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"Bad color. Shouldn't wear white. Color of death in my country, color of funerals, I'm saying. Throw it out. You get red suit. Red is good-luck color in China. Not blue either. Get red suit."
"It's enough of a target in white."
"Not good," he said. "Bad feelings." He remembered a word that Deng had taught him earlier. "Bad omen, I'm saying."
"I'm not superstitious," Sachs said.
"I am," Li said. "Lots people in China are. Always saying prayers, sacrificing, cutting demon's tail--"
"Cutting what?" she interrupted.
"Called cutting demon's tail. See, demons follow you always so when you cross traffic you run fast in front of car. That cut off demon's tail and take his power away."
"Don't people ever get hit?"
"Sometimes."
"Then don't they know it doesn't work?"
"No, only know that sometimes you cut his tail, sometimes demon get you."
Cutting the demon's tail . . .
Sachs got Li to promise he'd stay out of the crime scene--at least until she was finished--and then processed the dead gunman's body, walked the grid inside the apartment and finally searched the Ghost's bullet-riddled SUV. She bagged and tagged all the evidence and finally stripped off the space suit.
Then she and Li drove back to the clinic, where she found the Wu family reunited in a room guarded by two uniformed cops and a stony-faced woman INS agent. With Li and the agent translating, Sachs got as much information as she could. Though Wu Qichen knew nothing about the Ghost's whereabouts in the city, the scrawny, embittered man gave her some information about the Changs, including the name of the infant with them, Po-Yee, which meant Treasured Child.
What a lovely name, thought Amelia Sachs.
She said to the INS agent, "They're going to detention?"
"Right. Until the hearing."
"Do you have a problem putting them in one of our safehouses?" The NYPD had several nondescript, high-security town houses in the city, used for witness protection. INS detention centers for illegal immigrants were notoriously lax. Besides, the Ghost would be expecting them to go to an Immigration facility and, with his guanxi, might pay someone in the detention center to let him or a bangshou inside to try to kill the family again.
"Fine with us."
The town house in Murray Hill was free, Sachs knew. She gave the agent the address and the name of the NYPD officer who oversaw the houses.
The INS agent then looked at Wu and, like a bad-tempered schoolteacher, said, "Why don't you people just stay at home? Fix your problems there. You almost got your wife and family killed."
Wu's English wasn't good but apparently he understood her. He rose from his wife's bedside and gestured broadly. "Not our fault!" he snapped, leaning toward the sour woman. "Coming here not our fault!"
Amused, the INS agent asked, "Not your fault? Who do you want to blame?"
"You country!"
"How do you figure that?"
"You not see? Look around! All you money and richnesses, you advertising, you computers, you Nikes and Levis, cars, hair spray . . . You Leonardo DiCaprio, you beautiful women. You pills for everything, you makeup, you television! You tell whole world you got fuck everything here! Meiguo is all money, all freedom, all safe. You tell us everybody how good is here. You take our money, but you say to us mei-you, go away! You tell us our human rights terrible, but when we try come here you say mei-you!"
The thin man lapsed into Chinese then calmed. He looked the woman up and down, nodded at her blond hair. "What your ancestor? Italians, Englishes, Germans? They in this country first? Huh, tell me." He waved angrily and sat down on the bed, put his hand on his wife's uninjured arm.
The agent shook her head, smiling in a condescending way, as if astonished that the immigrant couldn't figure out the obvious.
Sachs left the somber family behind and motioned Li after her to the clinic exit. They paused at the curb then jogged between two fast-moving taxis. Sachs wondered if she'd been close enough to the second one to cut the tail off any demons pursuing her.
*
