The Last Assassin by Barry Eisler Page B

tomorrow, two sets every night. I’ve already checked the place out and it’ll work for us. We’ll show up for the second set tomorrow, at midnight. I want to see what happens when she’s done for the evening.”
    â€œSounds good.”
    â€œMake sure you spend time learning the area first. The streets, the alleys, everything.”
    â€œYes, Mom.”
    I looked at him, but there was just no arguing with that irrepressible grin.
    We spent another hour going over the plan. When we were done, Dox went off to find an escort, and I went back to the hotel, alone.

6
    A T MIDNIGHT THE FOLLOWING evening, I sat in a second-floor window seat at a place called Pegu Club, a bar at the corner of Houston and Wooster, kitty-corner to Zinc. I nursed the eponymous cocktail, an admittedly tasty gin-based infusion, snacked on some of their light fare, and read a copy of The Economist so I wouldn’t look like a guy on a stakeout.
    At twelve-thirty, I saw Dox emerge from the stairway. He had the Nokia out. Mine vibrated a moment later. I was already wearing the earpiece and pressed the receive button after the first buzz.
    â€œYeah,” I said.
    â€œHe’s here,” he said. “Just like you thought. Chinese guy, maybe twenty or so, hundred forty, hundred and fifty pounds. All by himself, hardly drinking, just watching the stage. Hard-looking kid. Hasn’t tapped his foot once since the music started.”
    I could hear the band playing from inside. The piano especially. I tried not to think about it.
    â€œJust the one?” I asked.
    â€œYeah. He’s alone.”
    â€œYou get his picture?”
    â€œThree or four of them. This little Panasonic you picked up works nicely in the dark.”
    â€œHas he noticed you?”
    â€œI’m in stealth mode, partner, he doesn’t even know I’m here. Plus I’m accompanied by the lovely and charming Miss Jasmine, who I met via the Internet earlier today.”
    â€œAll right, go back inside,” I said. “Be ready to follow him out when he leaves. I want to see where he’s going, whether he stays with Midori, whether there’s a handoff to anyone else.”
    â€œRoger that.” He closed the cell phone, nodded subtly in my direction, and went back inside.
    Forty-five minutes later, I saw patrons leaving Zinc and realized the set was over. My phone buzzed.
    â€œYeah.”
    â€œHere he comes,” Dox said. His normally booming voice was coming through just loud enough for me to hear but not, presumably, for Miss Jasmine or anyone else. “You should see him on the stairs right now.”
    â€œMidori’s still in there?”
    â€œStill in here, talking to a few people. Nice-looking woman, if you don’t mind my saying. I love that long black Asian hair. And a hell of a piano player.”
    The Chinese kid came out, walked a few yards west on Houston, and stopped to light a cigarette.
    â€œI see him,” I said. “Looks like he’s going to enjoy a little tobacco break.”
    â€œSomeone ought to tell him that stuff’ll kill you.”
    Sure enough, the Chinese kid leaned back against the building behind him and stood there, smoking. I smiled. It seemed to me that the primary beneficiary of Mayor Bloomberg’s indoor smoking ban, aside from the hearts and lungs of all New Yorkers, was anyone running foot surveillance and needing an excuse to hang around outside a restaurant.
    â€œYeah, he’s not leaving,” I said. “And as long as Midori’s still in there, I don’t think he’s going anywhere. Stay put and let me know when she’s coming out.”
    â€œRoger that.”
    I closed the phone and watched for a few minutes more. If someone else were going to pick up Midori from here, this would be the time for the Chinese kid to make a call. But he didn’t take out a phone. I didn’t know what Yamaoto was paying the triad for the