Po was determined that they were to learn the language we spoke in Hong Kong. When I wasn’t home, she would only communicate with them in Chinese. English wasn’t allowed. She was firm on that issue, and I agreed. Being bilingual would give Ryan and Lucy an advantage someday. They didn’t seem to mind. Both took it in stride as something normal.

We all loved Chinatown for different reasons. For Po Po and me, it gave us a taste of some of the things we missed: the up-and-down tones of Chinese spoken on the street, the smell of dried everything and anything wafting out of the pharmacies, and the plethora of Chinese restaurants serving up our favorite foods, to name a few. For the kids, it was the usual: toys and sweets.

Lucy, my youngest, was six and a half and had come to develop a mind of her own. Instead of shadowing me like she had in the past, she found other ways to entertain herself. Everything Hello Kitty was her obsession. Whenever we passed by the store that sold those stickers, she would pull me inside, hoping I’d pull out my wallet.

At age nine, Ryan continued to mature and seek his independence. More and more, he spent time with friends and in numerous after-school activities, ranging from Judo to soccer and even taking cultural lessons at the Chinese Youth Center. His Chinatown guilty pleasure was the little boxes of snappers. He would beg and promise me he wouldn’t throw them at his sister. The last time I bought him a box, he threw the very first snapper at Lucy’s head. I threw the rest into the trash.

I remember telling him, “I told you not to throw them at people.”

“But, Abby, you didn’t say you would throw them away.”

“I expect you to listen to me whether you know the consequences or not.”
I may not be his biological mother, but I am still his mother, and I make the rules.

Ever since then, he would ask, and I would say no. However, that day, my mood was positive, and I felt lenient. He had been punished long enough, so I bought him a box and reminded him of the rule.

We’d finished brunch a half hour earlier and were enjoying a stroll along Grant Avenue when Po Po stopped us in front of the Eastern Bakery. “I go buy rice cake for later.”

That was another treat that had become customary.

She disappeared inside while the three of us remained on the sidewalk, hovering on the edge of the Sunday foot traffic. No sooner had I looked away from the kids than I heard a yelp, and Lucy ran behind me.

I looked at Ryan. “Did you just throw a snapper at your sister?”

“She said I could,” he said calmly as if he had an airtight defense.

“What did I tell you earlier?”

He raised his shoulders and held his arms out. “But she said it would be okay.”

He started to huff and stomp his feet; he knew what was coming.