Death Money Read Online Free PDF Page A

wholesale to the Filipino and Indonesian mallvendors. Local snack shops snapped up the late-afternoon leftovers.
    In the middle, behind the counter, the steam cabinets and twin toaster ovens kept everything hot and moist.
    The place was crowded with Chinese men, but Jack picked out Billy right away, seated at one of the small tables in the back. The shop’s radio blared out Chinese news of the morning as a waitress brought Billy a pot of tea. Jack came to the table and sat down.
    “I ordered some baos ,” Billy said. “You can get whatever.”
    Jack leaned in across the Formica tabletop, said suspiciously, “I tried calling you earlier, but you weren’t in the shop. Nobody knew where—”
    “Where I was?” Billy asked. “Whaddya, the Chinatown Nazi? I had a construction project, okay?”
    “Yeah?” Jack challenged. “Construction, huh? You? At eight thirty?”
    “Yeah, I was having my pipes cleaned, okay?”
    They both laughed before Jack said, “No, seriously, Billy, I got a dead body, and I need to know who and why.”
    “Well, finding out’s the fun part, ain’t it?” A pause before Billy finished, “And you get paid for this?”
    The waitress brought the baos , departed as they warmed up over the cups of hot tea, both men quiet a moment.
    “So we fished this body out of the Harlem River,” Jack began.
    “Nobody I know, I hope,” said Billy. “There was no ID, no driver’s license, green card, nothing.”
    “So he’s a John Doe?”
    “He was Asian,” Jack added.
    “Okay, a John Cho ?” Billy chuckled. “A John Ho ?”
    Not funny , Jack said with his eyes.
    “Okay,” Billy said. “Let’s get this again. This dead guy? What’s he got to do with me?”
    Jack showed him the baggie with the takeout-scrap list of numbers.
    “He carried a list of business numbers, and one of them was yours.”
    “ Mine ?” Billy sounded truly shocked.
    “Actually for the Tofu King.”
    “What? He died from eating bad tofu?” Billy stiffened.
    “Come on, Billy …”
    “What?” Billy repeated. “Anyone can have the shop’s number! They walk in, grab a business card. We run an ad in the Chinese press, Mon Bo and Sai Gai . We got flyers we’re handing out.” He shook his head. “What the fuck kinda clue is that anyway?”
    “You can’t think of why he’d have the shop’s number?”
    “He wanted to buy some tofu?” Billy shrugged.
    Jack paused, took a breath, drained the tea with a frown.
    “Anybody can call, place an order,” muttered Billy defensively.
    “This doesn’t feel like a takeout order,” Jack said, cold as stone.
    “I don’t allow personal calls. But maybe there’s an emergency, who knows? Someone looking for a relative. Or a job. Who knows? What, I gotta monitor phone calls now?”
    Jack showed Billy one of the headshots hot out of Ah Fook’s.
    “You ever seen this guy?” Jack asked.
    “Never,” Billy answered with certainty. “Too bad, but homeboy looks at peace.”
    “The second number on that scrap menu belongs to the Gee Association. Maybe he was a member or an associate?”
    Billy checked the wall clock. “The association? Those jooks ain’t there before eleven, man. They make up for it by opening early on weekends, when more seniors need services.” He chomped down his bao . “We got five minutes.”
    “‘We’?”
    “I know the super there. They call him the English secretary, but he does some of the janitorial work. And the Gees order a lot of bean from me.”
    Jack slipped a five under the teapot and finished his bao . Steam poured out of the counter cabinets, fogging up the room. He knew Billy’d be good for something.

Gee Whiz
    T HEY CAME TO the street door on Mott, and Billy pulled it open without hesitation. He held it for Jack, who stepped inside, quietly impressed. They went up to the second floor, where two of the front apartments had been converted to an office and an open area that the association could use for meetings, meals, and