forty-seven

Frank refused to get into the ambulance. He was embarrassed, I’m sure, that he had been distracted by a low-life garbage thief. Moreover, the theft revealed Frank’s ignorance about the garbage trade. Apparently, hundreds of dollars in wire is two zeroes more than the average scavenger’s haul.

“I’m fine,” he yelled as the EMT wrapped a gauze bandage around his head. A second EMT shone a pen light in Frank’s eyes. “It was just a bad fall. I don’t have a concussion,” he said as he swallowed two aspirin. “Get Mr. Lu over here,” he said to Cheski.

Cheski escorted Mr. Lu to the ambulance. Lu continued to bow and shake hands along the way. “What’s with the hand shaking?” I mumbled. “Is he a local politician?”

“Businessman,” Frank said as Lu approached.

Lu bowed to me and shook my hand. “Very sorry, I shoot the gun to stop the thief,” he said, introducing himself. “Luen Lu, businessman, scrap metal.”

I looked at Frank, and he nodded as if to confirm Mr. Lu’s profession. “That’s it?” I asked Mr. Lu. “You’re just a scrap metal dealer?”

“Big business,” he said. He spread his arms wide and pointed to a shiny new Lexus as proof of his success. “In US, just a scrap dealer, but in China, important man.”

“You ship all of this stuff to China?”

Lu bowed again.

“He sends the e-waste to China to have it stripped by hand,” Frank said. “Probably costs him pennies a day in China.”

Lu nodded eagerly. “Good prices, great margin. No good in US.”

I leaned into Frank and tucked a loose strand of his hair under his bandage. “Who was the guy that jumped you?”

“Punk,” Lu said, smiling. “Jealous of Mr. Lu’s success.”

Frank pointed to my bag. “Show him your sketches.”

I opened to the faceless picture of Gayle with her black, bobbed hair. Mr. Lu burst out laughing, and I realized that the entire female population of Chinatown met this description. I leafed through the pages to the sketch of the doughy man. Lu leaned into the picture. He didn’t seem to recognize the man we suspected had pushed Bob to his death. Instead, Frank asked Lu about Harry Goldberg and HG storage.

“Very good deal,” Lu said. “Two warehouses, big haul, make lots of money in China.”

At least now we knew where the e-waste from the warehouses had gone. I thought about the hundreds of workers in China toiling away at mounds of toxic computer equipment that the EPA wouldn’t touch without face masks. As much as I loved garbage, it hurt me to know that underpaid people were being overexposed to harmful materials, all for a few centimeters of copper wire. Lu didn’t care, and I was sure as hell Harry Goldberg didn’t give a crap who combed through the contents of his warehouse. His cousin David may have thought twice had he known, and Bob, my recycling champion, had probably been frantic that he couldn’t stop the illegal transfer of toxic e-waste. Frank interrupted my thoughts and asked Lu about Bob.

Lu filled his cheeks with air and lifted his arms to his side. Bob’s weight, it appeared, had made him instantly memorable. Lu started to laugh again and then circled his finger by his ear, indicating he thought Bob was crazy.

“He want those warehouses, but I promise HG to empty in twenty-four hours, and I win. Instead, the big man tell me he just want the computer hard drive. Useless,” Lu roared. “Not worth me removing.”

Frank tried to nod as he held his bandaged head with his hand. He was in pain. I reached out to him before he could speak. “You don’t have to explain. I get it.” And I did. Bob and Gayle were collecting hard drives and although their motive was still unclear, Harry Goldberg’s warehouse would have been a big score for them.