Chinatown - Part 5 - A Dangerous Man

There is a Chinese restaurant in the heart of Chinatown that probably hasn’t been visited by the Board of Health in decades. Cockroaches and rats run freely in the alley beside it, and you’d have to be an idiot not to think they all make their way into the kitchen shortly after closing. The two front windows are yellowed from age and slimy with grease, and the food inside doesn’t look any more appealing.

This was the address I had been given for the weapons store. No other details had been provided. I stood around outside for a while debating whether to go inside or wait for a contact. As I was standing there, a truck pulled up and parked, and two men began unloading boxes of food supplies. Those who know New York are aware that most buildings have their own basement entrance through two metal doors in on the sidewalk. The sidewalk doors in front of the Chinese restaurant opened, and a small busboy stepped out. He walked over to the truck, signed for the order, then picked up one of the many boxes.

As he walked by me, he said “Carry one and follow.” I quickly grabbed a box filled with beer cans and proceeded down the steep concrete steps into the basement. The basement was filled with boxes and refrigerators containing various foodstuffs, and reeked of that smell all cheap Chinese restaurants have. The busboy indicated where to set down the beer, then nodded at a door in the corner. Then he left.

The door was large, wooden, and locked. I knocked on it loudly, and after a moment, someone asked my name. I gave it, and I heard the click of a lock being opened. The door swung in.

The room on the other side was completely empty save for a desk which was stationed in the exact middle. The desktop was similarly bare, with only a telephone and a composition notebook on top. Two chairs were in front. The only source of light was a hanging bulb; there were no windows. An elderly man was seated behind it reading a book and twirling a small throwing knife in his fingers absentmindedly. He didn’t look up when I came in.

“Do you want me to shut this?” I asked. No answer from him. I shrugged and started to close the door.

Suddenly, I heard a whoosh of air, followed by a thwack, and I realized I was caught. I looked down to see the knife stuck through my jacket into the door. I turned quickly to see the old man still engrossed in his book while twirling another knife in his hand.

I pulled the knife out of the door and finished closing it.

“Neat trick,” I said. “But make sure I don’t catch you in the act next time, or you might find a bullet in your skull.” I dropped the knife on the table, and he looked up. He looked to be in his late 60’s, with long white hair and a moustache that vaguely brought to mind the facial hair of Fu Manchu, though to say there was a resemblance would be an exaggeration.

“A bullet? You wouldn’t have the time, young man,” he said, smiling. “You’d be dead before you pulled the trigger.”

“I’m pretty fast.”

“I’m faster.”

For a moment, I thought we were going to have a face-off – him with his knives and me with my gun. And in all honesty, I’m not sure who would have won. Luckily, our duel never came about. He broke into a hoarse laugh and motioned for me to sit down. I did.

“What can I do for you?”

“You make weapons?”

“Yes.”

I took out the throwing star and the broken prong I had found embedded in the wall of Tanaka’s apartment and let them drop on the desk.

“Who did you make these for?”

He picked them both up and studied them for a moment. “They are different. I made this one,” he said, indicating the one that had been thrown at my arm. “This one, however, was not of my handiwork.”

“How do you know? They look exactly the same to me.”

“They follow a well-known design,” he continued, “but there is a difference. Whereas this one is perfectly weighted, expertly sharpened, and bears the mark of genius craftsmanship, this broken blade is of much cheaper quality.”

“They still look the same to me,” I said. “And I have reason to believe they came from the same person.”

“They didn’t. The person I made this star for would never stoop to using such trash.”

“Who did you make the one star for then?”

He turned it over in his fingers. “There are flakes of blood on it. Yours?”

“Yep.” He laughed. “You find that funny, huh?” I asked.

“Oh yes,” he said. “Very amusing. I will make you a deal. I normally would never divulge a customer’s name, but will make an exception if you can prove yourself. See that mark on the wall?”

He pointed at the far wall, on which a small red X was painted. “Hit that with a bullet before I do so with a knife and I will tell you.”

Without thinking, I ripped out my gun and sent a bullet flying toward the X. I turned to look at the old man, and saw he hadn’t moved.

“So will you tell me now?” I asked.

He nodded at the mark. I turned to look and realized that something was sticking out of the middle of the X. I got up close and realized the truth. The end of a knife was sticking straight out of the center of the mark. My bullet had shattered the handle, but it was clear that he had reached it first.

“That is all I can do for you,” he said, and resumed reading. I trained my gun on him.

“Maybe you can do a little more.”

He yawned. “I have already surprised you twice today. Would really like me to surprise you a third time by killing you?”

He had a point. I waited for a moment, but it was clear our conversation was over. I kept my gun trained on him and backed out of the room.

“Thank you for coming,” he said without looking up. I closed the door.

Back on the street, I was kicking myself. Not that I know of anything I could have done differently, but I had just met someone who knows the woman who attacked me at Natalie’s apartment, and I hadn’t learned a thing. Well, that’s not entirely true. If what the old guy had told me was accurate, there was a big difference in the star that had been pulled from the wall in Tanaka’s apartment and the star that had been thrown at me in Natalie’s apartment. One was more amateurish, the other a master. Maybe two different employees, and maybe hired by two different employers? Not sure if that means anything yet, but it might.

I started to walk home. The last thing I wanted at this point was the roar of the subway making my headache even worse. As I walked into Soho, my sixth sense started twitching. I glanced over my shoulder but didn’t see anyone. I continued walking, but I was still getting that crowding sensation, as if someone was getting too close too often. I still didn’t notice anyone in particular, but it was really bugging me. I saw a subway stop and went down into it. The train was arriving, and I swiped through the turnstile and darted into the car. No one followed me, as far as I can tell. But I’ve been on my guard ever since.

I’m totally lost here. My field trip to the weapons dealer clearly failed, bringing me back to square one. This Saito guy might be involved somehow, but I have no clue how I’m going to get in touch with him now. Maybe I’ll get in touch with Tanaka again, though I don’t know what good that would do.

To top it off, my arm is aching more than ever, which is just pissing me off. Ugh.