the street and the overtime for all this will come out of my paycheck. And you’re about to ask me to put a tail on another old man who dropped by his cousin’s store? Don’t tell me you weren’t, I know you were. By the way, where are you?”
“In Tai-Pan. Mary—”
“Lydia! I told you—”
“I know: Get lost.”
“And when were you planning to do that?”
“Now. Right now. ’Bye.” I clicked off, jumped down from the stool, and told Bill, “Come on.”
“Where are we going?”
“Mary said to get lost.”
We burned rubber out of Tai-Pan—Mary probably watching us scurry—and managed to pick up C. D. Zhang two blocks west. He threaded through the gray-market car stereos, fake Rolexes and counterfeit handbags with the practiced sidestep of a Chinatown local.
And returned to his own office.
Standing on the south side of Canal keeping an eye on a business on the north side might not have qualified as “lost” in Mary’s book, but really, there’s nowhere in Chinatown I could get lost anyway. I did feel a little lost when, after about twenty minutes, Bill asked, “Why are we doing this?” The answer was obvious, though: I had to be doing something.
“Anyway, it’s weird,” I said. “Mr. Chen and Mr. Zhang don’t hang out with C. D. Zhang. He said so, Mr. Zhang said so, and Irene Ng said so. If C. D. had something to tell them or ask them, why didn’t he just call? Why go over and then not stay long? They hardly had time for a cup of tea. No, something’s up. Definitely. Positively. Why are you being so quiet?”
He grinned around his cigarette. “Adrenaline affects different people differently.”
We hung out across from C. D. Zhang’s office for close to an hour as the day got hotter and stickier. Two more White Eagles passed us, one I knew and one I didn’t but both with tattoos conveniently exposed.
“They don’t seem to feel any need for discretion,” Bill said.
“What good’s a gang tattoo if you can’t intimidate people with it?”
I restrained myself from leaving Bill on C. D. Zhang watch and charging up Canal to see what the gathering gang cloud was up to. I didn’t want to find out that Mary had ordered me arrested if I got too close to that end of the street; it wouldn’t be good for our friendship.
As the sun mounted, I began to wish I had a hat. Or a bottle of water. Or a purpose. Traffic snarled and flowed, snarled and flowed in a mesmerizing rhythm. We stood there breathing fumes, fried turnip cakes, and other people’s sweat. Wiping my forehead, I said to Bill, “I’m starting to feel like one of Armpit’s T-shirts.”
“That’s pretty serious. You want to take turns grabbing a drink in someplace air-conditioned?”
“No, but tell me something. Am I crazy, standing here like this? And are you just humoring me, or proving your loyalty or something?”
He shook his head. “I’m here because I think you’re right.”
I was about to demand proof of this ridiculous assertion, but I didn’t get the chance. Because proof came hurrying up the block: Wong Pan.
35
“Wong Pan?” Bill asked. “You’re sure?”
“If it’s not, then whoever it is needs to be arrested for looking too much like Wong Pan. That’s got to be a crime.” I was speed-dialing Mary as I spoke. Her phone rang as Wong Pan or his evil twin passed C. D. Zhang’s building. As he ducked into a greasy chopstick a few doors up, her voice mail came on. “Oh, no!” I said. “Girlfriend! Pick up! Wong Pan’s on the west end of Canal, at New Day Noodle, north side near Church. I’ll—” I stopped as Bill touched my arm and nodded across the street. C. D. Zhang was coming out of his door, briefcase in hand. We watched him walk up the block, and sure enough, he was interested in noodles, too.
“Mary’s voice mail,” I told Bill. I dialed 911 and reported the location of a dangerous fugitive. Then I snapped the phone shut. I had my arguments all in a row about why we absolutely had to go over there, but I didn’t need them: Bill was off the curb, searching for a break in the traffic.
“If Wong Pan’s killed two people—” he said over his shoulder.
“My thought exactly.” Our chance came, and we dashed across in a storm of honks and curses. “Do you think C.D. Zhang knows who he’s meeting?”
“Damn right he does. I think we’ve been conned. Chen and