“Red Hook seems like a good place to start,” Cerisse tells the group. “Lots of poor people, lots of crime; and they have an orphanage. We could get some inside dope there, I bet,” Cerisse says to her classmates on the rotation.
Stephen Mountford says, “Hey, I hear that the orphanage is having some kind of a celebration for hard-to-adopt children soon.” He looks in the Post for a moment. “Yeah, here it is. They are calling it the ‘Wednesday’s Child’ celebration. They’re looking for volunteers at the orphanage and on an outing they have planned. The big show is on Jun the second, and they have a party planned for the kiddos the next three days after that. We will just finish finals on the second, but we could volunteer to help at the big party. They will need gophers, and we can pump the kids and the orphanage people about the trauma issue and how it affects them. Sound okay?”
Drake volunteers to set it up through the orphanage and drives over to Saint Anne’s in Red Hook by the east projects two days later.
He is met by Sister Mary Magdalene of the Sepulcher in the lobby of the school.
“Thank you for coming, Dr. Farrer,” the sister says.
“Not quite a doctor yet, Sister. I’m a medical student on pediatrics this month. As I told the secretary on the phone when I made the appointment, we want to help; and we want to find out about the impact of trauma on the health of your children—both physical and emotional health. First off, how can we help?”
“We have more help than we can handle for the big TV production, but we do need a lot of help from good strong young people to set up the party at the host’s home—Mrs. Chang’s. Can you get people and vehicles here to help on the morning of the third?”
“We’ll be here ready to go,” Drake says with an engaging smile. “My wife and I will both come.”
“It’ll be great to have you young medical students. What great examples for our youngsters, especially for the girls. I think we will only need your help the first day to set up at the Changs’, and then again three days later for cleanup.”
“I can guarantee six good workers. We’ll see you early on the third.”
Mrs. Chang is a wiry, stern-faced Chinese woman whose age could be from forty to sixty-five. She commands seven workers who run to obey her every crisp command. The large house is immaculately clean, and the festive red-and-gold decorations are all in place for a grand birthday party. It is the first of June, and Mrs. Chang is ticking items off a laundry list of tasks that will ease any concerns of the girls and the staff from the orphanage about the appropriateness of the party.
She scrutinizes the security staff. She has selected only young, slim, and attractive people and checks their attire to ensure that they will not cause concern or fear from the girls or their Catholic nuns who dote on them. She is satisfied. All appears to be in readiness and a day early. She leaves the servants to their work and makes one last check of the rooms set aside for special surprise events during the party and locks the doors.
At two, Sister Ophelia from the orphanage visits—obviously to assure herself that her girls will be in good hands.
“My dear, Sister,” Mrs. Chang coos, “you can relax completely. Your girls will be as happy and safe as if they were protected by angels. Leave it all to me.”
“I have always been confident that my dear children are in the hands of angels. They are innocent and protected. It is my life’s work to see that they remain that way. Thank you so much for sharing my concerns and making sure that the girls come away from your three-day party happy, tired, and hopeful.”
“Rest assured, Sister. We will take care of everything. Not to worry.”
The Howard University medical students pull into Saint Anne’s parking lot at eight o’clock in the morning on the third of June. This time they are greeted by a very attractive and fetching young girl who is the elected greeter from the children.
“Hello, Doctors. I am Brigid O’Hanlon. It is my pleasure to greet you and to show you around the institution today before we all get to work.”
The six medical students and Brigid enter the lobby and are met by six orphan girls—all in immaculate work overalls—ready to put the finishing touches on their home before they go off for three days of fun and play. Their eyes sparkle, and their smiles are full face and irrepressible. There is a tingle of anticipation in every child’s face.
The first thing Cerisse notes after greeting all of the excited little girls is the sign in the lobby, “OUR CHILDREN OF GOOD HOPE.” Everything Cerisse and the other pediatric students see and hear shouts of that hope, and it is as uplifting as anything any of them have ever experienced. They set to work with a will. The girls are all tired from their TV performance the previous evening, and Sister Ophelia good-naturedly shoos them off to their rooms for a good long nap; so, they will be bright-eyed and bushy-tailed for Mrs. Chang’s party.
The work at Saint Anne’s is complete by four o’clock, and one of the sisters leads the six medical students to the Chang residence. There could be no mistaking this mansion as the correct venue for the party. Inside and out, there are red-and-gold streamers, good-luck poles and flags, helium balloons shaped like red eggs, red dragons, and yellow smiling face Chinese lanterns. Everywhere a child wants to look, she will see candlelit good-luck lanterns, red dragon banners, animal and red dragon helium balloons, and small tables loaded with small presents, fortune cookies, small ceramic pigs—because it is the year of the pig—and red eggs. The tables are topped with gaily colored parasols in the shape of coolie hats.
The pediatric medical students pitch in to make sure that the finishing touches on the decorations, the food, and the gifts are complete. It is a good time to learn from the sisters and the workmen about the seriousness of trauma—especially to children—and from the ordinary citizens of the neighborhood. Their report back at the medical school will have a strong flavor of authenticity.
At six o’clock, the buses full of girls begin to arrive. Cerisse and the other medical students help give out party favors to the girls as they alight from the buses. There are books and stories about the charming Chinese customs related to the zodiac signs. Each girl receives a small piglet pin for her dress in honor of the birthday they are celebrating. In fact, only Brigid O’Hanlon’s birthday is that very day, but no one quibbles over details. Mrs. Chang and the nuns lead the bedazzled children from table to table to pick up their presents—a better Christmas than any of them has ever had, and it is only June.
Things quiet down, and the girls and their assistants sit to eat at a huge table covered with a brilliant red tablecloth. It is Chinese food, but nothing too strange or spicy. Mrs. Chang is aware that the girls—and probably the nuns and other assistants—are inexperienced regarding ethnic foods, and she is careful to keep the newness to a minimum. Each girl is given a red egg for good luck and a traditional red envelope decorated with gold Chinese characters like happiness and wealth. Because the girls are so young, the red envelopes include cartoon characters and coupons and gift certificates from chain stores. Sister Ophelia tells the girls that it is impolite to open the colorful envelopes in front of the givers, but she takes a peek at hers and finds eight thousand dollars in one-hundred-dollar bills. She realizes that she will have to collect all of the envelopes to be sure none of the money is lost during the festivities.
Mrs. Chang takes her aside to tell her that for all occasions, certain amounts of money are to be avoided. Anything with a four is best avoided because si [four] sounds similar to sǐ [death]. Even numbers—other than four—are better than odds. Because eight is a particularly auspicious number, each girl is being given eight thousand dollars—which, of course, is intended to be used for all children in the orphanage. Sister Ophelia—sensitive to Mrs. Chang’s traditions—strictly avoids even glancing into any of the girls’ red envelopes.
The best part of the meal for the girls is the bowl of long noodles placed before each of them.
Mrs. Chang explains the tradition of long noodles.
“Girls, long noodles symbolize long life. You must slurp them all the way into your mouth until no more can be stuffed in before you can bite the noodle. This will bring longevity to you, and the girl who is able to slurp in the longest noodle will live the longest.”
The noodles are a huge hit. As soon as the slurping begins, a roomful of giggling twelve and thirteen-year-old girls start to laugh hysterically, some actually rolling on the floor in exhaustion from the effort. To be sure that the girls actually get some nourishment, Mrs. Chang is thoughtful enough to include small hamburger patties and a few French fries. Because it is becoming increasingly popular in China to serve Western-style birthday cakes, Mrs. Chang has compromised, and each girl gets a pink cupcake with a frosting piglet and a single candle on top. Flavored red punch is served in large plastic cups.
After the cupcakes, Mrs. Chang gives each girl a small pink plastic Buddha in the Abhaya Mudra [Sanskrit: fearlessness] posture. The posture of the small Buddhas is with the open palm of his right hand extending outwards at the chest level, and his face is peaceful.
“Please keep and enjoy this small symbol. If you do, you will feel the energy of protection, peace, and a sense of strong, deep inner security. In our world this has what we call a powerful feng shui addition.
“Now let me tell you the story of the Chinese zodiac signs. There are twelve animals in the Chinese zodiac, and knowing a person’s Chinese zodiac sign is an easy way to calculate a person’s age. You have a little booklet to explain the fun of that. This is a true story of how the zodiac came about…”
Sister Ophelia raises an eyebrow.
“It is the kind of true story like Santa Claus and Pinocchio or Snow White,” Mrs. Chang says and smiles mischievously at the giggling girls. “It seems that the Buddha often forgot his age much like older people often do. I am sure you have seen thirty-year-old women who cannot remember their last five birthdays. Anyway—to make it easier to calculate his age—the Buddha decided to select twelve animals to represent each year. He invited all the animals of the world to gather at a banquet like the one we are having tonight. The first twelve to arrive were to be rewarded with a year named after themselves. That is why we have a twelve-year cycle based on the Chinese lunar calendar named after special animals—the rat, ox, tiger, rabbit, dragon, snake, horse, sheep, monkey, rooster, dog, and pig.”
Mrs. Chang goes on to tell the classical stories connected with each animal. They play games and laugh and sing until ten o’clock when all of the girls were too full and too sleepy to remain sitting up. Cerisse, Drake, the nuns, and Mrs. Chang assist the happy children to their beds. To avoid loneliness, they sleep three to a bed. As they settle into their comfortable beds, Mrs. Chang has Cerisse and the nuns give each of them a final large drink of her special red punch. The girls are asleep before the adults leave their rooms.
Chapter Seven
May 14–June 7, 2020
The two-day law enforcement blitz canvass of Red Hook turns up whistleblowers against sweatshops, identification of brothels and bookie joints, exposure of freelance illicit drug peddlers—for both prescription and illegal drugs—two moonshine stills, a small-time Russian Mafia human-trafficking ring, and a man and woman who have held three kidnapped girls as captives for a decade. They also establish a pattern on negative evidence so far as the traditional Mafia is concerned. The expanded—but diluted—tri-state search over the next three weeks has similar—and similarly disappointing—results.
The team headed by detectives Mary Margaret MacLeese and Martin Redworth decides that their time is best expended early on the Mafia. Regular NYPD uniformed officers and detectives have historically had little ability to have productive—or even safe—face-to-face conversations with Mafia dons, underbosses, consiglieres, or capos. Mary Margaret and Martin evaluate the information coming in and decide to bypass the underlings and to head to the top brass seeking an accommodation. Nobody—least of all, a low or mid-level detective—can call a don’s secretary and make an appointment. Mary Margaret makes a conference call to her supervisor on the NYPD elite Organized Crime Human Trafficking Unit, Cameron X. Francis; Louis Reinholdt, the chief of Ds; and the commissioner, Everett R. Clemons.
“Thanks for taking my call. We have pretty much covered Red Hook in our efforts to turn up the traffickers who dumped bodies in the Gowanus canal and who had the semitrailer full of illegal immigrants, most of whom were murdered. The conventional wisdom is that the Sicilian Mafia or the newer Russian version is responsible, but our investigation thus far doesn’t give us any real evidence pointing to them. We are going to have to go after other organized crime outfits; but with our limited resources up to now, we have been concentrating on the five families. We need to lay that to rest; so, I need some help from the brass. My partner and I need to be able to have talks with the movers and shakers in the Mafia. Maybe if we take heat off them, they will be able to point us in the right direction or directions. We know they have a hand in human trafficking, but probably not in this latest outrage. We would like to give them a little whisper that this kind of thing is not going to be good for their business, and it will probably be good for them to help.”
Commissioner Clemons says, “I have a kind of understanding with the big five. I have worked with a private investigator named McGee in these kinds of cases because he has provided objective and effective investigative services for several of the dons. They respect him, and they will listen if they know that McGee and I are behind a request being made to the families. I can get you those face-to-faces; but Chief Reinholdt and McGee will have to be there; or they won’t give you enough credence to get anywhere.”
“Okay with us, Commissioner; but we still need to keep the lead.”
“I will just go along as window dressing, Detective. You and your team are doing good work; and I have no intention of interfering, horning in, or taking credit. McGee is not a big talker. They will look to him for clarification if they need it.”
“Thanks, Chief.”
The first meet takes place in Terzaghi‘s Wine and Dine on Hicks Street in Carroll Gardens. Detective Sergeant Mary Margaret MacLeese, Detective First Class Martin Redworth, Chief of Detectives Louis Reinholdt, and P.A.M.J. McGee walk into the dive and confront two huge thugs who man security at the door.
“Whadda youse want?” the more intelligent and articulate of the two—and therefore the spokesman—asks.
“We’re meeting Dominic Lanza at nine,” MacLeese says.
“Says who?” the security thug asks and puts his nose too close to hers.
“Commissioner Clemons, Chief of Ds Reinholdt, and Dominic Lanza. And you are wasting our time,” Mary Margaret says moving a couple of inches closer to the bulbous nose.
He pauses then says, “Badges.”
The three detectives open their cred packs and show them to the man. McGee flashes his licensed P.I. card.
“Get on with it. We wouldn’t want to make Mr. Lanza unhappy, would we?” Martin says moving closer to Mary Margaret and the chief thug.
He flips open his old-fashioned cell phone and dials. He explains who wants in, then says, “Okay, boss, want us to pat ‘em down?”
A pause.
“Okay.”
He looks at the detectives.
“Youse can go on in. Keep yer hands in plain sight. We wouldn’t want no unfortunate misunderstandins.”
Lanza is a boss on the model of dapper Mafia don John Gotti—tall, commanding, superbly dressed, manicured nails, and regularly has his hair professionally done. He has the same cruel and manipulating eyes.
“Hey, welcome, Detectives. Top of the mornin’ to you, McGee.”
“And the rest of the day to you, Don Dominic,” McGee says with a tip of his imaginary hat to the mob boss.
“Have a seat. What brings you to my humble establishment?”
“Business, Mr. Lanza—yours and ours,” says Mary Margaret.
“Where’s my manners? Alfonzo, how about you get these members
of New York’s finest something to drink?” His order, which is no small put-down for the neighborhood crew boss, is directed to Alfonzo “Four Fingers” Visentini.
“It’s not necessary, Mr. Lanza. We appreciate the offer, Mr. Visentini, but we have to get around to the other four families through the day.”
“So, what’s on your minds?”
“You are well aware, I’m sure, of the law enforcement activity here in Red Hook, and especially over there by the canal these last couple of days. We started out with information suggesting that we had stumbled onto a body dump site in the canal, which—in the past—has been reputed to be connected with the families.”
“But without no proof,” Four Fingers says.
Lanza gives him a look, and he shuts up.
“Go on, Detective.”
“We have no evidence that these bodies have anything to do with your people, Mr. Lanza, and we are not here to break your chops over them. Our big concern is about the van load of dead and dying illegal migrants we ran into a bit farther up the canal on Bond Street. The people were innocents who were killed in a way that even the old Mafia dons would never have allowed. It was inhuman, and—mores to the point—bad for business–yours and ours. We’re not pointing any fingers, but we need your help to find who did this—who is doing this kind of thing—so, we can put a stop to it, Mr. Lanza. How about you tell us what you know?”
“You on board with this, McGee?” asks the don, looking for a firm answer from the famous P.I.
“It’s the right thing, Don Dominic—for everybody, with the possible exception of the monsters who do these kinds of things,” McGee says looking directly into the mob leader’s hard eyes.
“You’re pretty straightforward, Detective MacLeese, I’ll give you that. And I’m going to presume that you mean me and mine no disrespect. First off, we had nothing to do with the transport of those unfortunate people, and we agree that it was inhuman—like something that Hitler or Stalin would do. Maybe, it is more apt to suggest that it is more like what we would expect from old Mossy Tongue over there in China.
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