victim was the Ghost Legion dailo himself, Lucky, who might never regain conciousness.
Seattle PD already had Eddie’s juvenile mug shot that Jack had forwarded via the Wanted posters, but if they focused on Eddie’s height of four foot seven, they’d have a better chance of spotting him. There were a lot of short Chinese around, but not too many that short.
Jack decided he’d give Seattle PD a reach-out and a heads-up, see if Eddie turned up in the older West Coast Chinatown.
Priors and Warrants came up negative for the Boston Chinese kid. Jack had already figured the arrest was a “meatball” bust anyway, with an overzealous cop trying to make a weapons-possession rap off a questionable traffic stop, a case that’d probably be tossed by a grand jury, more waste of taxpayer money and time.
Jack went back into the room.
The kid’s eyes were big, scared, hoping against hope.
“First thing,” Jack said. “You can forget about getting the knife back.” He flipped the driver’s license onto the table and the kid sat straight up. “Second,” Jack continued, “Don’t come down here again.” He tossed him his Red Sox cap. “Next time they’ll grab you for ‘driving while Chinese.’ Know what I’m saying?”
The kid jumped up and practically kowtowed to Jack all the way out the door. Jack heard his footsteps bounding down the stairs to freedom.
Putting away the OTB shoot-out case file, Jack decided to give Billy Bow a call.
Neighborhood Blood
“Yo, Jacky boy.” Billy Bow’s voice came chuckling out of Jack’s cell phone.
“I need your help—” began Jack.
“Like Batman needs Robin. What else is new? Shoot .” Billy snickered at his own cleverness.
“How many Ngs are there in Seattle?”
“Is this a trick question?”
“Serious, man,” said Jack, grinning.
“You sure you don’t want Lees or Wongs? I heard they’re on sale this week.”
“C’mon. Serious.”
“Well, there’s gotta be hundreds, right? Maybe thousands.”
“Yeah, thanks a lot.” Jack sighed.
“Look, I can check with one of the old-timers later, lo oom . He belongs to the Eng Association.”
“Let me know, Blood,” Jack said.
“Bet. Anyway, did you hear the joke about Chinese math?”
“Later, Billy,” Jack said abruptly. “Tell me when I see you.”
Inside the Tofu King, Billy was ready with his jokes.
“Check out this Chinese math,” he began.
“Aw, c’mon,” Jack protested.
“Nah, listen.”
Jack rolled his eyes, shook his head, and resigned himself.
“If three Chinamen jump ship with six ounces of China White, and then chase the dragon three times each before delivering the remaining heroin to the tong, how far will they get if they flee by rickshaw, going six miles an hour, before the pursuing hatchetmen catch them and chop them into eighteen pieces for dipping into the product?”
“Where do you get this stuff from?” Jack chuckled. “The rickshaw drivers work for the tong, right?”
“Damn right.” Billy laughed. “They didn’t have a Chinaman’s chance to begin with.”
“So what do you have for me?” reproved Jack.
Billy paused for effect. “Two hundred eighty-eight Ngs in Seattle. That’s including Engs, with the ‘E.’”
Jack knew the surname was written and spoken only one way in Chinese. “The old man said that? Two hundred eighty-eight?”
“He said the Seattle Eng Association has about two hundred members.” Billy grinned at Jack’s confusion. “The Seattle local directories, man,” teased Billy. “You can look that shit up on the Internet, you know.”
“Didn’t know you were a computer nerd,” Jack retorted.
“Just surfin’, dude. Plus, there’s no telling how many Engs floating around illegally, know what I’m saying? Add another coupla hundred.”
Jack grimaced at the daunting challenge, a thin lead based on a desperate kid’s bid to stay out of Rikers, and nothing had come back on the Wanteds, not from Seattle or anywhere
Seattle PD already had Eddie’s juvenile mug shot that Jack had forwarded via the Wanted posters, but if they focused on Eddie’s height of four foot seven, they’d have a better chance of spotting him. There were a lot of short Chinese around, but not too many that short.
Jack decided he’d give Seattle PD a reach-out and a heads-up, see if Eddie turned up in the older West Coast Chinatown.
Priors and Warrants came up negative for the Boston Chinese kid. Jack had already figured the arrest was a “meatball” bust anyway, with an overzealous cop trying to make a weapons-possession rap off a questionable traffic stop, a case that’d probably be tossed by a grand jury, more waste of taxpayer money and time.
Jack went back into the room.
The kid’s eyes were big, scared, hoping against hope.
“First thing,” Jack said. “You can forget about getting the knife back.” He flipped the driver’s license onto the table and the kid sat straight up. “Second,” Jack continued, “Don’t come down here again.” He tossed him his Red Sox cap. “Next time they’ll grab you for ‘driving while Chinese.’ Know what I’m saying?”
The kid jumped up and practically kowtowed to Jack all the way out the door. Jack heard his footsteps bounding down the stairs to freedom.
Putting away the OTB shoot-out case file, Jack decided to give Billy Bow a call.
Neighborhood Blood
“Yo, Jacky boy.” Billy Bow’s voice came chuckling out of Jack’s cell phone.
“I need your help—” began Jack.
“Like Batman needs Robin. What else is new? Shoot .” Billy snickered at his own cleverness.
“How many Ngs are there in Seattle?”
“Is this a trick question?”
“Serious, man,” said Jack, grinning.
“You sure you don’t want Lees or Wongs? I heard they’re on sale this week.”
“C’mon. Serious.”
“Well, there’s gotta be hundreds, right? Maybe thousands.”
“Yeah, thanks a lot.” Jack sighed.
“Look, I can check with one of the old-timers later, lo oom . He belongs to the Eng Association.”
“Let me know, Blood,” Jack said.
“Bet. Anyway, did you hear the joke about Chinese math?”
“Later, Billy,” Jack said abruptly. “Tell me when I see you.”
Inside the Tofu King, Billy was ready with his jokes.
“Check out this Chinese math,” he began.
“Aw, c’mon,” Jack protested.
“Nah, listen.”
Jack rolled his eyes, shook his head, and resigned himself.
“If three Chinamen jump ship with six ounces of China White, and then chase the dragon three times each before delivering the remaining heroin to the tong, how far will they get if they flee by rickshaw, going six miles an hour, before the pursuing hatchetmen catch them and chop them into eighteen pieces for dipping into the product?”
“Where do you get this stuff from?” Jack chuckled. “The rickshaw drivers work for the tong, right?”
“Damn right.” Billy laughed. “They didn’t have a Chinaman’s chance to begin with.”
“So what do you have for me?” reproved Jack.
Billy paused for effect. “Two hundred eighty-eight Ngs in Seattle. That’s including Engs, with the ‘E.’”
Jack knew the surname was written and spoken only one way in Chinese. “The old man said that? Two hundred eighty-eight?”
“He said the Seattle Eng Association has about two hundred members.” Billy grinned at Jack’s confusion. “The Seattle local directories, man,” teased Billy. “You can look that shit up on the Internet, you know.”
“Didn’t know you were a computer nerd,” Jack retorted.
“Just surfin’, dude. Plus, there’s no telling how many Engs floating around illegally, know what I’m saying? Add another coupla hundred.”
Jack grimaced at the daunting challenge, a thin lead based on a desperate kid’s bid to stay out of Rikers, and nothing had come back on the Wanteds, not from Seattle or anywhere
Similar Books
