It was worse than he'd expected.

He was fine when he handed Crys out of the car. He was fine when they were escorted by the butler through the house. Mere grandeur and the trappings of wealth had never awed him. But when the butler left them at the open glass doors to the patio and he looked out at all the people in the garden, he felt as if he'd swallowed a belly full of ice. Everywhere he looked, people were standing, drinks in hand, talking, laughing, in pairs or in groups. Women glittered with diamonds, men were smooth with self-assurance. All the polite phrases Crys had practiced with him fled, leaving his mind blank. He felt sick and had the idiotic impulse to turn and run. Instead, he squared his shoulders and lifted his chin, but that was all he could do. Until Crys stepped forward, he was paralyzed.

Her arm through his moved him with her, down shallow steps that his feet couldn't feel. She was looking all around with frowning interest. A waiter was passing with a tray of champagne flutes, and Crys squeezed his arm and nodded toward the tray. Somehow Vicious made his hands move, snagging two of them as the waiter passed, which was something he'd seen on TV once. He handed one to Crys. Had he been alone, he probably would have died of thirst before he'd done that.

Crys took a delicate sip, leaned toward him, and whispered into his ear, "Look at all the big shots here. If I'd brought a bomb, I could have set the Red Dragons back twenty years."

Champagne bubbles went up his nose as he stifled a laugh. He felt the ice thaw and his shoulders relax. He murmured back, "If you'd brought a bomb, we'd be laying together now with someone shoveling dirt in our faces."

"Damn. Poison, then. What was I thinking, not slipping any into my purse?"

"I don't know. Here I give you this priceless opportunity, and you blow it."

She chortled and leaned her head on his arm. "I might have poisoned you by mistake, and that would have been a bad thing. Oh, look Ð a scumbag we know," she murmured.

It was Kito, coming toward them from the other side of the garden, moving smoothly through the crowd with a pleased smile, a beautiful redhead on his arm. Vicious muttered, "You promised to behave, Crys."

She muttered back, "I won't call him a scumbag to his face. Watch and learn, darling. We're going to show you the epitome of party-manner hypocrisy, your boss and me. I bet he's good at it. He's slick." As Kito and the lady drew near, she turned on a brilliant smile. "Kito!" she said, sounding actually pleased to see him. "Were you invited, too? What a treat."

Kito's smile turned into a grin. "Did Vicious forget to tell you, you owe your invitation to me?"

"Oh, that's right, I forgot," she said, taking his hand when he extended it. "I'm glad to see you. I was beginning to think we didn't know a soul here."

"Annie and Henry are here, out in the rose garden. Karen, this is Vicious, who you've heard me mention, and his lady friend Crys. Vicious, Crys, my wife Karen."

The redhead smiled at Vicious and shook his hand, but he stiffened when she turned a frosty half-smile on Crys and made no other gesture. Crys, who'd held out her hand to the woman, let it fall quite naturally onto his arm, pinching him, and said brightly, "Nice to meet you, Karen. How are the kids? Did you have any trouble finding a babysitter?"

"We have a live-in nanny."

"Oh. Of course. I don't have kids, so these things just slip my mind. Sorry. Lovely dress!"

Vicious winced internally. Karen looked proper, neat, and affluent, but beside her, Crys was stunningly glamorous and a great deal sexier. And it was obvious Karen knew it. But somehow she managed a smile and said, "Thank you. Yours is, too. Although I've never seen hair dyed with a streak to match a dress before."

Crys laughed. "You got it backward. Vicious bought me the dress to go with my hair."

The woman's glance flicked to Vicious. "How... interesting."

Kito, who had been looking elsewhere, turned back to them and said, "Crys, I hope you don't mind if I steal Vicious for a moment. I'd like to introduce him around a bit."

The words were a casual request, but it was still a command. Crys assured Kito she would be fine, although she glanced up at Vicious first to be certain that he would, and he gave her a single nod. He wouldn't, but he would have to manage anyway. He knew the kind of introductions Kito would be making would be seriously hampered by Crys' presence. He had already begun to relax, enjoying Crys' tactics, but now he settled even more. This was business. This, he understood.

Without a thought of being denied, Kito was saying, "Karen, take care of Crys, show her around, would you?"

"Yes, of course, dear," she agreed, although by her tone, she'd rather have been boiled in oil.

Crys said, "Just show me the food. I'm starving. It's ridiculous how much I eat. Good thing I never gain weight from it, isn't it?"

Kito gestured Vicious away, and as the two of them made their way farther out into the gardens, he gave a low whistle and said, "That is one hell of a woman."

"Your wife didn't seem to like her," Vicious said, still faintly annoyed.

"Of course not. Mistresses don't normally come to these parties. You'll understand better when you're married." He chuckled. "I was worried about Crys, when I should have been worried about Karen. I'll be hearing about this for months."

Kito had a specific destination in mind, but they stopped occasionally for quick introductions along the way. Vicious found, to his relief, that he had little to do in the area of what Crys called "party-manner hypocrisy", because the men he met immediately separated themselves from compliant wives, shook hands as if testing his grip, and discussed business, briefly and succinctly. They were men he could respect and relate to, and he quickly realized that Kito had a method to the introductions. He met no legitimate businessmen, no fronts, and no politicians, but rather active Red Dragon members who, in rank, stood closer to Kito's level than his own Ð men whom, if he continued rising, he would be dealing with often. Their curiosity about him gave him a feeling of elation that, kept in bounds, helped him to speak to them with confidence.

That confidence evaporated when they approached a gazebo and he realized where Kito was ultimately taking him. There, holding court in a small crowd of well-known faces Ð businessmen, politicians, diplomats, and even actors Ð was Mao Yenrai. Kito waited respectfully at the edge of the group until Mao saw him, and after a few minutes, Mao graciously excused himself and came their way. Vicious' knees weakened and he stiffened them, straightening, although there was nothing remotely threatening in any way about Mao Yenrai. He was a short, smiling, round-faced man who looked far more like the diplomats he'd been entertaining than the hard-eyed men Vicious had been meeting so far. But Kito was nervous, Vicious could tell by his voice when he said quietly, "Don't offer to shake hands, not with Mao. Speak when you're spoken to, otherwise shut up."

Vicious nodded. That wouldn't be any trouble. He'd be lucky if he could speak at all.

But Mao greeted Kito like an old friend and seemed genuinely pleased to meet Vicious. "I hope you don't mind that I chose the chaos of a party to meet you, but I didn't wish to wait for a better opportunity."

Crys had told him, Two easy rules, love Ð lie nicely to anyone you meet socially, but be completely honest with your scumbag superiors. So he said directly, "Mind? I'm staggered and deeply honored."

"And a little overwhelmed, perhaps?"

"Not a little, a lot." He confessed the truth candidly, but calmly, with a slight smile, unconsciously mimicking Kito's poise.

Mao was pleased. "Come walk with me a moment, and tell me what you think of this new piece of sculpture. It was a gift from one of the men I was just speaking to."

To Vicious' alarm, they left Kito behind, but he rallied his mind to look at the statuary along the graveled walk they turned onto. Mao continued talking, but only in the most general way about the party. He had a soft, pleasant voice. Even that was nothing like what Vicious had imagined. He might have been walking with Father Thomas. They stopped in front of a granite sculpture that sprawled along the side of the path, and Mao asked, "What do you think?"

Be completely honest with your scumbag superiors. "Honestly?"

"Of course. I wouldn't have asked, otherwise."

"Then, no disrespect intended, but it's ugly. It reminds me of some alleys I've been in."

"Does it?" He studied the thing another moment, and Vicious wished he could read what was in his mind. "Yes," he mused, "I had the same reaction. It looks very much like a bad alley."

"Sir... that wouldn't be deliberate, would it?"

Mao looked up at him, his smile deepening. "I suspect it is. I may have to kill the sculptor, despite the fact that he's considered a genius."

"If this is a sample of his work, he won't be much of a loss."

"No. Sad to reflect on the state of public taste, isn't it?" He gazed up the lane and the rest of the statuary that framed it. "So, is there anything here which meets with your approval?"

One sculpture had already caught his eye, and he turned toward it now. Carved from some white material that was delicately veined, it was a life-sized figure of a winged woman standing on one foot, leaning forward, her eyes and face turned skyward, as if she were about to take flight. In her left hand was a wreath of leaves, and in her right, extended upward as if to guide her launch, was a long spear. There was something triumphant and strong about her. "That's the best here. Or rather," he amended, realizing how arrogant that sounded, "the one I like the best."

"Ah, yes. Nike, goddess of victory. A good choice." Mao said no more about the statues or even why he'd asked Vicious' opinion, but turned to walk again along the path, which wove back toward the house. As they walked, he asked Vicious questions, pertinent ones this time, about what he was doing and, once or twice, how he'd accomplished it. To his surprise, under the gently voiced questioning, Vicious found his mind working hard to keep up, and he began to realize why Mao Yenrai had risen to this position. Instead of making him nervous, this realization made him more comfortable. He was working for a capable man. He answered everything with complete truth, although there was a time or two, especially when asked about Kito, that he was glad the truth was what Mao might want to hear.

As they neared the noise of the party, he was suddenly struck with the fact that, as crowded as the place was, no one at all had come near them while they talked. Every detail here, it seemed, was in Mao's control, and Vicious was impressed. More than anything he'd seen so far, that level of control was what he would wish to emulate if he ever rose this far.

He saw Crys standing with Annie and Henry Jacobs, laughing, looking as if she were actually enjoying herself. He didn't think Mao knew her, but Mao corrected that misapprehension by saying, "There is your lady. I'll leave you now. I'm sure you'd rather be with a lovely young woman than with me."

"Not really, sir," he said, "but I know I've already taken up too much of your time."

"It has been a pleasure meeting you, Vicious."

The words to answer that had been given him by Crys. "The pleasure was all mine, sir. And the honor."

Mao smiled and left him, and Vicious made his way through the crowd to Crys' side. Annie saw him first and waved at him, grinning. "How did it go with Mao?" she asked as Crys, smiling, tucked her arm in his.

"All right, I guess. We saw some statues, talked a bit."

Henry chuckled. "I told you, Annie."

She punched his arm. "And you were right. So what? That and a K-note will get you a cup of coffee."

"Told her what?" Vicious wanted to know.

"That even if Mao had skinned you alive, you'd act as if it had all been nothing special."

"Not that Mao would," Annie said comfortably. "He's far too sweet."

Sweet? That was about the last word Vicious would ever apply to Mao Yenrai. But then, the Jacobs' were old friends of Mao's. Crys was looking up at him anxiously, and he smiled to reassure her. "You look as if you've been enjoying yourself more than I thought you would."

Annie answered him. "We've been getting along great. You don't have to worry about this one, she can handle herself."

Henry said, "And Annie isn't like Karen and the other wives here, after all, to turn up her nose at someone just because they don't quite fit."

Vicious couldn't imagine a more obvious understatement. The other wives he could see were sleek, well-groomed, and with trim figures that he imagined were more the result of medical science than any particular work on their part, and each was wearing a gown and jewels that had probably cost more than he would make in a year. Annie, in contrast, was plump, wearing a simple gown and a pair of plain sapphire earrings. Her expression, too, was open and refreshingly natural, nothing like the guarded, careful faces of most of the other women. Other than Crys, he thought her the best woman there, and told her so, which flustered her and pleased Henry.

Even with Annie, however, he could see that Crys was unhappy and feeling the strain. He asked her, "Do you want to go now? I think I've had about all the partying I can stand in one day."

Annie chuckled at Crys' grateful expression. "Yes, take her home before we pollute her beyond redemption."

"Annie, if it were only you and Henry," Crys said, "I wouldn't feel quite beyond redemption. Thanks for rescuing me." To Vicious' surprise, she hugged both Annie and Henry. Then she turned back to him, wove her arm into his, and said, "Take me home and I promise you a very nice reward."

He led her off to the sound of Annie's wicked laughter.

Continue with part seventeen.

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