Also by the author
Chinatown Beat
Year of the Dog
Copyright © 2010 by Henry Chang
Published by
Soho Press, Inc.
853 Broadway
New York, NY 10003
All rights reserved.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Chang, Henry, 1951–
Red jade / Henry Chang.
p. cm.
ISBN 978-1-56947-859-2
eISBN 978-1-56947-860-8
1. Yu, Jack (Fictitious character)—Fiction. 2. Chinese—United
States—Fiction 3. Organized crime—Fiction.
4. Chinatown (New York, N.Y.)—Fiction. I. Title.
PS3603.H35728R43 2010
813’.54—dc22
2010027922
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
For Andrew,
My brother, the first born, who covered the straight and narrow so that I could run, wild and free, down these Chinatown streets, slipping off the yoke of what we were expected to be in Chinese America.
You proved that all things are possible through dedication and determination and a dash of Destiny. Thanks for the Beavers, the Tracers, the “Chinatown Angels,” and Paradise in Harlem, but most of all, for sharing this blood.
Peace and love, always.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Acknowledgments
Dark Before Dawn
Death Before Dishonor
6:55 AM
Law and Order
Waiting for Buddha
Law on Order
Back to the Future
Woman Warrior
Traffic Stop
Neighborhood Blood
Easy Pass
Fan and Sandal
Touch
Noble Truths
Golden Star
Searching
The Way
72 Hours
0-Five
Shorty
Night Games
Cops
Cleansing
Water Becomes Water
Prayers
Siu Lam Sandal
Pawns
Seekers
Savoring the Cherry
South
Comida Mexicana
Overthrow the Ching
Cop Stuff
Change
Chameleon
Safe Deposit
Changes
Syuhn Ferry
Red King
Fot Mong, Nightmare
Carry-all
Having a Ball
In the Mood for Love
One False Move
Women Hold Up Half the Sky
Mourning Rain
Sense Us
Shadows in Seattle
Blind Faith
Tail and Trail
Walk, Don’t Run
On the Waterfront
Swept Away
Dead Man Flying
Legal Blows
Lucky to Be Alive?
Good News, Bad News
Pain and Suffering
Pieces of Dreams
Wait Until Dark
Acknowledgments
Many thanks go to Geoff Lee, Jan Lee, and Eddie Cheung at Sinotique, Doris Chong for the inspiration, Alvin Eng for the good Words, The Emperor’s Club for spreading the love through music, Benilda Ayon, Liz Martinez, Debbie Chen in Houston, and my NYC hindaai posse for keeping me grounded.
Special thanks to my editor Laura Hruska, Ailen Lujo and the Soho Press crew, and to Dana and Debbie for crunching the numbers and cheering me on.
For Seattle, I’m grateful to Doug Moy, Chandra and Jason, Linsi and Brandon for the great hospitality, and to Maxine Chan for the keen insight.
I’m indebted to M.C., attorneys Joann Quinones and Keith Smith for the legal aid.
A shout-out goes to Chef George Chew the man, and to Marilynn K. Yee, photog extraordinaire.
And at last, much love and thanks to Maria Chang, for the long leap of faith.
Red Jade
Dark Before Dawn
“Rise up! Yu! Yuh got bodies!”
It was the overnight sarge calling from the 0-Nine, the Ninth Precinct, growling something about Manhattan South detectives into his ear, barking out a location with two bodies attached to it.
As soon as Jack Yu caught the address, he knew: Chinatown again. He was going back to the place he’d left behind when he moved to Brooklyn’s Sunset Park, just across the river but a world away.
It always started with the rude awakening, the alarms going off in his head, the angry clamor, and then the Chinatown darkness snatching him off again, back into the Fifth Precinct, back to unfinished business….
He’d been dead asleep, dreaming he was still partying at the After–Chinese New Year’s party that Billy Bow had pulled together at Grampa’s, aka the Golden Star Bar and Grill, a favorite Chinatown haunt. In this dream, Jack was picturing himself feeding quarters into the big jukebox setup, a rock tune with a deep bass pounding out, Hey son where ya going with dat gun in ya hand? He’s gulping back a beer, scoping out the revelers. Gonna shoot ma lady, she cheat’in wit annuda man.
Jack spots Alexandra. Alex. Friend and confidante, wearing a bright red Chinese jacket, the color of luck, glowing in the darkness of the bar. She nods at him and jiggles her smile to the backbeat, her long black hair shimmering in the dim blue light. Gonna shoot her down, down to the ground, wailing from the jukebox. He wants to pull Alex close, to bring her heart to heart, to kiss her eyes lightly and find out what she’s thinking. But suddenly there’s this clamor, from the back of his head, accelerating to his frontal lobe, like a thundering lion drum starting up, following the raucous clash of brass cymbals and iron gongs, exploding suddenly into jarring, blinding consciousness.
He reached toward the frantic pleas of the noise, the cell phone’s cry, the alarm clock’s clang. The clock radio banged out a steady beat. Jack looped the beaded chain over his head; the gold detective’s badge tumbled, then its weight held the chain taut. He’d moved to Brooklyn and changed precincts after Pa’s death, but still he hadn’t escaped the old neighborhood. He rolled his neck, popped the ligaments, pulled on his clothes.
He patted down his thermal jacket for the plastic disposable camera, and dropped his Colt Detective Special into a pocket.
He took the stairs down and stepped into the freezing wind, letting the cold rain pelt his face, pumping up his adrenaline. He jogged down to Eighth Avenue in the desolate darkness, and jumped into one of the Chinese see gay, car service lined up along the street of all-night fast-food soup shacks. He badged the driver, giving the address in Cantonese while slipping him a folded ten-spot.
“Go,” Jack said, “Faai di, quick. I’m in a hurry.”
The driver made all the green lights and the short-cut turns. He blazed the black car across the empty Brooklyn Bridge and dropped Jack off at Doyers Street, off the Bowery in the original heart of Chinatown.
The trip had taken twelve screeching minutes.
Seven Doyers was a four-story walk-up right on the bend of the old Bloody Angle, where the tong hatchetmen of the past battled and bled over turf and women, butcher-sharp cleavers hidden under their quilted Chinese jackets.
Jack knew the street well; it was around the corner from where he’d grown up, where his pa had passed away recently. And around the corner from where his former blood brother Tat “Lucky” Louie had met his fate: shot in the head, he was now comatose at Downtown Hospital.
The Bloody Angle was a serpentine, twisting street that was anchored on the Bowery end by a Chinese deli, two small restaurants, and a post office branch. Where the street cut to the right and dipped down, there was a stretch of Chinese barbershops and beauty salons on both sides.
Doyers was a Ghost street and everyone knew it. The Ghost Legion was the dominant local gang that terrorized Chinatown, and Lucky had been their dailo, their leader. Normally, Lucky would have been Jack’s source for information about gangland politics, but his condition had ended such cooperation.