Old dogs get no new tricks

Lao Guo hated the place. Cheap sushi, rice like pasty glue, one door in and out. His suit stuck out among tourists in flip-flops. Stools wide enough for fat American asses.

He sat where he could watch the entrance and Zhang “the Tooth”. Not boss-like, today. Loud orange shirt, orange flowers, a camouflage for old men. The boss just stared at the plates rolling by, barely touched a bite.

Four times already Lao had chased off people wanting the stool beside Zhang. Should’ve held the meeting in one of their own joints. No gawkers, no headaches.

Detective Hsu came in, her face like bad weather. She didn't seem to appreciate the shit sushi joint, too. Much to her credit. And she spotted them quick. He pointed at the seat near Zhang. She scanned the room, every slob swallowing garbage, then she scanned him, guessing where he held the gun, probably the knives too. Sat down without giving her back to either of them. Cop paranoia.

“Sit. Eat,” Zhang said, waving at the conveyor belt.

“I’m here for business only.” Her voice cut.

“The young nowadays. Always rushing.” Colored bowls rolled by, ignored. "Sit. Eat.”

Once again, this time the charm.

Despite the boss being dressed as a fucking tourist, Lao appreciated the picture. They looked like father and daughter. Or a dirty, possibly dicklimp old man and a pay-by-hour. Well, uncalled for. The boss had more dick than anyone else in Taiwan, and Detective Hsu had a long way to go before looking the part.

Hsu cracked chopsticks, scraped off the splinters, snatched a salmon nigiri without even taking the plate. Rice clung to her lip.

“Where’s A Sun? Someone’s hiding him. One of you dogs—”

Lao shifted. She threw him a glare, stopped herself from spitting the insult. Zhang didn’t move. Stone.

“A Sun’s a stray. Back then, someone would’ve taught him—”

“Don’t care about back then. I need him now. Before he kills again.”

Lao’s lip twitched. Zhang waited a small bowl of seaweed salad to reach him, on the conveyor belt.

“You policemen.” Zhang took time with each bite. “Filling your mouth with a law that has nothing to do with life on the street, with people.”

“You know nothing of the law.”

Strange meeting, strange place. Lao didn't fancy himself a very imaginative guy. Straight like a fucking bullet, he was. He made peace with that. Some people followed, other lead. The boss was of the latter. Could see stuff people couldn't.

Still. Detective Hsu wasn't gonna go crooked. She reeked of devotion to the badge. Strange she didn't try to pull an arrest, then and there. Refraining from being stupid was taxing her, eyebrows twitching.

But then, why bother meeting her?

Zhang lifted seaweed like it was caviar, then, relented. “There’s a warehouse in Wanhua, by Longshan Temple. We used it for cigarettes. A Sun’s squatting in a rooftop shack. Alone, they say.”

“We’ll see about that.”

Hsu shoved back the stool, nails on slate. Glared one last time, then walked out, slamming the door. Sushi chef froze mid-cut, peering over bent heads. Nothing.

Lao slid into her seat. Took a cigarette out, just to taste the filter.

Zhang's face unreadable stone. Head of one of the biggest triads in the country. His eyes shifted, one millimeter, enough.

“You like women, Lao? I used to. So much it gave me trouble.” He let the empty plate of algae go. “Later I learned better. Now I'm mostly worried with family. Legacy.”

Lao picked up Hsu’s chopsticks. Weighed them. Dropped them on the belt.

“That cop won’t ever be family.”

Zhang tossed a bill on the counter, didn't care to answer. They left the joint. Outside, drizzle streaked down Taipei's skyscrapers. It was going to go at it, stop, start again. Under the awning, Lao finally lit his smoke. Zhang put a hand on his shoulder in a rare moment of closeness. He wasn’t done.

“When you get my age, Lao, you start to enjoy subtler pleasures. Only one worth a damn, left. Watching your kids make it.”