He’d played it wrong and the white cue ball rolled to the middle of the table, leaving him a long stretch and a hard angle cut-shot to the corners. He’d have to slice the nine ball razor thin and then hope it didn’t graze too much rail and bounce.

He chalked up the stick again, scanning the run-down Filipino community center. Most of the kids had gone and it was quiet.

On his tiptoes he leaned full-length across the table and stroked the shot carefully, focused on the slice. He finally flicked his wrist and the white cue ball nipped the edge of the yellow nine, sending it along the rail into the corner pocket, the ball plopping into the worn leather netting that hung beneath the table.

Fuck yeah! he grinned, dew chut! Willie fuckin’ Mosconi.

He took a breath, saw the dark afternoon outside the center’s windows, snow threatened in the forecast. His grin turned into a frown as he checked his watch, considering playing one last rack of balls before calling his amigos.

Night Games

The sky was roiling darkness when Jack landed at Sea-Tac at almost 6 PM.

He took an airport shuttle to the Courtyard and checked in. Seattle television news filled the lobby bar, live coverage of a double shooting in the Madrona Park district. Such shootings were routine in New York, thought Jack.

One of the victims was believed to be a city councilman’s son. There was a sense of urgency in the administration’s tone, and police officials looked grim.

His motel room was small and Jack was glad he had traveled light. He remembered that Alex had a series of workshops scheduled, then a dinner party. He tried calling her room via the front desk but there was no answer.

He washed his face and executed a few shaolin stretching exercises to take the stiffness from the long airplane ride out of his joints.

The concierge ordered up a car that took him to Seattle Police Headquarters in the West Precinct, which included Chinatown and the I.D., the International District.

Cops

Jack presented his NYPD identification and detective’s gold shield to the cop at the desk. They perused one another’s badges momentarily. Jack noticed the Seattle badge had a spread eagle perched on top of the shield with a star in the middle. Not as round as Jack’s badge, more pointed.

The young cop at the duty desk had a fresh face and wore a light blue regulation uniform and had a military haircut. The three hash marks on his shirtsleeve meant he had at least three years on the job.

“I’m looking for a person of interest,” explained Jack.

“The detectives are out right now,” the duty cop replied, snapping shut Jack’s badge wallet and handing it back.

“I’m reaching out to them any way I can. I’m only here in Seattle over the weekend.”

A moment of sympathy crossed the young cop’s face, after which he replied, “All the detectives are out chasing a red ball. They’re after POIs, too, but there’s fresh blood here.”

“You’re referring to Madrona Park?” Jack asked, knowing that “red ball” meant an all-out manic manhunt for perps.

“Correct,” the cop replied hesitantly, surprised at Jack’s knowledge. “But you can leave a voice mail. Or a note. Or you can wait if you like.” He gestured toward a wooden bench.

No time to wait, thought Jack, offering his PBA card. “I’d appreciate if someone could call me. Anytime.”

“No disrespect,” the young cop offered, “but honestly, I don’t know when any of the detectives will be back. This could go on all night, maybe all tomorrow.”

“Thanks,” Jack said. “I’m staying at the airport motel, the Courtyard.”

“Ten-four,” the cop acknowledged. Jack wondered if he’d ever seen a Chinese cop before.

Jack left headquarters and walked through the misting night. Figuring that Alex would be at her dinner deal, he decided to call her later. Chinatown was nearby and he headed in that direction. He knew he couldn’t cover all the Chinese restaurants in Seattle, but he wanted to check out the locals, maybe have dinner in one of them.

Walking the small grid of streets, he realized that the names of the restaurants were just like those in New York and in other Chinatowns he’d visited: Canton House; Golden Phoenix; China Dragon; Hong Kong Harbor; May Lay Satay; Hunan Palace; King Mandarin; Kau Kau.

He decided not to flash his badge; he didn’t want to scare up local talk that could warn or spook Eddie. In his quiet Cantonese, he informed the waiter that he was awaiting a party of two, and asked if he could use the washroom.

“Of course,” answered the waiter, pointing the way. To and from the washroom, Jack was able view the kitchen help, peeping at them in case one was a Chinese shorty. Jack repeated this in six different restaurants, finding nothing, before he felt hungry enough to have dinner. It was already after 8 PM when he chose May Lay Satay, ordering Singapore rice noodles with a side of roti canai, keeping his eyes on the kitchen area.

Maybe Patrol would pick up something down the line, he thought, after the red ball.

The food was good but he didn’t see anyone remotely resembling Little Eddie.

He remembered that he needed a map and the White Pages, so he requested them from the Courtyard concierge. It was after 9 PM and he called Alex in her hotel room.

“Hey,” she said, fatigue edging her voice.

“Done already?” Jack asked.

“They went drinking,” she said, annoyed. “Macho stuff, when we have an early morning tomorrow. I’m presenting at the youth awards breakfast.”

“Don’t feel like drinking?” teased Jack.

“I had drinks at dinner.” Alex yawned. “And I’ve been up since dawn.”

He’d thought she’d be ready for a nightcap but said, “Okay, I get it. You’re beat.”

“Right, I’m tired and I don’t need to go drinking.”

He wasn’t sure if she was referring to the CADS or dropping him a hint.

“You’re right,” he said, “Get some rest. Tomorrow’s another day.”

“I’m free around mid-afternoon,” she offered, some cheer in her voice. “We can make up for that rain check, maybe.”

Mid-afternoon, thought Jack, replying, “Sure, let’s see what happens.” Play it by ear.

“Okay then, call me,” she said. “Or leave me a message.”

“Sure thing, ten-four,” he kidded. “And good night.” He heard the click at her end as she hung up.

Jack considered snooping at a few more restaurants but it was already nine thirty, and the dinner crowd would be a wrap. He peered into the alleys of the restaurants he passed along the way, watching out for any short da jop, kitchen help, bringing out the black plastic bags of restaurant garbage.

He’d have to get back to his room, a half-hour ride to the motel. He purchased a tour map at a Jackson Street gift shop, noting the areas around the International District, assessing the ground he’d have to cover in the sixty hours he had left.

After Jack got back to the Courtyard, the concierge sent up a White Pages and a general street map of the city as requested. Plotting out his strategy, Jack knew he’d have to get an early start. It would be a busy Saturday morning and he had a hunch he wanted to follow up on.

But what if his hunch was all wrong? Eddie would have to find work but if he was an American-born Chinese, ABC, or jook sing, then he wouldn’t be limited to Chinese-language-only businesses.

Maybe he didn’t need to work and was just hanging out, enjoying his freedom. But where would he hang out?

Jack considered Chinese videotape shops where Eddie might rent kung fu movies, or porno flicks. He wondered if Eddie visited Asian massage parlors. In the morning, Jack knew, he’d have to check the Seattle Chinese directories.

For local traffic and news he powered on the television and caught an update on the Madrona Park shootings: three juvenile gangbangers had robbed and shot up an indoor hydroponic marijuana farm not far from the golf course. Two dead. Two wounded, critically. And the report confirmed that one of the dead had indeed been the son of a city councilman.