The Black Stiletto: Stars & Stripes

by Raymond Benson

  Then, just as I left my money on the table and got up to leave, I noticed lights on in the restaurant. I hadn’t seen them come on, but I was certain they were off a few minutes earlier. I left the restaurant and crossed the street. There’s a door next to the restaurant that leads to the apartments on the upper floors of the building. Apparently the family lived—hopefully they still did—in one of the apartments, because the name Lee was on a mailbox inside the door. As nonchalantly as I could, I put my face and hands to the restaurant’s glass door and peered inside. From there I couldn’t see the full restaurant, just the archway to the right that led to the dining room. I could make out half of the cash register counter, so I took a chance and knocked on the door. After a moment, the woman I’d seen that night appeared. She held up a finger and waved it back and forth. “Closed! Closed!” she said loudly behind the door. I didn’t know what I expected, but I simply smiled, nodded, and moved on. I guess I was hoping to see the boy, but then I realized it was a weekday and that he was probably at school. I don’t know what the Chinese traditions are concerning mourning, but I suppose it made sense that he’d be back to a normal schedule by now. Although nothing would ever be normal for him again. He had witnessed the murder of his father and uncle and participated in the defense of his mother and himself. I wondered if he talked to his friends about the Black Stiletto and how he had fought alongside her.

  A little voice in my head said I should forget about what happened that night and go on with my life. But my instincts, that gut feeling that has driven everything I’ve done since I was a teenager, told me that Chinatown hadn’t heard the last of the Black Stiletto.

  6

  Judy’s Diary

  1960

  FEBRUARY 4, 1960

  I haven’t written because I haven’t had anything to say until tonight. For the past couple of weeks it’s been business as usual—running the gym, going to see Freddie, and getting my body back to normal. Freddie’s doing better. He’s very restless. He feels fine now and wants to leave the hospital, but the doctor wants him to stay two more weeks. He’s afraid Freddie won’t take it easy once he gets back to the gym. I agree. Freddie’ll want to take over again. He’s got to realize things aren’t going to be the same.

  The Stiletto went back to Chinatown twice. I really wanted to find that teenage boy again, so I watched that restaurant and building for a couple of hours on two different nights. I nearly froze to death, it was so cold. We’ve had snow in New York and it’s pretty slushy out. After a few days, the streets and sidewalks get all yucky with black icy mush and it’s a mess. Snow is always pretty when it first comes down, but then it turns into the kitchen sink.

  Anyway, tonight I was finally successful. Third time’s the charm! I met Billy Shen Lee. He told me the proper Chinese way of saying his name is Lee Shen. They put their last names first. His first name is Shen and his last name is Lee, but everyone but his mother calls him by an American name. He goes by Billy at school, and that’s what he wants me to use. He’s fifteen years old and he’s a sophomore in high school.

  So this is what happened. I put on my Stiletto outfit and slipped down to Chinatown. It’s tricky there, because lots of people are on the streets. It was only about 9:00, so I was taking a big risk. But I figured the only time I’d catch him was earlier because he’s a kid. When I went there before, I found a hiding place. It’s sort of an alcove in a building that’s under construction or repairs with scaffolding in front, and it’s on the other side of the street from the restaurant. It wasn’t directly across, but the angle was good enough that I could see the place. As I did the last two times I was there, I crouched on a big piece of plywood in the darkness. People constantly walked by, just a few feet from where I was sitting, but they didn’t see me. They’d have to actually look into the shadows. With the scaffolding, stacks of plywood, snow and all, I couldn’t imagine anyone wanting to do that. Was it cold? You bet! I was beginning to think I was plain crazy for doing it and was about to give up and leave for good, when suddenly there he was.

  The boy emerged from the door that led to the apartments. He had on a heavy coat and walked with purpose to the south. He passed my position—across the street—and kept going. I didn’t know what to do. I hadn’t completely thought it through. There were still people out. I couldn’t just step into view and shout, “Hi, kid, remember me?”

  So I sat there and watched him. I figured if he turned a corner and left Elizabeth Street, then I’d just have to get up and follow him. But he didn’t. He went into an open convenience store. A few minutes later he appeared, carrying a paper bag with some groceries in it. I surveyed the street and—lo and behold—it was actually pretty clear. As soon as he was even with me on the other side, I stood and went, “Psst! Hey, kid!” I had to say it twice before he turned to look. I stepped out of the shadows so he could see me. He stopped and stared. His mouth dropped open. I beckoned for him to cross the street. He hesitated, looking both ways. “Come on, I want to talk to you!” I shout-whispered.

  He finally did what I asked. The boy approached me cautiously.

  “Hi,” I said. “Remember me?”

  “Sure.” His eyes were wide. He kept looking back and forth along the street.

  “Don’t worry. Big deal if someone sees us.”

  “I can’t be seen talking to you,” he said.

  “Why not?”

  “If they see me, they’d—I have to go.”

  “Wait. Who’s they?”

  “I’m sorry.”

  He started to walk away. “Please wait. Come here, we can stand in the shadows here. We’ll whisper. I just want to talk to you for a second. I promise.”

  Warily he followed me into the darkness. I leaned against the building’s wall. I nodded to the bag. “Whatcha got?”

  “Milk. Rice.” He shrugged.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Billy.”

  “Billy Lee?”

  He nodded, and then he explained about his real name. Billy Shen Lee. I told him I was the Black Stiletto. “I know,” he said. Stupid me.

  I asked him about that night. What had happened.

  This was his story, in a nutshell. His father and uncle (his father’s brother) owned the restaurant, but they had borrowed money from the “Tong” to open it, and they also had to pay protection money. For the last few months, though, the men were unable to pay the Tong because Billy’s uncle had some medical problems. The Tong grew impatient and killed them. Now Billy’s mother must sell the restaurant back to the Tong.

  I didn’t know what a Tong was. Billy explained that it was a group of Chinese criminals. I said, “Oh, like the Mafia?” and he nodded. I told him I’d had dealings with the Italian mob and that maybe I could help him and his mother. He nervously shook his head.

  “You can’t go after the Tong! Too dangerous!” he said.

  “Don’t you want to see them brought to justice for killing your father and uncle?”

  “Yes, but it’s no use. Even if they are arrested, my mother won’t testify against them. She would forbid me to as well. The Tong would kill us.”

  It was the same old story. Apparently the Chinese gangsters worked just like the Italian ones. If you didn’t do what they told you to do, they hurt you. If you ratted on them, they killed you.

  “How are you and your mom doing?” I asked.

  He shrugged and looked down. “Okay.” It was obvious that wasn’t true. “I have to go,” he said again.

  “Okay. But hey, I have one more question.”

  “What?”

  “What was that fighting style you did? I’ve never seen that before.”

  “We call is wushu.”

  “It’s like karate, right?”

  He shook his head. “Not really. Actually it’s called Praying Mantis Wushu. It comes from Southern China. I take lessons at the youth club.”

  “Well, you’re very good. You held your own against those guys.”

  “Not re
ally.”

  “Can you teach me some of those moves?”

  Again he looked out to the street. He was terrified of being caught talking to me. “I could get in big trouble. Wushu is only for Chinese men.”

  “That’s what they told me about karate and judo, too. Look, I’ll pay you. I’ll bet you and your mom could use some money, right?”

  That got his attention.

  “Maybe. But—where?”

  “Do you know of a room somewhere? Some place where we wouldn’t be bothered?”

  “Well—there’s the restaurant. It’s empty now, until the Tong takes it over.”

  “That’s perfect! Billy, that’s great.”

  So for the next few seconds, we agreed on a price—I’d pay him $25 an hour, which sounded like a million bucks to him, and agreed we’d meet at 10:00 the next night.

  He started to move away and cross the street, but then he stopped and turned to me. “Oh. Thank you for helping us. That night.”

  “My pleasure, Billy. I’m happy to meet you.”

  Then he smiled. He was a cute kid.

  So, dear diary, it looks like I’ve made a new friend and I’m going to learn some new martial arts moves.

  And I’m also determined to learn more about the Tong.

  7

  Judy’s Diary

  1960

  FEBRUARY 10, 1960

  Freddie’s coming home on Friday, so I’ve been getting everything ready in the apartment. I’ve been a nice tenant and did his laundry and actually cleaned up the kitchen! I also tidied up the gym so it’ll look shipshape when he sees it. Jimmy’s been a big help, and Freddie and I have talked about keeping him on part time so Freddie won’t have to work so much. Of course, knowing Freddie, he’ll want to resume his old ways, but I’ll have to police him. I really do feel like he’s the dad I never had.

  I’ve met with Billy three times. I sneak down to Chinatown in my Stiletto outfit and he lets me in the restaurant from the inside. It’s a good thing his mother goes to bed early. Just like Soichiro was a sensei, in Chinese the word for teacher or master is sifu. Billy’s no sifu. He’s just a kid and doesn’t know a lot, but he’s been teaching me what he can. He admits he’s not an expert and may be instructing me incorrectly. I’m just learning basic stuff right now. It’s actually called “Chow Gar,” which is a branch of the broader Praying Mantis style of wushu. I guess you could say that Japanese martial arts employ more straight-line fighting styles, whereas the Chinese use more circular techniques. So far, I’m just learning exercises that involve my arms, hands, and trunk. One of the concepts behind Chow Gar is the Gen, or “shock power.” That’s when the power of the blows comes not from just your fist or foot, for example, but from within your whole body. It’s almost like a reflex, similar to the movement you make when you pull your hand away from a hot stove if you accidentally touch it. The exercises are very herky-jerky compared to karate. Billy and I also do drills together, like “grinding arm.” That’s when we push the backs of our wrists together and press outward against each other, at the same time doing a “grinding” motion with our arms. You have to keep your body in the correct stance. It’s very hard on the torso and waist. I can already tell I’m building muscles I didn’t know I had.

  Billy’s told me more about the Tong, and I also asked Freddie about it. Freddie told me that the Tongs—there are more than one—came over from China in the 1800s when Chinatown was settled. Apparently there’s a Tong network in all the major cities where there are Chinatowns, like San Francisco. Freddie said the Tongs are the “children of the Triads.” The Triads are large organized crime groups in China, and right now they’re mostly situated in Hong Kong. The Tongs here are generally independent, but some have ties to specific Triads. The stories Freddie told me are incredible. In the early part of this century, there were Tong wars in Chinatown. Gang members had gunfights in restaurants, nightclubs, theaters, and even in the streets. Now it’s kept hidden, more like the Italian Mafia today. Of course, Freddie warned me to stay away from them, that they were very dangerous. After what I saw that night in January, I believe it.

  Billy filled me in on the more immediate situation. He told me the two killers we fought were members of a Tong called the Flying Dragons. They’re fairly new in Chinatown, but they’re loosely associated with the Hip Sing Tong, one that’s been around since the beginning. The Hip Sing Tong actually does good things for the community, as it’s known as one of several “benevolent” organizations that have been in existence in New York since the Chinese first immigrated. But they also have a long history of criminal activities, too. One of the biggest gang wars in the 1920s was between the Hip Sing Tong and their rivals, the On Leong Tong. The Hip Sing Tong has a building on Pell Street called the Hip Sing Association, but Billy said no one knows where the Flying Dragons’ headquarters is. Since it’s one of the small Tongs, its members are young men, usually aged 16 to 24, hoping to prove themselves so they can join a bigger Tong.

  Those two hoodlums that night were in their early twenties, like me, maybe even younger.

  FEBRUARY 12, 1960

  Freddie’s home! Yea!

  Jimmy and I were planning a welcome home party for him, but Freddie specifically told me not to do it. Now that I think about it, he was right. We don’t want Freddie to get too excited. He’s got to stay calm and relaxed for a while, at least another month, before he can resume work. Freddie hates the way his diet has to change and he has to quit smoking. So far, he’s doing pretty well, though. Unless he was sneaking cigarettes into the hospital, he went six weeks without one. The challenge comes when he’s around other people smoking, and at the gym it’s going to be tough. There’s no way we could ban smoking in the gym. Everyone would just go somewhere else.

  I have the details about what Freddie can or can’t eat, so I sautéed some fresh fish I bought on Canal Street—from a Chinese fish market—and potatoes and carrots. I also gave him that record “Theme from a Summer Place” by Percy Faith that everyone loves. When he was in the hospital, he heard it on the radio and liked it. Lately, I’ve been listening to this wild “exotica” music from Polynesia and Hawaii. Once, when I was over at Lucy’s, Peter was there and he played a record called Les Baxter’s Jungle Jazz. It was strange but beautiful, so I bought it. Then the salesman at the Colony store on Broadway told me about Martin Denny, so I bought his Quiet Village record, and I love it. I like the way you can hear birds and crickets and stuff in the background. Makes me feel like I’m on some island wearing a grass skirt.

  Anyway, it’s good to have Freddie back.

  FEBRUARY 18, 1960

  Today Lucy and I went shopping to look for a wedding dress for her and a bridesmaid dress for me. We went to fancy Fifth Avenue shops, and she said she was buying. I offered to pay for my own dress, but she wouldn’t have it.

  She didn’t like anything we saw, so we went over to Macy’s. Lucy ended up getting a beautiful white Casablanca gown that’s curve-hugging and tight to emphasize her hourglass figure.

  Mine is similar, but not as flowy, and it’s pink. I love it! I rarely dress up in formal gowns. I felt like a princess!

  FEBRUARY 26, 1960

  Billy and I had a scare tonight!

  We were drilling with the “Iron Palm” and “Iron Arm” conditioning exercises where we hit each other’s palm with a fist, back and forth, over and over and over until your palm is numb, and then slap our forearms against each other on both sides, simulating a blocking maneuver, over and over and over. Ouch. Well, we were in the middle of it when the restaurant door started to open with keys rattling in the door.

  “My mother! Hide!” Billy whispered.

  The only place to do so was behind the counter where the cash register was. I started for it, but Billy snapped, “Not there!” So I rushed over to where tables and chairs were pushed against the opposite wall. The door was opening just as I was climbing behind a table that was on its side, the top facing outward. She didn’t see m
e. I stayed still and quiet as I heard Billy talking to his mother in Chinese. Then she went to the cash register counter and got something out of a drawer. More dialogue in Chinese, and then she left.

  Close call!

  Billy said she wondered what he was doing. He replied that he comes down to practice wushu every night. She needed a ledger or something from the drawer. Apparently the Flying Dragons want more and more records of the restaurant’s business. She will be forced to hand over the place soon, but they’ve given her a couple of months to come up with the money her husband owed. Billy is afraid they’ll have to move because they won’t be able to afford the apartment upstairs.

  I told him I wanted to start hunting for the killers, but Billy said I’m not ready yet. I’m nowhere near a point where I could face them again.

  He’s probably right.

  8

  Martin

  THE PRESENT

  The panic attack I had last night at dinner really shook me up. It was awful. I thought I was dying, I really did. You know the feeling you get when your hand gets caught in the cookie jar? Or when the teacher suddenly announces that you’re wanted down at the principal’s office? Or the sudden realization that something terrible is about to happen and it scares the shit out of you?

  That’s what it felt like, only magnified about twenty times. It brings on a crushing urge to start crying for no reason at all.

  So I’m concerned about it, but I also feel embarrassed and humiliated. I can’t imagine what Maggie thinks of me now.