Red Jade (18 page)

Lucky to Be Alive?

At Downtown Hospital, it was just another frigid and gloomy New York City morning, with the EMS techs bringing in the frostbitten or frozen-dead homeless and the elderly. New immigrants with ashen faces waited patiently in the ER.

Jack wore his badge and cut straight to the CCU curtained-off space that was Lucky’s room. The darkness of the morning had tricked Jack, and he half-expected to see the overnight nurse.

The life-support machine pumped rhythmically in Lucky’s space, background sound for the electronic
ping
of the electrodes measuring his heartbeats. His cheeks had hollowed, sunken. How many more weeks before he’d become skeletal? wondered Jack grimly. He doubted Lucky had had any kind of health insurance, so the On Yee, who sponsored the Ghosts, were probably paying for the machine. They must believe that Lucky knows something, Jack surmised, secrets valuable enough for them to keep him alive.

“How much longer can this go on?” he heard himself say. When would the On Yee determine that Lucky was no longer important?

The resident neurologist had warned Jack against great expectations. “Even if he comes to, he’ll likely have some brain damage.”

Would he have forgotten the Ghosts? Or their secrets and memories of their childhood in Chinatown? Jack remembered their younger days, dashing across the black-tarred rooftops to their hiding places, and their childish hopes. Jack wanted to tell Lucky that he’d caught the punk who’d put the .22 slug in his brain, and wished Lucky could have understood the stupidity of dying over some stolen watches.

Unsure of what he was hoping to get from the motionless body, Jack left Lucky and turned his thoughts back to the Fifth Precinct.

Good News, Bad News

The office was open and the captain motioned Jack in before he could rap on the door.

“Welcome back, Jack,” Marino began. “I want you to know I’ve put you in for another commendation. The chief thinks you did a good job bringing Eddie Ng back, and the DA’s office thinks it’s a solid case.” He paused for effect. “You can put in for those days at regular pay but the department won’t pay for airfare, hotel, or anything else.”

Jack responded with a smile and a knowing nod as the captain handed him a fax sheet.

“This came in from Seattle headquarters, from a Detective Nicoll.”

The fax confirmed that the blood workup was a match, that the blood on the bionic hand matched the blood found on the abandoned boat near Harbor Island and also on the fragment of the broken jade bangle. The report also noted scorch marks across the palm and fingers where the red bangle was grasped.

Jack felt the urge to visit Ah Por.

“I need to see all that in a report,” indicated the captain. “It moves the case forward, no?”

Jack nodded. “Yes sir, let’s see what else comes up.”

But no missing females had floated up. And no one had claimed a missing hand. Could it be Paper Fan’s? Or one of the other thugs?

“By the way,” Marino advised, “ADA Sing’s coming in.”

It sounded vaguely like a warning.

A minute later there was a rap on the door frame and Bang Sing entered. Jack stood to one side of Marino’s desk and exchanged nods with the assistant district attorney.

Sing, with his Chow Yun-Fat good looks, measured his words carefully.

“I got some bad news, and then
worse
news,” he said. This seemed directed at Jack, who noticed Sing pausing to take a breath, like a candidate about to deliver his speech.

“Eddie Ng has retracted his confession,” Sing said. “He’s now claiming that you coerced him, by making promises and threats. He alleges that you told him you’d let him be the Seattle jailhouse bitch if he didn’t go along with the confession. That you’d let skinheads fuck him in the ass. He said that you were harder on him because he was Chinese.”

“
So
much bullshit,” groused Jack. “And you buy that crap?”

“It’s just a delaying tactic. All the evidence will hang him,” Sing said confidently. “Once you testify about the murder weapon and the matching ballistics, and the stolen watches he was caught with, he’s done. The vic’s prints are on the watch bag.”

“The scheming little bastard,” cursed Jack.

“Yeah, he might get a few Chinese or Asians on the jury but that cuts both ways. We’ll nail him good, anyway. You did a great job.”

So why doesn’t it feel that way? thought Jack. Barely placated, he hissed, “So what’s the worse news?”

Sing took another breath, and avoided eye contact with Jack.

“The Johnny Wong deal. We’re going to accept a plea.” Sing glanced toward the captain. “Illegal possession of a weapon, and reckless endangerment.”

“You shitting me?” asked Jack incredulously.

Marino shook his gray-haired head, frowning.

“What’s he get for that?” challenged Jack.

“Time served.”

Jack grimaced, trying to contain his exasperation.

“I can’t put you on the stand, Jack,” Sing said apologetically. “I’m sorry. But you’d kill your own case. Plus, and I don’t know
how
Alexandra got involved in all this, but she’s a witness here as well. And you killed Littman’s assistant? Trying to prevent a kidnapping? Of a missing woman who might be pivotal to the case? Shelly will
kill
you on cross.”

Jack felt his heart sink, angry to hear the names
Shelly
and
Alexandra
in the same conversation.

“It’s not your fault, Jack,” offered Sing. “It’s just how it happened. Maybe it was destiny. This woman, she played you as good as she played Johnny the chump. Everything’s tainted. We have to cut our losses.”

He wondered again about how Bang Sing might be connected to Alex, and felt uncomfortable in the stuffy overheated room. The captain’s phone rang and Jack left the office without another word, never looking back.

He was cutting his losses.

Pain and Suffering

He found Ah Por in the Senior Center, at a small card table with a group of other old women, gray wizened elders playing
sup som jeung
, thirteen-card Chinese poker.

Ah Por showed her hand and cackled victoriously.

Jack caught her eye, offered a slight bow and a small smile. He had the
shuriken
and the snapshot of the bionic hand ready, along with two folded five-dollar bills. In his pocket he cradled the curved fragment of the red jade bangle he’d extracted from the grasp of the fake hand.

Ah Por backed her chair to the wall and allowed another wrinkled old woman to take her place. She looked at Jack, seeing his father in the face of the son, a man now.

“Your father was a good man,” she said. “He was honorable.” Sure, thought Jack, but that wasn’t what he was hoping to hear.

“Your shoulder is hurt,” she said, eyes brightening as he recalled the bruise from the nunchakus. Ah Por always seemed to know about his wounds. “Your heart is heavy,” she added. “But you have brought justice to two evil men.”

Did she mean the two he’d shot dead? wondered Jack. Or did she mean Short Eddie or Paper Fan? He palmed one of the folded fives into her gnarled hand, carefully handed her the
shuriken
. She handled it gingerly, and looked at it closely for a few seconds.

“Sharp,” she observed, “but no longer deadly. It belongs to a Hip Ching.”

Not surprised, Jack exchanged the photo of the hand for the throwing star, palmed her the other five, and leaned in closer. She rubbed her fingers over the snapshot, taking several deep breaths.

“So much pain,” she whispered. “He has a dragon in his eye.” Jack felt like taking notes but knew to continue paying attention.

“Who?” he asked.

“A black snake,” she answered quickly, glad to be returning the photo.

He gave her the broken red bangle.

Ah Por ran her fingers over it, caressing it, then pressed the red jade piece between her palms, putting heat into the precious stone. She put her head down and closed her eyes.

“Aaya,”
Jack heard her moan. “So much pain.” Again, Jack thought, perhaps she was confused, repeating herself. He knew better, and let her proceed.

“So much suffering,” Ah Por continued. “Merciful Buddha, forgiveness and love survives all.” She paused to catch her breath. Jack quickly gave her another five.

“What happened to the owner?” he asked.

What appeared to be a wrinkled smile, or a grimace, crossed her face.

“She has gone,” she answered, “to a
choy gee lo.
”

Choy gee lo?
pondered Jack, Cantonese for “a rich man.” Another of her seemingly unfathomable clues.

Ah Por looked off into the middle distance, held the jade against her heart.

“Chicken-blood jade,” she murmured. “Especially lucky. Red jade represents courage and will, but…” She seemed bewildered.

“Did you find this on a
say see?
” she asked. On a dead person?

Jack hesitated before answering, “No.”

“Lucky, then.” Ah Por concluded. “Forgiveness, and mercy always,” she said, “survives all.” She looked toward the other old women, and Jack took back the broken bangle, knowing he’d been dismissed. He left her at the card table, smiling and wealthier, anticipating the rest of her winter day.

Pieces of Dreams

He spent the rest of the afternoon in Sunset Park napping off his jet lag. He lay in bed and listened to the rain pelt the rooftops, doing a tap dance on his window air conditioner. He occasionally heard a chorus of car horns from Eighth Avenue, or the sirens of cop cars and ambulances.

In the darkness behind the drawn shades, he had a series of disassociated dreams. The one he vaguely remembered was the one about Ah Por, pointing to a location on a map, like she was at the head of a class.

Jack couldn’t see the map clearly but when recalling her clue,
choy gee lo
, a “rich man,” he thought of how “rich man” sounded like “richman” sounded like Richmond.

As in Richmond, a Chinese suburb of Vancouver.

The connection stunned him. But fatigue betrayed him again, as his dream broke up into a thousand jagged pieces, chasing him back into unconsciousness.

Wait Until Dark

It was only dinnertime but the Golden Star was already half full, a mixed-bag clientele of Chinese, black, and Puerto Ricans driven in by the cold. They were mostly spread out along the oval bar, bopping and drinking under the dim blue light. Candy Dulfer’s saxophone wailed out of the jukebox setup and most of the booths were empty, but Jack spotted Billy by the green-felt pool table in the back.

Billy was watching two Latinas shooting money ball, his apparently upbeat mood encouraged by shots of scotch and the display of cleavage leaning across the spread of colored balls.

Jack caught Billy’s attention with bottles of beer, and they moved to the end of the bar where Jack could watch the front door. They traded palms and Billy started right in, grinning like a fool.

“Caught the motherfucker in a poolroom, ha?” He laughed. “What the fuck did I say? Street always runs to street, right?”

They clanged bottles and Billy chased hot scotch with cold beer.

“And the boy tried to run?” He shook his head. “Shit, if I was the OTB shooter I’d run, too!” He drained the beer, ordered another.

“Whoa,” Jack advised. “Slow down, brother. Night’s young.”

Billy was deaf to the warning.

“You did good, brother! I knew you would.” He went on, “Another medal on your chest, kid! What kinda badge you get next?
Platinum?
”

Jack grinned. “
Fuck
you, Billy.”

They banged bottles again, laughing.

“You know I love you, right?” Billy deadpanned.

“Fuck you again, Billy Bow.”

“I was right, though,” Billy challenged, “about you having to go out there, doing it
yourself
. Right?”

“You were right,” Jack admitted.

“Fuckin’ A.”

The smell of chicken wings and calamari wafted out of the kitchen. Jack checked his watch but Billy noticed Alex coming through the front door first.

“Hey, ain’t that the lawyer chick you keep getting the
bok
tong go
for? The one with the kid?”

“Not so loud, man,” Jack shushed Billy.

“Sorry. I’m divorced. Lawyers make me nervous. But watch it, bro. Baggage.” Billy brought his attention back to the ladies at the pool table.

“Check you later,” Jack said, motioning Alex to one of the booths. She was wearing the red jacket again, the one he’d remembered in his dream.

They ordered drinks and food, and she lit up a cigarette.

“So, welcome back,” she said as they clinked glass.

Jack felt it would be better for Alex to just forget the shooting incidents, and spared her the confusing elements of the hand and the charm and the abandoned boat.

“Nothing ever came up,” he explained simply. “They haven’t found any bodies.
Yet.
”

“So we don’t know what happened to them?” she asked through the smoky exhale.

“Maybe we’ll never know. Also, I never told you the woman was a possible murder suspect.”

The revelation seemed to take some of the sympathy out of Alex. She shook her head, then shrugged her shoulders, knowing Jack would keep homicide details to himself.

“Okay then,” she said, ready to move on. It seemed unlike her, but Jack figured being back in New York, with her full workload, had brought her back to reality. She sipped her Cosmopolitan and eyed Jack curiously.

He pictured her from his dream again, swaying to music. Alex seemed more pensive than usual and Jack wondered if he was the cause. They shared a steak and a side of calamari. Jack could hear Billy’s laughter over the music from the jukebox.

“What’s on your mind, lady?” he asked.

She narrowed her eyes at him and he felt her lawyer persona returning as she spoke over the rim of the glass.

“I’m six months into a divorce process,” she began. “My divorce law colleagues have advised me not to get involved with anyone. No entanglements, no semblance of infidelity that could surface in court.”

He allowed her to continue, the words
entanglement
and
infidelity
buzzing in his ears.

“Can I trust you?” she asked coolly.

“Me?” He took a swig of his beer.

“You’re a cop involved in some controversial Chinatown cases. I’m in your case files. You helped me avoid a D-and-D, and people have seen us together in Seattle.”

“I don’t think there’s a problem,” he said casually.

“Not legally maybe, but ethically …” She slipped into his side of the booth, nudged him over.

“Look,” he said smiling, “I don’t think I’d want to be an
entanglement
, legal, ethical, or otherwise. It wouldn’t be right.”

“What’s not right is the spousal jerk’s got himself a girlfriend, living it up in Westchester. And
I’m
the one who’s supposed to behave?” She snuffed her cigarette, put her hand on his chest like she was feeling for the heartbeats. “You wouldn’t want to get
entangled
with me?” she teased. “I’m not misbehaving, am I?”

“Well, as long as you’re not
disorderly
,” he replied.

She laughed and he saw an opportunity to ask her about what had been nagging him.

“As long as we’re talking
legal
,” he said, “what do you think about ADA Bang Sing?”

Alex was surprised. “Where’s
that
coming from?” she asked. “Did you guys butt heads or something?”

“No,” Jack answered. “Not at all.”

“He’s on one of your cases?”

“That’s right.”

She eyed him suspiciously but said, “He’s brilliant, but mercenary. He goes whichever way the wind blows.”

“So he always has the wind at his back,” Jack concluded.

“That’s right. But you’re both on the same side, no?”

“Well, yeah …” Jack retreated.

“So you’re plying me for this information and it’s strictly professional?”

“Right.”

“And
not
because, let’s just say, because you’re jealous? Or something?”

“Jealous?” Jack repeated. “Me?” He remembered she’d asked him that in Seattle. “Why would I be jealous? Does he have something I want?”

Alex was quiet for a beat before answering, “Don’t know. What do you want?”

“I want to know if I give love, I’m going to get love back,” he answered. “Sounds hokey, I know.”

“Sounds like
quid pro quo.
”

“It’s not a game to me.” He finished his beer. “You’ll know if it’s there. Or not.”

“This is beginning to sound like a trial. Like we’re in court.”

“Forget it,” he offered. “I was just curious.”

“Okay.” She let it go but he knew his concerns were still unanswered. There was a burst of raucous laughter and he could see that Billy was shooting pool with the Latinas now, and he felt happy for him.

The Golden Star was getting crowded and Jack paid the tab, offering to walk Alex home. They went out into the winter night and she linked her arm through his as they walked. She didn’t seem concerned about entanglements anymore.

“Come up for some sambuca,” she said. It came out soft but sounded like a command.

“You think?” he asked, still wondering about Bang Sing.

“Yeah, well, you have an outstanding rain check. You need to cash it in before something else happens,” she insisted.

“Okay then,” Jack agreed. “Good to go.”

They were quiet walking the last block before they came to the gates of Confucius Towers.

Alex led the way past the doorman guard in the lobby. At the elevator, she took Jack’s hand, led him in, and tapped the button for the thirty-third floor. A lucky
yang
number, Jack thought.

The interior of the elevator was a bright yellow, and they both knew they were covered by the surveillance camera, exchanging little smiles as they were whisked upward. The camera couldn’t see that she was squeezing his hand in hers.

Inside 33C, Alex hit a switch, and the lights went low and music started playing softly from somewhere. Jack could see it was the kind of Chinatown apartment that only well-to-do Chinese could afford: large picture windows with a high-rise view, granite countertops in the kitchen, an arranged
fung
shui
living space.

A place he and his Pa could have never afforded.

Alex draped her red jacket on a chair and Jack did the same with his. She gave him a hug and started the espresso machine. There were family photos and children’s books on the shelves, law books to one side. Jack imagined her little girl, Chloe, had a room somewhere, but knew she wasn’t home because Alex wouldn’t have brought him up unannounced. There were art pieces and drawings on the walls.

He could smell the coffee as he watched her bring the sambuca out, setting designer coffee cups on the countertop. He remembered the night in Seattle, and Alex, in gold lingerie.

Quietly, she came up close, and the kiss she gave him made him forget all about Bang Sing, made him forget Seattle and the pain in his shoulder and the emptiness in his soul. He pulled her close, liked he’d wanted to do in his dream, heart to heart, and felt her softness against him. He took a
shaolin
breath and pressed his lips to hers, a slow smoldering kiss that felt like it was for real and meant something more than just alcoholic surrender to desperate need.

They took their time slow-dancing to the low music. The words ended and then they spoke with their eyes and hands. Along the way toward the bedroom Jack had a hopeful feeling that things were going to be all right, that maybe his hard-hearted cynicism was misguided, and the risks he’d taken were worthwhile after all….