Pierre Henry nodded toward her. “She’s a reporter. She’s asking me some questions about the challenges of business in Brownsville.”
“Good afternoon,” Sadie said, extending her hand, but Mr. William didn’t reach for hers.
The man was thick-bodied, with salt-and-pepper hair, and he wore a faded Earth, Wind & Fire T-shirt. His face lagged on one side and his fingers curled in his lap. As Sadie studied him, he studied her—his eyes sternly fixed on her.
“What… paper?” Mr. William asked.
“New Gotham. It’s a newish paper. NewGotham.com.”
“You… Where are you from?”
Sadie hugged her notebook to her chest.
“Brooklyn!” she answered, sidestepping what she knew he was really asking.
“Where are your people from?”
“I’m mixed.”
“What’s the mix?”
He would wrench out the whiteness, broadcast this news to the people of Brownsville.
“So my mom, she’s, like, Jewish American. And my dad is Chinese American.”
“Chinese,” he said, nodding, as if he had discovered the key to her.
Relieved he hadn’t latched on to the Jewish part, she smiled. Perhaps he had only wanted to know what type of POC she was. In fact, maybe he’d appreciate her family’s personal connection to Brownsville.
“My grandparents used to run a Chinese restaurant on Livonia Avenue. Many decades ago.”
The man gripped the handles of his wheelchair. “Wong. Your grandfather was Mr. Wong?”
“Richard Chin. Our last name is Chin. I’m Sadie Chin.” She reachedout her hand again, but the man only continued to glower. At this point, the nurse returned with a roll of paper towels and a box of Efferdent Denture Cleanser. She handed a twenty to Pierre Henry, who had been listening to the exchange with amusement.
When the nurse took hold of the wheelchair handles, Mr. William twisted around and hollered.
“Wait!”
Painfully, he strained against the weight of his bones and, hands on the arms of the wheelchair, raised himself to his feet. Sadie caught a whiff of the man on her breath: the smell of Tic Tacs and old newspapers.
“What’s wrong, Mr. William? Let me help you!” said the nurse, touching his arm. “What do you want?”
He swatted her away.
Extending his left arm, he jutted a trembling hand in Sadie’s direction and began to unclench his fingers.
“Liar!” he cried, pointing at her. “Mr. Wong! Ask your grandfather about the people he killed!”
“Wait, what?”
“Mr. Wong. The landlord. It was him!”
“What nonsense you telling that girl?” the nurse cried.
“Wait, but…” Sadie stuttered. “I’m not related to anyone named Wong.”
“Mr. Wong is a murderer!”
