The Medusa Ritual

by C W Hawes

  As for himself, he had a different task. He went to the county recorder’s office and began looking through the platt books to get an idea as to who owned what in Los Angeles. The clerk gave him no trouble whatsoever, even showed him to a desk he could use. Such was the power of his IRS ID badge.

  Taking no chances, Mostyn had put on his disguise. A dark brown wig to cover his strawberry blond crewcut. A fake mustache and Van Dyke beard in the same color as the wig. He’d used a makeup pencil to color in his eyebrows, and he wore a pair of glasses with dark brown frames.

  He carefully examined the books, often resorting to a magnifying glass, paying particular attention to Chinatown. It took him a couple of hours of looking at a myriad of names to notice a pattern of holdings by the Ching Wo Company, Inc. He took pictures of the platt book and texted the address of the Ching Wo Company back to headquarters requesting information.

  With the request sent off, Mostyn flagged down one of the clerks. “Say, can you tell me if there’s any significance as to why someone would want properties along this route, and this one?”

  The man followed the two routes Mostyn pointed out. After a minute or so, he said, “Beats me. The old subway ran along this route.” He pointed to the map. “Don’t know if there’s any significance.”

  “What about this one?”

  The man shrugged. “Those properties are on top of some of the old tunnels under LA.”

  “What were the tunnels used for?”

  “Beats me. I think they were service tunnels. Gangsters used them during Prohibition, so I’ve heard, to transport booze. There were even bars down there. The King Eddy used to be down there. A music store was the cover. Now the bar is where the music store was. You can still access the tunnels from there.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Sure. Don’t mention it.”

  Mostyn smiled. Everything was beginning to come together.

  12

  __________

  ◼︎

  While Mostyn was examining platt books and learning about the old LA subway and the other tunnels beneath Los Angeles, Jones and Dr Hammerschmidt drove to the north end of Chinatown. Their first stop was the Chinese Catholic Church.

  “Why are we stopping here?” Hammerschmidt asked.

  “Because it’s this way, Harbin, priests and ministers know a lot about the community. They circulate, visit people, people tell them things they wouldn’t dream of telling anyone else. I’ll be very surprised if we don’t get something of value from Fr Paul Chang.”

  Jones and the chemist walked into the church. The lighting was dim, and the cool air felt good, for the day was promising to be a hot one. The men scanned the interior looking for a sign indicating where they would find the office.

  “Why don’t we try that door,” Hammerschmidt said, pointing to a door off to the side of the altar.

  “Sure, why not?”

  The men walked over to the door, and Jones opened it. There was a smallish room with a door leading outside, and two other doors, one of which was marked “Office”.

  Jones walked over to the door marked “Office”, and opened it.

  A young Chinese woman looked up, smiled, and asked how she might help them.

  “We’d like to talk to Fr Chang,” Jones said.

  “I’m sorry. He’s at prayers right now.”

  Jones held up his ID for her to see. “I don’t mean to be disrespectful, but it’s important that we see him now.”

  The young woman looked from the ID to Jones, her face clouded with fear.

  “You don’t have to worry,” Jones assured her. “We are not here because the church did anything wrong.”

  She breathed a sigh of relief, and stood. “I’ll tell him you’re here. Please have a seat.” She left, and the OUP agents, masquerading as agents of the IRS, sat in the hard plastic chairs.

  After a few minutes she returned and told them the priest would see them in his office, which was the room next door. Jones thanked her, and he and Hammerschmidt left.

  Jones knocked on the door of the priest’s office, and when a voice said, “Come in”, he opened the door and walked in, with Hammerschmidt following.

  “I’m Fr Chang. How may I help you?”

  Jones answered, “We’re looking for a rare book. Has anyone in your parish seen or heard about a rare book?”

  “What kind of book?” the priest asked.

  “The kind your church would have burned back in the Middle Ages,” Jones replied.

  “Some kind of book on sorcery?”

  “You could say that,” Jones said.

  The priest thought a moment before speaking, and when he did start speaking he glanced at the crucifix hanging on the wall.

  “I hear lots of stories. Most of them are routine and mundane. Some, though, are quite unusual. Those said in the confessional are said with the understanding that they are confidential.”

  Jones said, “I understand.”

  “Several weeks ago, an old man told me his grandson was involved with a great lord, the grandson had bragged that things were going to start changing soon because the great lord had a book that gave him tremendous power, and that he, the grandson, was going to be an important man.”

  “Did the grandson say where the book was?” Hammerschmidt asked.

  The priest shook his head, and looked at Hammerschmidt. “No. Just that it was in a safe location deep underground.”

  “Did the old man say anything else about this book?” Jones asked.

  “No. He was more concerned about how to protect his grandson from the evil forces he thought were at work.”

  “What kind of evil forces?” Jones asked.

  “Demonic powers.”

  Jones nodded, while Hammerschmidt asked the priest if he believed in demons.

  “I do,” Chang replied. “There is good and there is evil in the world. God the Father and our Lord Jesus Christ,” the priest crossed himself, “will have the ultimate victory. In the meantime, I believe the words of scripture: the devil goes about as a roaring lion, seeking whom he may devour.”

  “Do you have any idea who this great lord might be?” Jones asked.

  “There is a legend,” Chang began, “that a young Chinese man came to America in the eighteen seventies. This young man’s name was Wing Lee and he had been a powerful wizard in China. His downfall came about because he was arrogant. He challenged an older wizard to a duel and lost. Wing Lee fled China and came to America under the Burlingame Treaty. He worked as a coolie building the levees here in California.

  “Around eighteen eighty, he was working as a scab and got involved in a race riot, where it is said his face was disfigured. He took to wearing a mask to hide the disfigurement and eventually he came to Los Angeles and set up a tea and herb store with the money he’d saved. His business began to thrive and he married.”

  “Sounds like a typical immigrant story,” Jones said.

  Fr Chang nodded. “Yes, it does. However, Wing Lee’s wife was very young. After she bore him four sons and two daughters, she left him for a rich white man. Wing Lee was devastated and vowed revenge. It is said, he returned to sorcery and through magic eventually gained control of Chinatown and a large portion of the valley.”

  “And what does this story have to do with the great lord?” Hammerschmidt asked.

  “It is rumored that Wing Lee still lives and that he is the great lord.”

  “That should be easy enough to disprove,” Jones said. “After all he should be dead by now.”

  The priest nodded. “Should be. But Wing Lee disappeared shortly before World War One. There is no death certificate. Many Chinese believe he is still alive. They say he has prolonged his life by means of blasphemous rituals. And that he will eventually destroy the white man for stealing his wife.”

  Jones raised his eyebrows.

  Hammerschmidt asked, “Are there any photographs of Wing Lee?”

  “Not to my knowledge,” Chang replied.
<
br />   “Is the family still here?” Jones asked.

  “They are,” Chang said, “but they are very secretive. No one has knowingly seen them in decades.”

  “So who is the old man’s grandson involved with?” Jones asked.

  Fr Chang shrugged. “I don’t know, and as far as I can tell the old man doesn’t know either.”

  Jones stood and Hammerschmidt followed. “Thank you for your time, Father.”

  “Sorry I couldn’t be of more help.”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” Jones replied. “You’ve been very helpful.”

  Jones and Hammerschmidt walked outside.

  “Where did the sun go?” Jones asked, for the sky was covered with dark gray and black clouds.

  Hammerschmidt pointed. “Look at that vortex. Looks like a tornado is forming.”

  “It sure as hell does,” Jones said. “Come on, let’s get to the car.” He took out his phone to make sure the conversation had been recorded, and seeing that it had, he slipped the phone back into his pocket, and ran over to the car. He unlocked it and got in, the chemist right behind him.

  The two watched the wind pick up debris from the streets and carry it up into the air.

  “That vortex is heading right for the church,” Hammerschmidt said.

  “Kind of weird, isn’t it?”

  “I think so.”

  When the vortex was over the church, the two OUP operatives watched a swirling cone descend and saw the rotating black funnel rip up roof tiles, as though it was a giant drill tearing a hole into the building. And then, after a moment or two, the funnel withdrew.

  Jones and Hammerschmidt watched the black and gray clouds disappear as quickly as they had arrived, and in their place a thin sheet of cirrostratus clouds drifted lazily in a brilliant blue sky.

  “What the hell did we just see?” Hammerschmidt said.

  “I don’t know, but we’d better check out the church.”

  The two men got out of the car, ran over to the church, and entered the building. There was no damage to the sanctuary. They walked back to the office area. There they saw a circular hole in the roof and nothing but debris and litter where the two offices had been.

  13

  __________

  ◼︎

  While Jones and Hammerschmidt were at the Chinese Catholic Church. NicAskill and Dr Petrie were talking to shop owners on the south end of Chinatown.

  “These people seem awfully tight-lipped, don’t you think?” Petrie said.

  “They do at that,” NicAskill agreed. “I think they’re scared, and scared people aren’t going to talk unless they know there won’t be any repercussions from talking.”

  “We’re telling them we’re the IRS. Can’t get much bigger or more powerful than that.”

  “Perhaps, Dr Petrie, but we don’t live here. Once we’re gone, we’re gone. The people they’re afraid of will still be here.”

  “I suppose you’re right.”

  “Let’s change tactics.” NicAskill opened the shop door. “Just follow my lead,” she whispered and walked in; Petrie behind her.

  NicAskill walked up to the counter. The only other people in the shop looked to be tourists. Behind the counter was an old woman. NicAskill said, “Hi! Are you the owner?”

  The old woman looked at NicAskill, her face blank, then turned and yelled a stream of words in a language that wasn’t English. In a moment, a young attractive woman pushed aside a bead curtain and stepped behind the counter.

  “Hi! How may I help you?”

  “We’re with Around the World Realty and we’re looking for the owner.”

  “The owner?”

  NicAskill smiled and nodded.

  The young woman turned to the older woman and started speaking in whatever language it was they spoke. The old woman answered, and the young woman turned back to NicAskill.

  “I’m sorry, but my grandmother doesn’t know who owns the building. All of the shop keepers have a lease with Golden Dragon Management Company. They handle everything.”

  “Thank you,” NicAskill said. “Do you happen to have an address or phone number?”

  The young woman turned to the old woman and said something. The old woman replied. The young woman turned back to NicAskill. “Excuse me. My grandmother thinks there’s a business card in the office. One moment, please.”

  “Sure. Thank you,” NicAskill said.

  The young woman disappeared behind the beaded curtain. NicAskill turned away and began looking at a tea set. Petrie picked up a vase and looked at the price tag on the bottom.

  “What? They want two hundred and fifty for this? Outrageous.”

  NicAskill cast a glance Petrie’s way. “It’s pretty.”

  “Not for two-fifty it isn’t.”

  The young woman returned, and NicAskill stepped back up to the counter. The young woman slid a sheet of paper over to NicAskill. “I made a copy of the card for you.”

  NicAskill picked up the paper, thanked her, and headed for the door. Petrie was already out on the sidewalk.

  When NicAskill was standing next to her, Petrie asked, “Does it look legit?”

  I don’t know,” NicAskill replied. “There’s one way to find out.” She took out her phone and dialed the number. After a moment, she put the phone away.

  “Went straight to voicemail. We can set up a dummy return number and try again.”

  “What about email?”

  NicAskill looked at the copy of the card. “They have an email address. We’ll have to set up a dummy email account.”

  “Now what?” Petrie asked.

  “We keep doing what we’ve been doing. Let’s try the real estate ploy at that restaurant over there.”

  NicAskill and Petrie crossed the street and entered the restaurant. A young woman smiled at them and asked if there were just the two of them.

  “We’d like to speak to the owner, if possible,” NicAskill said.

  The smile disappeared and a look of concern took over her face. “I hope there is no problem. The owner is not here. I am his daughter. Perhaps I can help?”

  NicAskill said, “We’re with Around the World Realty and we’re prepared to make a good offer to buy the building.”

  Relief replace concern and her smile returned.

  “The building? My father does not own the building. We lease this space.”

  “I see,” NicAskill said. “Do you know who does own the building?”

  “No, I’m afraid not. We pay the Golden Dragon Management Company. That’s who our lease is with.”

  NicAskill took out the photocopy and showed it to the woman. “Is this the company?”

  “I think so. My dad is the one who mainly does the books and pays the bills. I help him sometimes. The address looks familiar.”

  “Thank you. You’ve been most helpful.” NicAskill turned and left. Petrie followed.

  Out on the sidewalk, Petrie said, “I bet Golden Dragon manages everything here.”

  “Maybe not the banks, or the hospital,” NicAskill replied. “But for these small shops?” She shook her head. “I won’t wager against you.”

  “Let’s try a few more,” Petrie said, “might as well see if there’s any competition.”

  The two walked to a small store selling traditional Chinese medicine. The owner leased the space from Golden Dragon. The smoke shop next door leased their space from Golden Dragon as well. The next block, Golden Dragon was replaced by Black Lotus Management Company.

  “Both companies have headquarters here in Los Angeles,” NicAskill observed. She took out her phone and did a search. “Rather odd, Winifred, there’s no website for either company. No reviews either.”

  “That is odd. Especially in this day and age.”

  “They’re not on social media, either. At least not the main platforms.”

  “Very odd.”

  “It’s as if they don’t want to advertise their presence.”

  “Maybe they don’t need to. If they
only do business in Chinatown.”

  NicAskill looked skeptical. “Maybe. Still doesn’t seem normal.” She looked around. “Why don’t we…”

  “What?”

  NicAskill pointed, and Petrie followed her finger. Roiling and churning gray and black clouds were rolling in from the east, blotting out the blue sky.

  “What’s going on?” Petrie said. “I didn’t think we were supposed to get a storm.”

  “We aren’t. Sunny and no rain.”

  “Doesn’t look like it now.”

  “Sure doesn’t.”

  They watched the clouds cover the sky and then begin to rotate.

  “Oh, my God,” Petrie said. “A tornado. I was in one once. It was the most terrifying thing in my life.”

  And then out of the swirling vortex a funnel of cloud dropped down. A moment later, the rotating cone withdrew, and the roiling clouds cleared leaving blue sky and filmy white clouds in their wake.

  “What was that?” Petrie asked.

  “I don’t know. But Jones and Hammerschmidt are up there.” NicAskill took out her phone and called Jones. “Jonesy, are you alright?”

  Jones told her about his conversation with the priest and the destruction of the offices after they left the church.

  “Something weird is going on here,” NicAskill said. “Maybe we need to meet with the boss.”

  Jones concurred and said he’d call Mostyn.

  NicAskill pocketed her phone. To Petrie, she said, “Some weird shit is going on. We’re going back to the hotel to confer with the boss.”

  “What kind of weird shit?”

  “That tornado?”

  Petrie nodded.

  “It punched a hole in the roof of the Chinese Catholic Church and destroyed two offices. No sign of the priest or the secretary. And the priest had just told Jones and Hammerschmidt a very interesting story about the guy who might be our masked man.”

  14

  __________

  ◼︎

  Dr Dotty Kemper’s temper was on a very short fuse. She had no complaints about the suite her captor had put her in. It was luxurious beyond anything she could dream of. The food they’d given her was exquisite. The bed was beyond comfortable and the silk sheets were decadence itself. There was a bookcase filled with books. The towels in the bathroom were the plushest and softest she’d ever felt. There were chairs and couches that were just like how she dreamed it would feel to sit on a cloud. Nor did she have a complaint about the beautiful silk cheongsam dresses hanging in the closet.