The Jung brothers, appearing younger, came up quickly as he scrolled. They were six years younger, according to the dates on the pictures. They had been charged with criminal mischief and menacing. The circumstances were not identified, and the accusations were later dropped when the complainants declined to press charges.

Other Star members had also been arrested for criminal mischief, and those charges had also been dropped.

Jack noticed that one member of the gang, Keung “Eddie” Ng, was listed at four-foot seven inches tall. A shorty. He’d had a juvie file as a teenager that revealed he had been arrested for criminal mischief, for spray-painting red graffiti stars all over the interior of a Chinatown warehouse. He’d tripped a silent alarm. They’d also charged him with a B&E, breaking and entering, even though they couldn’t figure out how he’d gotten inside.

All the doors and windows were still locked when the cops arrived.

Under IDENTIFYING MARKS, the record also indicated he had a small tattoo of a monkey, like Curious George, on his left wrist.

Finally, the address given by little Keung—“Eddie”—was 98 East Broadway, the same as the current address for Koo Kit, the victim who’d been shot in the back. Jack deduced that Little Eddie was good for whatever had happened in the alley. The vicious little twenty-twos, shot upward by a shorty.

Ngai jai dor gai, mused Jack, short people are cunning. The Chinese say that short people are more clever because their brains are closer to the ground, and they see reality more clearly.

Jack printed out the mug shots from Keung “Eddie” Ng’s file.

Loot - See Lawyer

Lo Fay, the lawyer, sat behind an old metal desk in his small windowless office. He wore his hair in a comb-over and spoke through a crooked smile.

Listening to the man, Jack saw him for the shyster lawyer that he was.

“He was dying,” Lo Fay said of Fong Sai Go, his client and friend. “He had no one else to leave it to, and he thought giving it to her was the right thing.”

“He was an honorable man?” Jack suggested. “He wanted to do something good in his life?”

“Right.” Lo Fay kept the squinty-eyed smile on his face. “She was kind to him.”

Jack gave him a knowing look. “What did Mr. Fong do for a living?

“He used to be a waiter.”

“Used to be?”

“He retired years ago.”

“So, what?” Jack asked. “He was collecting social security, or something?”

“I’m not sure about that.”

Jack leaned in, saying quietly, “What about the gun he had?”

“I don’t know about any gun,” said Lo Fay, losing the smile.

“Why do you think an old man like him would carry a gun?”

“No idea,” smirked Lo Fay. “Maybe he had no faith in the police.”

Jack grinned quietly, made a fist, and rubbed his knuckles. “What exactly did he retain you for?”

Lo Fay took a breath, saying matter-of-factly, “To do the will, and to handle the life insurance.”

Jack waited for him to go on.

“He wanted me to arrange immigration matters for her. Applications, like that.”

Jack said, “And you have a check to show that he compensated you for these services?”

“I’m not looking for trouble, officer,” said the lawyer looking away. “He paid me in cash.”

“How very Chinese.”

“Everyone prefers cash,” Lo Fay said. “It’s the American way.”

“And you work for the Association?”

“Don’t misunderstand. I only handle the Association’s accounts with the funeral parlors.”

“Right, the death business,” Jack said knowingly. “It’s a complicated affair.”

“Lots of legalities when you die,” he answered.

“Like who gets what?” Jack added.

“Like who follows up, who takes care of the spirit,” said Lo Fay.

The spirit? thought Jack.

“You have to consider Chinese tradition,” the lawyer said. “The afterlife is just as important.”

Jack thought of Pa’s death, and the cemetery at Evergreen Hills. He leaned away from the charlatan lawyer, saying directly, “You know what it’s like in the afterlife?”

“Well, no. But people should be optimistic at death.”

Optimistic?

Both men were quiet a long moment, the interview at an awkward end.

Jack shook his head contemptuously as he left Lo Fay’s office. He remembered the Kung family’s murder-suicides, the brutal killing of the delivery boy, Hong, the bodies around OTB, and couldn’t find any optimism about death.

Touch on Evil

The two watches taken from the Jung brothers ran like they were synchronized, accurate to ten seconds of each other. Jack figured that one of the brothers had set both watches.

The Rado found on Lucky had stopped at 4:44 that afternoon. The worst numbers a Chinese can get, Jack thought. Lucky’s time really had run out.

Jack decided to bring the watches along, just to see what the old wise woman would get from them.

The little copper-colored slug was a .22-caliber long rifle round, a high velocity bullet generally used in target-shooting competition. Jack closed his hand around it, shaking it in his fist. The small piece of metal bounced around. It weighed next to nothing, he thought. It was barely bigger than a grain of nor may, sticky rice, yet the minute projectile figured prominently in the deaths of two people, and had reduced Lucky to a comatose state.

Wise Woman

He found Ah Por at the Senior Citizens Center, on a bench near the kitchen volunteers who were still ladling out the last of the free congee.

He showed her the watches first. She held them up to the light, frowning at the rectangular black watch faces. Black. Bad luck times three, he imagined her thinking. She said, “Gee sin” quickly, and made a flapping motion with her free hand, fanning herself. Gee sin, a paper fan. Another arcane clue, mused Jack. Paper fan? He knew better than to question further, and took back the watches.

He removed the twenty-two bullet from the plastic ziplock bag and handed it to her.

Ah Por cradled the little slug in her palm, bouncing it gently like she was checking its weight. She closed her gnarled fingers around it, and squeezed. Closing her eyes, she jerked her head slightly, as if surprised.

“Ma lo,” she said distinctly, and this time it was clear to Jack she meant monkey. Bad monkey, just as he’d suspected, and was now certain. Keung “Eddie” Ng was the missing shooter.

Jack thanked Ah Por, folded a five-dollar bill into her bony hand, and exited the center through the crowd of old gray heads.

Wanted Person of Interest

Back at the 0-Five, Jack reviewed the Gang Intel files, and put Eddie’s photo, tattoos, and name on a wanted bulletin that would reach out electronically to a million eyes, searching into the wind after a clever monkey.

Mercy and Love

Bo waited on Mott Street until the Temple of Buddha opened its doors. Inside, a recorded chant came from behind the large wooden carving of the Goddess of Mercy. Bo burned some incense, kneeled before the goddess, and recited the prayers for Sai Go that she’d offered during the night.

On the way out she bowed to the statue of Kwan Kung, God of War, and went down Mott Street holding back her tears.

White Face

Jack watched as the men in blue windbreakers shuttered every known gambling establishment on Mott, Bayard, and Pell Streets, including the mahjong rooms, massage parlors, and karaoke clubs.

The OCCB, Organized Crime Control Bureau, supported by state troopers, ATF agents, and U.S. Customs and Immigration officers, raided the Association headquarters of the On Yee, the Hip Ching, and the Fuk Chow.