forty-six

On a good day, the Queens–Midtown Tunnel, a snaking underground passage connecting Long Island to Manhattan, is a death-trap. A claustrophobic’s nightmare, the width of the seventy-year-old tunnel had been measured and marked well before SUVs hit the road. With no shoulder on either side and no breathing room between cars, the only saving grace of the tunnel was its relatively short length.

I counted to two hundred in my head and exhaled deeply when the bottom of a billboard appeared on the horizon. Frank pulled out of the tunnel and made two left turns toward the southbound ramp for FDR Drive. We took the exit for Houston Street, a major east/west thoroughfare, and then turned south again. From there, we were within striking distance of Canal Street, the entrance to Chinatown. Although quiet at 4 a.m., early signs of life seeped into the streets. I watched as a hunched-over man with a threadbare broom swept the entrance to a storefront while a fresh seafood truck rumbled past.

“Now what?” I asked.

“Cheski and Lamendola are on their way. They’re tailing one of the minivans,” Frank said. “This central part of the neighborhood is only a few square streets, and I’m betting that the e-waste is being carted to a block with less tourism than Canal or Mott Streets. There’s got to be a loading dock somewhere. I think we need to find a building or a warehouse with its own parking lot.”

Charlie pounded away at his phone. “Head back to Bowery,” he said, looking at a map. “The street isn’t as dense, and I can see open space between some of the buildings.”

Frank steered the Gremlin back toward Bowery, and as Charlie had indicated, the through street was more industrial than downtown Chinatown. Gone were the colorful lanterns and Chinese-styled architecture, replaced with dingy gray buildings.

“Bingo,” Frank said as he pointed to a convoy of cars pulling into a parking lot between two commercial buildings. An unmarked car rolled by, and I waved to Cheski and Lamendola. Frank found street parking, a surprisingly manageable task in downtown New York at the crack of dawn.

“Time for you guys to get out,” Frank said to Charlie and me.

“What’s your plan?” I asked.

“I’m going to follow these cars and pretend I’m selling the contents of the trunk to whoever is buying.”

“The boxes are almost empty,” Charlie said. “It’s just leftovers.”

Frank pointed to the glove compartment. Charlie opened it up and pulled out a mass of heavy copper wire.

“There’s about fifty dollars of wire here,” Charlie said as he passed it to Frank.

“I know,” Frank said, and then he pointed to me. “Stay on the sidewalk away from the entrance.”

I nodded and got out of the car with Charlie, his blond curls catching the first rays of sunrise. “Like we don’t stick out, standing on a corner in Chinatown at five in the morning,” I moaned to Charlie as Frank drove away.

“We could make out,” he offered.

“Shut up,” I said as I grabbed Charlie’s arm and drew him closer to the side of the building. We watched as Frank drove slowly into a parking lot wedged between what looked like two factories left over from the era of the Triangle Shirtwaist Fire. An Asian man directed Frank to an empty spot, and I watched as the minivan drivers parked their cars and released their trunks. A set of garage doors opened and an exceptionally tall Chinese man in a suit walked into the parking lot. He shook some hands, and I noticed his limbs were so long, the arms of his suit jacket appeared to have shrunk. His bare wrists revealed a seriously sparkly watch, and I wondered if we were dealing with the Chinese mafia. I mentioned it to Charlie.

“I don’t even know if there’s such a thing as the Chinese mafia,” Charlie whispered back.

He had a point. We were out of our league.

Charlie’s phone buzzed. “Boogers,” he sighed as he answered the phone. “Katrina’s contractions are starting.”

“I knew this was going to happen. Have her call Norma,” I instructed. “I’m sure Norma can come over and wait with Katrina until Vicky arrives to midwife.”

I glanced back at the suited Chinese man. He worked the parking lot, stopping by each car to make small talk with the scavengers. As he made his rounds, two men rolled a metal table out of the garage. They locked the table’s wheels in place and then ducked back into the warehouse, reappearing with a series of electronic scales.

“This looks like the real thing,” I said to Charlie. “I think they’re actually going to weigh this garbage and sell it.”

Cheski and Lamendola, wearing street clothes, came walking around the corner. “Is Frank in the lot?” Cheski asked. I motioned to the Gremlin, and we watched as Frank mimicked the routine of the other scavengers. The suited Chinese man approached Frank. My heart ticked up a notch, and I could see Cheski and Lamendola instinctively spread their legs, right hands resting on their hips.

Frank nodded to the Chinese man, exchanged what looked to be pleasant words, shook his hand, and then turned his attention to the contents of the Gremlin. He pretended to rummage through the half-empty boxes and then lifted out a string of Christmas lights. Then he made a big show of placing the copper wires he had brought on top of his stash.

He walked casually over to the men monitoring the scales as if he were a professional scavenger with a big night’s score. Frank was about ten yards from the trunk when a young man shot out from an alley way, and made a mad dash for the Gremlin.

A scream, originating in my gut, gained the power of a locomotive as it hit my vocal cords. As the shriek ripped from my mouth, a cacophony of high-pitched Chinese voices, equally as frantic, flooded the parking lot. Frank spun around as the young man made a grab for the copper wire. Despite the thief’s head start, Frank ran full steam ahead in hopes of catching up. Cheski and Lamendola bolted forward, guns drawn.

The owner of the deli that Charlie and I were standing in front of rushed outside and started to hit Charlie with an unidentified vegetable the size of a small baseball bat. I stared helplessly as Frank was kicked to the ground. All this for some copper wire, I thought.

A pop, sounding something like a pneumatic nail gun, rang out. I squeezed my eyes shut and crumbled to the sidewalk.

When I opened my eyes, the first thing I saw was the tall Chinese man with the fancy watch. He stood in the middle of the parking lot, arms extended to the sky, his suit sleeves sunk back to his bony elbows. A line of smoke trailed up from his gun. Cheski and Lamendola had taken cover behind a minivan, and Frank was sprawled out on the pavement, his legs shoved under the bumper of the Gremlin. The copper wire thief whizzed past Charlie and I. Within seconds, the thief had disappeared into the streets of New York.

I uncovered my ringing ears and allowed the sounds of the streets to filter in. Rising above the din of the waking city, I could hear Cheski speaking to the suited man: “Drop the gun.”

A string of police sirens followed as I struggled free of Charlie’s grasp and ran toward Frank’s prone body. Cheski muttered a string of curses as I dashed past him.

I slid my hands up and down Frank’s body, praying I wouldn’t find an open wound. His torn shirt revealed a hairy but bullet-free chest. With his head gently resting in my hand, I felt a moist spot below the crown of Frank’s skull.

“Frank,” I whispered, “can you hear me?”

His eyes blinked open and then rolled back in his head.