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didn’t sound good when I spoke to him. His normally quiet but assured voice was raspy and he sounded like he was making an effort to talk. When I asked, he told me it was the flu.
    Yeah, we were both getting older. I wanted to be done with this soon.

7
    T HE NEXT MORNING , I went to another Internet café and checked the bulletin board. There was a message waiting: the Chinese kid’s name was Eddie Wong. He was a ma jai , a foot soldier with a New York branch of United Bamboo, the Taiwanese triad, and the noodle place on Mulberry was their headquarters. Wong was only twenty-two, but he had an extensive criminal record in his hometown of Taipei, mostly drug smuggling but also extortion. He was known to carry a Balisong, the Filipino butterfly knife, and apparently was quick to use it.
    The bald guy I’d seen him talking to was Waiyee Chan, the local gang’s dai lo , or leader. If the gang leader was meeting directly with a mere soldier, Tatsu suggested, the matter must be important to the leader personally. United Bamboo had been at war with the yakuza in Tokyo, but currently there was an uneasy accommodation there. Tatsu speculated that the lull was the result of United Bamboo’s assistance to Yamaoto in New York in exchange for some quid pro quo in Japan, just as Dox and I had speculated earlier. He was trying to find out more.
    That night, Dox and I set up as we had the previous evening. This time, when Dox called me to confirm that Wong was at Zinc again, I got up and headed to the West Village.
    I was more heavily disguised than before. I had a wig sprouting from under the baseball cap, horn-rimmed glasses, and two layers of thick fleece under the windbreaker that added the appearance of twenty-five or thirty pounds. I reconnoitered the area on foot, my posture, gait, and presence maximally unobtrusive. I checked the spots I would have used to watch the apartment. I even checked the local watering holes in case Wong had a partner who was waiting in the area to pick Midori up after her performance at Zinc. Everything was clear. I parked myself in a jazz joint called 55 Club a block from her building and waited.
    A half hour later my phone buzzed. I went outside to answer it.
    â€œSet’s over,” Dox said. “Midori just got in a cab.”
    â€œAnd our friend?”
    â€œHe’s staying put for the moment. Just like last night.”
    â€œHas he used a phone?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œAll right. Sounds like we’re in business.”
    â€œYou know, I’ve been thinking. Just because he didn’t go there last night doesn’t mean he’s going to do the same tonight. What if…”
    â€œLook, if he hasn’t followed her yet, he’s not going to. Not tonight, anyway. And I’ve checked all the possible spots around her apartment. It’s clear. This is my chance.”
    â€œYeah, but…”
    â€œI’ll be fine.”
    â€œI’m not saying you won’t. But why don’t I just swing by and have a look anyway. Can’t hurt to have me around.”
    â€œI appreciate that. But I’d rather…do this alone. You know?”
    There was a pause. Then he sighed and said, “It’s your party, man.”
    Part of me was trying to speak up, to tell me he was right, it couldn’t hurt. But things felt under control. Midori would either invite me inside or send me packing. All I needed was a minute either way.
    â€œI’ll call you after,” I told him. “I’ll let you know.”
    â€œAll right. Be careful, partner.”
    I closed the phone and turned it off. This was apt to be delicate and I didn’t want any interruptions.
    I walked partway down the street and pulled off the baseball cap and wig. I started to pocket the wig, but then imagined Midori seeing it protruding from one of my pockets and decided to toss it instead. It would have made her too suspicious, and at this point it had served