"Okay," I said.

"Thank you, sir."

"You know the Kwan Chang Tong?" I said.

"Yes, sir. It is the most powerful in this area."

"They run Chinatown here in Port City," I said.

"Yes, sir."

"And they use a street gang to help them," I said.

"Yes sir. The Death Dragons."

"They teach this stuff at Harvard?" I said.

She smiled.

"No need to, sir. The tongs and the street gangs they employ are part of all Chinese people's lives. They know of them even if they've never actually met anyone who's in a tong, or a street gang. They are always near us, always."

We were in Chinatown. I parked on the curb, and Hawk pulled in behind me. Hawk and Vinnie got out first, each with a shotgun.

Mei Ling and I got out and stood with them in the cold wind. I turned the collar up on my leather jacket. Mei Ling stayed quite close to me, her hands deep in the pockets of her raincoat. Beside Hawk she looked nearly elfin.

"You going to be warm enough?" I said.

"Yes, sir. I have on a sweater under my raincoat."

Hawk grinned at her.

"And if you get too cold," he said, "I can put you in my pocket."

She smiled back at him.

"I am a small person," she said.

"But I am quite hardy."

"Mei Ling and I will talk with people," I said.

"You may as well trail along in the car and keep your powder dry."

"It always rain here?" Vinnie said.

"Yeah," I said.

"Something to do with the conjunction of hills and ocean, and the prevailing winds."

"A fucking weatherman," Vinnie said to Mei Ling, and got in the car.

"I hope you'll forgive Vinnie his language," I said.

"We've tried to break him out of it. But he's pretty much un trainable "I don't mind if people say 'fuck," sir. Sometimes I say 'fuck' myself."

"I don't like you going in places alone," Hawk said.

"Me either, but my chances of having anyone talk to me seem better just me and Mei Ling."

"Probably are," Hawk said.

"How long you be in a place, before we come in?"

I shrugged.

"Use your best judgment," I said.

"If you think you should come, come in kind of quiet, so if somebody is talking you won't scare them into catatonia."

"Don't even know where that is," Hawk said.

"It look funny, you send Missy running for me."

"You hear that, Missy?" I said.

"Yes, sir."

"Okay," I said.

"Let's see who we can find to talk with."

"Preferably someone in a warm building, sir."

"What about the sweater?" I said.

"I should have chosen a warmer one, sir."

We walked across the sidewalk and went into a Chinese laundry.

CHAPTER 31

No one at the laundry could tell us anything. Nor at the grocery store where mahogany-colored ducks dangled in the window, nor at the dim sum shop, nor in the tailor shop.

Back out on the street, plodding through the cold drizzle, we remained undaunted.

"Most of these Chinese people," Mei Ling said, "have never before spoken to a white person."

She was shivering. I didn't think it was so cold, but I didn't weigh ninety pounds.

"They call that speaking?" I said.

Mei Ling smiled.

"It is very Chinese to be reticent," she said.

"For many centuries Chinese people got only trouble from talking. We find saying little and working hard to be a virtue."

"Novel idea," I said.

"And, of course, despite the fact that I explain to them otherwise, many of these Chinese people think you are from the government."

"And if I were?"

Mei Ling hugged herself as she walked. I could see that it was will, only, which kept her teeth from chattering.

"Then you would make them pay taxes, or find that they were here illegally and make them leave. Our history has not taught us to trust our government."

"Most histories don't," I said.

We went into a storefront painted white with large red Chinese characters on the window.

"The sign says that this is a clinic," Mei Ling said.

"It is a Chinese medicine clinic."

It was warm inside the clinic. There were green plants in the window, and a big fish tank on a counter along the side. The back was draped with white sheets, which separated the examining rooms. A pleasant-looking woman in a blue pants suit with her hair in a bun came forward and said something to us. She looked at Mei Ling. Mei Ling responded, and the woman smiled and bowed slightly at me and put out her hand. I shook it.

"This is Mrs. Ong," Mei Ling said.

From somewhere behind the draped sheets a bald man in a similar blue suit joined us. Mei Ling spoke to him and he bowed and put out his hand as his wife had.

"Mr. Ong," Mei Ling said.

We shook hands. Like his wife, Ong had a warm, dry hand and a firm grip. I held out my picture of Craig Sampson.

"Have you ever seen this man?" I said Each took the picture and looked at it politely and smiled and looked at me and smiled. Mei Ling spoke to them. They listened to her, nodded, looked again at the picture, and spoke to Mei Ling. She answered. They said something else. Mei Ling nodded.

"They wish to take the picture in back," she said, "and study it more closely."

"Sure," I said.

Mr. and Mrs. Ong withdrew, backing away so as not to insult us with their backs.

"This mean they recognize the picture and wish to discuss what to do about it?" I said.

"I think probably," Mei Ling said. In the warm room her color had returned, and she was no longer hugging herself.

The room was lined with cupboards, each cupboard had many shelves and compartments. On top of the cupboards were glass jars containing dried things.

"That is bear gall, sir," Mei Ling said, pointing to a jar, "sea horse for kidney, grubs to clean wounds, angelica, ginseng, Yon Chiao pills, deer antlers."

"Hey," I said.

"I may be a little slow on the bear gall. But I recognized the antlers. Does this stuff work?"

"What would you reply, sir, if I asked you if western medicine works."

"I would reply, 'sometimes."

" "Yes, sir, that is what I would reply."

There was a glass case on the other side of the room. There were dried lizards in it, flattened out like stick-on wall ornaments, and short, round dessicated things in glass tubes. I asked Mei Ling.

"Those are deer legs, sir."

"For?"

Mei Ling looked at the floor.

"Male potency," she said.

"Really?"

I pretended to reach in and pocket some. Mei Ling giggled and blushed. Mr. and Mrs. Ong emerged from the backroom. Mr. Ong handed the picture back to me and shook his head. He spoke to Mei Ling.

"He says they do not know this man," Mei Ling said.

"You believe them?" I said.

"I do not know, sir. I admit that when they went in the backroom, I thought they did."

"Me too."

I looked at the both of them. Their faces were still and quiet.

"You understand any English?" I said.

They smiled politely and looked at Mei Ling. She translated.

They both shook their heads, still smiling.