Jack nodded. "Yeah," he said. "I know you did. So what? You became just like them, the punks that put the knife into Wing's heart. Just like them, you rip off your own people, and you deal poison to the junkies so they keep coming around fucking with our neighborhood. You brother-up with everything we used to hate."
Lucky did a slow circle around Jack. "When the fuck did you become Charlie Chan? You think it's going to be different because you're Chinese? That people here are going to give you more face? Respect you? You're part of the same corrupt shit, Jacky. The Blue Gang. NYPD Blue. Read the papers. Cops dealing drugs. Cops taking money. Cops fucking over anyone who ain't white. You heard of Rodney King? That badge don't make you no better, brother. You know the game. I get busted, half an hour I'm back on the street. You think you've stopped something because someone got arrested? Wake up, Jacky. See my side of things."
He stooped, matched up to Jack's eyes. "Chinaman cop. First sign of trouble, you'll be the first guy they give up. So what's with the cop thing? A steady paycheck? Trying to live large on chump change?"
Jack was silent, annoyance crossing his face, wondering how high the price would go. He leaned in, said, "Honest work, Tat. Something you wouldn't know about. Sure I know you think you're living large. Big-time bullshit gangsta hype. Doesn't your neck hurt looking over your shoulders all the time? I've seen you on the corner, shuffling, got your back to the wall. You sleep with one eye open. You got your gat under the pillow and jump when the phone jangles. You like living like that, big time? Living large?'
Lucky just smiled. "Come over to my side," he said. "Let's deal. What makes it work for you? Cash money don't move you? How about fresh pussy every week? You didn't go gaylo on me didja? Jewelry, fine clothes, a new ride? Can't touch it."
Jack frowned disdain into the corners of his mouth. "Won't touch it, brother," he said.
Lucky rolled on. "Like I said before, you don't have to do anything dirty. Just information, identification. Like that." A pause, then Lucky's eyes gleam sharp with an epiphany. "I get it. You can't admit what you want. All this brings some kinda dishonor to your cop thing. Okay, so go this way. I give you some inside dope, schemes and scams from the secret societies, who the players are, how it all works. You help the Feds take them down, be the big hero. You get promoted up the kazoo. Me, I don't care about that international I-Spy stuff. You give me information to protect my boys, and take out the local competition. I get them before they get me. That's all. You go up. I go large. Neither one of us gets trapped."
"Sure," Jack said finally. "Yeah, I'll think about it."
"But don't mistake the offer for weakness," Lucky said warily. "You wouldn't be the first cop on our pad. Not even the first Chinese cop."
Jack grinned, wondering which other Chinese cops were dirty? "Well, considering that this offer comes from a guy who's got all his cash stashed in a deposit box because he can't use the banks, and who's got everything leased or borrowed because his name ain't worth a shit, tell me why I should respect this offer?"
Lucky leaned in closer. "Because I know the way this game works. The same way I got the Yings out, you know I can make it happen. The information I get you will make you a lieutenant, a captain. You'll be retired before you're forty. With a cop pension. Retire like a big hero. Don't die broke and penniless like your old man, brother."
Jack stepped back. "Like I said, you should get out yesterday. You're only top dog until the next hungry Fuk Ching kid pops you just to make his bones."
Fuck you tugged up the corners of Lucky's mouth, contempt filling his eyes.
Jack looked east. "I'll think about it," he repeated.
"Well, take yourself a good serious think, man," Lucky chilled. "Because I ain't making this offer again. So don't bother coming back with a wire the next time we talk."
Their eyes battled a moment.
"And don't tell me you like being out there, dealing with the scummy low-life scabs of the city for sucker pay."
Lucky left Jack there, walked back into the shadow of the stairwell. The roof door slammed as he turned, went down the flights of stairs.
At the bottom landing, he looked back up to the skylight of the roof, didn't see any sign of Jack, frowned, and switched off the tape machine strapped to his groin.
Discovery
The woman agent in the Golden Lotus Travel Service tapped into the keyboard, scrolled through electronic data on the color computer monitor.
"We had someone come in last week," she said to Jack in Cantonese, "a woman who fits the description."
"Last week?" Jack kept his cool, stared over her shoulder at the digital waves.
"Might have been Thursday or Friday. I had the weekend off and only saw your fax message this morning."
"What did she look like?"
"She wore black, short hair. Never took her sunglasses off."
Her eyes flickered. "Here it is."
Jack breathed through his nose, measured his breaths.
"It wasn't Mexico. Or Canada. She booked one seat one way to Los Angeles. Greyhound Bus. The Holiday Inn near Chinatown."
"Under what name?"
"J. Wong," she answered.
"When?"Jack asked as she tore off the printout and gave it to him.
"Should have arrived today."
Jack smiled, thanked her.
"The Department will be in touch with you regarding the reward," he said. She appeared happy as he left her little office.
When he got back to the 0-Five, the phone on Jack's desk was ringing, a call the switchboard patched through from the Translation Project downstairs. The voice was Cantonese, a woman speaking with a Hong Kong accent.
"The man you are looking for was the Big Uncle's driver. Jun Yee 'wongjai,' kid Wong. Wong," she repeated.
Jack tried to stall her for a trace but she repeated the name once more and hung up. funYee Wong, he realized, the missing radio driver from Brooklyn. The circle was shrinking.
Downstairs, they got a partial area code off the call. 303. Best guess was somewhere in Colorado. Colorado?
A crank call? The mistress. Then who was enroute to Los Angeles?
Jack decided to install a caller ID device, his head piecing together scattered impressions of a missing woman. His eyes ate up the travel agent's printout before he made the call.
The long-distance male voice was brusque, efficient, no-nonsense. He said, "Like, this is LA, buddy. We're five minutes outside of Chinatown so, yes, we've got lots of Chinese men, and women, in lots of our rooms. I can't give you that kind of information over the telephone."
Jack identified himself for the second time.
"Yes," the voice continued, "NYPD. So you say, but on this end I don't know you from Joe Blow citizen. You get my point of view?"
"Can't you even confirm if it's a Chinese man, or woman, in that room?"
"Can't do it. Suppose I tell you and someone gets killed?"
"Suppose you don't tell me and someone gets killed?" Jack growled.
"Not my problem."
"Thanks for nothing." Jack slammed the phone down. He considered reaching out to LAPD, but worried about spooking the fugitives, losing his shaky leads to the mistress and the driver.
Then he heard the transmission coming over the static on the squadroom radio, crackling something about Major Case coming in on the Uncle Four killing. Bringing in the Big Dicks, sliding him into the background.