'He's got a place on the second floor,' Dixie said.
'You go in the front door and there's a hallway with stairs. Place always smelled like kerosene to me.'
'He own it or rent it?' I said.
'I don't know. He always called it his pad.'
'Hell of a love nest,' I said.
'See what I mean?' Dixie said.
'What kind of a stiff has a romantic hideaway in a three-decker in Lynn?'
'You haven't heard from him since I talked with you last?' I said.
'No. I got no interest in him. He called me I'd hang up.'
'If he does, find out where he is before you hang up,' I said.
Dixie smiled again. It was sort of an awkward-looking smile, as if she hadn't had a lot of practice with it.
'You want I should do your job for you?' she said.
'Long as it gets done,' I said.
I pulled the car out and circled the block so I was heading back down Eastern Avenue toward the water.
'You got time to eat before you go to work?' I said.
'Sure.'
'Anyplace around here that won't poison you?'
'I don't know.'
'Must be something in Swampscott,' I said.
'Along the water.'
'I never eat around here.'
'Where do you live?'
'Everett, I got a place there with my sister.'
At the end of Eastern Avenue I turned left onto Humphrey Street and found a small place across from the beach. I parked in the town lot and got out and walked around to Dixie's side of the car. She sat still in the front seat and didn't get out. I opened the door. She still sat without moving.
'Care to dine?' I said.
She looked up at me and I realized she was crying.
'Or not,' I said.
'You don't have to pay me off,' she said, 'just because I showed you where Anthony lived.'
'I know,' I said.
'But I like your company.'
'Are you going to expect anything after?'
'No.'
Dixie sat staring straight ahead. She sniffed a little as she cried.
'It's been a long time,' she said, 'since anyone took me to dinner.'
'Well, let's try it,' I said.
'If you like it we can do it again.'
She nodded and got out of the car while I held the door. The food in the restaurant wasn't too good, but we had a pretty nice time.
CHAPTER 37
Chinatown is crammed into Boston a little below the combat zone, a little east of Bay Village, not very far from where South Station backs up the Fort Point Channel. Hawk and I were in a Chinese market on Hudson Street talking to Fast Eddie Lee, who controlled Chinatown. We had an interpreter with us, a Harvard graduate student named Mei Ling. Mei Ling sat next to Hawk, and when she wasn't translating, she looked at him.
'Mr. Lee says it is nice to see you again,' Mei Ling told us.
'Tell Mr. Lee we are glad too,' I said.
Fast Eddie nodded and spoke without taking his cigarette from his mouth.
'Mr. Lee says you behaved honorably in Port City two years ago,' Mei Ling said.
'He too was honorable,' I said.
Fast Eddie smiled gently. He was a solid squat old man with wispy white hair. His thick fingers were stained with nicotine, and his teeth were tarnished with it. He was head of the Kwan Chang Tong. He looked like an Asian Santa Claus. And he was as merciless as a pit viper.
