The Stone Monkey

have much time. The police are close to finding the Changs and I have to get there first and then get out of this country and go home. So, one hundred thousand one-color,” the Ghost said. “I can give it to you in cash right now.”
    “I’m not like most of the security bureau officers you’re used to.”
    “You mean you’re more greedy? Then two hundred thousand.” The Ghost laughed. “You would have to work for a hundred years to make that much money in Liu Guoyuan.”
    “You are under arrest.”
    The smile on the Ghost’s face faded, realizing that he was serious. “This will go badly for your wife and children if you don’t let me go.”
    Li growled, “You will lie down on your belly. Now.”
    “All right. An honorable and honest security bureau officer. I am surprised . . . .What’s your name, little man?”
    “My name is not your concern.”
    The Ghost knelt on the cobblestones.
    Li decided to use his shoelaces to tie the Ghost’s wrists. He then—Suddenly Li realized in shock that the shopping bag was between them and that the Ghost’s right hand had disappeared behind it.
    “No!” he shouted.
    The Lucky Hope Shop bag exploded toward Li as the Ghost fired through it with a second gun he had hidden in an ankle holster or his sock.
    The bullet zipped past Li’s hip. He raised his hand in an automatic gesture, flinching. But by the time he was thrusting his own pistol forward the snakehead had knocked it from his hand. Li grabbed the Ghost’s wrist and tried to pull the Model 51 from his fingers. Together they tumbled to the slick cobblestones and this gun too fell to the ground.
    Desperately, they clutched at each other, clawing and striking when they could but mostly wrestling and trying to reach one of the weapons that lay on the cobblestones near them. The Ghost slammed his palm into Li’s face and stunned him then spun away, struggling to pull the Glock from the cop’s pocket.
    Li recovered quickly and tackled the Ghost, knocking this weapon too to the ground. The cop’s knee struck the killer’s back and knocked the breath out of him. Still facing away from Li, the Ghost, gasping and moaning in pain, struggled to his knees. Li’s arm remained around the snakehead’s throat in a choke hold.
    Unstoppable, the Ghost struggled toward the pistol.
    Stop him, stop him, Li raged to himself. He’s the man who would kill Hongse, the man who would kill the Changs.
    Who would kill Loaban too.
    Stop him!
    He seized the leather thong around the Ghost’s neck,the one that held the stone monkey amulet, and began to pull hard. The leather tightened. The Ghost’s hands flailed uselessly and from his throat came a gurgling noise. The snakehead began to quiver. His heels were nearly off the ground.
    Let go, Sonny Li told himself. Arrest him. Don’t murder him.
    But he didn’t let go. He pulled harder and harder.
    Until the leather snapped.
    The monkey figurine fell to the ground and shattered. Li stumbled backward, falling hard into the alley, striking his head on the cobblestones. He nearly passed out.
    Judges of hell . . .
    The cop could faintly see the Ghost, also on his hands and knees, gasping and coughing, holding his throat with one hand as his other patted the ground for a weapon.
    An image came into Li’s mind: His stern father reprimanding him for some foolish comment.
    Then another one: The bodies of the Ghost’s victims in Li’s town in China, lying bloody on the sidewalk in front of the café.
    And he pictured another terrible sight, one that had not yet happened: Hongse dead, lying in darkness. Loaban too, his face as still in death as his body had been in life.
    Sonny Li rolled to his knees and began crawling toward his enemy.
    •   •   •
    The crime scene bus left twenty-foot skid marks on the Chinatown street, which was slick with runoff from the melting ice from bins at a nearby fish market.
    Amelia Sachs, her face grim, jumped out, accompanied by INS agent Alan Coe and Eddie Deng. They ran through the pungent alleyway toward the cluster of uniformed officersfrom the Fifth Precinct. The men and women stood casually, looking as matter-of-fact as police always did at crime scenes.
    Even scenes of homicides.
    Sachs slowed and gazed down at the body.
    Sonny Li was lying on his stomach on the filthy cobblestones. Eyes partially open, palms flat beside him, level with his shoulders, as if he were about to start a series of push-ups.
    Sachs paused, filled with