The Black Stiletto: Stars & Stripes by Raymond Benson Page A

here. Ma’am—” that was the first time he ever called me “ma’am”— “I thank you for everything. I have enjoyed our time together. But I must say goodbye. I am sorry.”
    That’s when I realized poor Billy was scared to death. The Tong had put the fear of God into him and his mother. For that, I was determined to take them all on. I wanted to find their little nest and fumigate them.
    But I told him, “All right, Billy. It’s okay. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. I understand.” In other words, I let him off thehook. I thanked him for his lessons and paid him his last fee. Without him knowing, I slipped an extra $50 in the wad of cash.
    We shook hands and said goodbye. I could tell he wasn’t happy about what he had to tell me. He was genuinely upset. I might have felt bad about it myself, but somehow I knew—I
know
—Billy and I will meet again and I told him so.
    I waited until he was back inside his building before I emerged from our hiding place. Even though I’d just promised him I wouldn’t come see him anymore, I didn’t exactly say I wasn’t going to visit Chinatown. So just to make the evening’s effort worthwhile, I decided to take a stroll. Instead of heading north toward the Village, I went south to see what kind of mischief I could find. Maybe I wanted another scrap with a Tong member. I had felt so good the previous night. The Black Stiletto had trounced a really tough guy— a murderer—and handed him over to the police. My extracurricular activities hadn’t gone so well in a long time.
    But ego and arrogance were my downfall. I was cocky. Having an audience the other night went to my head. I know that now. I was stupid and I’m mad at myself for not paying heed to what I’d told Billy.
    There were a lot of pedestrians on the streets, as usual. I dashed between dark pockets of storefronts, step by step, along Bayard Street going west. I was seen. Fingers pointed. But I moved swiftly and didn’t give anyone time to engage me in any way. I found a few unlit spots where I could stand, catch my breath, and observe the landscape.
    I reached Bayard and Mott, the scene of my little scuffle with Pock Face and kept going south. By then, the buzz on the street was pretty strong:
the Black Stiletto was in Chinatown
. It must have been what I wanted. I hoped the Tongs would come out and play.
    And they did.
    Pell Street T-intersected into Mott from the east. There, a dozen toughs stood in the middle of the road, blocking any travel farther south. I either had to turn around and go north on Mott, or take theleft turn onto Pell Street, which, from the intersection, looked clear of anyone but pedestrians. I chose the latter.
    It was a trap.
    As soon as I slipped to the sidewalk on Pell, more young Chinese men materialized out of the shadows in front of me. They’d been waiting. I looked behind me and the first mob had moved forward and now blocked the way out to Mott. I was surrounded by at least two dozen Tong members. Some of them carried weapons—clubs, bats, knives—but I saw no handguns.
    Dear diary, I’d been in precarious situations before and I’ve also experienced fear, but I don’t think I’ve ever been as scared as I was then. My stomach was in my throat. My intuitive danger alarms were going haywire. My heart pounded and my adrenaline pumped. It was fight or flight, no question about it.
    I was the Black Stiletto! I could face all those hoodlums, right?
    They proved me wrong.
    Mustering up some bravado, I said, “You fellas don’t want any trouble, now do you?” I don’t know if they understood English or if they just didn’t want to reply. They just kept moving forward, squeezing me in, leaving me no way out.
    I drew the stiletto. “Stand back,” I threatened, but my words fell on deaf ears.
    The best route out of the situation was