The Last Assassin

the area first. The streets, the alleys, everything.”
    “Yes, Mom.”
    I looked at him, but there was just no arguing with that irrepressible grin.
    We spent another hour going over the plan. When we were done, Dox went off to find an escort, and I went back to the hotel, alone.

6
    A T MIDNIGHT THE FOLLOWING evening, I sat in a second-floor window seat at a place called Pegu Club, a bar at the corner of Houston and Wooster, kitty-corner to Zinc. I nursed the eponymous cocktail, an admittedly tasty gin-based infusion, snacked on some of their light fare, and read a copy of The Economist so I wouldn’t look like a guy on a stakeout.
    At twelve-thirty, I saw Dox emerge from the stairway. He had the Nokia out. Mine vibrated a moment later. I was already wearing the earpiece and pressed the receive button after the first buzz.
    “Yeah,” I said.
    “He’s here,” he said. “Just like you thought. Chinese guy, maybe twenty or so, hundred forty, hundred and fifty pounds. All by himself, hardly drinking, just watching the stage. Hard-looking kid. Hasn’t tapped his foot once since the music started.”
    I could hear the band playing from inside. The piano especially. I tried not to think about it.
    “Just the one?” I asked.
    “Yeah. He’s alone.”
    “You get his picture?”
    “Three or four of them. This little Panasonic you picked up works nicely in the dark.”
    “Has he noticed you?”
    “I’m in stealth mode, partner, he doesn’t even know I’m here. Plus I’m accompanied by the lovely and charming Miss Jasmine, who I met via the Internet earlier today.”
    “All right, go back inside,” I said. “Be ready to follow him out when he leaves. I want to see where he’s going, whether he stays with Midori, whether there’s a handoff to anyone else.”
    “Roger that.” He closed the cell phone, nodded subtly in my direction, and went back inside.
    Forty-five minutes later, I saw patrons leaving Zinc and realized the set was over. My phone buzzed.
    “Yeah.”
    “Here he comes,” Dox said. His normally booming voice was coming through just loud enough for me to hear but not, presumably, for Miss Jasmine or anyone else. “You should see him on the stairs right now.”
    “Midori’s still in there?”
    “Still in here, talking to a few people. Nice-looking woman, if you don’t mind my saying. I love that long black Asian hair. And a hell of a piano player.”
    The Chinese kid came out, walked a few yards west on Houston, and stopped to light a cigarette.
    “I see him,” I said. “Looks like he’s going to enjoy a little tobacco break.”
    “Someone ought to tell him that stuff’ll kill you.”
    Sure enough, the Chinese kid leaned back against the building behind him and stood there, smoking. I smiled. It seemed to me that the primary beneficiary of Mayor Bloomberg’s indoor smoking ban, aside from the hearts and lungs of all New Yorkers, was anyone running foot surveillance and needing an excuse to hang around outside a restaurant.
    “Yeah, he’s not leaving,” I said. “And as long as Midori’s still in there, I don’t think he’s going anywhere. Stay put and let me know when she’s coming out.”
    “Roger that.”
    I closed the phone and watched for a few minutes more. If someone else were going to pick up Midori from here, this would be the time for the Chinese kid to make a call. But he didn’t take out a phone. I didn’t know what Yamaoto was paying the triad for the surveillance, but it looked like he was only getting solo coverage for his money. Well, that suited me.
    I paid the bill, walked downstairs, and headed out of the bar. From street level I didn’t have as clear a view of Zinc, so I crossed to the north side of Houston and started strolling west. I called Dox.
    “How’re we doing?” I asked.
    “Looks like she’s getting ready to go. Saying good night to the proprietor right now.”
    I passed a group of people smoking outside a bar and paused nearby, just someone polite enough to leave the bar for a cell phone call.
    “Here she comes,” Dox said.
    I swallowed and watched Zinc’s entrance. A moment later, Midori emerged from the stairwell. She paused at the curb and looked my way. I felt my heart accelerate. But she wasn’t scanning the sidewalk; she was watching the street, looking for a cab. And anyway I was keeping the smokers between us. She wouldn’t have seen me.
    She was wearing a waist-length black leather jacket. Her hair was as long and