Bullet To The Head

Hop Sing’s All-Night Dumpling House was three things at once: a restaurant, a crime scene waiting to happen, and the best place to ruin your life after 2 a.m.

Before Eddie Cardone could make his move, before he even slid one foot out of the red leather booth where the soy sauce turned every elbow into flypaper, Jimmy Tong slapped a hand to his chest and said, “Don’t.”

Eddie raised an eyebrow, halfway to cocky, halfway to stupid. “Don’t what?”

Jimmy tilted his head toward the bar. “Her.”

Lillianne Wong. Twenty-seven. High cheekbones. Jet-black bob that framed her face like quotation marks. And eyes—almond-shaped, ink-dark. She looked like punk rock dressed as a fortune cookie. She was sitting at the bar, laughing at something a waiter said, while her finger circled the glass rim like she was summoning the devil.

“That’s Lillianne,” Jimmy said. “You don’t want that kind of beautiful. That kind of beautiful gets you followed, folded, and FedExed to your mom in a jar.”

Eddie smirked. “She got a boyfriend?”

“Had. Tommy Huang.”

Eddie blinked. “The Tommy Huang?”

“Yeah. That Tommy Huang. Boss of the Mott Street Dragons. Collects fingers like baseball cards.”

Eddie tilted his head. “So… she’s single.”

Jimmy looked like he wanted to slap the optimism out of him. “You’re outta your league. West Side white boys come down here every weekend with Yellow Fever and no exit strategy. You work for me, but that doesn’t grant you a passport.”

Eddie shrugged. “What’s it gonna take, then?”

Jimmy snorted. “More brains than God gave you. Look, I could introduce you to a million other girls. But not Lillianne Wong. Not unless you like funerals. Besides, she’s got health issues.”

Eddie leaned back. “What, like STD or something?”

Jimmy stared. “Are you seriously asking if she has an STD?”

“I mean, you said health issues—what else am I supposed to think?”

“She took a bullet to the head.”

Eddie sat forward. “Come again?”

“You didn’t read about it? It was all over the papers. The bullet was meant for Tommy. Missed him, ricocheted, hit her. Right in the back of the skull. .35 caliber.”

Eddie let out a low whistle. “Jesus. That was her?”

“Spent a month in a coma. Woke up thinkin’ she was in third grade. Had to relearn the alphabet. Cantonese and English. Couldn’t hold chopsticks. Didn’t know her own name for six weeks.”

Eddie glanced back at her. “Well, she looks good now.”

Jimmy glared. “She’s a walking miracle. And the bullet’s still in there.”

Eddie blinked. “The bullet’s still in where?”

“Her f****n’ head, Eddie! They couldn’t remove it! Doctors said takin’ it out was like trying to defuse a bomb. One bad move, boom—she’s wallpaper.”

Eddie grinned like a guy who only hears what he wants. “Wow. That’s too bad. So you’re saying no headbangin’ sex?”

Jimmy closed his eyes. “Are you seriously being stupid now or what? I’m sayin’ don’t go near this girl; first off, you got no cache in Chinatown. And even if you did, you’re setting yourself up for a fall. Lemme ask you a question: you ever date a Chinese girl?”

“No, I haven’t. But I got to start somewhere,” Eddie said. “Figure she might wanna have a little fun with a guy like me.”

“A guy like you? Who the f**k are you?”

“Who the f**k am I? Who the f**k are you? Who the f**k is anybody, Jimmy?”

“Well, I know who the f**k I am. Do you know who the f**k you are?”

“I got an idea.”

“I don’t think you do. I don’t think you’re even listening to anything I’m saying, Eddie. I’m trying to explain! Jesus Christ, even looking in her direction is dangerous! Unless you wanna be charged with involuntary manslaughter.”

“What’d ya talking about—manslaughter?”

“The bullet, Eddie! In her head—is what I’m talking about! All the bullet has to do is move a fraction of a centimeter, and it kills her.”

Eddie finally took a moment to let it all sink in. “Like walking on eggshells. I get it! But … no different than any other woman.”

“What if she dies in your arms, you dumb prick?! Say you wanna do something romantic with her, right? Dancing’s out of the question. One little bump on the dance floor and her brains are splattered all over the ceiling. Moonlit drive down the FDR? Forget it. One pothole is all it takes. Bam! She’s a ghost. Say she falls for you, right? You’re ripping each other’s clothes off, and she gnaws on your ear lobe and whispers something like, ‘Give it to me rough!’”

“Aw right, aw right, aw right, I get the picture.”

That’s when Lillianne turned, caught Eddie staring, and locked eyes with him. Just a flicker. But it hit like static electricity and bad deci