“Please remember my mother in your prayers,” Mona requested.
“What is her name?” asked the sister. “We can post it at the altar.”
“Please just pray for all mothers,” Mona said, “during ching ming, memorial observances, and on Mother’s Day.”
The monk sister nodded acknowledgement, placed her hands together pointed toward Heaven, and bowed.
Mona returned the bow, then left the temple, with a heart less burdened by the weight of everlasting sorrow, with the droning nom mor nom mor nom mor or may tor fut trailing behind her.
Peace.
Siu Lam Sandal
Of average height and slight build, Tsai had been a student of Shaolin Hung-style boxing, and had honed his knife-combat skills. From his appearance, no one could suspect he was an experienced fighter, better at hand-to-hand than most of the number 49-rank thugs, but the martial arts above all had taught him the lesson of patience.
For three months now he had fielded reports from the ranks of fellow Grass Sandals in other American Chinatowns where the Red Circle had members or triad affiliates. Their leads had not panned out in Washington, Boston, Philadelphia, Miami, Chicago, Detroit, or Columbus. He hadn’t expected much from those communities but had been hopeful that something would turn up in Houston, Dallas, Los Angeles, San Francisco, Seattle, Sacramento, Fremont, or Monterey Park. Even Anchorage, or Honolulu.
Tsai knew that Paper Fan would not be pleased, but the bok ji sin was a patient man as well, and had faith in his many subordinates. Time, the 415 leader knew, was a continuum that governed all things, and patience was part of that balance.
None of the discreet inquiries at Chinese jewelry stores had proven fruitful, yet he was sure the stolen items would turn up. No luck during the Lantern Festivals, either. Tsai knew that most of the Buddhist temples would have an established membership of true believers who worshipped regularly, but the monks would welcome visitors and new members, recording their donations in a sign-in log. Greeting visitors with shaved heads bowed, the monks would thank new worshippers for their offerings, and include them in their evening prayers. The monks also taught that patience was a virtue, and that justice, like vengeance, traveled in a circle. What goes around, mused Tsai, comes around.
He continued to advise vigilance, maintaining focus on the diamonds, or the gold, but not forgetting religion, or the myriad Chinatowns.
As per Paper Fan, of course.
Pawns
Jack had left the motel early, taking a car service north to Pioneer Square. He’d planned to check out the pawnshops there first, before working his way back down to the locations he’d listed inside the big five-mile circle he’d drawn around the International District. Along the way he’d hoped to grab a dim sum snack in Chinatown while keeping a daylight eye out for ma lo Eddie.
Jack also thought he’d drop by the West Precinct again.
As the car cut through the brittle Seattle morning, Jack reflected. Pawnshops were businesses where desperate people, down on their luck, went to trade in valued pieces of their lives for lesser sums of money. These shops were also places where the thrifty-minded sought good bargains, and where thieves often went to fence their stolen goods.
The pawnshops on Jack’s list went by different types of names, which were clues to the class of clientele they catered to. PIONEER GOLD EXCHANGE. CAPITOL CASH. USA PAWN. ELLIOTTBAY BROKERS. JOHNNY’S JEWELRY. BRIDGE BROTHER’S TRADING.FAMILY CAPITAL. SEATTLE GOLD AND SILVER. There were a dozen places where Jack hoped to pull a lucky hit on stolen Rado watches. What was Eddie going to do, eat them?
The first three places around Pioneer Square were clearly directed at the tourist trade, with big picture windows offering an array of glittering jewelry and fancy cameras. The watches were European style: Franck Mullers, Piagets, Breitlings and Tag Heuers. None of the store managers had done business with any Chinese lately, and they were always wary of Hong Kong knockoffs anyway. Jack canvassed those stores in less than an hour, and left the area just as the tourists started rolling in.
Two shops farther south in the I.D. carried plenty of gold jewelry and coins from Chinese customers, but no watches. Nearby, he came upon the Jade Pagoda café and the Golden Wok. He grabbed a quick cup of nai cha tea at the Pagoda, washing down two plates of ha gow, shrimp dumplings, and lor bok go, radish cakes, as he watched the main drag wake to the morning. Many Chinese people passed by, but none short enough to match Eddie’s low profile.
Jack rode a bus south, past the Kingdome and toward the next cluster of pawnbrokers. When he passed a stretch of railroad yards his cell phone buzzed out a number he didn’t recognize. The voice identified himself as Detective Nicoll of the Seattle Headquarters Squad.
“Thanks for calling-,” Jack began.
“Well, I’ve been up for twenty-eight hours but let me understand this right,” Nicoll said. “You’re looking for a four and a half foot tall Chinaman? Not a suspect? Not a fugitive? ”
Jack bit his tongue on Chinaman and answered, “He’s a person of interest, actually.”
“And your name?” Nicoll continued. “Yoo, was it? What’s that, Korean?”
“Chinese,” Jack answered sharply.
There was a pregnant pause.
“You realize we’re on a red ball here?” asked Nicoll.
“Yeah,” Jack replied. “It’s all over the news.”
“Yeah, so tell you what,” Nicoll said with a sigh. “I’ll notify Patrol again, see if they run across anything. He’s a shorty, right?”
“Correct. And I appreciate the lookout,” Jack added.
“Try me after the red ball,” Nicoll said wearily before hanging up.
Chinaman still rang in Jack’s brain. He could already imagine the jokes coming out of Patrol ranks: No shit. A short Chinaman? That’s the entire male population of Chinatown! Or, Whaddya kidding me? Midget Chinaman? A dinky chinky? A short slant?
Jack didn’t like getting the brush-off even though he understood SPD had their hands full with the double homicide, and were under political pressure as well. Cop-world was full of that setup.
At the end of the railroad yards, Jack found Johnny’s Jewelry on a street of old storefronts beneath the highway. Johnny, a grizzled old man, looked at Eddie’s juvie photo and said, “Nah. We get mostly Mexicans here. And a few of the brothers, occasionally. Besides, you guys all look alike anyways.” He flashed a yellowed gap-toothed grin. “Know what I’m saying?”
Jack sighed as Johnny offered, “You try Chinatown?”
It started to rain again.
Three blocks away was Family Capital, where the proprietor was a cheerful middle-aged white woman who greeted Jack like he was the first customer of the day. Jack badged her and explained the scenario involving high-end watches. He didn’t want to show Eddie’s dated ten-year-old juvie poster because it had already confused people.
The shop had a glass display counter with shelves of watches, but no Rados.
“We got a ladies’ black-face Movado recently,” she offered.
Jack became alert. “From a Chinese?” he asked. “A short man?”
“No, from a Mexican,” she said with a pause. “But there was a Chinese with him. Well, Asian anyway.”
“Short?” Jack repeated.
“Oh yes,” she recalled. “I thought he was a kid at first. Because of his height. But it was the Mexican, Latino, who offered the watch.” She removed it from the counter.