revived him. His cell jangled with a familiar number.
“Find out anything, bro ?” It was Billy Bow.
“Yeah, he’s Chinese,” snapped Jack. “Why?”
“Last name Chang, right?” teased Billy.
“And you know that how? ” Jack countered.
“Ancient Chinese secret.”
“Stop fucking around, Billy. It’s a homicide deal now.”
“Meet me at Grampa’s.”
“What the fuck?” Jack started.
But Billy had hung up.
Golden Star
T HE G OLDEN S TAR Bar and Grill, also known as Grampa’s, was a revered Chinatown jukebox joint. Located on the far stretch of East Broadway, the hot spot was a big dugout basement three steps down from the street, far enough away from the core of Chinatown to escape the influence of the traditional old-line tongs .
Because Grampa’s mixed bag of Lower East Side regulars included Chinatown denizens, blacks and Latinos from the projects, and rotating teams of undercover cops, the popular bar was considered neutral turf even for the rival street gangs that rolled in and out. Hardheads looking for a beef usually took their differences down the street beneath the Manhattan Bridge or under the highway by the East River.
Inside, under dim blue lighting, a long, oval-shaped bar dominated the space. There was an arcade bowling game up front, a big jukebox set up in the middle, and a pool table in the back next to the kitchen.
Grampa’s was almost empty, with only a fewlate-afternoon stragglers looking for an alcohol fix before the dinner crowd drifted in. Billy sat at the far end of the bar, watching the door.
As he entered, Jack felt gnawing hunger and realized he hadn’t eaten since dawn. Between the river and the morgue, he’d lost his appetite and had been running on adrenaline. He signaled the barmaid and ordered a steak before Billy motioned him over to one of the empty booths.
Billy came over with two beers in his fist, slid in opposite Jack, and nudged across one of the bottles. They clanged glass, and each took a swig.
“So what do you have?” Jack asked eagerly.
“Slow down, kemosabe ,” Billy said, taking his sweet time lighting up a cigarette. “You first.”
Jack recounted the basic facts of the case, keeping the details close to his vest. He knew Billy was dying to spill. His steak arrived, and he sliced into it as Billy began his tale.
“It’s a paper deal,” Billy offered. “Your dead man bought the papers off a college student who had dropped out and returned to the village.”
Jack nodded his okay , tucking into the savory plate. Keep coming , he motioned with the steak knife.
“Jun Wah Chang is really Yao Sing Chang, one of the village orphans.”
Jack took a gulp of beer, trying to digest the new information. He wouldn’t be surprised if the Gees were running a paper operation like many of the other associations were doing—getting their members to America by any means necessary.
“He called, looking for work in Chinatown restaurants. They thought he was calling from Canada.”
“Wait.” Jack emphasized with the point of the serrated knife. “You’re getting all this from the guy at Gee’s who didn’t know nothing from nothing this morning? But somehow from then to now, he suddenly remembers the guy’s whole life in China?” He could almost see Billy blushing red in the dim blue light.
“Maybe he called the village, all right?”
“Why so helpful all of a sudden?”
“Maybe because I conned him into thinking it was better to have you as a friend than as an enemy.”
“He didn’t seem to care this morning,” Jack said.
“Maybe he realized you can fix some traffic tickets or something.”
“Funny. Ha-ha .”
“Hey, he volunteered it,” Billy mock groused. “What the fuck do I care? You want the rest of it or what?”
“Shoot.”
“Since Yao’s an orphan,” Billy continued, “the Gee Association will pay for the cremation and services, whatever, on behalf of the village.”
“When?”
“The wake is tomorrow
“Find out anything, bro ?” It was Billy Bow.
“Yeah, he’s Chinese,” snapped Jack. “Why?”
“Last name Chang, right?” teased Billy.
“And you know that how? ” Jack countered.
“Ancient Chinese secret.”
“Stop fucking around, Billy. It’s a homicide deal now.”
“Meet me at Grampa’s.”
“What the fuck?” Jack started.
But Billy had hung up.
Golden Star
T HE G OLDEN S TAR Bar and Grill, also known as Grampa’s, was a revered Chinatown jukebox joint. Located on the far stretch of East Broadway, the hot spot was a big dugout basement three steps down from the street, far enough away from the core of Chinatown to escape the influence of the traditional old-line tongs .
Because Grampa’s mixed bag of Lower East Side regulars included Chinatown denizens, blacks and Latinos from the projects, and rotating teams of undercover cops, the popular bar was considered neutral turf even for the rival street gangs that rolled in and out. Hardheads looking for a beef usually took their differences down the street beneath the Manhattan Bridge or under the highway by the East River.
Inside, under dim blue lighting, a long, oval-shaped bar dominated the space. There was an arcade bowling game up front, a big jukebox set up in the middle, and a pool table in the back next to the kitchen.
Grampa’s was almost empty, with only a fewlate-afternoon stragglers looking for an alcohol fix before the dinner crowd drifted in. Billy sat at the far end of the bar, watching the door.
As he entered, Jack felt gnawing hunger and realized he hadn’t eaten since dawn. Between the river and the morgue, he’d lost his appetite and had been running on adrenaline. He signaled the barmaid and ordered a steak before Billy motioned him over to one of the empty booths.
Billy came over with two beers in his fist, slid in opposite Jack, and nudged across one of the bottles. They clanged glass, and each took a swig.
“So what do you have?” Jack asked eagerly.
“Slow down, kemosabe ,” Billy said, taking his sweet time lighting up a cigarette. “You first.”
Jack recounted the basic facts of the case, keeping the details close to his vest. He knew Billy was dying to spill. His steak arrived, and he sliced into it as Billy began his tale.
“It’s a paper deal,” Billy offered. “Your dead man bought the papers off a college student who had dropped out and returned to the village.”
Jack nodded his okay , tucking into the savory plate. Keep coming , he motioned with the steak knife.
“Jun Wah Chang is really Yao Sing Chang, one of the village orphans.”
Jack took a gulp of beer, trying to digest the new information. He wouldn’t be surprised if the Gees were running a paper operation like many of the other associations were doing—getting their members to America by any means necessary.
“He called, looking for work in Chinatown restaurants. They thought he was calling from Canada.”
“Wait.” Jack emphasized with the point of the serrated knife. “You’re getting all this from the guy at Gee’s who didn’t know nothing from nothing this morning? But somehow from then to now, he suddenly remembers the guy’s whole life in China?” He could almost see Billy blushing red in the dim blue light.
“Maybe he called the village, all right?”
“Why so helpful all of a sudden?”
“Maybe because I conned him into thinking it was better to have you as a friend than as an enemy.”
“He didn’t seem to care this morning,” Jack said.
“Maybe he realized you can fix some traffic tickets or something.”
“Funny. Ha-ha .”
“Hey, he volunteered it,” Billy mock groused. “What the fuck do I care? You want the rest of it or what?”
“Shoot.”
“Since Yao’s an orphan,” Billy continued, “the Gee Association will pay for the cremation and services, whatever, on behalf of the village.”
“When?”
“The wake is tomorrow
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