He smiled. “Of course.” He lifted, sniffed, and tasted his tea, cradling the cup in one hand and shifting the lid aside with the other in a move my mother had made me practice my whole childhood. He sat in silence to permit the tea to occupy his thoughts and senses. “Quite good,” he said, as though he hadn’t expected that. Just because of the back-room-on-the-alley thing? Another sip, and then he replaced the lid and set the cup gently on the desk. “I’m speaking specifically, of course, about the paintings of Chau Chun. Chau Gwai Ying Shung, the Ghost Hero.”
“Yes, I thought you might be. May I ask how my interest in Chau came to your attention?”
“No, I’m sorry, that must remain confidential. Nothing so dramatic as an electronic surveillance or anything of that nature, I assure you,” he said with a dry smile. “In any case, this is an interest that the people I represent would prefer did not go further.”
“Really?” I sipped and said, “I thought, Mr. Wing, you’d come here to help me.”
“I have. The people I represent are prepared to show their gratitude if you abandon your search for these paintings.”
“Are they? Who are these people?”
“I apologize, but that also must remain confidential. But they’re serious, I assure you.” He took a wallet from his jacket pocket, fat with crisp new bills. He fanned a few out: They were hundreds. “Whatever compensation you’ve received for your efforts thus far, my principals are prepared to exceed it. They believe ten thousand dollars is a fair recompense for the trouble you’ve taken.”
Well. Now there was an intriguing offer. I could hand Jeff Dunbar back his thou and kiss not just him good-bye, but also the slimy Doug Haig, the angry Dr. Yang, and whoever was making like Annie Oakley uptown. Ten large, that would buy a lot of coffee beans. Jack could go ahead and find the new Chaus by himself. And Bill wouldn’t have to date Shayna anymore.
“I’d be interested to know, Mr. Wing, why these people care so much.”
“Yes, I’m sure. Although you don’t expect that I’m prepared to tell you?”
“No. But you can appreciate that I’d have to know who, and why, before I could consider your generous offer.”
“Actually, no, I don’t see why that should be true. In this country, don’t they say ‘money talks’? Is this”—he lifted the cash—“not loud enough? I think, though I’m merely an agent acting on their behalf, I can confidently say my principals would be prepared to … raise the volume. An additional fifty percent, would that be acceptable?”
Part of me wanted to see how far I could push this. For one thing, how high Mr. Wing’s “principals” were willing to go would be the true gauge of their interest. For another, I didn’t know what the going price of integrity was these days.
But I’ve never been one to string a man along. “I’m sorry, Mr. Wing. I value your principals’ directness and their generosity. Please express my great regret at being forced to decline.”
Samuel Wing didn’t put his wallet away. “Ms. Chin, I’d urge you to reconsider.”
“I’m sorry.”
“No. But you might be.”
“Excuse me?”
“Another expression they use in this country, I believe, is ‘the carrot and the stick.’ This”—raising the wallet —“is the carrot.”
“You’re telling me,” I said slowly, “that you also have a stick? Mr. Wing, are you threatening me? In my own office, while you’re drinking my tea?”
“No, of course not.” He smiled at the absurdity. “But I’d very much like to report to my principals a successful conclusion to this affair.”
“You can
I stood. He didn’t, immediately, but spoke looking up at me. “Ms. Chin, your loyalty to the client who’s already paid for it does you credit. As does your natural curiosity. However, I very much hope you’ll reflect on this conversation. When you do, you’ll come to understand where your true interests lie. You have my number. I expect to hear from you soon.” He tucked his wallet away, and stood. “Thank you for the tea. It was delicious. Good day.”
He pulled open my office door, strode into the hall and out onto Canal Street. Before the street door closed behind him, I saw him turn right. I counted to ten, not to calm myself down, but to give him a chance to get far enough that he wouldn’t notice me. Then I hit the street, too.
I ambled a block behind him for a while. At Hudson, he turned north. He didn’t look around and, intriguingly, he didn’t take out his cell phone. I hoped he’d take advantage of the spring weather to stroll back to wherever he was going, but three blocks later, he flagged a cab. I watched it roll up Hudson, then headed back to my office. I called Bill, got voice mail. Well, I certainly wouldn’t want to interrupt his tete-a-tete with Shayna. I left a message telling him to be careful and to call me when he came up for air. Then I called Jack.
“Lee.”
“Chin.”
“Hey.”
“Hey. Should I stick to one syllable, or can I use sentences?”
“Whatever flies your flag.”
“How’s your window?”
“Smaller than it used to be. Plywood and plastic. But at least it won’t rain in here before I get a real one. I put the Hasui back on the wall so I could contemplate the peaceable life I had before I met you. Is that why you
