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When the air was filled with the scent of a hundred different dishes and a thousand ingredients, when the tang of rich bone broth or the aromatic scent of lap cheong was close enough to taste, there wasn't much a hungry man could do except seek it out. Especially after a thirteen-hour day that wasn't over yet.
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Aidan wasn’t one to draw attention to himself, and with hood over jacket to cover watchful eyes, a matching set of track pants, and a pair of beat up athletic trainers, he looked more like a gym rat returning from his haunt with an extra bag of clothes slung upon his shoulder. Through the crowd of gastronomes, commuters, tourists did he weave, with the practiced route of someone who knew the place like the back of his hand. A scarred, and weather-beaten one.[break][break]


There was no official name for this part of Seattle’s Chinatown, far away from the iconic Pikes’ Place and the dated Public Market Center sign, surrounded on all sides by the glittering glass and twisted steel of dated buildings and high-rises. No name, because who in their right mind would want to loiter around the shadows of the craft tables when they could explore the Fish Market, sample some of Beecher’s Handmade Cheese in the dry row, take a sip of coffee at the original Starbucks, rub the belly of Rachel the Bronze Pig.
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He did, as did a couple others.
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Exotic. Quaint. A word that lay in the article titles on Tripadvisor and Yelp, and on the lips of the tourists that wanted to travel a mile to visit another world. And there was no doubt that the vendors and food-stalls that pressed tightly into whatever space they could find here were fascinating to watch, displaying culinary skills from every corner of the world, the finest produce that Seattle had to offer. But exotic and quaint were not the words that Aidan would use.
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Not the word that most Chinese residents of the area would use. Convenient, cheap, varied–all good words. Yet nowhere like this would be found anywhere except here; not with such an eclectic mix of cuisines, made only with ingredients available in America, from recipes adapted to suit the palates of people all over the world. No, this was a typical kind of place in Seattle, just like anywhere else in the city, only focused through a different lens.
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“Yo.”

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He bobbed his head once as he approached the grizzled, taciturn figure julienning onions with quick and deliberate strokes of a long knife with a lightly curved blade. Fork-Chinned Benny was the kind of man who was hard not to notice; tall, powerful physique, and a resting scowl just as deep as his passion for Siu Mei. Everyone big in the area knew him, and Aidan and his crew weren’t an exception.

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“What’s on the menu today?”

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Every time he passed by, he had asked that question, and never in English; Benny exchanged the courtesy of honesty with Aidan in keeping it from being understood by everyone who heard it.

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“Shrimp and Scallion Oil Noodle. Was gonna have some pulled pork on the side but I couldn’t get it.” The man shrugged, and harrumphed audibly through his nose.

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“You’d have liked the pork better.”

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“A pity.” Aidan shrugged simply and flopped onto the middle of three empty stools, taking the weight off his feet. The day had been long and it showed on his face; a little more haggard than usual, a little more dullness in his deep brown eyes. Nonetheless, the mere sight of Benny’s cooking breathed a smidgeon of life into the exhausted man, and there was no doubting that the thin smile on his face looked good.
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“Gimme the noodles, if it’s that good.”

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English; good advertising was always appreciated.

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“
There's something on your mind, isn't there?"
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Old Benny leaned over the counter and wagged a finger at the man, and all Aidan could do was nod simply as he accepted a glass of water. Nine out of ten times, Aidan ended his day by coming to this stall in the wee hours of the night; it was good to let a little of the burdens of the day go, and a piping hot plate of good food was one way to go about doing that. Today wasn't that kind of day, however.
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It was a chance meeting with an individual whom the Jiang Ren could pursue new ventures with. The kind of chance meeting that could either end with happy smiles and rapturous vim, or in a hailstorm of bullets. Aidan was never the lucky sort.
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"Yeah...there is."
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