The Big Book of Female Detectives

by The Big Book of Female Detectives (retail) (epub)

  I had told Joe I wouldn’t do business with him. This did not mean, however, that nothing he did was of interest to me. In dark glasses and big floppy hat, I was up and out early the next morning, plying my own trade on Delancey Street.

  One thing you could say for Joe: he did not, as did many people in his line of work, yield to the temptation to indulge in layabout ways. Joe’s work was despicable, but he worked hard. I picked him up just after nine A.M. and tailed him for nearly three hours, waiting in doorways and down the block while he went in and out of stores, sat in coffee shops, met people on park benches. Finally, at a hole-in-the-wall called “Curry in a Hurry,” he was joined at a sidewalk table by a turbaned, bearded fellow who drank a lassi while Joe wolfed down something over rice. They spoke. Joe shrugged. The other man asked a question. Joe shook his head. Watching them from across the street, I was reminded that I was hungry. Luckily, their meeting was brief. When the turbaned gentleman left while Joe was still wolfing, I abandoned my pursuit of Joe and followed.

  After a bit of wandering and some miscellaneous shopping, the turbaned gentleman entered a four-story building on the corner of Hester and Delancey. An aluminum facade had been applied to the building’s brick front sometime in the sixties to spiff the place up. Maybe it had worked, but the sixties were a long time ago.

  I gave the gentleman a decent interval, then crossed to the doorway and scanned the names on the buzzers. They were many and varied: Wong Enterprises; La Vida Comida; Yo Mama Lingerie. The one that caught my eye, though, was Ganges, Ltd.

  That was it for a while. Now I had to wait until Charlie got off work at four. I hoped the staff of Ganges, Ltd. was as assiduous as most immigrants, putting in long hours in the hope of making their fortunes. Right now, having put in some fairly long hours myself, I headed off down Delancey Street in the hope of lunch.

  At twenty past four, with Charlie at my side, I was back on the corner of Hester and Delancey, pressing the button for Ganges, Ltd. After the back-and-forth of who and what, the buzzer buzzed and we were in.

  Ganges, Ltd. occupied a suite on the second floor in the front, from which the swirling currents of life in the delta could be followed. A sari-wrapped woman in the outer office rose from her desk and led us into the private lair of the turbaned gentleman I had had in my sights. The nameplate on his desk made him out to be one Mr. Rajesh Shah.

  “Thank you for seeing us without an appointment, Mr. Shah,” I said. I sat in one of the chairs on the customer’s side of the desk and Charlie took the other. Rajesh Shah had stood to shake our hands when we came in; now he sat again, eyebrows raised expectantly. His white turban and short-sleeved white shirt gleamed against his dark skin. “I’m sure you’re a very busy man and I don’t mean to be impolite, popping in like this,” I went on, “but we have some business to discuss with you. I’m Lydia Chin; perhaps you’ve heard of me.”

  Shah’s bearded face formed into an expression of regret. “It is I who find, to my despair, that I am in a position to be impolite. Your name is not, alas, familiar. A fault of mine, I am quite sure. Please enlighten me.”

  Well, that would be like Joe: giving away as little as possible, even to his business partner. Controlling the information minimizes the chance of error, misstep, or deliberate double-cross. As, for example, what Charlie and I were up to right now.

  On a similar principle, I introduced Charlie by his first name only. Then I launched right into the piece I had come to say. “I believe you’re acquainted with Joe Delancey.”

  Shah smiled. “It is impossible to be doing business in this neighborhood and not make the acquaintance of Mr. Delancey.”

  “It’s also impossible to actually do business with Mr. Delancey and come out ahead.”

  “This may be true,” Shah acknowledged, non-committal.

  “Believe me, it is.” I reorganized myself in the chair. “Mr. Delancey recently offered me a business proposition which was attractive,” I said. “Except that he’s involved in it. I won’t do business with him. But if you yourself are interested in discussing importing Indian lychee nuts, I’m prepared to listen.”

  Rajesh Shah’s eyebrows went up once again. He looked from me to Charlie. “The Indian government is forbidding the export of lychee nuts to the USA. This is until certain import restrictions involving Indian goods have been re-evaluated by your government.”

  “I know the US doesn’t get Indian lychees,” I said. “Like most Chinese people, Indian lychees have only been a legend to me. But Joe gave me a couple yesterday. They were every bit as good as I’d heard.” I glanced at Charlie, who smiled and nodded vigorously. “Joe also gave me to understand you had found a way around the trade restrictions.”

  “You are a very blunt speaker, Miss Chin.”

  “I’m a believer in free speech, Mr. Shah, and also in free trade. It’s ridiculous to me that lychees as good as this should be kept from people who would enjoy them—and would be willing to pay for them—while two governments who claim to be friendly to each other carry on like children.”

  Shah smiled. “I myself have seven children, Miss Chin. I find there is a wisdom in children that is often lacking in governments. What do you propose?”

  “I propose whatever Joe proposed, but without Joe.”

  “This will not please Mr. Delancey.”

  “Pleasing Mr. Delancey is low on my list of things to do. You have to decide for yourself, of course, whether the money we stand to make is worth getting on Joe’s bad side for.”

  “As to that, Mr. Delancey may be ubiquitous in this neighborhood but he is in no way omnipotent.”

  Charlie had been following our English with a frown of intense concentration. Now his eyes flew wide. I smothered my smile so as not to embarrass him, and made a mental note to teach him those words later.

  “Charlie here,” I said to Shah, “has some money he’s saved. Not a lot of money, I have to warn you, just a few thousand. Joe talked about putting up half: I think you’ll have to assume more of the responsibility than that.”

  Shah gave a thoughtful nod, as though this were not outside the realm of possibility.

  I went on, “What we can really bring to the deal is a distribution network. Well,” I reflected, “that’s probably a little fancy. What I mean is, I assume the cost of bringing these lychees in would be high, and so the sale price would have to be high for us to make a profit.”

  Rajesh Shah nodded, so I went on.

  “You couldn’t sell them on the street in Chinatown if they’re expensive. People down here don’t have that kind of money. But in the last few days—since Charlie first proposed this lychee idea, and before I knew about the Indian ones—I’ve done some looking around. There are a number of stores in fancy neighborhoods that are interested. Because I’m Chinese they’ll assume the fruit we bring them is from China. I’m sure you and Joe had already figured out a way to fake the paperwork.”

  Shah had the grace to blush. Then he smiled. “Of course.”

  “Well, then,” I said. “What do you think?”

  “Let me be sure I am understanding you,” Shah said. “What you are proposing is that your associate—” a nod in Charlie’s direction “—invest his modest sum and receive a return commensurate with that investment. You yourself would act as, I believe the expression is, ‘front woman?’ ”

  “I guess it is.”

  “And you would be receiving, in effect, a salary for this service.”

  “Sounds right.”

  “And Mr. Delancey would have no part in any of this.”

  “That’s not only right, it’s a condition.”

  Rajesh Shah nodded a few times, his gaze on his desk blotter as though he was working something out. “I think,” he said finally, “that this could be a successful proposition. Mr. Charlie,” he asked, “how much of an investment are you prepared to make?”
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  Since the talk of money had begun, Charlie had looked increasingly fidgety and anxious. This could have been fatigue from the strain of focusing on all this English; it turned out, though, to be something else.

  Something much worse.

  “Money,” he mumbled, in an almost-inaudible, un-Charlie-like way. “Really, don’t have money.”

  Shah looked at me. I looked at Charlie. “The money you saved,” I said. “You have money put away for college. We talked about using some of that.”

  Charlie’s face was that of a puppy that hadn’t meant to get into the garbage and was very very sorry. I wondered in passing why all the men I knew thought dog-like looks would melt my heart. His beseeching eyes on mine, Charlie said, “You remember jackass brother-in-law?”

  I nodded.

  “Brother-in-law takes money for next great idea.”

  “Charlie. You let your brother-in-law have your money?”

  Charlie’s chin jutted forward. “In family account.”

  This was a very Chinese method of keeping money: in a joint account that could be accessed by a number of different family members. I wasn’t surprised to hear that Charlie’s brother-in-law was able to help himself. But: “He had the nerve? To take the joint money? After the disaster with the lighters?”

  Rajesh Shah looked confused. Joe must not have shared the story of his triumphant swindle of jackass brother-in-law. But that wasn’t my problem at the moment.

  Charlie was nodding. “Brother-in-law have big money-making idea. Need cash, give to cousin.”

  “And what did your cousin do with it?”

  “Cousin not mine. Cousin his,” Charlie rushed to assure me. This was a distinction Charlie had learned in America. In a Chinese family the difference is non-existent: relations are relations, at whatever distance.

  “His cousin,” I said, my tone reflecting growing impatience. “What did his cousin do with your money?”

  “Comes from China,” he said. “Comes from China, brings…”

  Charlie petered out. I finally had to demand, “Brings what?” Brought what, Lydia, I silently corrected myself. Or, bringing what. Even in the face of stress and strain, standards must be maintained. “What, Charlie?”

  In a voice as apologetic as his face, Charlie answered, “Bear gall.”

  I counted to ten. When I spoke, my tone was ice. “Your cousin—no, all right, his cousin—brought bear gall from China into the US?”

  Charlie nodded miserably.

  Rajesh Shah spoke. “Excuse me, I am sorry, please: what is bear gall?”

  My eyes still on Charlie, I answered, “It’s gooey brown stuff from the gall bladders of bears. Certain uneducated, foolish, ignorant Chinese people think it has medicinal properties. It doesn’t, and besides that it’s very painful to the bears to have it collected, and besides that it’s illegal to bring it into this country.”

  Charlie stared at the floor and said nothing.

  “How much, Charlie?” I asked. “How much did he bring?”

  Charlie mumbled something I couldn’t hear. Rajesh Shah also leaned forward as I demanded again, “How much?”

  Just barely louder, Charlie said, “Four pounds.”

  “Four pounds!” I exploded. “That could get him put away for twenty years! And your jackass brother-in-law. And you, Charlie!”

  “Me?” Charlie looked up quickly. “I don’t know they doing this! Just brother-in-law, his cousin!”

  “Tell that to the judge,” I said disgustedly.

  “Judge?” Charlie’s eyes were wide. I didn’t bother to explain. “I say this,” Charlie said, shaking his head slowly. “I say, stupid guys, now what you think? Selling bear gall on street? Sign, big characters, ‘Bear gall here’? But brother-in-law say, so much bear gall, make twenty thousand of bucks, send Charlie to college. Someone in family get to be smart, then everyone listen smart guy.”

  “Sounds to me like in your family it’s too late for that.”

  “Excuse me.” This was Rajesh Shah again. I frowned and Charlie blushed but we both turned to him. It was, after all, his office. “I must admit surprise on hearing these numbers. Four pounds of this bear gall can bring twenty thousand dollars, actually?”

  “Probably more,” I grumbled. “If it’s a well-known brand people will pay close to five hundred dollars an ounce in this country because it’s so hard to get. Because it’s illegal,” I snarled in Charlie’s direction. “Because you can get arrested and put in jail for selling it. Or deported. Does your brother-in-law know that?”

  “Brother-in-law know very little, I think. But say, know guy, going buy. Then brother-in-law, cousin, don’t have bear gall, don’t get arrested. Jeff Yang, on Mott Street?”

  “Jeff Yang?” The words came slowly from my mouth. “Your brother-in-law is dealing with Jeff Yang?”

  “Not dealing yet. Doesn’t really know guy,” he admitted. “Just hear guy buys bear gall.”

  “Jeff Yang,” I said, emphasizing each word, as though I’d just discovered Charlie was a slow learner, “is the scum of the earth. I went to grade school with him, Charlie, I’ve known him forever. He used to steal other kids’ lunch money. He’d sell you his grandmother if he could get a good price. Charlie, listen to me. You will not do business with Jeff Yang. Your brother-in-law, your cousin, his cousin, your kitchen god, nobody will do business with Jeff Yang. You will go home and flush this disgusting stuff down the toilet immediately.”

  Charlie looked stricken. I stood. “Well, so much for our plan, Charlie,” I said. “Come on. Mr. Shah, I’m sorry we wasted your time.”

  Shah stood also. Reluctantly, so did Charlie.

  “It is unfortunate we cannot do business,” Shah said. He smiled in a kindly way at Charlie, then returned his gaze to me. “I must tell you, though, Miss Chin, that my door will continue to be open, if other possibilities occur to you.”

  “I don’t think so,” I said. “No offense, Mr. Shah, but I should have known better than to get involved in anything Joe Delancey had any part of. It can only lead to things like this, and worse.”

  Without a look at Charlie, I swept to the door and yanked it open. I nodded to the woman in the sari, crossed her office and stomped down the stairs. Charlie, with the look of a beaten pup, followed after.

  The dog thing got him nowhere.

  I was in my office early the next morning, stuffing papers in files and thinking I should sell my air-conditioner to Joe Delancey because it was a con artist, too—or maybe I could palm it off on Charlie’s brother-in-law—when the phone rang.

  Picking it up, I snapped, “Lydia Chin Investigations,” in two languages. Then, because whoever this was might not deserve to be snapped at, I added more politely, “Lydia Chin speaking. Can I help you?”

  “I think you can,” said a male voice from the other end. “How’re you doing, Lydia? This is Jeff Yang.”

  Maybe the snapping hadn’t been such a bad idea.

  “Jeff,” I said. “Good-bye.”

  “No,” came the instant response. “Not until you hear the proposition.”

  “I can imagine,” I said, because I could. “No.”

  “You can make money, and keep your friends out of trouble,” Jeff said. “Or you can not make money, and they can get in trouble. What’ll it be?”

  An echo in Jeff’s voice told me I was on the speakerphone in his so-called office, really a tiny room behind a Mott Street restaurant, and not a very good restaurant at that. Well, two could play that game. I punched my own speakerphone button and dropped into my desk chair.

  “Go to hell, Jeff.”

  “You know you don’t mean that.”

  “I mean so much more than that.”

  “I’ll buy it, Lydia. The whole four pounds.”

  “I have nothing to sell, especially to you.”
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br />   “Well, you can stay out of it. Just tell me where to find this guy Charlie and his relations.”

  “Jeff,” I said, “I wouldn’t tell you where to find a bucket of water if you were on fire.”

  “I always liked you, too. Holding your teddy bear hostage until you kissed me was just my way of showing that. Let’s do business, Lydia.”

  “Even if I were inclined to do business with you, Jeff, which would be about two weeks after hell froze over, I wouldn’t risk my reputation for whatever piddly sum you’re about to offer and then cheat me out of.”

  “It’ll be a good price. In cash. You’ll have it at the same time as you turn over the goods.”

  “No cash, no goods, no thanks. If Chinatown found out I was dealing with you I’d never have a legit client again.”

  “I’ll send someone else. No one will know it’s me.”

  “Who, Rajesh Shah? Is that who’s in your office right now, Jeff? Is that why you have me on the damn speakerphone?”

  Jeff ignored my question, a sure way of answering it. “Lydia,” he said, “if you do a deal with me we can keep it quiet. If you don’t, I’ll do two things. One: I’ll spread the word in Chinatown that you did do a deal with me, and you can kiss your legit clients goodbye. But that’ll be the least of your problems, because two, I’ll drop a dime on you, and you’ll have to give the Customs people your friend Charlie and his brother-in-law to keep your own ass out of jail.”

  I was speechless. Then: “What?” I heard my voice, low and shocked. “Jeff, you—”

  “Don’t tell me I wouldn’t, because you know I would. Lychee nuts are about your speed, Lydia. Bear gall is out of your league. Five thousand dollars, by noon.”

  “Five thousand dollars? For four pounds?”

  “You’re not in a great negotiating position.”