S Rozan - Trail of Blood

“I sent you so I wouldn’t have to worry, remember? How are you?”

“If you are not worrying, why did you call?”

Sigh. “Just to check up. Listen, Ma, there was some excitement, and a bunch of White Eagles are in jail.”

“Your cousin Clifford? Oh, his poor mother!”

“No, Clifford’s okay. But if you speak to Kwan Shan, tell her to tell Clifford to behave himself. His dai lo’s been arrested, and the cops are watching him and his friends.”

“Kwan Shan can say what she wants. Clifford will not listen. Some children never listen to their mothers. Your brother is painting the downstairs kitchen white, to make it brighter.”

If a more pointed remark was ever made, I couldn’t think of it. “That’s great, Ma. I have to go. Talk to you later.” I locked up and headed to Excellent Dumpling House.

Bill was there waiting. “You look fresh and sharp.”

“You’re such a liar.”

“Mixing it up with the White Eagles took it out of you?”

“No, but I just got off the phone with my mother. You okay?”

“Fine. Mary yelled at me, but she didn’t arrest me, so I came out ahead. She wanted to know whether crashing the noodle shop meeting was my stupid idea or your stupid idea.”

“What did you tell her?”

“I said we’re such a perfect team, so much in sync, it’s impossible to tell which of us originated any particular stupid idea.”

“I’ll bet she loved that.”

“Not even a little. You want pork, chicken, or shrimp?”

“All three. And dry-fried green beans.”

He raised his eyebrows, but I ignored him. He was the one who’d pointed out I get hungry when my adrenaline’s high. I didn’t mention the orange and the banana I’d eaten when I got home, or the Fig Newtons I’d grabbed on my way out the door.

“We have a problem,” I said while we waited for the dumplings.

“Mary wants Alice, I know.”

“What are we going to do?”

“We?”

“Don’t give me that look. We, white man.”

“Can I say something serious?”

“I don’t know, can you?”

“If Wong Pan killed Joel, then whatever else, you did what you promised Joel. You caught his killer.”

I sipped tea, and when it was gone, I said, “We,” again.

Bill gave me a grin, I gave him a slow smile, and we probably looked like idiots by the time the waiter settled bamboo steamers on our table.

For a while we focused on dumplings and beans. The clatter, the rush, the familiar smells and tastes finally relaxed me. “Maybe it doesn’t matter.” I poured the remains of the tea. “About Alice. I have no idea how to find her.”

“You have her sister.”

“I was hoping you wouldn’t mention that. Do I have to give her to Mary? She’s so… cheerful.”

He said nothing, which said everything.

“Oh, you’re impossible! Can I finish lunch first?” Without waiting for his answer, in case he said no, I pulled out my phone. Not to call Mary, though. I wanted to try Alice once more.

“It’s Lydia,” I told her voice mail. “The entire NYPD is looking for you. You’re in serious trouble. I’d like to talk to you before they do. Call me.”

I put the phone away. “You know what really bothers me?”

“The Shanghai Moon. That it wasn’t here.”

“You’re impossible, but you do have your moments. Yes, the Shanghai Moon. That it’s no more real now than when you were hearing about it in sailors’ bars. It hasn’t come back. It hasn’t been seen at least since Rosalie died, probably longer than that. Everyone told us that, but I didn’t listen. I’ve never even seen the thing, and I got all tangled up, just like all those other people over the years. I wanted to believe. Because of Rosalie and Kai-rong. I wanted-”

“Lydia?”

“Stop. If you’re about to tell me not to be hard on myself, I don’t-”

“I’m not. Listen. Zhang said he’d never told that story before, about when Rosalie died. To anyone.”

“So he wouldn’t call down more bad luck. My mother would understand that.”

“Right. So how did C. D. know? He told us Chen and Zhang always thought robbers took the Shanghai Moon. How did he know about the robbers?”

“Mr. Zhang must have told him. He’s his brother.”

“He said no one, ever. He tried not to even think about it because of the bad luck. And he didn’t see C.D. again until twenty years later. Why would he tell him then?”

I thought about it. “Maybe Mr. Chen told him?”

“Zhang said neither of them talked about it.”

“Paul Gilder?”

“C. D. said he hardly knew him.”

“Still…”

“It’s possible. But don’t you want to know?”

“What are you thinking?” I asked, as it began to dawn on me what he was thinking.

He stood and dropped two twenties on the table.

I stood, too. “We’re going to get in his face in the hospital?”

He didn’t answer, and I didn’t ask again. Of course we were.

“There might be cops here,” I said as we rode the elevator to C. D. Zhang’s floor. “In case he changes his mind about talking.”

“Not if they’re not charging him. It’s not in the budget. But aren’t Chen and Zhang supposed to be here? That might put a crimp in his willingness to talk to us.”

“What willingness? Especially given what we’ve come to talk about.”

But in C. D. Zhang’s room no visitors were in evidence. A jovial man, watching TV from the near bed, tipped his head helpfully toward the curtain around the bed by the window. “He’s sleeping.”

“That’s okay,” I smiled. “We’ll be quiet.” I tried to look like a concerned relative, though I wasn’t sure what Bill looked like. We pushed through the curtain, and there was C. D. Zhang, looking old and frail. His eyes were shut, but he wasn’t sleeping, or if he was, we woke him. He turned his head, looking at us but saying nothing.

“Hello, Mr. Zhang,” I said. “I’m sorry you got hurt.”

After a moment he gave what, if he’d been stronger, might have been a snort. “I’m not sure, Ms. Chin, whether you endangered my life or saved it,” he said in a voice weak but clear.

“I’m sorry,” I said again. “Mr. Zhang, we’ve come to ask you some questions.”

He turned his head away. But he didn’t tell me to stop.

“Wong Pan. You knew who he was?”

“Of course I did.”

“And you knew what he was selling?”

“Why else would I have been there?”

“Why were the White Eagles there?”

“To steal both the jewel and the money, I can only assume.”

“But there was no money.”

He gave me a long look. “It’s true, then? That was what I understood the police to tell me, though I’ve been given so much medication I thought perhaps I’d imagined it.”

“No, it’s true.”

“Nor any jewel, I understand.”

“Mr. Zhang, why was there no money?”

He smiled sardonically. “Thank you for the courtesy of the indirect question. What you really mean is, at what point did I steal my brother’s million dollars and where is it now?”

“I didn’t-”

“I think you did. No matter! The police certainly did. They think I hired the White Eagles, in a clever scheme.”

“You obviously knew them.”

“They bring me orange trees at the New Year! For which I pay a considerable amount, I promise you.”

That’s how protection works: The gang brings a good-luck orange tree, the merchant gives them a good-luck red envelope. Luck smiles on everyone all year.

“I didn’t, though. Hire them. Nor did I take the money. I thought that briefcase full of cash.”

Bill asked, “Was it ever out of your sight, the briefcase?”

“I had it with me every minute.”