rise? “Who told you Vassily Imports is interested in the Chaus?”
“Little birdie.” Woo seemed to relax a bit, now that I was catching on. He leaned back in his chair. “We understand, Vassily Imports want paintings. Chaus very valuable. We regret, Tiger Holdings got to protect investment. Sorry for inconvenience. Maybe Tiger Holdings can make up to Vassily Imports, some other time.”
“Oh? I’m sure Vladimir will be pleased to hear that. It might make your … suggestion … more palatable. Mr. Woo, what investment?”
“Not making suggestion. Giving advice.”
“And I’m asking a question. What investment?”
He shook his head. “Like you say, private business.”
I ignored that. “Your investment in the paintings? I don’t think so. You said you knew where they were but I don’t believe you. If you had them you wouldn’t care what Vladimir’s doing. You might even try to sell them to him. Or is your investment in the artist? Mr. Woo, is Chau alive? Do you know where he is?”
“Too many question.” Woo pushed away from the table and stood, throwing a shadow over my red bean bun. “Ms. Chin, you tell Oblomov, forget about Chaus. He do that, next time he need friends, Tiger Holdings don’t forget about him. He don’t do that…” Woo stared down at me. “He don’t do that, no one be happy.” He nodded, then turned, working his way between tables to the door, not looking back. I sat watching him, sipping my tea. The young square guy with the Chinese newspaper stood when Woo did and followed him out, leaving the paper and mooncake crumbs all over the tabletop. Outside the door he turned right, as Woo had. Jack got up, too. He shrugged into his jacket and left Maria’s as well; though, being a responsible citizen, he bused his tray and took his newspaper with him.
15
Jack didn’t get far. I caught up with him on the corner of Mulberry. He was peering after a black SUV as it disappeared east along Canal.
“I got the plate this time,” he said.
“Don’t worry about it. Linus ran it already.”
“Seriously? From what he had?” Jack stuffed his pen and paper back in his pocket. “I guess he really is all that.”
“And a bag of chips. He’s my cousin, what did you expect?”
“So who is this guy?”
“Who he is is interesting. Who he thinks his competition is is even better.” I gave him the rundown: Tiger Holdings, Vassily Imports, the warning left with me to pass on to Vladimir Oblomov. “Obviously Tiger Holdings isn’t a Chinatown outfit, or they’d know who I am.”
“She says modestly. No, I know what you mean. But you’re telling me that atrocious accent of Bill’s has the Chinese mob on the run from the Russian mob?”
“Well, technically, the Chinese mob is telling the Russian mob to be on the run from them.”
Jack rubbed the back of his neck. “There really ought to be some way we can make something off of this.”
“If you think of it, let me know. I’m calling Bill. Did you hear from Anna Yang?”
“Maybe. Someone called while we were in Maria’s, but I let it go to voice mail so I wouldn’t get distracted. In case I needed to leap to the rescue or something.” He pulled out his cell phone.
“And don’t think I didn’t appreciate it. Did you notice Woo had someone there, too?”
“Messy guy in front of the pastry case?”
“That’s the one. I was concerned he might be between you and your only ammunition if it came to a battle again.”
“I never threw a cream puff in my life.”
“That’s a baseball joke.”
We focused on our phones. I called Bill while Jack listened to his message. “Hey,” Bill said. “Done already? How’d it go?”
“Let me speak to Vladimir. He’s the big star.”
“Vat?”
“Casey’s a Chinese gangster and he never heard of Jeff Dunbar. It’s Vladimir and Vassily Imports he wants off his back. Wait. Hold on.”
I stopped because I was looking at Jack. In the background I’d heard, “Hey, Anna, thanks for getting back to me,” and then watched Jack’s face darken as he listened in silence. Now he was offering an impressively reassuring, “Of course I will. Anna, calm down. Whatever it is, we’ll take care of it. Give us half an hour, we’ll be there.”
“Unless you have other plans, meet us at the car,” I told Bill. “I think we have business.”
* * *
It took Bill, following Jack’s directions, just over twenty minutes to get us from his parking lot to Anna’s apartment in Flushing. It had taken Jack the entire walk from the bakery to the lot to persuade Anna to let me and Bill come along. In the end he had to both throw around the word “partners”—which he was beginning to use with not just abandon but also a certain elan—and to promise he’d toss us out if, after she told us what it was all about, he thought we should go.
“Doesn’t want to know us, huh? Did you ask her about the Chaus?” I’d said when he finally hung up. We stood on the sidewalk waiting for Bill.
“She was too upset for me to ask her anything. And she knows you already. She says it’s bad enough now, and having you involved will only make it worse.”
