by Bill Thesken
I nodded. “So it’s happening all the time you say? You know this for a fact?”
“That’s just one story. A couple of years ago a ship with over two hundred came close to San Francisco and they tried to ferry them to shore using legitimate local fishing boats thinking no one would notice. They busted ‘em as soon as they set foot on land. The Coast Guard was tracking them the whole time. And there was the time a ship carrying over three hundred of ‘em ran aground in Santa Barbara. They just ran that ship right up onto the beach and all the illegals jumped off the ship. They’ll try anything Badger. And it’s big money too. The guys from the San Francisco deal said they paid fifty thousand each for the ride over. There were two hundred of ‘em. That’s ten million in cash. That’s some serious money, Badger.”
“Yeah.” I sipped my coffee and mused the possibilities. I could fit ten Chinese guys on the Sugar, sail them over from Shanghai and pocket half a million per trip. It’d probably take a month round trip. Half a million a month, six million per year. In five years I’d have thirty million in the bank and I could retire. “Where do I sign up?” I asked.
“What?”
“Yeah, how do I sign up to be a smuggler?”
He laughed. “There’s no union hall Badger. You can’t just walk in and get a job slip and go to work. These guys are all underground, and dangerous too I’d imagine.”
“I’ll just sail over to mainland China, dock at some port and put the word on the street that I’m running a route.”
“They’ll chop your head off in some back alley and take your boat, re-paint it and put a new name on it. Think about how tight and militarized China is, Badger. That place is like a prison for most people, they don’t get out unless the authorities let them out. If they try to escape and get caught they get chained to a rice paddy for the rest of their lives. Now think about the organized crime guys that are smuggling these people out. If those guys get caught they get a single bullet in the head and buried in a ditch. They are probably the most ruthless killers you’ve ever seen.” And then he stopped and smiled and shook his head. He knew the details of some of the adventures I’d been on in the streets of L.A, and abroad. “Well, maybe the top ten percent of ruthless killers you’ve ever seen. In fact, in light of some of the gangsters you’ve been up against, I’d say you’re probably one of the few people that could start up a smuggling operation on your own. But don’t, okay?”
I took another sip of coffee and shook my head. “What I don’t get is how they come up with fifty thousand dollars each. That’s a ton of money for anyone, but for a Chinese guy….”
“I was sort of wondering about that too,” said Mack. “I think what happens is all the family members chip in to a big pot to get whoever they want to send over to the states in the hopes that maybe they’ll get some of the money back when their guy starts working hard and sending it back in the mail.”
“They probably pick the youngest strongest and smartest one who has the best chance of working two or three jobs. Get ‘em over here, get them plugged in, have some kids who are instant citizens, and then try to get rest of them over the legal way.”
“I don’t think so, Badger. It’s probably just like in the old days, when these guys leave their families, they don’t ever expect to see them again and vice versa. The family probably sacrifices everything they have to get this one person out so they can live a better life. You know what I’m saying? They sacrifice their lives for them, in a way.”
I thought about Mei Young Lee, if that was even her name. What type of family she had that sacrificed everything to get her to America. Maybe they were waiting anxiously in some grimy town in China, waiting for word that she’d arrived safely. Waiting for a letter or a postcard or a phone call. Anything. Waiting in vain until the end of their days. Tormented by the unknown.
“I’m thinking about digging into this a little farther to see if I can find out where she came from.”
“What are you now, the police, the FBI?”
“Just an interested third party.”
“You dig into this too far and maybe you’ll be digging your own grave. My advice is to walk away.”
Funny, that’s exactly what I told myself a couple of hours ago.
“I guess it’s not in my nature.”
“How in the hell are you going to dig into it anyways? She fell off a boat for crying out loud. I know you Indian guys like to follow the trail, use your instincts out in the woods to track your game, but in this case there is no trail. It’s just an empty ocean.”
“There’s always a trail, if you know where to look. This is a trail of people. I got a bad feeling when I was talking to the neighbor of the fake address. Something’s wrong. I don’t know what it is, and I don’t think I can just let it go.”
He sighed and shook his head. “Oh well. Your folks wanted to name you after an animal? They should have named you after a damned mule, cause you sure are as stubborn as one. Don’t say I didn’t warn you. So now what?”
“I’ll call the coroner’s office in Catalina, see if anyone claimed the body. She did have ten thousand in cash on her. Maybe someone knows that and wanted to make sure it got to the right place, if you know what I mean.”
Maybe I could take a ride out to Chinatown, and poke around a little bit, visit my old buddy at the restaurant.
6.
I knew one bona-fide Chinese person that might be able to help, so I thought it would be best to go have a little chat, and rode the chopper up north to the border of Chinatown and downtown LA.
It had been nearly a year since I was there last and that was a frantic couple of days in my life, pursued by the police, the firm, and the mob. Shot off my motorcycle by a sniper and discovered by the nearby restaurant owner, broken and unconscious in the empty warehouse next door that I’d managed to crash into. And after that, running for my life for three hectic days and nights.
The street looked different. A lot nicer than what I’d remembered.
What had been a semi-ghetto, busted windows, graffiti on the walls, trash in the streets, abandoned cars, homeless junkies sleeping in the alleyways, was now a brand new gleaming showpiece of the inner city.
There was a boutique hotel with a doorman and a grand columned entrance, a small movie theatre, stores, restaurants, flower shops. I think I actually smiled as I pulled in to a parking space, and looked at the street sign again to make sure I was in the right place. And there was the little Chinese restaurant, same little sign, same bent over little man sweeping the steps.
I smiled at him as I stood in front of the first step. “Are you open today?”
He turned and squinted at me with a perpetual smile. “Yes, yes, always open. Come in, come in.” Then he pointed at me with a crooked finger and his smile doubled in size. He remembered me. “Aw you! Yes, yes, let me get the door for you!” And he hobbled up the steps and opened the screen door and waved me in, beaming.
The place was nearly full and loud, waiters and busboys hustling from table to table and you could hear flame searing chopping sounds coming from the kitchen in the back of the building, along with light wisps of smoke and wonderful sweet and sour smells.
I found an empty table by the front window, sat down and made myself comfortable.
A young Chinese man dressed in a suit came out of the back by the kitchen, gave an order to one of the wait-staff, and greeted a customer seated at a table, asking him how was the food, is there anything else they needed, and thank you for coming in. The owner of the restaurant, making the rounds. On his face was a perpetual smile, just like the old man sweeping the front steps.
He saw me sitting at the table by the front door, and the muscles in his face suddenly went slack, the warm ambiance draining out, replaced by cold dread. He walked towards me, trying to put the perpetual smile back on his face as he passed the tables, nodding to his customers as he walked, but I could see the square edges of his face tinged with doubt, and anger, and soon enough he was standin
g in front of me, his face turned away from all others in the room, so no-one could see the fire in his eyes.
The suit fit snugly and you couldn’t see his body, but by the taught sinews of his fists, neck and cheekbones he gave the appearance of someone that it wouldn’t pay to disagree with.
Unless you wanted a quick karate chop to the neck.
He tried to hide it with the long cuffs of his shirt, but I saw the edge of a tattoo above the inside of his wrist, Chinese lettering. He spoke softly so the people nearby couldn’t hear him.
“What are you doing here?”
“I came for lunch.”
“Bullshit.”
“You don’t look too happy to see me.”
“Wherever you go, trouble follows, and I don’t like trouble. I told you never to come back here. You don’t listen, you never listen.”
“I heard that people live longer if they smile.”
“You might live longer if you leave now.” He made a fist with his right hand, which was hanging by his side. I could hear the knuckles crack.
“The street looks a hell of a lot better than it did the last time I was here. I heard the landlord passed away, and someone else who wasn’t so ghetto-minded took over.”
“I heard the landlord got pushed out of a window. By you.”
“That’s a lie, he tripped and fell out. But the result was the same.”
“He tripped and fell out, huh?”
“Yeah, that’s the truth. But if he didn’t fall out, I was about to throw him out. He beat me to the punch. Ironic, isn’t it?”
“So what do you want?”
“How about a plate of sweet sour pork and rice.”
“I mean what do you want from me.”
“Business looks good.” I waved my hand to the full-capacity room.
“Yeah, it’s good, very good in fact, and I want it to stay that way, with no trouble following you through that door.”
“Look Wang…”
“How’d you know my name?”
When we first met he wouldn’t tell me his name, so I looked into it.
“Your name is Wang lei. In Chinese it means a pile of rocks. In my line of work you can find out anything about anyone, and most of the time it’s a good practice. You saved me, and I saved you, in a way, saved your business, life is good now for both of us. What do you say, let’s forget the past for now and just look towards the future as friends.”
“I don’t need friends.”
“Well I do. Please sit down for a moment.” And I pointed to the empty chair opposite from me. “Please,” I repeated.
He sighed and shook his head and sat down, resigned to the fact that I wasn’t going to go away until I got what I wanted. He waved to one of the waiters to bring water and spread his hands on the table, palms up, in the universal gesture of ‘let’s get on with this’.
“I need your advice.”
His face remained still. “Okay.”
The waiter brought two glasses of ice water and set them in front of us. Wang nodded in thanks and waved him off.
“I’ll level with you. Yesterday when I was sailing off the north coast of Catalina Island I found the body of a young woman, floating in the ocean. She looked Chinese, had a Chinese name, and a driver’s license with an address in Long Beach that was fake.”
He sighed heavily and rubbed the deep lines on his forehead with his hand for a moment. “I knew this was trouble. How do you know it was fake.”
“The guy living next door said she never lived there.”
“Maybe he was lying.”
“I considered that. She was also carrying about ten thousand in cash.”
His face remained stoic, and then he leaned forward half an inch.
“Maybe she was going shopping on a cruise liner when she fell overboard, or maybe she was swimming and hit her head on a rock and just happened to have a little extra cash on hand, it made her feel better just having it nearby. You’re a racist American, you probably think all Chinese people love money right?”
“Well don’t you?”
He shrugged his shoulders and I continued.
“My buddy who works at the docks says that she was probably being smuggled into the country.”
“Don’t be naïve Badger. If it looks like a dog and barks like a dog, it’s probably a dog.”
“That’s why I’m here.”
“Don’t tell me it’s because I’m Chinese.”
“You’re a tight knit community. It’s a well-known fact that you stick together, and look after each other, that’s why you thrive.”
“We’re a tight knit community, but we thrive because we mind our own business, which is what you should learn to do.”
“I can’t just let this go.”
“What, are you a cop now?”
“I’m not a cop.”
“You ask questions like a cop.”
“I’m just trying to get some answers so I can sleep at night.”
“I know where this is heading. You asked me for my advice, and my advice to you right now is to walk away from this as fast as you can.”
I looked around at the restaurant. It was nearly packed, and loud.
“You have a busy establishment. You have a lot of workers.”
“And they all look Chinese, so maybe they’re illegal right? Maybe we smuggled them in? Well my friend, they’re all documented, I can tell you that for a fact.”
“I told you I’m not a cop, I don’t care if they’re documented or not.”
“Well you’re going to hear it anyways. Some of them are straight from mainland China, and some are from Taiwan, and if for some reason they weren’t documented, I’d find a way to get the process started, and protect them. People need to work, they need to eat and have a place to live. It’s a basic human right.”
“Fair enough, so if one of them should God forbid perish, wouldn’t you want their family to know about it?”
“Sure, I’d call them on the phone and take care of all the arrangements. These workers are like family to me, and we take care of our own.”
“Maybe you’re right, maybe she did fall off a cruise liner, and in that case she’ll be reported missing. But just hypothetically speaking, what if she was being smuggled into the country, how do we find out her true identity, and let her family know what happened to her?”
“What am I, the Chinese missing persons bureau?”
“You’re a tight knit community. You said it yourself. I just want to know who’s doing the smuggling.”
He leaned forward and his voice got smaller, nearly a whisper. “You’re going to get yourself killed. The people who do the smuggling are not the type of people you want to mess with. Stop asking questions, and walk away. Why do you care anyways? What’s in it for you?”
“For some reason I’m the guy who found her. Aren’t you a mystical Kung Fu guy? I saw the tattoo, I know what you’ve been through to get that. I’ve been through some of your training. I know the mindset that goes with it. You know that we’re all connected in this world somehow, and nothing is by accident. I found her for a reason, and I don’t know what that reason is yet.”
The edges of his face got tighter and he spoke through gritted teeth. “Maybe the reason is that you are a dumb ass, who needs to mind his own business.”
He sighed heavily and shook his head. It was like he was beating a dead horse.
“Look, you know that people are being smuggled into this country every hour of every day, and you don’t have to be a genius to know why. The people that do the smuggling are ruthless, it could be anyone, the Triads, the Mexican Mafia, Russian Mafia. There’s big money involved and they don’t want anyone stepping on their toes.”
He took a sip of water and narrowed his eyes, looking around first to make sure no one could listen to what he was about to say, and then leaning closer, speaking even softer.
“But the fact remains that if she is Chinese, and she was being smuggled, then it is the Tr
iad, for they are the most ruthless of them all, and none of the other players want to mix it up with them, or take their business. And that is even more of a reason for you to walk away. You’re just one man, you don’t have a chance against them if you piss them off.”
I nodded. “Okay, you make a good argument. And that’s why I wanted to talk to you first. I’ll take your advice. I’ll take a step back and just monitor the situation and stay out of it.”
He finally smiled. “Now you’re talking.”
“I’ll just call over to the island now and then, and see if anyone claimed the body.”
His smile faded, his mouth went slack, while his eyes turned dull.
“I could punch you in the face right now, but I’d probably break my fist because your entire head must be made out of cement.”
7.
Two o’clock in the afternoon was the busiest time of the day at the recreation center and park in the northern corner of Chinatown. An elementary school sat right across the street, two blocks away running east to west was Chavez Ravine, and rising on the hill beyond the ravine was the mighty Dodger Stadium.
When there’s an afternoon game and the Santa Ana winds are blowing from the mountains to the sea, you can hear the crack of the bat on the ball and the crowd roaring, but today was an off day and most of the ambient noise came from the cars on the street.
Packs of kids both large and small, chattering, laughing and running, fresh out of school carrying backpacks and books, were making their way home in herds, some stopping at the basketball court to shoot hoops while others gathered at the playground to play on the jungle gym and slides.
An impeccably dressed middle-aged man sat on the end of the park bench reading the Chinese language newspaper, from back to front, while listening to the commotion around him. The busier it was, the better. He’d been sitting there for ten minutes. He glanced at his watch, noting it was the exact time of the planned meeting, then looked over the top of the paper to see a stout Caucasian man in a black windbreaker with close cropped hair walking his way, not paying attention to anything in particular, not in a hurry. He stopped to watch the basketball game for a moment and smiled as one of the players scored on a long jump shot, then he continued on his way and stopped near the bench.