“There are still classically trained masters in China. That’s who Anna went to study with. And there are papercutters on the streets in China, just like on Canal Street. Tourists love it everywhere. But mostly it’s seen as a craft and artists don’t bother with it, or if they do, it’s just to show off. Anna’s different. She took it up in the first place as a political statement because it’s a non-Western form. And what she does has political content, too.”
“You mean, Mao’s silhouette, things like that?”
“More subtle, and not particularly Chinese. She mostly cuts from advertising posters or magazines. She’ll work against the content of the original image. Last year she did a series of those tiny slippers women used to wear when they had bound feet. They were beautiful. She cut them from glossy ads for spike-heeled shoes.”
“Oh. Now I see why her work didn’t appeal to Shayna.”
Bill said, “Meow.”
“Come on, did you see her shoes?”
“I wasn’t looking at her shoes.”
“Why does that not comfort me?”
“You want to be even less comfortable?” he asked. “We have a tail.”
Jack whipped his head around to peer out the back window. I looked into the rearview mirror, staring at the headlights behind us. “Watch,” Bill said. He steered the car into the passing lane, overtook a cab, and slipped back in.
“Dark SUV?” I said. “Jersey plates? Two cars back now?”
“That’s the one.”
“How long?”
“Since at least the bridge, maybe since Manhattan. What do you want to do?”
My case, my call. I know Bill’s driving; he could lose the guy without breaking a sweat. I asked, “How close are we to where we’re going?”
“Two more exits, then local streets.”
“Is the next exit a residential neighborhood?”
“Yes.”
“Take it, and drive around like we’re looking for something. Jack, don’t look back again. I don’t want him to know we’re onto him.”
“Them.”
“You sure?”
“The driver and a guy beside him.”
“They got off with us,” Bill reported a few minutes later, on the exit ramp. “He’s hanging back.”
“Okay,” I said. “Make a turn and drop Jack and me off. You drive away. Let’s see who he’s following.”
Bill drove a few blocks, let us out on a corner, and pulled away. Jack and I ambled down a quiet street of small, neat brick houses. We walked uncertainly, checking address numbers. Bill’s taillights dwindled and no one passed us. “Well, it’s not Bill,” I said to Jack. “At the end of the block, you go right.”
We paused at the corner to look like we were conferring. The tail car was down the block behind us and it stopped, too. “What if it’s the guy who shot at me, come to finish the job?” Jack asked.
“I thought we decided he wasn’t really trying to kill you, just scare you. Look at your watch like you’re saying you have to go.”
“That’s the job I meant.” He turned his wrist over.
“A tough guy like you? Okay, now walk away.”
“No, the tough guy’s you. See you around.” Jack headed right. I turned left. A few seconds’ pause. Then headlights swept around the corner.
So. It was me.
The headlights didn’t keep coming, though. Were they just trying to find out where I was headed? Well, then I’d lead them on awhile. I continued down the block. Blue glows in the windows told me a lot of TV-watching was going on. I stopped in front of a house with no lights on, looked up at it, took out my phone and stood there as though I were making a call. Actually, I was.
“You or Jack?” Bill asked when he answered.
“Me. He’s idling at the corner two blocks up from where you dropped us. I went left.”
“I’m three blocks down. Be right there.”
“A door’s opening. One of them just got out.”
“Anyone we know?”
“I can’t tell but I don’t think so. Big. I’m still walking and I’m going to stay on the phone. Maybe he’ll want to wait until I’m not connected to anyone before he clobbers me. See if you can come around and get a look at him first.”
“See you soon.”
But not soon enough. Whoever this guy was, the fact that I was on the phone with someone who could
