The dispatcher hung up without another word. Mei reached down for her jacket and shook it out before pulling it slowly over her shoulders. Just then, her phone buzzed with a text from Sydney. “He’s fine. Was at lunch without his phone. Sophie?”
Ignoring an incoming call from her mother, Mei texted Sydney that Sophie was on her way to the hospital. The message went out with a little whoosh as she looked up and down the corridor. She needed to go look at the computer from the police warehouse, but she couldn’t get herself to move in that direction. Her heart was still racing. She needed to call Andy. He’d know about this soon if he didn’t already.
What she really needed was a walk.
Instead, Mei headed for the stairwell and climbed the stairs slowly, steadily moving in the direction of out. As a kid, she’d often walked as a way of clearing her head. Her parents owned a small two bedroom apartment above her father’s accounting office in Chicago’s Chinatown. As Mei made her way home from school, the streets had always been filled with women carrying pink plastic bags. Every shop used the same plastic sacks, so a woman might have white cotton underwear in one bag and a dead fish in another. It made every woman seem interchangeable and, to Mei, boring. Her sisters were always anxious to go straight home where, most days, their mother would be watching one of the long-running Chinese dramas on television.
In particular, Mei’s mother had been crazy about the Kangxi Dynasty series, never missing an episode, which meant Mei’s older sister Man Yee and her younger sister Lai got to watch, too. The house only had one television, and it sat in the room that was both living room and family room. With no walls between it and the kitchen, there was no way to keep the girls from watching without sending them to their bedroom.
None of it interested Mei. Instead, she preferred to walk the fifteen minutes it took her, even on short legs, to get from their house off 24th to any place outside Chinatown. By the time she was in high school at Lake View, Mei was spending as many afternoons as possible at school to avoid going home. It was at the library where she first met Jodi, seated on the floor in the aisles of YA fiction just minutes before it was due to close, neither of them wanting to go home.
All those years, Mei had assumed that it was the tradition that she wanted away from. She blamed the Chinese heritage and its rigid rules. She wanted to be an American—a real American—like Jodi and girls who looked like her with their wide-set eyes and their blond hair. While Man Yee and Lai wanted nothing to do with school sports of clubs, Mei used activities as an excuse to be away from home, and from Chinatown, as often as possible. Mei’s parents encouraged her to participate in school activities, always nudging her away from sports toward math club or the school’s finance committee. Acting the part of the dutiful daughter, Mei joined those groups or others though she rarely attended their meetings.
Instead, Jodi and Mei took the train and headed in one direction or another after school. They saw movies or hung out at a little run down diner a mile or so from school. On days when both of Jodi’s parents were working late and her older brother was sure to be out, they went to her house. Only once had Mei brought Jodi home. For months, Jodi had been begging to meet Mei’s mother and sisters. One spring afternoon, after getting caught in a rainstorm, the two girls had taken the bus to Chinatown.
Mei realized her error in judgment before they were in the door. Jodi’s hair had a bright bleached streak down one side. Her left ear was pierced three times; the jean shorts she wore barely covered her backside while her tank top rode up around her middle, exposing a wide stripe of white midsection. Her mother’s dislike was both obvious and instant.
After twenty minutes of her mother’s stony silence, Jodi left. The following day, Mei’s father had announced his disappointment in her choice of friends. Jodi’s name was never mentioned out loud, and her father offered no explanation for what it was about her friend that had offended them, but Mei knew. She had been naive to think her mother could see beyond Jodi’s clothes or, worse, her race.
For weeks, Mei’s father made sure Mei was too busy to see Jodi or anyone else. Mei came to his office straight after school and did her work at the small table in his office or—when he was with clients—on the floor in the room he used for file storage. When she finished early, he put her to work filing or copying or cleaning out the little refrigerator where he stored his lunch of her mother’s leftovers.
Some weeks later, her father finally loosened the reins. Perhaps he assumed that Jodi was just a passing phase; maybe she had even promised him that they were no longer friends. She didn’t remember exactly. What she did remember was that Jodi was the only friend Mei ever brought home until Andy. She brought him home only because she knew her parents would approve. Early in their relationship, Mei thought about how much her parents would like him. Had her parents approval subconsciously weighed into her decision to marry him? The only person they had ever approved of. How, then, would they react if she told them that she no longer wanted to be married to him?
No, they would never understand that. Mei paused only long enough to send a text to Andy.
Am OK. Needed here. Will call when I can.
She pocketed the phone and left through the back of the building to avoid the lobby scene. On the front sidewalk, half a dozen patrol officers interviewed bystanders. Paramedics were checking reflexes on the last of the victims who were seated on the department’s front steps. No wounds evident, so likely they were suffering from shock.
That was surely what Mei felt, too. One stopped Mei on her way out but Mei assured him she was nowhere near the action. Others appeared to be waiting, perhaps for family or friends to arrive and take them home. She knew there would be a press release and changes to security measures, a whole backlash from the event. At the FBI, she could have predicted what it would be. First, Davidson, the head of their field office, would give the talk and start with a brash statement about those few citizens who made this perfect country imperfect. Then he would outline, ad nauseam, the ways in which processes were already in motion so that this kind of travesty could never happen again.
Davidson would use the term “travesty” at least three times as it was his favorite word. That and reckless—the reckless disregard with which these perpetrators had… Blah blah blah. But today, Mei had no idea how things would go. She knew the Chief of Police by sight but had never heard her speak and had no idea what kind of promises she might make, what kind of threats she would launch at those who took aim at her department.
As Mei breathed in cool San Francisco air, she wished she could walk the familiar streets of Chicago. Even the pungent smells of Chinatown would have offered the reassurance of normalcy. Accustomed to spending a good deal of time alone, Mei felt lonely in this strange city. Not that she would admit that to Andy. Or to anyone. How could she? Meeting new friends meant opening herself up, letting people in on who she was and what she wanted. How could she do that when she didn’t even know?
Short on time, Mei made a loop around the area across from the department and returned ten minutes later. She wanted to walk farther, but it would have to wait. For now, she needed to find out whatever she could about the computer they’d found in the warehouse. Whoever left that was likely the same person who’d stolen seventy-plus guns and was now spreading them out across the city.
As she stepped back up the stairs of the department, her phone rang. “Nah ho ma, A Mā,” Mei said, greeting her mother.
Mei was surprised to hear her father’s voice. “Someone fired a gun in your department?” he asked.
“I wasn’t there, A Bàh,” she lied.
“But there was a shooting in your building.”
“Yes.”
There was a pause as her father explained this all to her mother. “You are all right.”
“I’m fine, A Bàh.”
Her father exhaled, a long slow breath. “You didn’t call to let us
know.”
She felt selfish. “I’m sorry. I’ve been dealing with the scene,” she lied.
The response was one of those small noises that Mei thought meant he didn’t believe her. “Andy is there?” he asked.
“Yes. He came in last night.”
“Good. You should be together.”
Mei said nothing.
“And we are very relieved that you are all right,” he added.
Mei thought of her father’s parables, the incessant one-liners highlighting best practices. The one she remembered hearing the most as a child was: Respect for ones parents is the highest duty of civil life. “Thanks, A Bàh. I should get back.”
Other than his parables, her father was a quiet man, but he made a sound that was as familiar to her as words. While her mother seemed always to use as many words as possible to express herself, her father needed only that one sound. Mei understood it perfectly. It meant he was unhappy with her life decisions. Again.
Chapter 10
Dwayne parked on 7th Avenue, around the corner from the station, and checked the street signs a second time to be sure he was parking legally before heading to the back of the truck. This was his least favorite stop. What were the odds that the company he worked for would be the one to provide personalized letterhead, envelopes and business cards to the entire San Francisco Police Department. It wasn’t a slow business, either. There was no end to the people the department was bringing in. Budget cuts should have slowed things down, but Dwayne was still delivering here at least twice a week without fail.
He’d never been arrested in San Francisco, but he had spent time in prison. After that, every police station made his skin crawl and his stomach roll. He’d been in the wrong place at the wrong time. That was what it was, but it didn’t make any difference in the end. And he wasn’t arguing either. He’d been in the passenger seat when someone had fired on the car. The guys in the back had a couple AKs and shot back. Dwayne wasn’t telling them to stop. Someone fired on you, you fired back. That was how things worked.
Thankfully, they hadn’t shot anyone, but a little girl had been playing and her ball rolled into the street. The driver didn’t even see her; ran the car right over her. Dwayne served twenty-two months of a six-year term. He’d used the time to get smart, but that fact didn’t make police stations any less terrifying. Getting text messages from some guy trying to get him to bite on some bullshit story and a truckload of guns didn’t help. The last text was “Maybe you’ll change your mind.” Hell, no.
Dwayne loaded his handcart and locked the back of the truck. The cart Rhonda sent him with always wanted to pull to the right, so Dwayne walked on the left side to fight it into going straight. The sidewalk in front of the station on Bryant was busy and Dwayne stopped several times to let a group of two or three cops walk past. They nodded at him, but it wasn’t always clear that it was in gratitude.
Some of them seemed to be saying, “Yeah, you’d better get the hell out of my way.” Black, white, Asian, Latino, they all looked at him funny. Like they knew. He saw the guys in prison with the tats across their knuckles. What kind of dumbass branded his hands to announce he’d been inside? And despite his regular, unmarked hands, it seemed like they still knew he’d done time.
He rolled the cart up the ramp and into the lobby. There were a few people waiting in line for the metal detector. An older guy backed out of the arches and reached into his pocket, pulling out a handful of change and keys before going through again.
Dwayne looked at his list of deliveries. One on the first floor, then two on the second and the last one was in the basement. Crime Scene Unit, but not like the guys on TV. No one was running around down there, breaking open cases from what he could see. It took less than ten minutes to do his deliveries, and he was happy to be on his way out again. Not to mention there was no way Rhonda could bitch about him being slow. Not that Rhonda was the reason he moved so fast in there.
As he came back past the metal detectors, he saw the line had grown. A nice-looking woman waved her badge and crossed through the second metal detector, the one reserved for department employees. As she raised her hand, Dwayne could see the creamy curve of her breast through the gaps in her button down. He stared until she glanced over at him. She smiled. “Morning.”
“Morning,” he responded, following her with his eyes as she walked out of view.
“Move along,” the guard yelled over to him, and Dwayne shook his head as he pulled the cart out the main doors of the department. “Enjoying the view ain’t a crime,” he muttered under his breath.
He led the empty cart straight down the stairs instead of taking the ramp. As he reached the bottom stair, his phone vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out and read the text message.
Enjoy. More where this came from.
“What the hell?” He looked around and put the phone back in his pocket. Screw that. How the hell did this guy get his number? Or maybe this was Rhonda. He could see her trying something like this, just to trip him up. Except Rhonda didn’t seem smart enough.
He was just putting his phone back into his pocket when he heard the low thunder of gunfire. He dropped the cart and rolled into the line of bushes that ran along the side of the department. His hand cart clattered to the ground beside him just missing his phone. People screamed. There was more gunfire. Cops ran past him with their weapons drawn. Dwayne didn’t move for several minutes. He started to see people walk by, looking over their shoulder, and he got up, too, wanting to be as far from there as possible. The gunfire had come from inside, someone said. Someone was inside the police department, firing a gun.
Dwayne brushed himself off as he hurried toward the van. He tried not to run, but found it was too hard to walk. By the time he got to the van, he was short-winded and sweating. Instead of opening the back, he loaded the handcart behind his seat and pulled himself into the truck. He started the engine and switched the A/C on high then pulled away from the curb. He made a left turn on Harrison, away from the department, and only after he’d driven a couple blocks did he finally start to relax.
His phone rang. Rhonda. He debated answering it, but decided he’d better.
“Hey, Rhonda.”
“Dwayne? Where are you?”
“Heading to Cesar Chavez,” he told her, wondering why she was still on his back.
“We got the news on. They showing a video from someone’s phone about people shooting at the police department. You okay?”
Dwayne swallowed, pressing down the panic that was still rattling around his chest. “Yeah. I’m fine. I left there a while back.”
“You lucky,” Rhonda said then to someone else, “No. He all right. He already done at the station.”
Dwayne told her he’d see her soon. As soon as he hung up, he pulled over to the curb and put the truck in park. He wiped both palms across his sweaty face and dried them on his pant legs. It was only then that he noticed the oversized white FedEx tube propped behind the passenger seat. They never used FedEx boxes for deliveries, and that box hadn’t been there when he left the warehouse. Dwayne opened the truck’s door and started to get out. A car blared its horn and swerved into the oncoming lane to avoid hitting him. Dwayne felt sick to his stomach as he rounded the front of the truck to the passenger side and glanced through the glass.
“Screw me,” he whispered and pulled the door open. On the side of the box, someone had written one word in black marker: Kalashnikov. Another name for an AK-47.
He opened the FedEx box and found himself staring down the barrel of an AK-47. He looked around to make sure he was alone and slid the gun out. It was a beauty all right. Last time he saw one of these, it sold for almost two grand. It took him more than two months to make that now, not counting taxes.
He slid the gun back into the box and climbed back into the truck. Revving the engine, he already knew he was going to screw up. He
continued on Harrison to the onramp for 101 south. At the Potrero Street exit, he should have turned left toward Cesar Chavez. Instead, he went right up Potrero to 24th and drove west to South Van Ness. Queen Pin was only a few miles off his route to Cesar Chavez.
It wouldn’t be hard to convince Tina to watch his package, for a price. And her kid could run through it for any tracking shit. If nothing came of it in a week or so, he’d find it a nice home, pocket a little extra cash. No harm done. Just this once.
He lifted his phone to dial Tina when he saw another text message.
Believe me now? Tommy wants to go home with you, too.
Dwayne wondered what a Tommy gun would fetch.
“You a stupid asshole, Dwayne,” he said to himself. “A stupid, stupid asshole.” Maybe just these two. He started to turn into the Queen’s lot. Tina was standing outside the side door, smoking a cigarette and talking on her phone. She was wearing neon green tights and leopard print shoes. It reminded him of the time she’d visited him inside.
When he asked her why she was dressed like a glow stick, she told him that neon was all the rage. On the outside. Not something he could’ve known, since he wasn’t on the outside. Hadn’t been on the outside in almost two years. He didn’t care about neon, but he wasn’t going back in there. No way.
Without stopping, Dwayne made a U-turn and headed back to the police department. He used the sleeve of his shirt to wipe his prints off the box and continued driving until he was in the same parking space he’d been in when the gun had appeared.
He parallel parked and put the van in park. Without shutting off the engine, he reached across the gearshift and opened the passenger side door. He gave the white box a kick and let it tumble out onto the street. Aside from a woman getting into her car about a half block down, the side street was quiet. Let someone else fool with getting arrested. He spun the truck around and headed toward Cesar Chavez, speeding to make up time. He was at least twenty minutes behind now and Rhonda was going to have his ass, but he wasn’t going back inside. And that was something.
Interference Page 6