ss his chin indicated that it might have been a broken bottle.
He was medium tall, and he wore a cap that might have been white once.
An apron covered loose black Chinese shirt and trousers. Rick was glad
big Hobart Zircon was sitting next to him.

The man walked to the table and greeted them in a surprisingly soft
voice in which there was an accent Rick couldn't identify.

"You're a little early, gents. But I can take care of you. What'll you
have?"

"Chahda," Zircon said flatly.

The man's eyes narrowed. "You better have a drink and sit tight."

"Why?" Zircon asked.

"You'll see. What'll you drink?"

Zircon ignored the question. "Who are you?"

"Canton Charlie. What'll you drink?"

"What have you got?"

There was a ghost of a smile on the scarred face. "I'll fix you up." He
clapped his hands. An elderly Chinese in dirty whites shuffled out.
Canton Charlie spoke a few words of singsong Cantonese and the old man
nodded.

"Sit tight," Charlie said again, and walked away.

"Lot of fine, useful information we're getting out of this," Scotty
grumbled. "I wonder how long we'll have to sit in this flea bag?"

"Hard to say," Zircon replied. "But Charlie seemed friendly enough."

The old Chinese was shuffling across the floor with a tray that held
three tumblers of dark liquid. "Wonder what he's going to give us?" Rick
said. "Probably dragon blood."

The Chinese put the glasses down in front of them and padded off again.
Scotty picked up his glass and sniffed, and a grin split his face.
"Dragon blood, huh? Ten thousand miles from home, in the worst dive in
Hong Kong, and what do we drink? Coke!"

Rick laughed. "American civilization and the mysterious East. But it
suits me. Coke is probably the only thing in the house fit to drink."

The Portuguese finished the drink that had been in front of him, gave
his nails a last inspection, stowed his knife in a leg sheath, and left.
He hadn't even looked at them.

"He's probably gone to find a blowtorch to shave with," Zircon rumbled.
He motioned toward the door. "New customers coming."

They were the first of many. Within a half-hour the room was filled with
a strange assortment. There were British, American, French, Dutch,
Portuguese, and Filipino sailors, and men of uncertain profession who
ranged in complexion from pure Chinese to pure black. Many were
Eurasians, and of the Eurasians, a large percentage were of mixed
Chinese and Portuguese blood. Zircon remin