by Sean Black
“Miss Po makes me happy. I know you may not understand that. But it’s the truth. She listens to me. I can talk to her. Confide in her.”
“Never heard doing the nasty called that before,” said Ty, with a glance towards the bedroom door.
“Ty,” Lock reproached him, as both men sat down.
“Just saying,” said Ty.
Silence settled over the room. Chow Yan took a deep breath. Lock hoped that this really was it, that the time had arrived for their client to tell them the truth. He couldn’t spell it out any more plainly than he had. The lives of two young people rested on this. If, that was, they weren’t already dead, which they very likely might be. Organizations like MS-13 operated on business lines, but when it came to violence, especially violence visited upon them, they didn’t always behave like a business. Pride was involved, and they couldn’t risk being seen as weak. Someone else killing their members or associates was seen as a direct challenge, and one that was usually met with equal or greater levels of brutality.
That was the circle Lock would have to square. But first he had to know what was going on.
“Allow me to start at the beginning,” said Chow Yan.
“That’s usually the best place,” said Lock.
Chow shifted in his seat. He still seemed to be experiencing some kind of internal struggle. Finally, he appeared to compose himself. He leaned forward, placing his hands in his lap.
“You’re aware of the one-child policy in my country?” he asked them.
“We are,” said Lock.
“The Party was concerned about over-population. They had the best of intentions. But . . . What’s that saying you have in the West about good intentions?”
“‘The road to Hell is paved with good intentions,’” Lock offered.
“Yes,” said Chow Yan. “Exactly that. When you try to impose your will on human nature it can make things worse rather than better.”
Chow Yan snuck a glance at Li Yeng as he spoke. Lock could guess the reason. Criticism of the Communist Party, and its decisions, was risky.
“What does this have to do with your daughter?” Lock prompted.
“After we got married my wife was desperate for a child, but there were problems. We tried everything we could, but with no luck. When families could have more than one child, poor families often allowed the third or fourth to be taken in by someone else. But that had stopped. Except, of course, for little girls.”
Lock had a feeling where this was going. “You adopted Emily?”
Chow nodded. “Every family wanted a boy. Girls were often abandoned, or worse.”
“So why the big secret?” said Ty, reading Lock’s own thoughts. “Lots of kids are adopted. You did a good thing.”
“There was more to it than that,” said Chow. “Official adoptions were difficult. They took a long time. There were lots of questions. I was starting my business.”
“You didn’t want the intrusion?” said Lock.
“Precisely,” said Chow.
Lock figured he would help his client along. “So, you went through unofficial channels?”
“You have to understand the desperation of wanting a child when you’ve been told you can’t have one. The pain it causes. Especially for women.”
Lock’s life had never allowed him much time to think about having kids. He wasn’t opposed to the idea, and he hoped that, one day, he would have them. Maybe with Carmen, if things worked out between them. But he had never been at the point of needing to bring someone into the world. He could imagine, but not feel, the burning desire Chow was describing. He knew, though, that any great passion often led people to do things they wouldn’t normally. Including breaking the law. He guessed that was what was coming next.
“We got the baby home, and we couldn’t have been happier. My marriage, it was better than ever. She was a beautiful little girl.”
Here came the ‘but’, Lock said to himself.
“Then we received word that Emily’s family hadn’t given her up freely.”
Ty leaned forward. “What do you mean when you say, ‘hadn’t given her up freely’?”
Chow Yan swallowed. “I mean she had been taken.”
“Abducted?” said Lock.
Chow looked at Li, as if for guidance.
“It doesn’t matter what you want to call it. I think we get the general drift.”
“I didn’t know. I swear to you,” said Chow. “It was only later that I found out the circumstances. And by then she was settled with us. She was a happy little girl. She had a family who loved her, my business was doing well, and I could give her a life that she would only have been able to dream about.”
Lock didn’t blame Chow Yan for his justification of himself. In some ways he was correct. Emily had won the lottery. That didn’t change the fact she had a family somewhere. A family who had been robbed of a child. Their only child.
“You’ve never told her?” Lock said.
“I did my own investigation. Discreetly. It took time to get answers. We had to move carefully. By the time my investigator tracked them down, the mother had died. An accident while she was working in the fields.”
In that context the word ‘accident’ jumped out at Lock but he decided to let it go. Accident sounded convenient under the circumstances.
“And the father?” said Ty.
“He was still alive. We located him, but . . .”
Lock waited. Chow Yan seemed to be struggling to find the words.
“But?” said Ty.
“He was a dubious character. Someone capable of tremendous violence. Emily was still too young to understand. I decided it was better to let her live her life. What she didn’t know couldn’t possibly unsettle her, and she was doing so well with us.”
“This man who was capable of tremendous violence, do you mean the kind of violence I just showed you pictures of?”
“He had tracked us down.”
“And the kidnapping?” said Ty.
“A terrible coincidence,” said Li Yeng, who had held his own counsel while his boss told them the story of how he had come to be Emily’s father.
“Terrible or lucky?” Lock asked.
“I don’t follow you. I promise you that those people kidnapping Emily and Charlie aren’t in any way connected to what I just told you.”
“So you hire us to fix it,” said Lock. “But then you have this maniac as backup, ready to do the dirty work. Except you didn’t figure on him being quite as reckless as he’s been.”
“And you weren’t lying when you told us that you hadn’t hired anyone else,” said Ty.
Chow Yan gave an uncomfortable shrug of agreement.
“But you weren’t telling the truth either,” said Lock, sharply.
“I’m sorry, I truly am,” said Chow.
“So are we,” said Ty.
“Emily’s father—her biological father,” said Lock. “Does he have a name?”
45
Lock’s Audi peeled away from the hotel, hung a right on Wilshire, and turned onto Rodeo Drive, the shopping street made famous by people with more money than taste. He’d already called Carmen and asked her to see what she could hunt down about Emily’s biological father from the very limited information that Chow Yan had provided.
“You buying all that?” Ty asked.
“Some of it.”
“Which parts?”
“The parts that make sense and make him look good,” said Lock. “Those are usually the parts that hold together when anyone tells you something that’s had to be dragged out of them.”
“So, wanting to keep his wife happy, loving the kid?” Ty said.
“Yeah, I bought all that,” said Lock. “The mother’s accident—who knows? It might be true, might not. It’s kind of convenient, but accidents do happen.”
“And the father?” said Ty.
“He could have told her about him. If it went down like he said it did.”
“You mean if C
how didn’t know she’d been abducted?”
“Exactly,” said Lock. “A lot more difficult to explain to a kid how they were taken from their real family, but right now that’s tomorrow’s problem.”
“Agreed,” said Ty. “What now?”
“Let’s go see our friendly neighborhood auto mechanic. See if we can’t pull something out of the wreckage of this complete shit show.”
46
Lock turned into the alleyway. The doors of the auto shop were open. A couple of guys were out front working on a Camaro. They stopped when they saw Lock’s Audi. One walked inside, trying to come off casual and doing a bad job of it.
Lock had figured that everyone even remotely connected to this mess would be amped up after what had happened. These people were unaccustomed to being on the receiving end of that type of violence, at least on this side of the border. In Mexico, four dead gangsters in a pool would barely make the local newspaper.
The mechanic who had gone inside reappeared, walking heavy, a Glock tucked into his waistband. Lock did a quick scan of the others. He looked like the only one carrying, but that didn’t mean other guns weren’t stashed nearby.
“Your boss around?” Lock asked the mechanic with the gun.
“Nope,” said the man with the Glock.
“Know if he’s going to be here any time soon?”
The question was met with a shrug.
“That thing loaded?” said Lock.
The mechanic grinned. “Wanna find out?”
“Any idea where we can find Orzana?”
“Sure.”
“Want to share that information with me?”
“Nope.”
The other mechanics had begun to drift back to work. Only the one with the gun was still talking, and even he was starting to look bored.
Ty wandered casually over to the Camaro. The hood was up, and a man was fiddling with something, doing his best to look busy.
“Nice car,” Ty said.
The mechanic turned his head. “Get lost.”
Ty reached over, grabbed the hood support rod, and yanked it out of the holder. The hood slammed down hard, catching the mechanic’s fingers. He let out a scream.
His buddy went to draw the Glock, but Lock already had his SIG aimed at him. “Don’t even think about it,” he told the man. “I do this for a living.”
The mechanic dropped his hands to his sides.
“Now let’s start again, shall we?” Lock said.
47
Ty, his weapon drawn, watched each mechanic drop his cell phone onto the work bench.
“This is bullshit,” the last man muttered, as he put his down.
Ty picked it up and turned it off. “It’s way less bullshit than the LAPD coming in and asking questions. You fellas know what conspiracy is, right?”
The question earned him more surly glances.
“Conspiracy means that if you work here you’re going to be held accountable for whatever shady shit has gone down on these premises. Now if anyone wants to drop a dime, go right ahead,” said Ty. “Yeah, figured that would be the answer.”
He settled himself against the bench where he had a good view of everyone. Thankfully, one of them had coughed up an address only a few minutes away. An apartment where Orzana entertained a female friend.
Lock had gone to check it out, while Ty took babysitter duties and ensured no one gave El Mecánico a heads-up about his incoming visitor.
As an elderly man hefting some bags opened the main entrance door into the small two-story apartment block on Guirado Street, Lock slipped in with him. “You want some help with those?” he asked.
The man smiled, and gratefully passed over his shopping.
Lock followed him past a broken elevator and up a flight of stairs to his apartment. As the man fumbled with his key, Lock checked out the numbers. The apartment he’d been given was at the end of the corridor.
Lock helped the man inside and set the groceries on a small kitchen table. The man thanked him profusely in Spanish. Looking around the tiny, slightly disheveled apartment, Lock felt a pang of something. An echo of loneliness. A glimpse of a possible future. He had to set things straight with Carmen as soon as the case was resolved. He had an idea about how they could settle the argument over whether she moved in with him or him with her.
Back in the corridor, Lock opened the jacket he’d thrown on to conceal his SIG. He walked the forty feet to the apartment and listened at the door.
There was music. Some kind of slow, sultry number from a singer who sounded like the Hispanic answer to Barry White. He guessed he had the right place.
He gave three sharp knocks and stepped to the side. Twenty seconds passed and he knocked again.
Inside, someone turned down the music. He heard a voice that he pegged as Orzana’s, and the pad of footsteps toward the door. He’d be answering gun in hand, nothing was surer.
“Orzana, it’s Lock. I’ve come to talk. I’m alone.”
“Gimme a second. I’ve got to put pants on.”
Although they had met only briefly, he hadn’t struck Lock as the modest type. Lock moved back down the corridor to the stairs. He hustled down them two at a time and pushed through the door.
Outside he took a moment to get his bearings before skirting around the side of the building. He stayed close to the wall, and watched as, above him, a window opened, and Orzana clambered out.
Lock waited, remaining tight to the wall. Orzana landed with a thud, and Lock tackled him to the ground while he was still off balance from the jump, taking him at the knees, both arms wrapped around his hips.
He pinned Orzana beneath him. He grabbed his wrist, snapping it back so that he dropped his weapon. Orzana did his best to wriggle out from under him, but Lock scooted up so that his knees were forced into the man’s armpits. His legs rested on Orzana’s hips, making sure that he stayed where he was.
Orzana bridged, trying to shuck Lock off him. Lock shifted back slightly, staying heavy, and allowing Orzana to tire himself out. Lock worked his hand under the back of the gangster’s head. Keeping his hand palm down, he locked in a gable grip with his other hand, switched his hips and drove his shoulder into the side of the man’s neck, a move colloquially known as ‘the shoulder of justice’.
Orzana’s struggle continued, but he was growing weaker with every attempt to get out from under. As he bucked and bridged, Lock talked to him, keeping his voice calm and his tone even.
“If I wanted to shoot you, I could have done it by now. If I wanted to have you arrested I could have called it in. A felon with a gun is about the easiest PV there is.”
PV stood for ‘parole violation’ and in this case it would have meant a direct trip to jail.
“So why you jump me like this?” Orzana managed, through deep gulps of air.
“Why’d you run?”
Lock eased up the shoulder pressure a little before Orzana began to pass out from the pressure on his carotid artery.
“You kidding me? People like me run from people like you. Or we shoot them.”
“All I came here for was to give you a message,” said Lock.
“I think we got it already. And payback’s gonna be a bitch, homie.”
“It wasn’t us killed those men. Not me, and not Emily’s father or anyone working for him,” Lock said, rolling out the same careful choice of words that Chow Yan had deployed with him.
“You expect me to believe that bullshit?”
Lock sat up and rolled off in the direction of Orzana’s gun. He picked it up, and made it safe, ejecting the mag, and dry firing it into the ground to make sure, then handed it back to Orzana.
“The person who killed your men.”
“They weren’t my men.”
“Whatever. I don’t care if they were OGs or mercs or Boy Scouts gone wrong. Whoever they were, they were killed by someone who’s going to keep coming at you until those kids are released. He’s not going to stop, which makes him your worst nig
htmare.”
“How you figure that?”
“Because a man who just keeps coming, regardless of the consequences, is everyone’s worst nightmare. You should know that better than most people. Isn’t that MS-13’s secret? You’re relentless.”
“I don’t know anything about that. But this guy you know all about, he’s nothing to do with you.”
“No, he’s not.”
“Then why’s he doing this?”
“I can’t tell you that.”
“You’re going to have to, because otherwise it makes no sense.”
“Let’s just say it’s personal.”
“Personal, how?”
Lock took a moment. Orzana was correct. It made no sense without the missing piece of information. What possible motive could a man have for such slaughter unless he was being paid or had a motive that went deeper. He remembered what he had told Chow Yan about the danger of secrets. It was time for Lock to take his own advice.
“He’s her father,” he said.
“Wait. What?”
“She was adopted,” said Lock, fudging it slightly. “The man who took out four of your guys is her biological father. The man I’m working for is her adoptive father. And the good news for you is that he still wants to make a deal, and he has the money to make all of this go away.”
Orzana got to his feet. Lock took a step back, maintaining distance in case he did something dumb, although that moment seemed to have passed.
“But if you don’t then, like I said, this other guy is going to keep coming. And if anything happens to them, if they die, he’s going to have some serious backup and all the resources he needs to finish the job he already started at that house in Malibu.”
“Aren’t you assuming something?” said Orzana.
“What’s that?”
“Well, what’s to say they’re not already dead?”
“Are they?” Lock asked.
Orzana let the question hang unanswered. He smiled. “No, last I heard, they’re not. But it was a close-run thing.”