But hey, I didn’t call some smarmy maître d’, I went straight to the top and called the restaurant’s owner.The phone rang twice.“Mister Poon�...�s, is this take out or delivery?” asked a sweet, slightly accented Asian voice.“Hey, Iris. It’s neither. I would like to speak to your dad.”“Joshua!” Iris squealed. “He’s right here, but you have to talk to me again when you guys finish.”I promised and she gave the phone to my friend Lee Poon, the owner of Mister Poon’s Asian Buffet. Lee and I became. “The maids were here,” I said. “I’m not talking about the cleaning. I’m talking about the events. The cops dragged out the main computer bank and I’m working with a laptop. Where are you getting the schedule from?”“The security banks, sir,” he responded immediately. “You can get to it with my security code,” he continued.“Is your security code tattooed anyplace obvious?” I asked. It was a long shot but tattooed hexadecimal codes were in vogue this year. He looked puzzled. “Just log me in,” I. More

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