Snakes Can't Run Read online

  Jade Palace had settled a labor dispute earlier this year after some ugly picketing by angry waiters and a hunger strike. Willie still had it in for me because I wouldn’t break up their legal protest. I walked across Bowery and watched from the other side of the street. I saw Willie in his distinctive prescription shades and black helmet of hair. He greeted the two men with an open-mouthed smile big enough for them to check his molars. Through the glass doors I could see Willie bringing them into the back of the restaurant, no doubt into the private room, and I lost sight of all of them.

  I switched my radio back on. Immediately the dispatcher was calling me. I responded. Vandyne had been looking for me. I started walking south and said I’d meet him back under the bridge overpass.

  They were putting the bodies into the back of an ambulance. English was sipping a cup of coffee that someone had gotten for him. He played with the tab of the plastic lid.

  “That guy,” I said, “went into Jade Palace with a buddy. I’m gonna follow up with Willie Gee tomorrow.”

  “That’s good, Chow. Probably won’t say shit, anyway, but why not make him sweat?”

  Vandyne said, “Where are the people who reported the find?”

  “Two tourists. Stopped Peepshow on his beat and brought him over to the bodies,” said English. “Then they had a dinner appointment with friends.”

  “What kind of people find dead bodies and then go eat?” I asked.

  “They’re college professors. Peepshow got their business cards. They’ll be coming to the Five later to make a formal statement. No one else here on the street saw anything, so this is how we’re going to play it. You guys talk to the store owners in the area. They don’t want to cooperate, tell them you might have to shut down the sidewalk area in front of their businesses for a while. That might make them talk. Maybe we can find out what the fuck happened here.”

  We went first to the fruit stand across the street. As soon as they saw us coming, the two men who had been unpacking crates jumped inside the store and locked the door.

  I knocked on the glass and a man with a wrinkled neck that poked out of a dirty T-shirt shook his shaggy head. He said in English, “Close! Close!” I heard him through the vent above the door.

  “Oh, closed, huh?” I challenged. I grabbed an empty plastic bag and started filling it with mangoes. I handed some bags to my partner. “C’mon, Vandyne! Fill ’er up!”

  They watched us from inside the store and didn’t make a move until we started giving away bags of fruit to passersby.

  “Free! Free! Free!” I shouted.

  “Hey!” yelled the shaggy-headed man. “What are you doing?”

  “If you’re closed, then all this must be trash!” I said. I rolled a pineapple down the street. Someone grabbed it and walked off.

  The bolt slid out and the door, which had several bells and chimes tied to it, jangled open.

  “I thought you people only stole an apple at a time!” the man yelled, grabbing our bags away.

  “I thought you people kept regular hours.”

  “What do you assholes want from me?”

  “We want to know what you saw down there.”

  “I didn’t see anything! I heard sirens before I even knew what happened.”

  “Two men are dead. Their bodies are half a block from your store and you’re not concerned at all?”

  “I’m very concerned, okay? But I take care of myself. I concentrate on my store, my own business.” He thumped his chest.

  Not knowing what we were saying, Vandyne stepped back to the street and stared at the man.

  “What’s that black guy doing over there?” the store owner asked me.

  “Oh, so now you notice things happening around your store?”

  “I’m telling you, Detective, I didn’t see anything and none of my workers saw anything.”

  “I guess you asked them already?”

  “I don’t have to ask! If somebody’s looking around, they’re not working. I’ll fire them!”

  Suddenly, I heard metal gates rolling down all over the block.

  “Your workers are calling the other stores!” I said.

  “I don’t know!”

  “How would you like me to shut down the sidewalk for our ongoing investigation of the area, pal? It might hurt your business a little bit if nobody can walk here.”

  “Don’t you try to intimidate me, okay? I know who you are! You’re the one who got that old man killed and harassed the toy-store owner until he had a heart attack!”

  “Then you know I’m the wrong guy to mess with,” I said, wondering if that could be construed as a threat in a court of law. “It was a stroke, not a heart attack, by the way.”

  “You’re going to pay for all the damage you’ve done to this community!” He signaled for his workers to come out and pack up the fruit. “The gods always see that bad people get what they deserve—even a bad cop.”

  I smiled and handed him my card.

  “I’m glad that we had this chance to chat,” I said. “If you remember anything or want to talk for some reason, please give me a call at the precinct.”

  He growled and raised his hand over his head to throw my card to the ground, but he let go of it too early. We both watched it flutter slowly to the slimy sidewalk.

  Vandyne and I went to an over-rice joint on Bayard near the Five for a quick dinner. We sat down and a waiter slammed a battered tin teapot on the wobbly table.

  He sighed and brought over two thick teacups. I pushed the one that wasn’t chipped to Vandyne. My hand shook as I poured some tea and topped off his cup. He tapped his fingers on the table in that fine traditional Chinese gesture.

  I put my elbows up on the table and rubbed my eyes. I was tired, hungry, and still mad at that stupid store owner.

  I had seen bodies, possibly tortured, in Vietnam, but that was in the context of a dirty war. What could possibly justify the deaths of these two young men here in America?

  “Hey!” said Vandyne when I asked him about it. “What about all our black kids getting shot that nobody gives a damn about?”

  “But black people do! The black community organizes and protests. Whether or not it gets picked up in the media is another thing. But Chinese people? Shit, they are just going to let this go. Nobody’s going to talk about it. No witnesses are going to come forward. If those tourists didn’t report finding the bodies, we would have had two bare skeletons before Chinese people said a word.”

  “If Chinese people don’t care, then why do they live together and form Chinatowns not only in America but all over the world?”

  “They’re only together for the food. If you learn just one thing about Chinese people, Vandyne, it’s this: They don’t help their own in times of need. Oh yeah, if you’ve got money, they’ll be glad to sell you something, probably at the best price you can find.” I glanced at our smiling waiter who was slowly approaching us; he had no idea what I was saying. “But if you were in trouble or hurt, Chinese people wouldn’t lift a fucking finger. They’d feel embarrassed for you, but that’s it.”

  Our waiter, who had nothing to write with, came up and slumped over the back of a vacant chair at our table. He said, “Yeah?”

  I turned to him and said, “Bring him chicken-fried rice and get me some sautéed bok choy over rice.”

  “You don’t want any meat?” the waiter asked me, his breath reeking of cigarettes.

  “I can’t eat meat tonight,” I said.

  “Are you sick?” he asked. “Meat’s good for you when you’re sick.”

  “Not for what I’ve got.”

  “We have a lot of better dishes, like a fresh grouper,” he said, turning to Vandyne. “So are you sure you just want chicken-fried rice?”

  I told Vandyne to take it as a compliment when people talked to him in Chinese. Vandyne smiled and nodded.

  The waiter coughed into one hand and scratched his back with the other as he walked away.

  “I’ve taught you well
, Vandyne.”

  “Oh yeah, smile and nod. Take whatever they give you.”

  “You got it down pat.”

  “What if the guy’s telling me to go to hell?”

  “Aw, he wouldn’t do that.” While you’re with me, I thought. “Have you ever thought about trying to learn Cantonese?”

  “Not seriously. It would be tough and, anyway, what would my ancestors think? What would your ancestors think, Chow?”

  “Well, we’re both speaking English right now. What would our ancestors think of that?”

  “They would be extremely shocked, ashamed, and disappointed.”

  “To hell with their shame and disappointment! My ancestors don’t pay the rent.”

  Our dishes swung in. Vandyne’s tourist special came with a slightly twisted metal fork jammed in the side of the fried-rice pile. I got my chopsticks and probed the bok choy carefully. When you get greens sometimes tiny black bugs get caught between the leaves. It’s always good to check before chomping.

  Vandyne took a bite and then he put on a pained look.

  “Hey, Chow, can you—”

  “No!”

  “But it needs some soy sauce for flavor!”

  “They already cook it with soy sauce! If you add in more, you’re giving yourself a ridiculous amount of sodium. You’re going to end up with kidney stones or worse.”

  “I wasn’t going to put that much more into it.”

  “Hey,” I said. “You want to have dick problems?”

  “Okay, okay, okay.”

  We both ate in about ten minutes. I signaled for the check, but the waiter waved me off. I left six bucks on the table to cover the meal with a generous tip. He cleared our table, shaking his head.

  We came back to the Fifth Precinct on Elizabeth. Walking into the old brick house was like stepping back in time to 1881, because that was when it was built, and with no central air-conditioning or heating. The air conditioners stuck in our windows did little but drip water and raise a fucking racket.

  Sitting at the desk immediately inside was the freckled face of Rip Mitchell. His first name was really Jim, but he used to have an extravagant mustache like Rip Taylor. He shaved it off, but he still liked being called Rip. The nickname had character and it wasn’t insulting. Especially if you thought it stood for “rest in peace.”

  “How’s it going, Rip?” asked Vandyne as we walked in.

  “What’s new, Rip?” I said.

  “Vandyne. Chow,” he said like he was taking attendance. He always said the least he could. He must have had a fat tongue from the lack of exercise.

  I took a wide arc around Rip’s desk to get as far as possible from the C.O.’s open office door and still make it to the stairwell. Damn, I thought, he’s here late.

  Our commanding officer, Sean Ahern, was short and thin, but he was as intimidating as a boulder rolling directly at you and picking up speed.

  He had a small hairless spot in his right eyebrow, so we called him the Brow and, to his face, sir. You wouldn’t want to piss him off. He had a bad temper and liked to stomp his feet hard and make you feel it in your chest.

  Despite all that, the Brow had sparkling clear blue eyes that made him look incredibly innocent. He must have stolen them from some kid.

  The Brow was out to get me because he had intended for me to spend my entire career as an NYPD prop at various Chinatown community events.

  But I managed to break out and land investigative assignments. If I hadn’t had the help of someone way up in the hierarchy, who was still anonymous to me, the Brow would have busted me down to guarding locked bicycles. My hockey skills during a benefit game against the fire department had impressed my guardian angel, and I wasn’t sure if it was my scoring ability or my fighting prowess.

  I thought I was in the clear, hiding behind Vandyne, when the Brow stomped his foot and yelled out, “Chow!”

  I scuttled in and said, “Yes, sir?”

  “Nothing,” he spat out. “I just wanted to see how long it took for you to get here.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Get out!”

  I saluted and left.

  On the first flight of stairs, Vandyne let out a small whistle. “Goddamned Brow has got it bad for you,” he said.

  “He’s got it bad and that ain’t good.”

  “How do you know that song?”

  “It’s a song?” I said, surprised. “It was what a friend in Nam used to say all the time. ‘We’ve got it bad and that ain’t good.’”

  Vandyne and I were on the second floor, which housed the detective squad and its small holding cell. Our precinct was a little unusual in that it had its own detective squad. I guess the powers that be figured there wasn’t enough stuff crammed into our tiny building.

  We walked into the squad room, sat down on the lopsided couch, and looked at English, who was at his desk, on the phone. He looked expectantly at us. I gave him a thumbs-down and he nodded.

  Two tourists were sitting in battered chairs by Vandyne’s end of the couch. The man was wearing khaki shorts, exposing two trunks of knotty varicose veins. He wore a dress shirt with rolled-up sleeves and a ratty collar. He had almost no hair and his face had been sunburned several times, making it harder to guess his age, which had to be north of fifty-five.

  “Hi, I’m Herman Shepherd,” he said to Vandyne, leaning in to shake hands. “Herman,” he said again before reaching over to me.

  Vandyne said, “Hi, I’m John.” I nodded to Herman.

  The woman shook my hand and said in perfect Mandarin, “I’m his wife, Irene.” She was over forty but had worked hard at maintaining herself. Irene had a china-colored, heart-shaped face with dull green eyes and apparently had made herself up at the restaurant before coming in. A mid-length skirt showed some surprisingly great legs, especially in contrast to Herman’s. I looked up quickly, but she had noticed and smiled.

  “My name’s Robert,” I said to both of them. I think Irene was disappointed that I didn’t speak Mandarin with her.

  English got off the phone and came over. “Not much to expand upon,” he said. “Herman and Irene are from upstate. They come into Chinatown every so often. Saw some group of people gathered—”

  “Chinese people,” interjected Irene.

  English shrugged and continued. “So they went over to see what was going on. When the onlookers saw they were tourists, they dispersed.”

  “I didn’t know what they were saying,” said Irene. “I don’t know Cantonese.”

  “It’s tough to learn,” I said.

  “I’ve lived in Taiwan,” Irene told me.

  “I’ve never been there,” I said.

  “I was in Taiwan for a month,” said Vandyne.

  “Me, too,” said Herman.

  “What do you do?” Vandyne asked him.

  “I teach geology at SUNY Buffalo. Sometimes I do exploration work for oil companies.”

  “I do translation work for the university’s Asian studies journal,” volunteered Irene. “I also lecture there, but I don’t have tenure yet.”

  “Do you remember,” I asked the Shepherds, “anybody who stood out at the crime scene?”

  Herman frowned and looked at the floor. Irene said, “Well, I do remember this Chinese fellow in a red shirt, about average height. He gave us a rather menacing look. And I know that look. It’s the resentment that they feel toward us.” She looked at me. I glanced over at English, and he nodded at me. That was the guy who English had made out to be dirty and I had followed.

  “That’s about it,” said English. “We’ll be in touch if we ever need anything from you two.”

  “That’s it?” asked Herman, rising to his feet. I half expected his veins to burst and bleed.

  “We have to let them do their jobs, Herman,” said Irene, a little too harshly.

  They said good-bye and English escorted them out. When their footsteps in the stairwell had faded, I said to Vandyne, “Go ahead.”

  “Damn, tha
t girl’s got Yellow Fever. Bad, too.”

  “You know what, though? Yellow Fever’s lethal.”

  English was walking back in. “Paperwork’s lethal, too, guys. Let’s get going.”

  “I’ll do the bodies if you do the storm drains, Vandyne,” I said.

  “Now that’s a deal, partner.”

  “Just make it neat, you two,” said English. “I’m dealing with enough shittily typed reports from work on the FALN. If you can start sentences with capital letters, you’re ahead of half of the meatballs who supposedly have more seniority.”

  Vandyne leaned into me. In a low voice he said, “I have that thing tomorrow. Remember, Chow?”

  “I do,” I said.

  3

  I GOT UP AS EARLY AS I COULD, ABOUT 0900, AND PAUL HAD ALREADY gone to his internship. That kid took an unpaid internship at a consulting firm that handled U.S.-Taiwan relations. I had helped to set him up at the job because my old girlfriend Barbara worked there.

  Paul worked there mornings and came back to work in the toy store at night. That didn’t sound like a fun summer for any kid. I shook my head. When I had met Paul he was in this downward spiral, beaten at home and spending too much time in the streets with his wannabe gangster buddies. He was so driven now it was hard to remember when he was loitering at Lonnie’s bakery, taunting me.

  I showered with sandalwood soap and Breck shampoo. Hey, it was on sale and you couldn’t tell me that it was just for women, even though Lonnie had bought it and used it when she was over.

  I threw on a blue short-sleeved buttoned shirt and black slacks. I passed over my regular heavy shoes and put on my black steel-toed boots because I was going into enemy territory. They gave a satisfying thump on each step when I went down to the building’s front door.

  I got a coffee from a bakery, but not Martha’s because I didn’t want to see Lonnie and maybe get softened up before I saw Willie Gee. I took a sip and grimaced. It tasted like it was yesterday’s coffee reheated, but I still finished.

  In the morning sun, Jade Palace stood out like a desert outpost to weary and hungry tourists too scared to go to crappy-looking restaurants. It was the biggest building on Bowery, and its shadow ominously fell across half the buildings on the block. For many tourists, including uptown Chinese, it was all the Chinatown they ever bothered to visit.