Harry inscribed three small digits with a felt pen on the hundred-dollar bill. I figured the hundred was some multiple of something significant. The digits were “489”-the symbol of the Dragon Head of the tong.
Harry folded the bill and handed it to Mr. Sun, who looked quickly at the digits. He rose immediately and bowed. The greaseball polish had dropped out of his tone of voice. He sounded like a man who had been on the verge of making a colossal mistake and had pulled back in time.
“Mrs. Woo will escort you to a suitable room. The flower will be brought to you immediately.”
Harry bowed curtly, not to lose the momentum. We followed Mrs. Woo through a door in the back of the office to an expensively and tastefully appointed sitting room toward the back of the building. The white silk brocade in the upholstery matched that of the wallpaper, and the tapestries looked authentic and ancient.
I noticed the lack of a bed. Mr. Sun apparently took us seriously about being there for information.
I caught Harry by the arm as soon as Mrs. Woo closed the door with the promise of an immediate return. I whispered.
“Can we speak?”
“Do it quietly. I don’t think they have the gall to eavesdrop on the Dragon Head’s business, but don’t broadcast it.”
“Right.” I kept it low. “Who are these children I’m supposed to be guiding?”
Harry leaned close. “One of the things that keeps these bozos in business is that it does no good to plant microphones or tap their phones. They always speak in code. Sometimes just the way someone sets down a pair of chopsticks means he has a shipment of hot money to exchange.”
He glanced at the door, but nothing yet.
“The word ‘children’ usually refers to a shipment of narcotics. Like, ‘I’m happy to say my fourth son is home,’ means ‘I just received a shipment of pure number four heroin.’ When I told Sun that you help guide our children, I was saying that you help the tong bring shipments of narcotics across the border.”
“I’m impressed that you speak the language, On-Lee.”
“You’re impressed, Mr. Frathing, because you don’t know what they’d do to us if we make one slip. We’re not back in Cambridge yet, Toto.”
There was a slight knock on the door before it opened. Mrs. Woo walked in ahead of a young Chinese woman of about twenty.
I thought that I’d never seen beauty to compare to that of Xiao-Wen, the girl we first thought was Mei-Li; but the real Mei-Li-on a scale of one to ten, you could forget the scale. No finite number that I could think of came close.
The grace with which the jet-black silk of her hair flowed into the long, deep blue sheath that outlined her flawless form was arresting; but the indefinable beauty of every perfect facial feature from eyes, nose, mouth, to chin actually constricted the breath at first sight.
Features and form aside-although they were the absolute apex of everything desirable in a woman-there was something far more striking. Xiao-Wen’s beauty could have been captured in a wax doll without losing anything but motion. She had been molded into a sort of Stepford consort, where every word, look, and gesture was a preprogrammed answer to the desires of the client. Nothing human, nothing that was “Xiao-Wen” showed through.
Mei-Li was different. Her spirit glowed through her large, almond eyes. This was a woman that anyone could not just love, but fall in love with.
Mrs. Woo performed the introductions and beat a bowing retreat, closing the door softly on her way out. Mei-Li’s responses to the introductions showed a smooth grasp of English.
I took her hand and led her to a corner where three chairs were clustered. As a second-thought precaution against electronic ears, Harry and I moved the chairs to the middle of the room before we sat down.
I cut to the chase.
“Mei-Li. We may not have much time together. I’m a lawyer in Boston. I represent a client by the name of Anthony Bradley.”
A bat at high noon could have seen the reaction. Her mouth dropped open, and a gasp told me she was taken completely unaware. She came forward in the chair and uncharacteristically interrupted before I could go on. Her voice was low but crowded with tension.
“When did you see Anthony? Is he all right?”
“Yes. So far he’s all right. I saw him yesterday afternoon.”
“Did he ask for me? He must have been worried.”
I wasn’t sure how to handle that one.
“He had no idea that I’d see you, Mei-Li. He’s in the Suffolk County jail. He’s charged with murder.”
The gasp this time squeezed a tear out of the corner of one eye.
“Whom do they say he murdered?”
“An old man in Chinatown. His name was Chen An-Yong.”
That brought on the flood. I gave her a handkerchief and let it run its course. When she looked up, her precise makeup was in streams, and I thought she was more beautiful than when she had walked into the room.
“How can I help Anthony?”
“I need information, Mei-Li. I need the truth. If you lie because you think it’ll help Anthony, it might put him in prison for the rest of his life. Do you understand?”
She nodded and blotted one more escaping tear.
“How did you meet Anthony?”
“I met him through the man I worked for in Chinatown.”
“His name?”
“Mr. Liu. He is called Kip Liu.”
There was a slight sense of satisfaction in the confirmation of my instincts about him. Very slight. Mostly I disliked the entire direction this seemed to be taking.
“Tell me about it.”
“When I was first brought to America from China, I was sixteen. I was commanded to be Mr. Liu’s… mistress, for some time. I met Anthony when he would come to a restaurant in Chinatown to meet with Mr. Liu. Mr. Liu ordered me to… become friendly with Anthony. I did, and… we became much more than friends. We saw each other frequently, even when Anthony was not meeting with Mr. Liu.”
“Why would they meet?”
“It was business.”
“What business?”
She lowered her head. There was no response.
“Mei-Li, Anthony’s charged with murder. His only hope right now lies in my knowing everything there is to know about Anthony-good or bad.”
She nodded and said something I couldn’t make out. I leaned closer to hear it again.
“Drugs. Heroin and cocaine mostly.”
“Was he addicted?”
She said it even more softly, but I caught it.
“Yes. Once. But then he stopped.”
I looked at Harry. “Why would he go to Chinatown? He could get anything he wanted in Cambridge.” I was thinking of Barry Salmon.
Harry had a gray look in his face.
“There’s a reason, Mike. Think about it. Kip Liu doesn’t deal with addicts one on one.”
I looked back at Mei-Li. “Was he buying narcotics in large quantities?”
She nodded “I think so. Yes.”
“How would he dispose of them?”
“I don’t know. He began doing business with Mr. Liu after his first year of college. He was very depressed. He began using cocaine heavily. But he stopped last fall.”
“Did he keep on doing business with Mr. Liu after he stopped using cocaine?”
“Yes. Until after Christmas.”
“What happened then?”
“Anthony and I were in love. He wanted to stop what he was doing with narcotics. He wanted to end it. He wanted to buy my freedom so we could be together, be married. Mr. Liu first told him he could never get out. Then, after Christmas, he told Anthony there was a way, but he would have to do a big favor. There would be a big price, but he could get out, and I could be free.”
“What was the price?”
“I don’t know. He called Anthony just before the Chinese New Year. He told him to meet him on Sunday afternoon at the Ming Tree restaurant. He would tell him then.”