City of Dragons

City of Dragons

Miranda didn’t hear the sound he made when his face hit the sidewalk.

The firecrackers were too loud, punctuating the blaring Sousa band up Stockton. Red string snapped and danced from a corner of a chop suey house on Grant, puff s of gray smoke drifting over the crowd. No cry for help, no whimper.

Chinese New Year and the Rice Bowl Party, one big carnival, the City that Knows How to Have a Good Time choking Grant and Sacramento. Bush Street blocked, along withher way home to the apartment. Everybody not in an iron lung was drifting to Chinatown, some for the charity, most for the sideshow.

Help the Chinese fight JapanÑ put a dollar in the Rice Bowl, feed starving, war- torn China. Buy me a drink, sister, it’s Chinese New Year. Don’t remember who they’re fighting, sister, they all look alike to me.

Somewhere above her a window opened, and a scratchy recording of “I Can’t Give You Anything but Love” fought its way out. Miranda knelt down next to the boy.

“You OK, kid?”

She guessed eighteen or nineteen, from the cheap but flashy clothes and the way his body had fallen, trying to protect itself. No response. She dropped her cigarette, and witheffort turned him over, the feet around her finally making some room.

I can’t give you anything but love, babyÑ

“KidÑkid, can you hear me?”

Nose was broken. So was his jaw. Missing teeth, botheyes black. What looked like burn marks on his cheek.

That’s the only thing I’ve plenty of, babyÑ

She loosened and unknotted the flimsy green tie around his neck. Eyelids fluttering, color gone, face empty of everything except memory. Unbuttoned the shiny brown jacket, saw the hole in his chest.

Dream a while, scheme a whileÑ

“We need a doctor! Anybody a doctor? Anybody?”

The feet around her moved back a little, ripple of noise running through the crowd.

You’re sure to findÑ

Couldn’t risk looking up. His eyes were open now, brown clutching hers.

Happiness, and I guessÑ

She took a deep breath and yelled, voice straining.

“Doctor! Get a goddamn doctor!”

All those things you’ve always pined forÑ

The cement was still damp with slop from the restaurants and tenements, and his fingers clawed it, looking for an answer.

She bent close. The crowd shivered again, surged forward. His eyes asked the question and hers lied back.

“Who did this? Can you understand me? WhoÑ”

He turned his head toward the direction he’d been thrown from. Last effort.

Then the bubble. Then the gurgle. Then the cop.

“Move, you bastards. Move!”

His boots stood next to her, staring dumbly at the boy.

“He drunk?”

I can’t give you anything but love. The record made a clacking sound, and the needle hit the label over and over. Clack. Clack clack.

She stood up, tired.

“He’s dead.”

The record started up again.

I can’t give you anything but love, baby . . .

From: CITY OF DRAGONS by Kelli Stanley, copyright © 2010 by the author and reprinted withpermission of Thomas Dunne Books, an imprint of St. Martin’s Press, LLC