"What do you know about the Triads?" Sergeant Ozzie McPheeters asked.

    "They’re Chinese," I said brightly.

    There was a pause and I thought he’d let it pass until he said: "How do you manage to stay in business?"

    "Come on, Mac," I protested. "I live here in the Fifth. I know about the Triads."

    "Which Triad do you know about? The Big Circle Gang, the 14K, or the Sun Yee On?"

    "Showoff," I said.

    "Well?"

    "The Big Circle. I’ve heard of the others, but didn’t know they were operating here."

    "They are now," he said. "But it’s the Big Circle we’re concerned about here."

    "Okay," I said helpfully.

    Mac stirred his second cup of coffee and studied me. "Are you sure you want this job?"

    "How the hell do I know?" I said. "I haven’t heard what it is yet."

    "It’s simple," he said. "There’s a loose cannon down in Chinatown committing rapes and murders. His name is Tony Tam and he’s a member of the Big Circle Gang. They’ve tried to discipline him without success. They want us to lend a hand."

    I looked skeptical. "You mean the Triads are calling on the NYPD for help?"

    Mac nodded.

    "That’s a first," I said. "But what do you mean ‘without success’? They’ve got 17- and 18-year-olds there who’d wipe out a city without a thought."

    "They tried that. Seems our boy’s too quick. They’ve already ended up with six of their top men dead."

    "Hell, Mac, anybody can be killed."

    "Yeah, well, they want us to do it - and as publicly as possible. Their quiet ways failed and they don’t want to be seen as making an example of one of their own. A matter of face."

    "What kind of logic is that?"

    "Don’t ask me. The Chinese kind, I guess. The lou says it’s a chance for us to do some good. I get the feeling that this has come down from the top. Could help those of us on the job in the long run and get another crazy off the streets."

    "Yeah. So you want to help the biggest heroin smugglers in the country?" I said

    "I can’t tell you why," Mac said. "because I don’t know. But I ‘ve been told we’re getting a couple of their top men - if we sort out this little problem for them."

    "Well, then, why don’t you sort it out?"

    He drew himself up. "The NYPD doesn’t engage in assassination," he said icily.

    "News to me." I enjoyed needling Mac.

    "Look - will you do it or not?"

    Mac and I were old buddies from the days when I was on the job. We’d partnered for years and I ‘d saved his life on one occasion when a crazed killer had given Mac’s face a rip with a knife and was rearing back for a final lash at his jugular. I’d blown him into kingdom come with three shots from my .38 Police Special. Mac was grateful and when I’d gotten out of the NYPD a few years later after a bullet nicked my left lung in a shootout and I went private, he sent what work he could my way. Mostly this involved cases where the department wished some closure other than mere arrest, if you take my meaning. My office door read: "Dan Healey - Investigations," but at times I thought it should read: "Solutions."

    Now, I looked dubiously at Mac. "You know how I feel about them kickers and choppers."

    "They don’t all know judo."

    "Oh yeah?" I said. "Name one who don’t. They get it in their mother’s milk."

    "So?"

    "Geez, Mac, I know I’m fleet of foot, but I don’t know if I’m up for this."

    "Fleet of foot," he said.

    "Yeah. Remember that case where the girl had the photos of Jennie--"

    "I remember."

    "That one was a judo expert too."

    "So you said."

    "If it hadn’t been for those break-dancing lessons I wouldn’t have   been so agile."

    He nodded. "Agile."

    "Stop doing that, will you? Puts me on the defensive. Makes me think you don’t believe me."

    "Yeah," he said. "Well, I gotta get back. You wanna give this a try or not?"

    "How much?"

    "Ten large."

    "Fifteen."

    "Twelve-fifty tops. Take it or leave it."

    I sighed wearily. "I’ll give it a try, Mac. It’s good to know the department has enough faith in my aging bones to consider I can out-think and out-muscle a young stud like Tony Tam."

    "Yeah," Mac said, preparing to leave. "Oh, one other thing. This kid worked his way up from a soldier to what they call The Red Pole - an enforcer. When they didn’t promote him to administrator or underboss he went ape and killed those above him, all except the Dragon Head, the Triad leader."

    "Now you tell me. A nutter."

    "Some of the old-timers are calling this kid the reincarnation of Mock Duck. No doubt you remember him?"

    "Sounds like something I ate last week."

    "He was a real warrior in the old tong wars - he was known as the Clay Pigeon of Chinatown because they tried so often to kill him - without any luck. But he did have one advantage."

    There was a pause. "Okay," I said finally. "I’ll bite - what?"

    "He carried two .45s and a hatchet.

    "Yeah, I can see that’d give him an edge - especially the hatchet. By the way, this kid carrying any hardware?"

    "He don’t need it. Makes Jackie Chan look like a wrist-slapper.... The coffee’s on me."

    "Least you can do for a doomed man going into the dragon’s mouth."

    He snorted and left.

***

    Mac was a big man - six feet two inches and 220 pounds of hard muscle. The knife wound curved from his right ear to his right eye by way of his mouth like a perfect half-circle. It had taken 72 stitches to close it and it hadn’t done much for his overall beauty which hadn’t been too appealing to begin with. But some women found it attractive, he said, since it made him look dangerous. I had my doubts.

    I was no Adonis in the looks department myself. I was six one, about 215 pounds, a lot of it - well, some of it - muscle. I thought of myself as a sleek seal, well covered to keep out the cold. My secretary, Liz Moore, told me I had a craggy face with my broken nose keeping it from true beauty. My slightly-chewed left ear only added to the mystery, she said. It was no damn mystery to me. I’d been in a fight with a bouncer cum drug dealer who had the manners of a jackhammer and who, after chewing for a while on my ear, had the nerve to throw me against a wall with a crash they must have heard over in Jersey.

    I’d then killed him in what I considered a fair fight - my .38 against his fists and teeth and a set of throwing knives, one of which hung from my right shoulder like a matador’s pic. It hurt like hell but it wasn’t serious enough to keep me from pulling the trigger as the bouncer wound up with a second knife for a strikeout pitch.

***

    I went back to my office. Liz was sitting as she usually was reading a paperback.

    "Do you ever do any work when I’m not here?" I asked.

    She lowered the book and looked at me calmly. "So you didn’t get the job," she said.

    "Oh, I got it. I’m just not sure I want it."

    I told her about it. We had no secrets, Liz and I. We’d been together since high school and we tried, and often succeeded, in keeping our relationship on a platonic basis.

    "Doesn’t sound like your kind of job," she said.

    "So you don’t think I can take him?"

    "Touchy, touchy," she said. "What’s your plan?"

    I looked at her as if she were demented. "What do you mean - plan?"

    "Forgive me," she said. "I lost my head there for a moment."

    "I’ll be in my office if anyone calls," I said. "Thinking."

    "Don’t finish the bottle," she said.

***

    I was not without contacts in Chinatown so I called Jimmy Woo, an undercover cop. When I mentioned Tony Tam he said, "Chrissake, Danny boy, you wanna get killed?"

    "I was hoping you’d help me prevent that misfortune."

    "Misfortune, eh? Depends on your point of view, I guess."

    "Ain’t that the truth," I said. "Whatta y’ say Jimmy, can you help?"

    He hemmed and hawed. "Look, Dan, I have a reputation to protect down there. I’m known as a mild-mannered peacemaker - like Clark Kent. It’s the image the department wants to promote."

    "Okay," I said. "Never mind."

    "Just a goddam minute," Jimmy said. "I’m just thinking out loud here. I can point this Tony Tam out to you, but I can’t talk to him for you - you know what I mean."

    "That’s all I want, Jimmy, just a face to go with the name."

    "Meet me at eight," Jimmy said. "Down below the precinct - say the corner of Elizabeth and Bayard."

    "Should I bring my Chinese disguise?"

    Jimmy laughed. "Nobody’d ever mistake that Irish potato-head for anything else."

    I sighed. "And here I thought racism was all on our side.... See you at eight, Jimmy."

***

    Jimmy Woo was a slender man but with the shoulders and upper-body strength of the weightlifter he was. He was also a black belt martial arts expert. I’d asked him once what was the best way to deal with a kicker and chopper coming at you.

    "I was you I’d depend on Mr. Glock," he said.

    It was good advice then as it was now and I was packing the Glock which was a little more subtle than the Desert Eagle I had stored away for when I was really trying to make an impression.

    Of course, a case could easily be made for the Desert Eagle when trying to impress Tony Tam, but I knew he wouldn’t be impressed by any gun, and I was willing to sacrifice fire power for speed. I could clear the Glock a second or so faster than the Eagle and I knew that in dealing with the likes of Tony Tam that extra second might just save my life.

    I met Jimmy and we angled across Bayard and started down Mott.

    "You still keep in touch with McFoo at the Fifth?" Jimmy asked.

    That was the name most of the precinct used for Sgt. McFeeters - McFoo or just Mac.

    "I see him occasionally," I said. I had no wish to involve Mac in any way just in case it might reflect back on him somewhere down the road. "We kind of drifted apart. You know how it is."

    "Yeah," he said, "that happens. The job is a life in itself."

    "You got that right," I said. "Where are we going?" It was turning dark and the streetlights were already on.

    "In here," he said, drawing me into a shadowy doorway. "Over there," he nodded.

    I looked across the street at the Big Yick Restaurant. "Tony Tam eats in there every night about seven-thirty," Jimmy said.

    "How come you know a thing like that?"

    "It could be worth my life someday," he answered simply.

    "I suppose so. What do we do now?"

    "Now we wait."

    People came and went, a lot of them. There was always a crowd in     this part of Chinatown, people eating out, shopping, just plain gawking. At least ninety percent were Chinese.

    "How will you know him?" I asked after a bit.

    "I know we all look alike to you white bums," he said, smiling. "But we have our differences - just like you guys."

    Jimmy sounded just like any native New Yorker for the simple reason that he’d been born and brought up about five blocks from where we were standing.

    "He’ll be all in black for starters," Jimmy said. "Nothing special there - a lot of Chinese wear black. His hair is short and spikey - gelled, I imagine. He’s about my height, but even more developed in the upper body. The most significant thing is his eyes - they’re wild. He’s always smiling but it’s more than that - it’s like he’s crazy or something."

    "Would he be a user?"

    "No, he’s not on anything. These young Triads don’t use. But he has this aura of supreme confidence that’s frightening. He just don’t give a good goddamn for anything or anybody. He’d as soon kill you as not."

    "So that’s Tony Tam," I said. "Glad to hear there’s not much to him. He sounds about as easy to take as a steamroller."

    "About the same," Jimmy agreed. "Now’s your chance. Here he comes."

    Tam came swaggering out of the restaurant and headed down the street away from us. He looked as substantial as Grand Central Station and every bit as hard. I felt the old familiar stomach-sinking that warned me that I’d be highly over-matched against this killing machine.

    "Doesn’t look so tough," I muttered.

    "For Chrissake will you stop whistling past the graveyard," Jimmy said. "I can feel you quivering from here."

    "Quivering," I said. "Would you believe trembling with fear?"

    "I believe it," Jimmy said. "I often feel that way myself."

    I took a moment to feel a new respect for Jimmy Woo. He was a cop living his whole life undercover. One slip-up, one wrong word could be his last. He must live in constant fear.

    "I wouldn’t have your job," I said, "for, well, all the tea in China."

    Jimmy smiled. "It takes all kinds, Danny boy. You should know. You were kind of a hairball yourself when you were on the job."

    I had to agree with him there. Ah, the fires of youth. Now, as an old man of thirty-three, I would never think of taking the chances I took back then. Well, almost never.

    We’d been trailing Tony Tam along Mott from the opposite side of the street. He had no idea he was being followed and even if he had I’d wager he wouldn’t have cared a damn. He was, as the good Doctor Johnson once remarked, "towering in the confidence of twenty-one." Or eighteen. Whatever.

    Tony Tam stopped and looked casually around, then disappeared into a narrow alley.

    "Keep going," Jimmy said. "I know where he’s going. The Triad cell has a club down there."

    We walked to the end of the block as far as Pell, then turned back.

    "Is there any easy way to take him?" I asked.

    Jimmy looked at me as if wondering if I was playing with a full deck.

    "I don’t know what I can add," he said. "I suppose if you had him bound in chains you might have a chance."

    "Yeah, that’s what I was thinking."

    "I was you I’d go for the long-distance solution."

    "Which is?"

    "Go over to Brooklyn and pray that he drops dead."

    "Jimmy, you’re a barrel of laughs."

    "I may not have done you any favour, Danny boy. One final word - get the first shot in before he gets to your throat."

    We parted near where we’d met, Jimmy heading east on Bayard, me north on Elizabeth to where I’d left my car near the precinct. There was a parking ticket on my windshield. Figures, I told myself, goes with my current run of luck.

***

    I thought about Tony Tam. No one could be that tough. I was no pushover. A little flabby, perhaps, but no 97-pound weakling. I felt my arm muscle for consolation. Plenty of power there. If I could keep up this positive reinforcement I’d be ready to take Tony Tam and his whole damn family some time near the end of the century.

    The next night I was outside the Big Yick when he emerged. I was dressed casually in jeans and sweatshirt and running shoes. I’d left all identification at home and the weapons as well. Call me crazy but I wanted to see what I was up against. That is, if I lived through the night.

    I trailed Tam without caution and when he turned down the alley I was close behind him. He was waiting for me and grabbed the front of my sweatshirt and hauled me close.

    "What you want," he said.

    I held up my hands, placating. "Hold it, hold it. There must be some mistake."

    "You follow me?"

    "No, no, not me. Why would I want to follow you?"

    He eased his grasp as if wondering the same thing himself. I had four inches and fifty pounds on him and I stepped back and started a right hook at his head.

    It was like I was moving in slow motion. He stepped inside my punch and poked me in the solar plexus with stiffened fingers and as I suffered a spasm of pure agony and pitched forward, he casually clipped me behind the ear and it was off to bye-bye land.

    After a hundred years I came to and waved away an inquisitive rat. My head felt large and unreal, as if I could reach up and touch it six inches away from where it really was. I had a headache you could have sold as a torture instrument. In short, I felt lousy, but I was alive - if only barely.

    My pockets were turned inside out and my ten dollars mad money was gone. But what the hell, I felt like rejoicing. He hadn’t killed me, probably because he didn’t want to bother. It wasn’t the most pleasant of feelings to be so unimportant, but now I knew just what I was up against, although it seemed a lot of trouble to confirm what I’d been told and knew in my heart to be true. Now I had every reason in the world to abort this hopeless mission.

    I dragged myself back to my car and reached under the off-side rear wheel to where I’d hid the key. I drove myself home where a hot shower and a large Paddy’s made me feel almost human.

    I phoned Mac.

    "I braced this Tony Tam," I said. "He’s not so tough."

    "Is this the same Tony Tam we discussed?"

    "One and the same."

    "You sure you’re not talking to me from the other world?"

    "Well, there were moments I thought I was visiting."

    I told Mac about it.

    "You crazy?" he asked.

    "I guess I must be. A little, anyway. Thinking about it now, I start to shake."

    "What the hell, Dan. Just go up to him and do it."

    I said nothing.

    "No," Mac said. "You couldn’t do that, could you? Too deliberate, is that it?"

    "Something like that."

    "You know who you remind me of? Remember the guy on that old Western series, Have Gun, Will Travel?"

    "Yeah," I said. "Paladin."

    "Exactly."

    "Well, Geez. Mac, cold blood? Can’t do it."

    "How then?"

    "Don’t know. Leave it with me."

    "You want to call it off?"

    "I thought about it. No, I’ll do it."

    "Don’t take any wooden yen," he said and hung up.

***

    The next morning I ached in all the usual places plus some new ones I didn’t even know I had. I woke with the sad realization that there was no way I could take Tony Tam in any kind of physical encounter. This thought made me feel the way I’m sure old boxers feel when they’ve gone to the well once too often. It came with a sinking feeling and the knowledge, so foreign to youth, that you’re not going to live forever.

    I’m getting too old for this, I thought. I dwelt for a while on thoughts of settling down with Liz, living a quiet, restful life. Reality intervened. And live on what? This was my life. This was what I did. It wasn’t much of a way to make a living, but it served a purpose. It helped rid the streets of scum. There’d never be an end to it, and ordinary decent citizens would never hear of me, but in my own small way I could make a difference.

    I hated the word assassin. I wasn’t that. The people I dealt with always had a fair chance even if they needed killing.

    I shook my head to clear it of these philosophical meanderings and began a series of exercises to limber myself up for tonight’s action. I guess my heart wasn’t in it. I fell asleep within minutes.

***

    That night fully dressed and complete with Glock, I was again across the street from the Big Yick when Tony Tam emerged, this time with a girl. I followed them to Mulberry Street where they entered a narrow doorway between a restaurant and a newsstand, After about three minutes a light came on in a second floor window. I thought the girl had seemed unwilling to enter, giving Tam an argument, gesticulating, but he’d merely smiled at her and hauled her into the doorway.

    I crossed the street and tried the door. It had one of those spring locks, the kind they make credit cards for, and I was inside within seconds. A narrow stairway lit by a single light bulb on a cord led up to the second floor. I heard what sounded like struggling above me so I went up the stairs fast, keeping close to the wall, figuring their noise would drown out any I made.

    I tried the door behind which I could hear the scuffling. It was unlocked. I could understand Tam’s cockiness - who’d dare bother him?

    I shoved the door open slowly. The two of them struggled on the bed which was straight ahead. There was no question about where this was going, Tam on top trying to sweet talk the girl.

    I stepped in quickly and smashed the Glock alongside his head. He gave a loud sigh and fell off the bed, sagging slowly to the floor, face up. The girl looked at me, terrified.

    "Get dressed," I barked. "Get out!" She did, struggling with her clothing. She hadn’t said a word.

    Now was my chance. Shoot him? Throttle him? Cut his throat with my trusty L.L. Bean knife? I sat on a chair beside him trying to make the hard decision.

    Tony Tam helped me. There was no warning, no stirring, no groaning, nothing. He just came alive with a suddenness that shocked me, kicking me on the side of the head while still flat on his back, sending me flying into a corner.

    He was on his feet in one fluid motion and then was leaping at me, hands outstretched to break my neck.

    I struggled to clear the Glock but he was on me before I got it out. His hands went around my neck and I felt those thumbs like two steel pistons digging into my throat. In seconds, I knew, my neck would be broken and I’d be dead.

    I cleared the Glock and jammed it into his side and pulled the trigger three times. His body jerked, the thumbs left my neck, and I gasped for air. He was like a sack of oats on top of me and I pushed him away, repelled as we are by contact with dead bodies.

    I climbed to my feet, rubbed my neck, worked my head back and forth a few times to make sure nothing was broken. I leaned over to take my weight on a table, breathing heavily, registering that I was still alive, remembering that I thought I was seeing my last moments when that taut, well-disciplined body came hurtling towards me. Now, Tony Tam didn’t look at all dangerous, lying there dead on the floor.

    There was no rush of footsteps to inquire about the noise, no banging on the door, nothing. I holstered the Glock and walked out.

***

    I called Mac.

    "What?" he blurted.

    "Watching the Yankees, are you?"

    "Bottom of the ninth, two out, two on, they’re behind by one run."

    "Who’s at bat?"

    "Bernie Williams."

    "Bernie’ll win it for you," I said. "I’ll wait."

    He was back in fifteen seconds. "He did it," he said. "Doubled. We won 4-3."

    "Wonderful," I said. "Bernie’s got the real stuff."

    "You wanna talk baseball?" he said.

    "It’s okay by me."

    "You got anything else on your mind?"

    "A thing or two."

    "Well?"

    "Tony Tam won’t be any further bother," I said.

    "That’s good to hear. You okay?"

    "A few bumps and bruises, nothing much."

    "Good. I suppose you gave him a fair chance?"

    "I did - and almost bought the farm."

    "Where can we find him?"

    I told him the location.

    "You leave any prints?"

    "No. I wore gloves."

    "Good. There’ll be nothing the Triads can come back and lever us with. I’ll phone our contact and they’ll remove what’s left of Mr. Tony Tam. They’ll make it public enough. I don’t suppose you’ll mind that they’ll report a white suspect in the vicinity minutes before he was found?"

    "Not as long as my face isn’t attached to it."

    "Not to worry. He’ll be short and fat with a blond wig. Not at all like you - except for the fat."

    "I’m going on a diet starting tomorrow."

    "I know," he said.

    All of a sudden, my stomach sank with a feeling of my own mortality, as if that could be me gone from the face of the earth like Tony Tam. It would be as if I never existed.

    "It could have been me, Mac."

    "Yeah, but it wasn’t."

    "One of these days it will be."

    "Geez, you’re not getting morbid on me, are you? We all gotta go sooner or later."

    "I’d rather it be later."

    "Look, kid, take a holiday."

    "I am. I’m taking Liz down to Aruba for a month."

    "You’ll come back a new man."

    "I hope so."

    "You’ll be anxious to get back to work."

    "Maybe."

    "You will. You’ll get so bored by a month of sun and sand that you’ll likely knock off a couple of Arubians - is that what you call them - just to keep in shape."

    "That’s not funny, Mac."

    "I know. Sorry."

    "It’s okay."

    "Have a good time. Call me when you get back."

    We hung up. I called Liz, gave her the story and asked her to make the travel arrangements. She said she would.