I drove barefooted along Storrow Drive to Soldiers Field Road. I parked in a parking area opposite the Ground Round, not far from Channel 4. Then I turned and rested my right arm on the seat back and smiled at the Oriental man.
“What’s your name,” I said.
“Loo,” he said. “Richie Loo.”
“Chinese?”
“Yes.”
“Where you from?”
“I’m from here,” Richie said. “The two coolies were from Taiwan.”
“Maybe they still are,” I said.
Richie shrugged. “You gut shot one of them,” he said.
I nodded.
We were silent. Bicycles went past along the river. Across the way on the Cambridge side there were joggers. A white cabin cruiser with mahogany trim moved up the river. I looked at Richie Loo. He nodded slightly, as if he’d been in conversation.
“I don’t know nothing about you,” he said. “I work for a guy here who works for a guy in Hong Kong who owes a favor. The Hong Kong guy sent the two goons over and I met them. They don’t speak English. We’re supposed to kill you. I’m supposed to guide and interpret and be backup, but they’re supposed to do it.”
“Who you work for,” I said.
Richie Loo shook his head. “Won’t do you any good. You want to know who wants you killed. Connection’s too complicated. Guy I work for don’t even know.”
“I know who wanted it done,” I said. “I want to know where he is.”
“Same answer,” Richie said. “Won’t do you no good.”
“Tell me who you work for,” I said. “It’s a start.”
Richie shook his head. “Can’t do that. I tell you stuff, I’m dead. Maybe you’ll kill me if I don’t. But they’ll kill me if I do, and they’ll do it slower.”
More silence. The traffic hum was steady behind us on Soldiers Field Road. Back toward the bend in the river, two kids were playing Frisbee with a golden retriever, the dog tearing off after the disk and sometimes catching it in the air.
“Get out,” I said.
Richie Loo got out of the car.
“Close the door,” I said.
He did. I put the car in gear and backed out and drove away.