Harry didn’t turn. The plan was to wait until Woo had had his food served. A man with chopsticks in his hands takes longer to pull out a weapon.
“He’s sitting down,” Liz said. “Man, he should be locked up for his appearance alone. But we can count ourselves lucky if we manage to hold him long enough to ask a few questions.”
“What do you mean? The guy hurled a policeman from a first-floor window.”
“I know, but I wouldn’t get your hopes up. Woo ‘the Cook’ is not just anyone. He works for one of the families, and they have good lawyers. We figure he’s liquidated at least a dozen people, maimed ten times as many and still his jack shit on his record.”
“The Cook?” Harry set about the scalding hot spring roll that had arrived at the table.
“He got the nickname a couple of years back. We had one of Woo’s victims on our hands; I got the case and was present when they started the autopsy. It had been on the slab for a few days and was so bloated with gas that it looked like a black and blue football. The gas is toxic, so the pathologist sent us out of the room, and he wore a gas mask before perforating the stomach. I was watching from the window in the door. The skin flapped when he opened the body and you could see the green tinge of gas as it poured out.”
Harry put the spring roll back on the plate with a wounded expression, though Liz didn’t notice.
“But the shock was that he was teeming with life inside. The pathologist backed up against the wall as the black creatures crawled out of the stomach, down onto the floor and darted off into nooks and crannies.” She formed horns with her index fingers against her forehead. “Devil beetles.”
“Beetles?” Harry pulled a face. “I didn’t think they entered bodies.”
“The dead man had a plastic tube in his mouth when we found him.”
“He …”
“In Chinatown grilled beetles are a delicacy. Woo had force-fed the poor guy.”
“And skipped the grilling?” Harry pushed away the plate.
“Amazing creatures, insects,” Liz said. “I mean, how did the beetles survive in the stomach, with the toxic gas and everything?”
“I’d prefer not to think about it.”
“Too spicy?”
It took Harry a second to realize that she meant the food. He had pushed the plate to the edge of the table.
“You’ll get used to it, Harry. You just have to take it step-by-step. You should take a couple of recipes with you to impress your girlfriend in the kitchen when you get home.”
Harry coughed.
“Or your mother,” Liz said.
Harry shook his head. “Sorry, don’t have one of them, either.”
“I’m the one who should apologize,” she said, and the conversation died. Woo’s food was on its way.
She pulled out a black service pistol from her hip holster and released the safety catch.
“Smith & Wesson 650,” Harry said. “Heavy-duty.”
“Stay behind me,” Liz said, getting up.
Woo didn’t bat an eyelid when he looked up and stared into the muzzle of the inspector’s gun. He held the chopsticks in his left hand; the right hand was hidden in his lap. Liz barked something in Thai, but he didn’t seem to hear. Without moving his head, his eyes wandered around the room, registered Nho and Sunthorn before stopping by Harry. A faint smile crossed his lips.
Liz shouted again, and Harry felt the skin on his neck tingle. The hammer of the gun rose, and Woo’s right hand appeared on the table. Empty. Harry heard Liz breathe out between her teeth. Woo’s gaze still rested on Harry while Nho and Sunthorn attached the handcuffs. As they led him out it looked like a little circus procession with one muscleman and two dwarfs.
Liz put her gun back in its holster. “I don’t think he likes you,” she said, indicating the chopsticks which had been stuffed into the rice bowl and pointed upward.
“Really?”
“It’s an old Thai symbol for wishing you dead.”
“He’ll have to wait his turn.” Harry remembered he needed to ask to borrow a gun.
“Let’s see if we can get some action before the night is over,” Liz said.
* * *
On their way into the arena they were met by screams from an ecstatic crowd and a trio of men banging and whistling like a school band on acid.
Two boxers wearing colorful headbands and rags tied around both arms had just entered the ring.
“That’s our guy Ivan in the blue shorts,” Liz said. Outside the stadium she had relieved Harry of all the notes he had in his pocket and given them to a bookie.
They found their seats in the front row, behind the referee, and Liz smacked her lips with pleasure. She exchanged a few words with her neighbor.