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"No, no, of course not."
The Ghost smiled. "You did me a favor, for which I am thankful. I am indebted to you. Now, I will do you a favor in return."
Mah fell silent. Then cautiously he asked in a shaky voice, "A favor?"
"What other business arrangements do you have, Mr. Mah? What other activities are you involved in? You help piglets, you help snakeheads. But do you run massage parlors?"
"Some." The man was looking calmer. He wiped his hand on his slacks. "Mostly gambling."
"Ah gambling, sure. Much gambling here in Chinatown. I like to gamble. Do you?"
Mah swallowed and wiped his face with a white handkerchief. "Don't we all love to gamble? Yes, yes."
"Tell me then: Who interferes with your gambling operation? Another tong? A triad? Some Meiguo gang? The police? I can talk to people. I have connections throughout the government. My connections go very high. I can make sure nobody bothers your gambling parlors."
"Yes, sir, yes. Aren't there always problems? It's not the Chinese, though, or the police. It's the Italians. Why do they cause us such trouble? I don't know. The young men, they firebomb us, beat up our customers, rob the gambling halls."
"The Italians," the Ghost mused. "What are they called? There's a derogatory term . . . . I can't think of it."
"Wops," Mah said in English.
"Wops."
Mah smiled. "It's a reference to those in your line of work."
"Mine?"
"Immigration. Wop means 'without passport.' When Italian immigrants
came here years ago without documentation they were labeled WOP. It's very insulting."
The Ghost looked around the room, frowning.
"Is there something you need, sir?" Mah asked.
"Do you have a thick marker? Some paint perhaps?"
"Paint?" Mah's eyes followed the Ghost's. "No. But I can call my assistant downstairs. I can have her get some. Whatever you like, I can get. Anything."
"Wait," the Ghost said, "that won't be necessary. I have another thought."
*
Lou Sellitto looked up from his Nokia and announced to the GHOSTKILL team, "We've got a body in Chinatown. Detective from the Fifth Precinct's on the line." He turned back to his phone.
Alarmed, Rhyme looked up at him. Had the Ghost tracked down and killed another of the immigrants? Who? he wondered. Chang, Wu? The baby?
But Sellitto hung up and said, "Doesn't look related to the Ghost. Vic's name's Jimmy Mah."
"Know him," Eddie Deng said. "Heads a tong."
Coe nodded. "I've heard of him too. Smuggling's not his specialty but he does a little meeting and greeting."
"What's that mean?" Rhyme asked acerbically when Coe explained no further.
The agent answered, "When undocumenteds get to Chinatown there's an official who helps them out--gets them into a safehouse, gives them a little money. Called 'meeting and greeting' the illegals. Most of the meeters work for snakeheads but some do it freelance. Like Mah. It's just that there's not a lot of profit there. If you're corrupt and you want big bucks you'll go with drugs or gambling or massage parlors. That's what Mah's into. Well, was, apparently."
Rhyme asked, "Why don't you think it's related?"
