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Phone connections had been restored with the reopening of the city’s portals, allowing me to get a signal. I texted a friend: Your map sucks. And waited.
“Curried fishballs?” Louis-Cesare suggested.
Bahram made a face.
“Fung Zao?”
“What is that?”
“Chicken feet. They are deep fried, then marinated, then steamed. They come with a black bean and chili sauce.”
“They eat the feet?” Bahram looked shocked.
“They’re quite good.”
He appeared dubious about that. But then he shrugged. “I will try.”
“Fung Zao, two,” Louis-Cesare told the waiter, who nodded.
“And beer,” I added, glancing in the back. “Unless—”
“Tea,” Rashid said, still frowning at the map.
Bahram frowned. “I will have—”
“Tea,” Rashid said firmly.
Bahram sighed. “Tea.”
The waiter nodded, turned around, and tripped lightly up the stairs.
My phone dinged.
Where you at, short stuff? I read.
Underneath the Little Pig Mongolian Hot Pot.
“Are you sure that is the name?”
That was, of course, Rashid, reading over my shoulder.
“Why don’t you go up and check?” I asked, smiling.
Rashid stood up, grabbed hold of the edge of the restaurant and levered himself up.
“Are you hoping he’ll fall off?” Louis-Cesare mouthed.
I looked back innocently.
But, of course, he was a vamp. He didn’t fall off. He did surprise a diner at a table by the railing, however, who screamed and dropped a beer.
Bahram caught it and drank it quickly, before his friend got back.
Sending some guys, my phone informed me.
What will they look like?
You’ll know them when you see them.
