By Patrick Radden Keefe
During this exciting landscape of real-life occasions, Patrick Radden Keefe investigates a mystery global run by means of a shocking felony: a charismatic middle-aged grandmother, who from a tiny noodle store in New York’s Chinatown controlled a multi-million greenback enterprise smuggling people.
Keefe finds the internal workings of Sister Ping’s advanced empire and recounts the decade-long FBI research that at last introduced her down. He follows a regularly incompetent and occasionally corrupt INS because it pursues determined immigrants risking every little thing to return to the United States, and alongside the best way, he paints a beautiful portrait of a iteration of unlawful immigrants and the problematic underground financial system that sustains and exploits them. Grand in scope but propulsive in narrative strength, The Snakehead is either a kaleidoscopic crime tale and a super exploration of the ironies of immigration in the US.
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Additional info for The Snakehead: An Epic Tale of the Chinatown Underworld and the American Dream
What had John Jago said to her? I put the question with all needful delicacy, making my apologies beforehand. <40> the news from narrabee “I should like to tell you,” she began, with a strong emphasis on the last word. There she stopped. She turned pale; then suddenly ﬂushed again to the deepest red. She took up the knife once more, and went on cleaning it as industriously as ever. “I mustn’t tell you,” she resumed, with her head down over the knife. “I have promised not to tell anybody. That’s the truth.
I stepped up, and snatched it out of his hand. “Mr. Silas,” I said, “I am an invalid, and I am going out for a walk. Your stick will be useful to me. ” The laborers burst out laughing. Silas ﬁxed his eyes on me with a stare of angry surprise. John Jago, immedi- <33> the dead alive ately recovering his self-possession, took off his hat, and made me a deferential bow. “I had no idea, Mr. Lefrank, that we were disturbing you,” he said. “I am very much ashamed of myself, sir. ” “I accept your apology, Mr.
The horse which had taken Ambrose to Narrabee was ridden back to the farm by a groom from the hotel. He delivered a written message from Ambrose which startled us. Further inquiries had positively proved that the missing man had never been near Narrabee. The only attainable tidings of his whereabouts were tidings derived from vague report. It was said that a man like John Jago had been seen the previous day in a railway-car, travelling on the line to New York. Acting on this imperfect information, Ambrose had decided on verifying the truth of the report by extending his inquiries to New York.