notice. They looked like the two kids who'd come with Lonnie Wu and scared me to death. I stepped out behind them, grabbed one of them by the hair, and jammed the Browning into his ear.
I didn't say anything. They probably didn't speak English. And I didn't know how to say "Stick 'em up" in Chinese. The kid grunted and his buddy turned with his gun out. I kept myself behind my teenybopper so his pal couldn't get a shot at me. The pal began to back down the alley toward Arlington Street, in a crouch, gun forward, held in both hands, looking for a shot at me and not able to get one. I was afraid he'd shoot at me anyway and kill his buddy. These were not stable young men. I took my gun out of the kid's ear and waved it at the other one, making a "beat it" gesture. For a moment, we faced off that way. The kid I had hold of tried to twist out of the way, but I was much too big and strong for him, and I kept him jammed against me, his head yanked back against my chest. In the distance was the sound of a siren.
Somebody in my building had probably objected to gunshots in the stairwell, and called the cops. My neighbors were so traditional.
The kid heard the siren, and for another moment held his crouch despite it. Then he broke, and turned, and ran. At the corner of Arlington Street, he turned toward Boylston Street, and disappeared. I didn't care about him. I had one, which was all I needed.
CHAPTER 23
I sat in an interrogation room at Police Headquarters with Herman Leong and the Vietnamese shooter.
"Name's Yan," Herman said.
"He speak any English?" I said.
The room was cinder block painted industrial beige. The floor was brown tile and the suspended ceiling was cellotex tile that had started out white. The door was oak with yellow shellac finish.
There were no windows. Light came from a fluorescent fixture that hung from short lengths of chain in the center of the room.
"Probably," Herman said.
"But he won't let on."
Herman sat beside me on one side of an oak table shellacked the same yellow as the door. A lot of cigarettes had left their dark impressions on its edges. The kid sat across the table on a straight chair. He wore a white shirt buttoned to the neck, and dark, baggy trousers. His black hair was long, and it hung over his forehead and down to the corners of his eyes. He said something to Herman.
Herman shook his head.
"Wants a cigarette," Herman said.
"Tell him he'll get one just before the blindfold."
Herman nodded and didn't say anything. The kid stared at me.
His eyes were black and empty.
"How old is he?" I said.
Herman spoke to him. Yan answered. His voice was uninflected. His face blank. He looked bored.
"Says he thinks he's seventeen. He doesn't know for sure."
I nodded.
"Why do you ask?" Herman said.
"Just wondered," I said.
"He's old enough to kill you," Herman said.
"You let him."
"I won't let him," I said.
"What was he doing in my apartment?"
I waited for the translation.
"Says he wasn't in your apartment."
"We'll be able to make him there," I said.
"There'll be prints."
Herman translated. Yan shrugged.
"What was he doing on the fire escape?" I said to Herman.
Herman spoke to Yan. Yan answered.
"Says he was just climbing it for the hell of it, was coming down when you jumped him in the alley for no reason."
"How come he was carrying a.45-caliber automatic pistol?"
"Says he found it and was going to take it to the police."
I looked at Yan, and smiled. He stared back at me blankly.
"Tell him," I said, "that we've got him for carrying a handgun without a license. We've got him for breaking and entering."
Yan said something to Herman.
"Yan says you can't prove he was breaking in anyplace."
"He's on the fire escape outside my open window," I said.
"We'll lift some prints that will place him in my apartment. He's looking at a couple of felonies."
Yan smiled faintly and looked at Herman while Herman translated. His smile widened a little as he listened. Then he spoke very
I didn't say anything. They probably didn't speak English. And I didn't know how to say "Stick 'em up" in Chinese. The kid grunted and his buddy turned with his gun out. I kept myself behind my teenybopper so his pal couldn't get a shot at me. The pal began to back down the alley toward Arlington Street, in a crouch, gun forward, held in both hands, looking for a shot at me and not able to get one. I was afraid he'd shoot at me anyway and kill his buddy. These were not stable young men. I took my gun out of the kid's ear and waved it at the other one, making a "beat it" gesture. For a moment, we faced off that way. The kid I had hold of tried to twist out of the way, but I was much too big and strong for him, and I kept him jammed against me, his head yanked back against my chest. In the distance was the sound of a siren.
Somebody in my building had probably objected to gunshots in the stairwell, and called the cops. My neighbors were so traditional.
The kid heard the siren, and for another moment held his crouch despite it. Then he broke, and turned, and ran. At the corner of Arlington Street, he turned toward Boylston Street, and disappeared. I didn't care about him. I had one, which was all I needed.
CHAPTER 23
I sat in an interrogation room at Police Headquarters with Herman Leong and the Vietnamese shooter.
"Name's Yan," Herman said.
"He speak any English?" I said.
The room was cinder block painted industrial beige. The floor was brown tile and the suspended ceiling was cellotex tile that had started out white. The door was oak with yellow shellac finish.
There were no windows. Light came from a fluorescent fixture that hung from short lengths of chain in the center of the room.
"Probably," Herman said.
"But he won't let on."
Herman sat beside me on one side of an oak table shellacked the same yellow as the door. A lot of cigarettes had left their dark impressions on its edges. The kid sat across the table on a straight chair. He wore a white shirt buttoned to the neck, and dark, baggy trousers. His black hair was long, and it hung over his forehead and down to the corners of his eyes. He said something to Herman.
Herman shook his head.
"Wants a cigarette," Herman said.
"Tell him he'll get one just before the blindfold."
Herman nodded and didn't say anything. The kid stared at me.
His eyes were black and empty.
"How old is he?" I said.
Herman spoke to him. Yan answered. His voice was uninflected. His face blank. He looked bored.
"Says he thinks he's seventeen. He doesn't know for sure."
I nodded.
"Why do you ask?" Herman said.
"Just wondered," I said.
"He's old enough to kill you," Herman said.
"You let him."
"I won't let him," I said.
"What was he doing in my apartment?"
I waited for the translation.
"Says he wasn't in your apartment."
"We'll be able to make him there," I said.
"There'll be prints."
Herman translated. Yan shrugged.
"What was he doing on the fire escape?" I said to Herman.
Herman spoke to Yan. Yan answered.
"Says he was just climbing it for the hell of it, was coming down when you jumped him in the alley for no reason."
"How come he was carrying a.45-caliber automatic pistol?"
"Says he found it and was going to take it to the police."
I looked at Yan, and smiled. He stared back at me blankly.
"Tell him," I said, "that we've got him for carrying a handgun without a license. We've got him for breaking and entering."
Yan said something to Herman.
"Yan says you can't prove he was breaking in anyplace."
"He's on the fire escape outside my open window," I said.
"We'll lift some prints that will place him in my apartment. He's looking at a couple of felonies."
Yan smiled faintly and looked at Herman while Herman translated. His smile widened a little as he listened. Then he spoke very
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