He nodded. “For now.”
He took a last swig of his beer, dropped a twenty on the table—from a money clip, not a wallet, which was just as well, because I might have swiped it to get at the driver’s license—and stood. “Why don’t you stay and finish your drink? Instead of following me.” He smiled. “I’ll be in touch.”
“Fine,” I said. “But one more thing.”
He paused, waited.
“What should I call you?”
He cocked his head. “Jeff Dunbar. I always liked the name Jeff.”
He turned and left.
I had, of course, been planning to count to ten, dash out after him, and tiptoe up the sidewalk to see where he went. But he’d stuck a pin in that idea.
So I stayed, drank up my cranberry juice, and let Jimmy Buffett work his way through “Margaritaville.” Jack wasn’t anywhere. Maybe that meant he’d stayed outside, and had at least seen which direction my client had fled in. I hefted my bag and gave up my chair, to the smiling gratitude of the young couple who’d been vulturing this spot ever since Jeff Dunbar left.
Outside, no Jack. The guy abandoned me? That call had better have been important. A cruising taxi slowed, but nuts to him. I headed for the subway.
On the way I called Bill. Voice mail yet again. His date must be going swimmingly. I left a message. Then I tried Jack.
“Lee.”
“Chin. You hate that bar that much?”
“You have to admit I was right about it.”
“So what?”
“Good point. No, I’m tailing your boy.”
“You’re doing what?”
“As soon as I saw you sit down I’d answered the main question, which was that I don’t know him. I wasn’t sure you were getting anywhere, though. I might be wrong, but it didn’t look like he was giving much away.”
“No, almost nothing.”
“So it occurred to me this might be a chance we didn’t want to miss. You strike me as tough enough to fight your way alone out of a candy-ass bar if you need to.”
“Thanks, I think.”
“No problem. So I got in a cab and told the driver to wait until I pointed out a guy and then follow him. Meter plus fifty bucks. If it turned out Dunbar told you everything, no harm done except I’m out a few bucks. Should I knock it off?”
“No,” I said. “No, I’m in awe. Are you still on him?”
“Yes. Going up the highway, near Lincoln Center.”
“Stay with him. Let me know what happens. What about the phone call?”
“What phone call?”
“You took out your phone when you left.”
“You saw me?”
“Hey, I’m not just a pretty face.”
“Um. Well, no phone call, and not just your face, pretty as it is. Dunbar’s. I snapped a few pix. You’re in one, though. Sweet.”
I clicked off, pocketed the phone, and walked through the Village in the last of the light. Bill was right, it seemed to me. Jack was good at his job.
And speaking of Bill, the phone gave out with “My Heroes Have Always Been Cowboys” just as I reached Sheridan Square. I grabbed it and flipped it open. “Oh ho ho, is this you?”
“Hey, I’ve been working really hard here.”
“Don’t tell me about what’s been hard.”
“Oh my God, is that a dirty joke from you?”
“I’ve changed. I’ve spent the afternoon drinking in a dive bar on the waterfront.”
“The whole afternoon?”
“No. First I had to give a stranger some perfectly good oolong tea in my office so he could threaten me without mentioning my mother, then I had to go watch a robot crashing into a pole.”
“Are you speaking English?”
“Where are you? Still tied up with Shayna?”
“You think she’s into that?”
“Why does everyone want to know that?”
“Well, it’s an interesting question. No, she had dinner plans.”
“You weren’t charming enough for her to cancel them?”
“I didn’t want to waste the charm if I didn’t need to.”
“Yes, I can see you’d want to conserve scarce resources. Why didn’t you need to?”
“You know, I don’t think drink agrees with you.”
“It was cranberry juice.”
“That changes things? I didn’t need to because I got what we wanted.”
I drew a sharp breath. “The Chaus? You found out where they are?”
“Where they were, when Shayna saw them. That was a one-week show, though, so they may not be there now.”
“Still, that’s huge. Where are you?”
“Upper East Side. Where are you?”
“West Village. You want to meet in Chinatown? I’m starving.”
“Good idea. What about Aramis?”
“He’s in a cab near Lincoln Center. I’ll call him.”
He didn’t even ask me how I knew that.
* * *
I called Jack, who reported that the cab caravan had left the highway at Seventy-second Street and was heading across town.
“This driver’s a rock star,” he said. “Changes lanes, hangs back, all the good stuff. Rajneesh Jha, from Hyderabad. Grew up on American movies. Thinks he died and went to heaven, tailing another cab for a PI.”
“Lucky you, lucky him,” I said. “When you’re done, Bill and I are going for noodles to New Chao Chow on Mott, north of Canal. Bill knows where the Chaus were when Shayna saw them.”
“You think you have enough Chaus there?”
“If you spoke Chinese like a New Yorker you’d be able to tell them apart.” I spelled the restaurant for him.
“If I spoke Chinese like a New Yorker my mother wouldn’t understand me.”
“Does she understand you now?”
“Everything but my profession. She shudders. She wishes I were respectable, like my older sisters.”
“Mine, too! How many sisters?”
“Two. An endocrinologist and a lawyer. You have sisters?”
“No, four older brothers. Also a doctor and a lawyer, and two more besides.”
“All respectable?”
“Spotlessly.”
“My sympathies. Hey! Hey, I think Dunbar’s cab’s pulling over. Rajneesh, go around the corner and stop.”
“Where are you?”
“Second and Seventy-third. Save me a bowl of noodles. I’ll call you.”
He clicked off.
11
Bill was waiting when I got to New Chao Chow. Rich aromas of pork and fish circled around me. I greeted the chubby manager. “Hey, Tau.”
“Hey, Lydia. You bring appetite? Got good rice stick today. You eat two bowls?” We spoke in English because Tau’s dialect is Fujianese, as incomprehensible to a native Cantonese speaker as, say, Russian would be.
“I’m starved, Tau, so maybe.” There was no possible way I could eat two bowls of Tau’s soups, not rice stick fish soup, pork tendon stew, or anything else, but he was always hopeful.
I dropped into the chair opposite Bill and eyed him critically. “You look worn out. The charm thing takes it out of you, huh?”
“You kidding? I feel great. Like Maurice Chevalier in Gigi.”
“Am I glad I don’t get the reference?”
“Probably.” He took out his phone, handed it to me. “Somewhere in here are the photos.”
“You really should learn to do this,” I said, poking buttons. “Against the day when I’m not around.”
“Am I expecting that day?”
I looked up, thinking I’d heard an odd note in his voice. He seemed normal, though. Not even tired, actually; that had just been me giving him the regular hard time. “No.” A brief mutual pause, then I went back to his phone. A grumpy waiter came over and tried to hand us menus. Bill waved his away, ordered the beef stew noodle soup and a beer. I asked for fish cake rice stick soup and jasmine tea, but then grabbed one of the menus as the waiter turned to leave. “For Jack,” I told Bill.
“He’s joining us?”
“When his workday’s done.”
“Where is he now?”