Part 14 (2/2)

”All right, all right.” I heard the gun slide across the floor. Then another. ”I'm coming to the door. Move your fat a.s.s, Rupert.”

Still holding his crotch, the big guy slid out of the way, and a tall, long-haired Asian kid opened the door wide. He was about twenty-two, with a wispy mustache and a permanent scowl on his face.

”You in charge?” I asked.

”Most of the time,” he said. ”Except right now it looks like you're in charge.”

”What's your name?” I said.

”John Doe,” he said without disturbing the scowl.

”We already have plenty of guys named John Doe in the morgue waiting to be identified,” I said. ”How about your real name.”

”John Dho,” he repeated. ”D-h-o. You're in Chinatown, dude.”

So it turned out that Donovan and Boyle actually did know who they talked to. They just couldn't spell.

”This is a house of mourning. What do you want?”

”We understand, and we're sorry for your loss, but we still need to talk. Here or at the precinct?” I said.

”You can come in,” Dho said. ”The b.i.t.c.h stays outside.”

”The b.i.t.c.h either comes in,” Kylie said, ”or she marches you out the door and parades you down Mulberry, screaming at you the whole way until we get to our car, which we parked two blocks from here.”

”Bulls.h.i.+t. You're parked across the street.”

”Then I'd have to march you back. I don't give a s.h.i.+t about your 'No girls allowed in the clubhouse' rules. I yelled 'NYPD,' and somebody in here locked and loaded a semi-which I'm sure you have a license for.”

He stepped aside and let us in. ”What do you want here?”

”We're looking for the person who killed Alex Kang,” I said.

Dho was smoking a hand-rolled cigarette that smelled like the inside of a stable. He blew a lungful of smoke our way. ”So are we,” he said, ”but we can do it without your help.”

”Let's talk about it,” I said.

The room was dimly lit and spa.r.s.ely furnished. Two tumbledown sofas, a smattering of Formica-topped tables, and a mismatched a.s.sortment of folding chairs. One corner at the far end was a makes.h.i.+ft kitchen.

”Nice digs,” Kylie said. ”Clearly fit for an emperor.”

”Tell us about the day Alex went missing,” I said.

”He was hanging here till about eleven in the morning. He left to go visit his grandmother-she was in Beekman Downtown Hospital. When he didn't come back by two, we started calling him. No answer. I went to the hospital. His mother was there. She said he never came. We checked his apartment, all his usual hangouts-nothing. Six days later, he shows up in a Hazmat suit on a bench in the Ca.n.a.l Street subway station. I already told all this to those two doughnut commandos.”

”Who are we talking about?” I said.

”Defective Donovan and Defective Boyle. They ha.s.sle the s.h.i.+t out of us all the time. Even when we're the victims.”

”So you knew Donovan and Boyle before Alex was killed.”

”Yeah, we all know them. They work this area. 'Youth Patrol.'”

”Did they have a beef with Alex?” Kylie asked.

Dho looked at her as though she were clueless. ”They're racists. They hate all the CPEs-only they s.h.i.+t on Alex even more because he was in charge. Do you really think those two cops are looking for the person who killed Alex?”

”I don't know about them, but I can promise you that these two cops really are looking for the killer. So as long as we're all on the same side, how's your investigation going?”

”It's none of the other gangs,” Dho said.

”Are you sure?” Kylie said, asking the same question that got her in trouble with LaFleur.

Dho put his palms together and bowed his head. ”Most sure, Honorable Detective. Our investigation very thorough,” he said, purposely omitting the verb-a dead-on imitation of Charlie Chan, the cla.s.sic Asian stereotype churned out by the Hollywood studios in the thirties and forties.

He stood up and dropped the act. ”You cops are all full of s.h.i.+t,” he said, the scowl firmly back in place. ”When this Hazmat a.s.shole killed Alex, you send in Detectives Dumb and Dumber. But now that he whacked some rich white lady, you're all over it like-how you round eyes say?-'white on rice.' You want to know who killed my best friend, Alex Kang? There's some freaky guy out there who thinks he's some kind of f.u.c.king savior, and he's doing his part to make this city a safer place to live. Here, you can read all about it in today's paper.”

There was a newspaper on the table. He picked it up and shoved it toward me.

It was all in Chinese. The only thing I could understand was the picture of Evelyn Parker-Steele on the front page.

Chapter 36.

”I had cause to draw my weapon,” Kylie said as soon as we were back outside. ”As soon as I heard that semi-”

”Hey, no arguments from me,” I said. ”I was right behind you. I didn't agree with the way you handled Damon Parker this morning, but kicking Odd Job in the b.a.l.l.s was spot-on. Nice work, partner.”

She looked surprised. ”Thanks.”

”You really are a b.i.t.c.h,” I said. ”And I mean that in the nicest possible way.”

We stood outside the building, absorbing the unique sights, smells, and sounds of Chinatown-this little enclave that is home to some and a tourist destination for many.

”I don't get it,” Kylie said. ”Alex Kang walks out of here at eleven o'clock in the morning. How does he just disappear? It's a little after eleven now, and look-there are people all over the street, cars are going in and out of the garage next door, somebody had to see something.”

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