He continued to advise vigilance, maintaining focus on the diamonds, or the gold, but not forgetting religion, or the myriad Chinatowns.

As per Paper Fan, of course.

Pawns

Jack had left the motel early, taking a car service north to Pioneer Square. He’d planned to check out the pawnshops there first, before working his way back down to the locations he’d listed inside the big five-mile circle he’d drawn around the International District. Along the way he’d hoped to grab a dim sum snack in Chinatown while keeping a daylight eye out for ma lo Eddie.

Jack also thought he’d drop by the West Precinct again.

As the car cut through the brittle Seattle morning, Jack reflected. Pawnshops were businesses where desperate people, down on their luck, went to trade in valued pieces of their lives for lesser sums of money. These shops were also places where the thrifty-minded sought good bargains, and where thieves often went to fence their stolen goods.

The pawnshops on Jack’s list went by different types of names, which were clues to the class of clientele they catered to. PIONEER GOLD EXCHANGE. CAPITOL CASH. USA PAWN. ELLIOTTBAY BROKERS. JOHNNY’S JEWELRY. BRIDGE BROTHER’S TRADING.FAMILY CAPITAL. SEATTLE GOLD AND SILVER. There were a dozen places where Jack hoped to pull a lucky hit on stolen Rado watches. What was Eddie going to do, eat them?

The first three places around Pioneer Square were clearly directed at the tourist trade, with big picture windows offering an array of glittering jewelry and fancy cameras. The watches were European style: Franck Mullers, Piagets, Breitlings and Tag Heuers. None of the store managers had done business with any Chinese lately, and they were always wary of Hong Kong knockoffs anyway. Jack canvassed those stores in less than an hour, and left the area just as the tourists started rolling in.

Two shops farther south in the I.D. carried plenty of gold jewelry and coins from Chinese customers, but no watches. Nearby, he came upon the Jade Pagoda café and the Golden Wok. He grabbed a quick cup of nai cha tea at the Pagoda, washing down two plates of ha gow, shrimp dumplings, and lor bok go, radish cakes, as he watched the main drag wake to the morning. Many Chinese people passed by, but none short enough to match Eddie’s low profile.

Jack rode a bus south, past the Kingdome and toward the next cluster of pawnbrokers. When he passed a stretch of railroad yards his cell phone buzzed out a number he didn’t recognize. The voice identified himself as Detective Nicoll of the Seattle Headquarters Squad.

“Thanks for calling—,” Jack began.

“Well, I’ve been up for twenty-eight hours but let me understand this right,” Nicoll said. “You’re looking for a four and a half foot tall Chinaman? Not a suspect? Not a fugitive? ”

Jack bit his tongue on Chinaman and answered, “He’s a person of interest, actually.”

“And your name?” Nicoll continued. “Yoo, was it? What’s that, Korean?”

“Chinese,” Jack answered sharply.

There was a pregnant pause.

“You realize we’re on a red ball here?” asked Nicoll.

“Yeah,” Jack replied. “It’s all over the news.”

“Yeah, so tell you what,” Nicoll said with a sigh. “I’ll notify Patrol again, see if they run across anything. He’s a shorty, right?”

“Correct. And I appreciate the lookout,” Jack added.

“Try me after the red ball,” Nicoll said wearily before hanging up.

Chinaman still rang in Jack’s brain. He could already imagine the jokes coming out of Patrol ranks: No shit. A short Chinaman? That’s the entire male population of Chinatown! Or, Whaddya kidding me? Midget Chinaman? A dinky chinky? A short slant?

Jack didn’t like getting the brush-off even though he understood SPD had their hands full with the double homicide, and were under political pressure as well. Cop-world was full of that setup.

At the end of the railroad yards, Jack found Johnny’s Jewelry on a street of old storefronts beneath the highway. Johnny, a grizzled old man, looked at Eddie’s juvie photo and said, “Nah. We get mostly Mexicans here. And a few of the brothers, occasionally. Besides, you guys all look alike anyways.” He flashed a yellowed gap-toothed grin. “Know what I’m saying?”

Jack sighed as Johnny offered, “You try Chinatown?”

It started to rain again.

Three blocks away was Family Capital, where the proprietor was a cheerful middle-aged white woman who greeted Jack like he was the first customer of the day. Jack badged her and explained the scenario involving high-end watches. He didn’t want to show Eddie’s dated ten-year-old juvie poster because it had already confused people.

The shop had a glass display counter with shelves of watches, but no Rados.

“We got a ladies’ black-face Movado recently,” she offered.

Jack became alert. “From a Chinese?” he asked. “A short man?”

“No, from a Mexican,” she said with a pause. “But there was a Chinese with him. Well, Asian anyway.”

“Short?” Jack repeated.

“Oh yes,” she recalled. “I thought he was a kid at first. Because of his height. But it was the Mexican, Latino, who offered the watch.” She removed it from the counter.

It was a ladies’ gold watch featuring a black dial with gold hands and the trademark concave dot. It came fixed onto a gold bangle bracelet that had a locking clasp. The styling was elegant, sophisticated. The back of the watchcase bore the Movado logo SINCE 1881 laser-printed across the top. In the center was a line of eight numbers and letters, indicating the style; beneath which ran the serial number, consisting of seven digits. Across the bottom were the words SAPPHIRE CRYSTAL.

Jack jotted down the numbers. “What did he look like?” he asked.

“The Mexican?”

“No, the Chinese, Asian, first.”

“Well, he wore glasses. Like a student, that’s what I thought. He looked around at the camera counter. Never said a word.”

Eyeglasses, noted Jack suspiciously, realizing the ruse. White people didn’t focus much attention on Chinese anyway, other than, “They all look alike, know what I’m saying?” If Eddie donned a pair of nerdy drugstore eyeglasses, he’d really be invisible. Except for his height. Eddie couldn’t disguise that.

“The Mexican man, he was a little older, in his thirties, I guess,” the woman continued. “He had a thin mustache, I think. He said he bought the watch down in L.A. for his girlfriend. But then they broke up. He said he needed the money for rent, so he was pawning it.” She wiped the watch with a soft cloth, admiring it. “Amorosa,” she said, referring to the watch series. “He said that his girlfriend was named Rosa. And he had picked this one because it meant ‘love Rosa.’ I felt bad for him. I gave him my top offer.”

“How much did he get?” Jack asked.

“About a hundred fifty,” she said. “That model retails for about six hundred. We’ll resell for three hundred, thereabouts.”

“A hundred fifty, that’s all he got?” Jack asked skeptically.

“That’s it. We do have a mark-up policy.”

Jack took a photo of the Movado, using his plastic disposable camera, and recopied the serial numbers. “Can I see the transaction information?” Jack asked.

“Will I take a loss?” she asked warily. “If the watch turns out to be stolen?”

“I’m not after the watches,” Jack assured her. “I promise, no loss.”

She produced a ledger, from which he copied the name “Carlos Lima,” and the address “44 South Andover.” There was no telephone number.

“Thanks,” Jack smiled. “I’ll be in touch if anything turns up.”

“And you have a nice day,” she replied, as he went back out into the rain.

There were more pawnshops on the list, and he felt the chess game was just beginning.

The first pawnshop on South Spokane was another small storefront with racks of rings and necklaces in the front window. Jack could see that the young white man inside was on the phone, occasionally glancing out at the street. There was a counter of assorted folding knives.