“You’re barkin’ up the wrong tree, son!” Frank went on with the slightest touch of humor upon his face, but anyone who did not know him would never have caught it.
Williams slapped his knee and let his laughter ebb. “Okay, okay. So, are we paying a visit to the elder Wong?”
“We are,” Frank answered as he connected his implant with the automobile’s computer and chose his destination. “Call us in.”
“Yes, sir,” Williams answered and accessed the dispatcher with his implant. Informing them of their whereabouts and destination, the dispatcher asked if backup units were required. “They want to know if we need help.”
“Not for this,” Frank answered with no trace of doubt as the cruiser rolled into the street.
“Car five, no backup requested,” Williams sent.
Campanelli said nothing as the car took care of everything. Not being an emergency, the vehicle stopped at the traffic lights and yielded to other vehicles just like any civilian job. As the roads were not in the greatest condition due to a shortage of city employees, the ride was bumpy and full of hazards which forced the cruiser to slow or change lanes to avoid them.
“So, who do you think did it, Frank?” Marcus asked after a jarring pothole the car could do nothing about.
“I don’t know,” he replied and shook his head. “It doesn’t make any sense for any rival gang to take on the Triads. I’ve heard nothin’ on the street about any business going on between them, either.”
The cruiser brought them to the luxury condominium complex on West Cullerton Street. The buildings here were over a hundred years old and as such, had been spared demolition by the political powers that be. It also helped that one of the most wealthy and influential families left living in the City of Chicago owned one of the four. Lei Wong was the patriarch of that family.
Campanelli placed the car in manual mode. The steering yoke moved from its place in the dashboard and met his hands. Guiding the car to the small white gatehouse, he stopped next to it and thought the driver’s window down.
“Good morning,” Frank said in a businesslike manner as he displayed his badge to the guard.
“Good morning,” the young man replied cautiously. Like the man they were here to see, the guard was Chinese. He was well armed with a handgun in a shoulder holster and Frank knew from experience that there was more, heavier hardware inside with him.
“Detectives Campanelli and Williams here to see Mister Lei Wong.”
“Your business with Mister Wong?”
“Is our business, son,” Frank said, holding the guard’s stare. “If it helps, it is a deeply personal matter that he will want to see us about. We aren’t here to arrest anyone.”
“One minute,” the guard said, picking up a telephone. The young Triad foot soldier was well aware that the officers were equipped with bio-electronics which were capable of translating his language. He covered his mouth so that his conversation was less likely to be overheard. The call was short. “Go on in. You may leave the car at the door,” he said neutrally, not smiling. The heavy metal gate rose out of the car’s way.
Campanelli gave a nod and drove the car to the front of the apartment building. He parked at the curb where normally, a parking attendant would open the doors for the passengers and relieve them of the burden of parking. The attendants remained at their kiosk, ignoring the police vehicle. As Campanelli and Williams approached, the two man team stared into the distance beyond them.
“Friendly,” Williams sent audibly to his older partner’s device.
Frank replied with a short nod, his eyes not leaving the two valets. He could see light bulges at the sides of their torsos. They were carrying guns underneath the cheeky yellow windbreakers and, though they were not eyeing the policemen directly, both were following their movements with peripheral vision.
The two detectives stepped inside the ornate lobby, decorated with great wood-carved statues of dragons painted in gold set upon marble pedestals which matched the marble floor. Expensive looking furniture was placed throughout the space. Together with the dim lighting, it put Williams in mind of an expensive Chinese restaurant. From an office in the corner, a well-dressed middle-aged man intercepted them. His expression was absolutely blank though his eyes were intently set on the older policeman. Walking behind him was another man, much younger and larger, which Frank assumed was a bodyguard.
“Well, good morning, Baojia,” Campanelli started off congenially. “I see your leg has healed nicely.”
Baojia gave a smile that projected no enjoyment of the conversation. “Yes. Yes it is, Detective Campanelli.”
Frank indicated his partner with a tilt of his head. “This is my associate for the day, Detective Marcus Williams.”
Baojia’s eyes bounced to the taller Williams, then back to Campanelli. “So, what brings the Chicago Police to my door?”
“We have business with your boss,” Frank said plainly.
“Awfully early in the morning, Detective.”
“I’m afraid it’s urgent…and personal.”
“Ah, so you don’t have a warrant,” the shorter Baojing stated, tilting his head back to give the detective a long look down a short nose.
“There’s no warrant for this kinda thing. There’s been a death in the family,” Frank volunteered. While it was outside protocol to announce such a thing to someone not within the family, he knew that Baojia was close to it, being second-in-command of the Chicago Triads.
Baojia showed slight surprise in the statement and Frank thought it was genuine. “Oh?”
“Yes. So how about you make nice and let us upstairs to deliver this news to Lei Wong, your boss,” he enunciated and leaned in. He and Baojia locked eyes for several seconds before the latter turned to the bodyguard behind him.
“We’re going up. Tell them,” he said in Mandarin. Frank and Marcus saw the translation projected upon their artificial lenses.
The big man turned from the group and went into the office to make the call. Baojia gave the two detectives a glance and stepped slowly to the bank of elevators. “So, it’s been what, Frank…three years?”
“About that.”
“Since we last saw each other, I’ve had two operations on this leg.”
“Sorry to hear that,” Frank lied.
“What’s he talking about?” Marcus sent in text.
“It’s a long story,” Frank replied in kind.
“It took a year and a half of physical therapy to make it useful again,” Baojia went on as he pressed the call button of the elevator and turned to them.
“What’s your point, Baojia?” Campanelli asked, giving the impression of becoming bored.
“The Venerable Lei Wong won’t forget such a thing, nor will I.”
“You’re lucky it was just your leg,” Frank leaned in quite closely into Baojia’s face and spoke evenly, savoring each syllable. “You might not be so fortunate next time, in fact, I’ll make sure you’re not.”
The big body guard joined them and, noticing the detective’s proximity to his superior, steeled for action. Williams did the same, taking steps to place himself between the muscle man and his partner.
“How about we cut the crap, or would you like to deliver the news that Lei Wong’s only son is dead,” Campanelli fired off.
“Ma…Mickey? Dead?” Baojia blinked and took a step back.
“Yeah, Mickey dead!” Frank exclaimed, donning that crazy smile that Marcus was beginning to dislike. It was a sign that the Captain of Detectives was losing his patience.
“So…,” Marcus interjected, holding up his hands and stepping further in, “how about we all just calm down here. We are not here to disrupt the building, Mister Baojia. If you would be so kind as to show us upstairs,” he said this last and gestured to the waiting elevator.
“Of course,” Baojing answered in a shaken voice. He stepped into the car, followed by Campanelli, the Chinese bouncer and lastly, Williams.
The ride up to
the top floor of the mostly empty building was made quickly, but in silence. Frank noticed that Baojia’s demeanor had changed. He had become flustered, either with anguish or fear, he could not tell which. Frank also knew from previous altercations that Baojia was a skilled actor.
“This way, please,” Baojia said and left the car. The bodyguard took up the rear of the procession to the door at the other end of the lavishly decorated corridor.
Within steps of the door, it opened without prompting. Inside were two other Asians, one female, one male. The male, dressing in a black suit and tie, was most likely a butler or personal valet to Wong. The female was wearing a short-sleeved, high-collared cheongsam, a Chinese dress. It was shiny blue with golden piping and decorations. She possessed a natural beauty that required little makeup and appeared to be older than thirty years. Frank knew that Lei Wong had no daughters, so this one was perhaps a masseuse, concubine, servant, or combination of the three. Neither person within the personal living quarters of Lei Wong was happy to see the detectives.
Baojia spoke to the butler and the concubine in Mandarin. “Immediately to the Venerable these men must go. They have most sad news.” The woman bowed and turned from them to walk down a hallway.
“Please follow Ru Yi,” Baojia said and actually bothered to give a short bow. He left through the door they had all just entered, but the bodyguard and the butler remained, watchful and silent.
“He actually seemed upset,” Williams sent in text.
“It might have been an act. I know him and I’m not quite convinced,” Campanelli returned.
Ru Yi gave another door a knock and, without waiting for a reply, opened it. Within the marvelously colored and decorated residence was the man they were looking for. Seated in the Lotus position upon a thick pillow was Lei Wong. He wore only a white silk robe and short pants, all in white.
“Ah, Detective Campanelli,” Lei spoke. He was an old man of over ninety and his voice portrayed it, being rather high in tone and gravelly at the same time. “Come in.” He watched their movements with black eyes and gave a slight nod to Williams when Frank introduced him.
Ru Yi left them alone, slipping through the door and closing it behind her in utter silence as if she had not been there at all.
“Lei Wong, I have some news of your son,” Frank began. He spoke slowly, studying the elder mob boss’s face for a reaction. There was none. Wong’s face was that of a statue. “I’m afraid, sir, that he’s deceased.”
At this, the body of Lei Wong became immaculately still. There was not even a breath taken.
“He and an unidentified individual were found this morning in Ping Tom Memorial Park,” Campanelli halted and sighed before going on. “Both men were shot in the head.”
Lei Wong blinked deliberately. For a moment, Frank thought he would actually begin to sob.
“Mister Wong, would you know of anyone that would want to do this?” Frank added. It was a question that a detective would normally ask of a mother whose teenager had been killed; a teenager who had never been in trouble with the law and therefore, had a clean record. It was not a question that a detective would ask of a mob boss whose offspring had been busted many times over the years for a multitude of crimes like assault & battery, breaking & entering and other, less serious misdemeanors. A man like Mickey Wong developed enemies like a corpse drew flies and everyone in the room knew it. The question was asked in order to provoke some sort of reaction.
Lei Wong held Captain Campanelli’s gaze and slowly uncoiled his legs. He stood and placed his hands behind his back. “You know my son as well as I. Perhaps a little better,” the demure and elderly man stepped slowly to Campanelli, stopping close to him. “You are no doubt aware of every transgression he has ever committed. You can look it up,” Wong reached a bony hand up and out to the detective’s head, and then tapped his own temple, “faster than I can recall the precious moments of his childhood. You know, Detective Campanelli, who would have hatred of my son enough to kill him.”
“Is there anyone who has threatened him recently, Lei Wong?” Frank pressed.
Lei Wong cast his eyes to the floor. Ignoring the question, he began to pace along the marble surface, his bare feet clapped at every step. He patted his immense mahogany desk and murmured something.
“What was that?” Frank asked and stepped forward.
“He was to replace me when I retired,” the elderly man repeated. Stepping around the desk, he dropped his meager weight into the high-backed chair and sighed. Wong stared absently into the deep wood grain of his desk.
“And when was that to happen?”
Lei Wong’s eyes narrowed as they passed over the two detectives. The expression upon his face was that of a man that had already said too much. “Do you need me to identify the body?”
Frank turned his head to Williams. The ex-Navy Seal stepped to the front of the great desk and retrieved a data pad from his pocket. Touching the screen, he handed it to Lei Wong.
Campanelli slipped quietly to the right side of the grieving father, searching the man’s face for reactions. Lei Wong took the data pad and brought it to his eyes. Warily, it seemed that he did not want to look. In the space of two seconds, the old man reached out to hand it back to Williams.
“Not just yet, Lei Wong,” Frank interrupted. “You agree that’s your son?”
“It is.”
Campanelli touched the screen and the picture changed. “Who is this man?”
Lei Wong’s eyes washed over the screen, again for about two seconds, and again he reached his hand out for Williams to take the pad. “I’ve no idea who that man is.”
Frank and Marcus exchanged glances as the data pad disappeared within the pocket of Williams’s coat. “I don’t buy it, Frank,” he texted.
His partner’s message confirmed what Campanelli was feeling. He stepped away from Lei Wong’s side and slowly perused the room. He stopped at a credenza by the window and sat upon it, laying an elbow atop the bald head of a large statue of Buddha. Slight irritation flashed upon Lei Wong’s face. It appeared and disappeared like lightning. Frank could see the man was upset, but he did not appear upset enough. Mickey Wong was this man’s only heir and now he was gone. He had just seen the aftermath of the devastated face of a loved one and had barely reacted. There was little change when he saw the picture of the second victim. There was something not right, but for the moment, Campanelli could only begin to speculate and prod the elderly man further.
“I think you know that second man, Lei Wong,” Frank began, putting on an air of casualness as he patted Buddha’s cheek. “We haven’t ID’d him yet, but from the tats I would say he was one of yours. Perhaps a personal bodyguard of Mickey’s.”
Lei Wong’s eyes lifted from the priceless statue and into the face of the Captain. He remained silent.
“You don’t think that Mickey was removed from someone else’s way,” Frank went on, “you know, someone pretty high up that wanted control of the Triads after you retired?” It was a question, but he phrased it as if it were a statement. “I would hate to think that your life is in danger, Lei Wong. You might be next.” He said this last with an absolutely stolid expression. There was more emotion on the face of the Buddha.
Finally, Lei Wong spoke. “I thank you for your concern Captain. Most kind.” The old man met Campanelli’s searching eyes. “I will make arrangements to attend to my son’s body.”
“That’s fine, Lei Wong,” Frank said lowly. He stood from the credenza and walked casually toward the door. “Please accept our condolences on the loss of your son.” Though the words were said with perfectly intoned sympathy, Campanelli’s expression remained blank. Frank quickly added, “While we’re here, we’d like to have a look at Mickey’s apartment. Is it not one floor below?”
“It is,” Wong nodded. Stepping past the detectives to open the door, he called for Ru Yi, who appeared in a flash. “Show these men my son’s apartment.”
“Of course, Venerable,”
she answered and turned to the detectives. “Follow me, please.”
“I thank you very much, gentlemen,” the old man said as he stood and gave a slight bow. “Good day.”
Frank and Marcus acknowledged him with curt nods and met Ru Yi at the bank of elevators. Together, the three rode the car in silence. Once the doors slid open, she stepped out and led the policemen to a door at the far end of the hall. It was not locked. Ru Yi swung the door inward and stepped aside for the detectives to enter.
“Thank you,” Frank muttered.
The apartment was very clean and well appointed. Mickey had been a young man and therefore, had a more modern taste. The furniture was of the most recent fashion made by some of the last professional artisans in the field, though none of it looked comfortable to Frank. The chairs were too upright and the expansive ‘U’-shaped couch unit appeared stiff and unwelcoming. The wall decorations were decidedly un-traditional for a Chinese man. There were portraits of Chicago as it appeared perhaps a half-century before, when its blocks were lined with skyscrapers and the streets jam-packed with cars and people. A few others were framed photographs of the Loop at night, so well-lit that the streets and sidewalks appeared as they did in the daylight.
There were other framed works on the wall. A couple of photographs of antique automobiles were featured with women draping their daringly undressed bodies against them. Campanelli was no expert on cars, but he knew enough to understand that the vehicles were so old that the girls featured with them were either quite elderly or were enjoying a long nap on a starship to Alethea.
Everything looked clean, new and barely used. Frank took a deep, deep breath through his nostrils and caught a scent of cleaning products and air fresheners.
“Ru Yi? How often is this apartment cleaned?” he asked of the young lady who followed their every move with interest.
“Every day, sir.”
Frank repeated her answer under his breath as he turned the knob of an interior door, his hand covered with a white handkerchief. Upon its opening, he found it was the bedroom. The lights came on as he entered, revealing the typical giant bed, adorned with black satin or silk sheets, oversized dressers and closet, and ornate portraits of more women and cars. He stepped out and closed the door.
Campanelli: The Ping Tom Affair Page 2