Campanelli: The Ping Tom Affair

by Frederick H. Crook

  Looking to his partner, he saw Williams retreating from the kitchen. From his expression, Frank could tell that his partner had seen nothing of note.

  “Well, Ru Yi,” Campanelli said in a tone of satisfaction and appreciation, “we are done here for now. Thank you very much for indulging us.”

  “Not a problem, gentlemen,” she said and bowed. “I hope you find Mickey’s murderer.”

  Ru Yi showed them to the elevator and let the men head down to the lobby unescorted.

  Once inside the cruiser, Frank manually guided it through the parking lot and back onto the street. Leaving the vehicle in that mode, he drove it aimlessly through Chinatown. The two detectives sat in silent thought. Williams watched the foot traffic on the sidewalks with keen interest while Campanelli drove.

  After a time, Marcus spoke while his eyes danced from one pedestrian or point of interest to another. “What do you think, Frank?”

  The older detective sighed through his nose. “The whole thing just doesn’t feel kosher,” Frank said as he parked in front of a small office building covered in Chinese lettering.

  “You think Wong is lying?”

  “Yeah, I do,” Frank answered as he prompted the window to lower several centimeters. He fished through his pockets for his cigarettes and lighter. He said nothing further until he had taken a few puffs. “I dunno. Lei Wong wasn’t upset enough or…something.”

  “I don’t think he’s the type of guy that’s going to break down in front of a cop,” Marcus put forth.

  “Right, especially a non-Asian. I know, but there’s something else.”

  “Like he was expecting it.”

  Frank shook his right hand at Marcus in approval. The cigarette pinched between the fingers trailed smoke in rough oval tendrils. “Like he was expecting a visit from us,” he augmented.

  “So…he knows who did it. There’s a war on.”

  “Maybe. I know who we can talk to about dat,” Frank said as he placed the cigarette in his mouth, cranked the vehicle around and took off in the direction they had just come. After a series of turns, Frank found South China Place, a street which ran along the back of Chinatown Square. He parked and stepped out. Closing the door behind him, he leaned on the fender and watched the foot traffic as he smoked. Marcus joined him, aware of the eyes of the passersby. As the citizens were mostly older people, he did not feel like a target as he often did in other parts of the decaying city. The presence of two men in suits and long coats standing next to a relatively recent model of sedan labeled them as cops. They might as well be running the vehicle’s lights to confirm it. He was also aware of his immense size in comparison to the people around them. Marcus Williams, genetically engineered by the United States Navy, towered over them all, and there was no hiding the muscles underneath the overcoat.

  “I take it we are paying a visit to ‘The Mellow Monkey’?”

  “We are,” Frank returned as he stamped out his cigarette and separated his body from the car. Walking across the street, they entered Chinatown Square through the jade-green gated arch and took a left turn onto the red brick pathway. The air was permeated with the competing aromas of the many restaurants and shops here, so closely were they placed that there was no escape from it. The marketplace was fairly busy. The two Caucasians cut a path through the shoppers like tigers in a butcher shop. Several of the patrons, male and female alike, actually backed away from the gigantic Williams. Their eyes were wide and their necks bent back to take in the sight.

  As they walked, the indigenous crowd fell silent around them. It was widely understood that their cryptic language was no use against the technology that lay within the brains of the policemen.

  “You’re a celebrity,” Frank sent in text to his partner.

  “I’m a circus freak,” Williams replied.

  Campanelli turned to the big man expecting to see humor, but instead noted the faint trace of melancholy. Despite this, Frank smiled and shook his head. Marcus acknowledged it with a weak grin of his own in slight surprise. Campanelli seldom smiled.

  The two men passed between shops full of goods from the distant homeland of the people surrounding them. Everything from vases, teas, clothing, jade jewelry, and other trinkets lay stocked upon the shelves of these tiny stores. The windows were covered in brightly colored Chinese lettering, making it hard to resist the temptation to step inside.

  Frank turned to one of the many metal staircases and began to ascend to the second level, where more shops were stacked upon those below. Here, some were not shops at all, but offices of Chinese lawyers, doctors, acupuncturists, and tattoo artists. The shop the two policemen headed for was near the end of the narrow walkway. Campanelli found that their progress was being followed by many sets of eyes from the red bricked path now below them. Unnoticed by him was the fact that Williams had seen the same, only more of it. More often than not his gazes were not met, no matter how kind his facial expression. He felt that he would scare the lot of them off with a hearty belt of innocent laughter.

  “Excuse me, ma’am,” he heard Frank say. Marcus turned forward just in time to see a young woman, easily as attractive as Lei Wong’s Ru Yi, but dressed in an American style. She nodded and smiled grandly to the captain, but when she encountered Williams, her eyes widened and she gasped as her mouth formed an ‘O’. Immediately, she wiped the shock from her face and locked her black orbs upon the brown ones of Marcus.

  Williams turned sideways as he stepped along, but the both of them stopped. She was taller than most Chinese females, but he loomed above her. He expected her to shift her eyes away and scamper off, but she did not. He was about to ask her if he could help her in his professional policeman’s manner but she spoke first.

  “Hello,” she said and beamed a smile that lit her attractive face.

  Taken aback, he hesitated for a beat before returning the greeting. The two stood for nearly three seconds, their eyes locked in a gaze that was becoming a stare of wonder.

  “Detective Williams,” Campanelli called from two storefronts away.

  “Oh, uh,” Marcus stammered as he forced himself to look away from the young woman. “Yes, sir.”

  Frank said nothing. He jerked his head in the direction of their destination. Marcus turned back to the woman, who was now slowly walking backwards from him but still smiling. She gave a small laugh, nodded and went along. Williams, too, stepped in reverse as he watched her go. He stopped abruptly once his left heel struck the metal railing, sending a metallic thronging through it.

  “Ow,” he hissed. His eyes wanted to follow her path as she went down the stairs that they had come up, but business was business. Marcus turned and stepped quickly to catch up with Campanelli. After a moment, he realized that his feeling of being a freak of nature had vanished. His heightened mood would endure the day.

  “The Mellow Monkey” was Xiao Chan Wu’s place, a massage parlor with a bar just beyond the foyer. It was dimly lit by candles and smelled strongly of incense, which was most likely there to cover up the smell of cigarettes, opium, and marijuana. None of the substances were illegal, but once an establishment was inundated with their exhaust for long enough, it became unpleasant.

  It was before noon, so the place was quiet and empty. The bar was unattended. Both men heard voices from beyond the beaded threshold to the back room. Unabashedly, Frank headed there.

  “Hello,” he called as he stepped through the clacking beads.

  Immediately, an underling of Xiao’s stepped up to Campanelli. He was a rather large and imposing figure, in his early twenties and several inches taller than the Captain. Dressed in a suit and very well groomed, he had a professional appearance. In his dialect of Mandarin he shouted in a guttural manner, “You’re not allowed back here! We open later! Get out!”

  The young bouncer stilled once Williams appeared in the doorway. The ex-Navy Seal had to duck to get through, but as he recovered his full height, he had the bouncer’s attention. The young Chinese man’s eyes
widened slightly at the sight of him, but showed no fear. Nonetheless, he quieted.

  “Detective Campanelli,” Frank introduced himself and revealed his badge to Xiao’s man, who took his eyes from Williams long enough to inspect it. “This is Detective Williams. We are here to see Xiao Chan Wu. Is he in, please?”

  The bouncer seemed to recognize Frank’s name. His demeanor softened. “I will see,” he said in perfect English. “If you gentlemen would please wait at the bar,” he gestured toward the room beyond the beads and bowed his head ever-so-slightly.

  Frank looked about, noting that their presence had come to the attention of several others who came by to peek into the room from elsewhere. None had the physical presence of the young man in front of him and were dressed more casually. They no doubt worked for Xiao in some capacity, but were not muscle.

  “Certainly,” Frank said, prompting Marcus to duck back out of the doorway. The two men took a seat at a booth in the corner, settling in while eyeing the establishment’s doors.

  Before a minute went by, a short, husky Asian man entered the room. He wore nothing but a gaudily decorated red and gold robe, a smile, and an almost ludicrously long Fu Manchu-styled mustache. The man was shaved bald while his facial hair, including eyebrows, was impeccably white. What gathered the attention of most people were the man’s haunting lime green eyes. Obviously, they were artificial lenses, but if the man were equipped with bio-electronics, they were a custom job and very expensive.

  “Good morning, Frank!” Xiao called as he hustled across the room to join them. At the moment, his speech lacked any trace of the accent he donned for the benefit of customers. He gave a brief nod to the giant sitting next to Campanelli and sat. “You guys want tea?” he asked as his eyes darted from one man to the other.

  “’Mornin’, Xiao. I wouldn’t mind some,” Frank agreed amiably as he shook the man’s hand.

  Xiao turned his head and hollered to an unseen accomplice beyond the beads, ordering that tea be brought in. A small voice fluttered back faintly in acknowledgement.

  “Xiao Chan Wu, this is Detective Marcus Williams,” Frank introduced. The two men shook hands.

  “Nice to meet you,” Xiao smiled. Williams could not help but return it. Turning to Frank, Xiao went on. “Well, I have to admit, I’m happy to see you, but even I didn’t expect you so quickly.”

  “Oh?” Frank nodded briefly, hiding his surprise.

  “Sure. The murder of Mickey Wong is big news,” Wu whispered as his eyes widened. While he was mostly comfortable in his own place of business, he understood that it was unwise to speak of such news in anything other than hushed tones. “That’s what you came here for, right?”

  Frank nodded as he regarded his longtime friend and informant with a casual gaze which bade the man to continue. He tilted his head to the side as he took out his pack of cigarettes. Lighting one, he listened.

  “I was awakened last night by my bartender,” Wu took up in his silky smooth rasp. “He heard the news from a customer just before closing.”

  “Who was this customer?” Frank asked as tobacco smoke billowed around him, obscuring his face along with the help of shadow.

  “Just some Chinese kid, early twenties. Bartender says the customer was walking through Ping Tom about two in the morning when a car drove right into the park. You know Ping Tom at night is not safe, but cars driving into it? Unheard of.” Xiao paused as the server, a middle-aged Chinese man in simple clothes brought the tray of tea. After pouring three cups, he exited without a word.

  “Go on,” Frank prompted.

  “The car stops and two men get out and carry the bodies of Mickey and some other poor bastard across the gardens and dump them at the pagoda.”

  “How did this customer know it was Mickey?” Williams uttered lowly.

  “Not sure,” Xiao admitted. “I’m assuming this guy must have known Mickey.”

  “Did he say how exactly he identified him?” Campanelli inquired between sips of the tea.

  “My bartender asked him that very thing,” Xiao explained in a wide grin that seemed out of place considering the grim news. “This customer says that the faces of both men were ‘messed up’, but he knew Mickey’s tattoos. This kid was scared, you know. Once the guys took off, the kid ran in here. Ping Tom is just beyond the townhomes out here,” he explained with a gesture to the north side of the street beyond the marketplace. “The kid sucked down a couple of shots of whiskey and beers to calm down.”

  “Did anyone here call it in?” Frank asked.

  “No, Frank. Sorry,” Xiao admitted. He sat back and sipped his tea.

  “I thought we had a good relationship, Xiao Chan Wu,” Campanelli asserted in an annoyed tone. His voice increased in volume as he went on. “You used to pick up a phone when something big went down around here. You used to trust me.”

  “Frank, please,” Xiao hissed and held up a hand. “Things are different these days. I don’t want this poor kid or my bartender wacked. I don’t want trouble here.”

  Campanelli leaned forward and put the white tea cup down on the table, hard. Staring into Wu’s face, he enunciated in a quieted voice. “Who was the customer? What kind of car was it? Can he identify the two men?”

  “No, Frank. He can’t,” Xiao returned calmly, not flinching from the stare, but obviously not comfortable with it. Frank shifted in his seat and opened his mouth, perhaps to shout, but Xiao staved off the torrent. “He’s a nice kid, Frank. I know his folks. Good people. Please, Frank. He doesn’t know anything more.”

  The three men sat in silence for a pair of awkward minutes as they sipped tea. Frank gave the appearance of calming down, which set Wu at ease. Williams had never met the proprietor of “The Mellow Monkey” before, but he felt something else was left to be said. He texted a message to the Captain of Detectives to that effect and remained quietly patient,.

  “Xiao,” Frank broke the silence suddenly. “There is something you are leaving out. I want to know what it is.”

  “Frank,” Xiao tried to interrupt.

  “Perhaps you would like me to contact the boys in the licensing bureau. Have them go over this place with some of their fancy equipment.”

  Xiao Chan Wu steeled at that. Any remaining traces of joviality drained from his face like water from a cracked bucket. Serenity and determination took its place. “Detective Campanelli,” he began, sounding hurt by the threat, “we’ve known each other for a long time. I thought we were beyond such things.”

  “Xiao,” Frank sighed heavily. “We are looking at a possible gang war here. Lei Wong is not the type of man to let the murder of his only son go by without retaliation.”

  “That is so,” Wu admitted in a whisper. The two men held each other’s eyes, but the stares were not adversarial.

  “If you have any information for us,” Frank added deliberately, respectfully, “we would be most grateful to hear it.” He fell silent and tapped the ashes from his cigarette.

  Xiao Chan Wu considered this as he poured them all more tea from the metal kettle. An employee entered the room to sweep, but Wu looked at the man and gestured for him to exit. He did, taking the broom with him. After another moment, Xiao began to speak.

  “You know of the anti-migration law that just passed last month?” Both policemen nodded. “You also understand the trouble that our mayor’s ‘Sentinel’ program is going to bring?” Frank and Marcus glanced at each other. It was clear to Wu that the two men had discussed it at length. ‘Sentinel’ was the plan designed by the mayor, his staff and the chief of the CPD to stem the now unlawful migration to the colony of Alethea, more than thirty light years from Earth. “Well, that has sent panic through the streets a little more than you realize. Rumor has it that networks are being set up to counter that law.”

  “We understand all that, Wu,” Frank said. “That’s what ‘Sentinel’ has been created to prevent.”

  “Please tell me you’re not part of that group of stormtroopers, Frank.”


  “The entire CPD is involved with ‘Sentinel’,” Campanelli shot back. “It encompasses every officer on the force.” The cigarette finished, he squashed it into the ashtray.

  Xiao looked into his teacup. His lime green eyes danced to the wall, the tabletop and back to his tea. It was clear to the detectives that Wu, like most people, was against the anti-migration law.

  “Rumor has it that Mickey Wong was not only making plans with the Chinese Triads to set up a network, but he was going to be one of the first ones on the next starship to Alethea,” Xiao whispered.

  It was widely reported by the news services that the Earth governments had relayed the new law to the satellite governments of the colony. To the man on the street that knew anything about communications and space travel, including intelligent men like Campanelli and Williams, news of the law would not make it to the budding planet for another thirty years unless it was relayed ahead from starship to starship. At best, the chances of Alethean governments becoming aware of the law and halting the launches to Earth within the next couple of decades were extremely slim.

  “Was Lei Wong involved in setting up the network?” Williams asked.

  “Not that I know of,” Xiao shook his head. “Word on the street says he was going to retire and take the trip himself.”

  Another awkward moment of silence ensued. Frank stared mildly into the face of Wu as if waiting for something more. The proprietor caught Campanelli’s eyes and looked away. There was nothing more to be said.

  “Xiao Chan Wu, it’s time we took our leave,” Frank announced. “I thank you very much for the tea.”

  “It is ‘Orange Chai’,” Wu spoke up, his good humor returning in a deluge. “Would you like some to take with you? Of course!” Xiao bolted from the seat and shouted to the back in his native dialect. “Packets of the tea! Bring some!”

  Frank and Marcus slid out of the booth and stepped deliberately to the door. The employee that had come to sweep returned, his hands full of the white paper packets.