Authors: Rhys Bowen
“Then may I ask the nature of this assignment?” I asked.
“As to that, he will wish to tell you about it himself.”
“Then please escort me to him.” There was only the one door through which I had entered, and I came to the conclusion that this was an outpost of an empire, with Mr. Frederick Lee being among the lower ranks of employees. “I take it he is not in this building.”
“Indeed no.” Frederick Lee stood up. “I will be honored to escort you to him. He will be pleased that you have decided to assist him in this little matter.”
“I haven’t decided anything,” I said. “I’ll need to hear the nature of the case and the fee he is offering before I make any decisions.”
“My employer does not readily take no for an answer,” Mr. Lee said. “He is used to having his wishes fulfilled and his orders obeyed.”
“Then perhaps I should leave right away,” I said, “because I don’t take kindly to being bullied or ordered around. I run my own business and I’m not anybody’s lackey, Mr. Lee.” I rose to my feet. “Good day to you.”
He leaped ahead of me to bar the doorway. “I’m sorry. I spoke hastily, Miss Murphy. Please forgive me. Of course my employer appreciates your expertise and status, otherwise he would not have sent me to find you. This is a matter of great delicacy and he needs a detective with your kind of experience and finesse. Please at least let me take you to him and hear what he has to say. He is a very rich man and his generosity to those who help him knows no bounds. I can assure you that you will not be disappointed.”
I opened my mouth to point out that his generosity to his employee clearly knew quite narrow bounds, if this office was anything to go by, but I swallowed back the words at the last moment. I have to confess that I was intrigued and challenged. The least I could do was to meet this man, and if I didn’t like what I saw, then I was free to walk away.
“Very well,” I said. “Lead me to him.”
He took his derby hat from a hat stand in the outer office. “This way, if you please. It is only a short walk. I hope you won’t find the heat too oppressive, but it makes little sense to hail a cab for such a small distance.” He led the way down the stairs. Another train rumbled past overhead as we came out onto the street.
“This way. Please watch your step. The street is not the cleanest, I’m afraid.” He took my arm, gripping it firmly above the elbow, and steered me across the street, between a trolley and a knife grinder’s wagon. When we safely reached the curb he released me. “It’s always an adventure crossing the Bowery, isn’t it?” he said. “Never mind, we’ll soon be out of the hubbub.”
I was curious to know where we were going. There was nowhere within walking distance of the Bowery that I could think of as a respectable residence for a rich man, so I presumed we’d be going to another office. Maybe we’d be heading south to Wall Street and my client would be a wealthy banker. Or perhaps he was in shipping, but surely we were walking away from the docks.
“Up here,” he said and steered me into a side street. I looked up and read the street name: Mott Street. I also noticed immediately that it was unnaturally quiet and empty after the hustle and bustle of the Bowery. And looked different, somehow. Brightly colored balconies festooned the buildings, which were topped with ornate curved roof gables. Some of the balconies were gilded and carved with what looked like mythical beasts. Lanterns and bird cages hung on them. Then I noticed the names over stores and restaurants. Yee Hing Co., Precious Jade Chop Suey House, On Leong Merchants’ Association, and notices pasted up on poles and billboards in Chinese characters. I was being taken into a place I had only heard about until now: Chinatown.
Four
At that moment a door opened in a building to our right. A man poked his head out and looked up and down the street before darting out of the doorway and scurrying fast down the block as if the hounds of hell were after him. He was dressed in baggy pants and a dark blue cotton jacket. On his head was a skullcap and down his back hung a long pigtail. It was my first glimpse of a Chinaman and I watched him with interest.
Then all the rumors I had heard about the Chinese and their habits rushed into my head. They smoked opium. They ate puppies. They stole women for the white slave trade. I glanced uneasily at Frederick Lee. Was it possible that I was being stupidly naïve and was being lured into captivity? My rational brain quashed this instantly. If anyone wanted to capture white women for prostitution, there would be no need to seek out someone who lived miles away in Greenwich Village when there were plenty of girls who were willing and able and already offering their services just around the corner.
“Why do you think that man is running like that?” I asked Mr. Lee. “He looked as if he was in some kind of danger.”
“No Chinese likes to be out on the street longer than he has to,” Mr. Lee said. “Surely you know that our Italian neighbors on Mulberry take great delight at beating and kicking us, even setting our queues on fire.”
“Your what?”
“The pigtails that Chinese men wear. They are a constant torment. Small boys love to tug at them. Larger louts even try to cut them off.”
We passed a storefront. What appeared to be scrawny cooked ducks hung by the necks in a row, and in front was a tank full of live fish swimming around. Two older men were chatting at the doorway, both wearing similar long pigtails.
“Then why continue to wear them if they pose such danger? They do make the Chinese stand out as different, don’t they?”
“It is a hard decision to make, unfortunately. Back in China any man who does not wear his hair in the queue is thereby insulting the Emperor and thus subject to instant beheading. So a man who cuts off his queue can never go home again.”
“That’s terrible,” I said. “Barbaric.”
“No more barbaric than the way we are treated in America,” Mr. Lee said calmly. “What about the Chinese out West who were driven from their homes, or locked in their cabins and burned alive? Is that not barbaric?”
“Extremely,” I said. “But why would anyone do this?”
“Because we look different, and because we work hard and prosper. Always a recipe for hate.”
I glanced across at him. “You use the word ‘we,’” I said. “You’re not Chinese, are you? You don’t look like these men.” But as I said it I realized that what I had taken for an arrogant stare was, in fact, a slight difference in facial features—the high, flat cheekbones and the narrower-than-usual eyes.
“I am half Chinese,” he said. “I am one of the few of the first generation to be born here. My father had to flee from the West Coast after the Gold Rush when the persecution started. He came to New York and has prospered. I received a good education. I have been brought up between two cultures but consider myself an American.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” I said. “So do I take it your employer is also a prosperous Chinese gentleman?”
“Extremely,” he said. “He owns many businesses, including a large import company. He brings things like porcelain and fine silks over from China. Ah, here we are now.” We stopped outside a storefront.
GOLDEN DRAGON EMPORIUM
was written in golden letters over the doorway and under it presumably the same thing in Chinese characters. In the window brightly colored plates and cups, jade statues, and carved ivory daggers and balls were displayed. “Please be kind enough to wait here for a moment. I will go and announce our presence to my employer.”
“May I know his name?”
“My employer is Lee Sing Tai,” he said. “You may have heard of him. As I told you, he owns many businesses—cigar factory, importing, this store, that restaurant.”
I shook my head. “I know nothing about the Chinese.”
“You will address him as Mr. Lee, or Honorable Mr. Lee.”
“Oh,” I said, as light dawned. “The same last name as you. So that’s why you work for him. You’re related?”
“Not exactly, but we are both members of the Lee clan. In a way we are all related. This is how things work among the Chinese—we rely on our clan for support. And Lee Sing Tai knew my father when they were still in California. This is why he employed me.” He held up a slender hand. “Now please wait here. I will not keep you but for a moment.”
With that he darted inside the shop. I heard harsh, unfamiliar words spoken and Mr. Lee emerged again. “They say that our employer is upstairs in his residence and will receive us. This way, please.”
He led me up a flight of steps beside the shop. He used a key to open a front door, then we climbed a long flight of stairs before we came to a second closed door. He knocked on this and it was opened by a young boy, dressed in Chinese garb, who bowed to us. Mr. Lee snapped some words to the boy, who gave me a curious glance before he scurried away, leaving us standing in a foyer. I looked around me. Another flight of stairs ascended up into darkness to our left. Ahead of us was a large, intricately carved screen, inlaid with what seemed to be semiprecious stones, depicting a mountain scene with cranes standing among reeds. It blocked my view of the interior of the apartment.
“That’s a beautiful screen,” I commented.
“Chinese always have something like a screen at the front of their dwelling,” Frederick Lee said. “It is to deter evil spirits from coming in. They will not enter if there is not a straight path for them.”
“People still believe that, do they? Or is this just for tradition’s sake?”
“Of course they believe it.” He sounded shocked. “Is it any stranger than praying to a statue in a Catholic Church?”
“I suppose not, although we don’t really pray to statues,” I said. “Actually—” I broke off as the boy returned. He said something in Chinese to Frederick Lee.
“My employer will receive you now,” he said, and led me around the screen and into a large living room. I almost had my breath taken away at the sumptuousness of the surroundings. The furniture was of a black wood I took to be ebony and it was intricately carved, inlaid in places with mother-of-pearl. On the floor were exotic carpets, again with designs of mythical beasts on them. There were bright red silk hangings draped around a large jade statue in one corner and more lovely pieces of jade and ivory on shelves and side tables. On the walls were hung jeweled ceremonial swords and daggers, as well as scrolls of Chinese characters and painted scenes of mountains and flowers. The air was thick with a scented kind of smoke, and I noticed in a far corner little sticks glowing in front of yet another jade figure.
And in the midst of all this a man sat on a high-backed chair, looking for all the world like an exotic emperor on a throne. He was not young, and a long wispy white mustache drooped at the corners of his mouth. He was not wearing a skullcap and his head appeared at first to be bald, until I saw that he had hair at the back of his head, falling in a long dark queue. Although he was surrounded by these exotic objects, he was dressed in a smart Western business suit, with an immaculate white shirt and ascot. He held a cigar in one slim bony hand and puffed on it as we entered the room.
“I bring you Miss Molly Murphy, as you requested,” Frederick said, bowing slightly before retreating behind the screen again.
Lee Sing Tai waved the hand bearing the cigar at me. “Excellent. Excellent. I knew you would come, Miss Molly Murphy. I knew you would not let me down. Very well. Sit. Sit.”
He pointed at a long bench, piled with brocade pillows. I perched on it cautiously because it looked extremely slippery. Also I was feeling ridiculously nervous and at the same time angry with myself for being intimidated.
“I understand you have a commission for me to carry out?” I said. “I asked your employee about its nature but he was not very forthcoming.”
Lee Sing Tai tapped ash into an exquisite blue-and-white dish. “You will take tea with me,” he said. He didn’t wait for an answer but clapped his hands. The boy came into the room and bowed low. An order was given. The boy disappeared.
“Chinese tea is very fine,” he said.
“I know. I’ve drunk it. It tasted almost perfumed.”
“That was Lapsang Souchong,” he said. “In my household I prefer to drink Keemun. The king of teas, they call it. I am only one who imports it to this country.” He spoke English with a heavy accent, snapping out individual words rather than delivering a fluid sentence. “But important families in New York City come to me for their tea. Rockerfellers. Astors. You have heard of them?”
“Of course,” I said.
“I supply them tea and silk and many other things.” There was a quizzical smile on his face as he said this. “You would be surprised which distinguished people come to Lee Sing Tai to be supplied with what they need.”
He didn’t even glance up as the boy came in, carrying a red lacquer tray. I noticed that the servant moved silently and was wearing black cotton slippers. He put the tray on a side table and poured tea into two little round cups. Clearly Frederick was not to be included and indeed he had made himself scarce. Then the boy placed one of the cups on a smaller tray and carried it to me, presenting it with a bow. I took it and savored the smoky aroma. It was scalding hot and I hoped I wasn’t expected to drink it yet. Luckily the boy served his master, then came to me with a bowl of little almond cakes. I took one and nibbled politely.
“Delicious,” I said. Lee Sing Tai watched me eat and waited for me to take a sip of the tea. It was still very hot and I was used to having milk and sugar in my tea, but I sipped dutifully.
“This assignment you have for me, Mr. Lee. What is the nature of it?” I asked.
A spasm of annoyance crossed his face. “The tea is not to your liking?”
“It’s very nice,” I said. “Only rather too hot for me at the moment.”
“Tea is good for hot days,” he said. “You drink tea. You cool down. Better than water.”
“Yes, I’m sure it is.”
“The Chinese know better how to remain cool in this heat. We have known it for thousands of years.”
He went back to sipping from his own teacup. I was growing impatient. “Perhaps we might discuss our business while we wait for the tea to cool?”
I sensed from his expression that I might have committed some kind of faux pas, but frankly I didn’t care. I wasn’t the one who was looking for a job; in fact I really didn’t need one at the moment. “I need to know what sort of assignment you are offering,” I went on, my confidence returning, “as I am busy preparing for my upcoming wedding at this moment and actually I am planning to give up my business.”