Red Tiger

by Sean Black

  “That’s not a good idea.”

  Chow Yan stared at Lock, the emotional father pushed out by the hard-edged businessman. “It’s my decision.”

  Lock decided against arguing with the man. There would be time for that once the deal was agreed. He was confident that he could finesse it so that Chow felt involved and the delay between Emily and Charlie’s return and reuniting them was kept to a minimum.

  “Does she know?” said Lock.

  “About?”

  “That she’s adopted? That her biological father is looking for her?” That her mother’s dead? That she was illegally taken from her family? he wanted to add, but didn’t.

  “No,” said Chow Yan. “And I have no intention of telling her.”

  “You don’t think she’s owed the truth?”

  Lock knew he was outside the bounds of the job he’d been tasked with. But after everything that had gone down, he didn’t really care.

  “I think she’s already had enough to deal with.”

  Lock accepted that. But he didn’t think Chow Yan maintaining the lie had much to do with Emily’s welfare. “So what happens with her biological father?” he asked.

  Chow Yan raised his head. “That’s not for me to decide.”

  Lock’s cell rang. It was Carmen. “Excuse me, I’d better take this,” he said, getting back.

  Chow Yan got up too and began to follow him.

  “It’s not them, but they’ll still be able to get through on my line if they need to,” Lock reassured him.

  He stepped away so he could listen to Carmen without anyone else overhearing. “Hey, I think we’re almost there with this,” he said.

  “That’s great.”

  “Yeah, we’re just waiting on final acceptance of the offer before we move to exchange.”

  “You make it sound like a real-estate deal,” Carmen said.

  “That’s harsh, but it’s not a million miles away. We can deal with the human side once we have them returned safely. They’re both going to need some heavy-duty counselling and support.”

  “Speaking of the human side . . .” said Carmen.

  “Yeah?”

  “The father. I have some details.”

  49

  The elevator opened and Lock stepped into the hustle and bustle of the lobby.

  “You know how you told me once that the only coincidences you believe in are the bad ones?” said Carmen.

  Carmen had a habit of reciting Lock’s beliefs back at him, which admittedly tended toward the pessimistic, when the need arose.

  “I only told you that once?”

  “I was trying to be polite,” she said, trying to keep the laughter out of her voice.

  “So, what you got?” said Lock, steeling himself.

  “The biological father. He’s a badass, all right. Just maybe not the kind your client was telling you he was.”

  “Go on.”

  “His name’s Tang Bojun. From a poor family in a poor province. He got that part right.”

  Carmen hesitated.

  “And?” Lock prompted.

  “So little Tang grows up and, just like here if you don’t have much going for you but want to change that, he joins the military.”

  “Which is where he learns to kill?” said Lock.

  “Which is where he learns that he’s very good at a lot of things. Doesn’t climb the ranks, but does win a bunch of military honors, and becomes a kind of go-to guy for the more dangerous missions. Then when he’s overseas his young daughter goes missing.”

  “Emily?”

  “Exactly. One day she just disappears into thin air. He’s stuck out somewhere in East Africa, doing who knows what for his government, and by the time he gets back, the trail is cold, and it wasn’t all that warm to begin with. His wife is bereft and takes her life, because she blames herself for what’s happened.”

  Lock felt himself stiffen. Another lie.

  “Tang’s a mess. His wife’s dead, his kid is gone. He hits the bottle and crashes out of the army. When he finally dries out, he starts helping other families who’ve had kids kidnapped. And there’s plenty of them. For the most part, the cops aren’t a lot of help, so he fills the vacuum. Gets pretty good at it, too, because in a way every case he takes on is personal. So let’s just say his methods aren’t exactly by the numbers.”

  “Violent.”

  “If he has to be. It’s a whatever-it-takes approach,” said Carmen.

  “And no one stops him?”

  “He has some friends in high places. Not high enough to find out what happened to his own child, but sufficient to keep him out of jail. Plus, he’s a highly decorated military veteran going after scumbags. The authorities turn a blind eye. And a lot of officials are pissed that their one-child policy is being made to look bad by infanticide of girls and all these abductions.” Carmen took a breath. “He’s like some kind of Chinese superhero. They even give him a name, the Red Tiger.”

  “What about what’s happening now?”

  “About a year ago Tang starts getting a lot closer to the truth of who has his child. Your client, Chow Yan, didn’t abduct her. He bought her from the people who did or, rather, the people who got her from the kidnappers. There was quite a complicated supply chain going on.”

  “So, Chow Yan moves her out of the country,” said Lock, piecing it together.

  “Might have done it anyway. Lots of wealthy Chinese send their kids here for education.”

  “And the kidnapping?” said Lock. “This kidnapping?”

  “Random, as far as Carl Galante has been able to tell. Okay, maybe not entirely random because the kids who took Emily and Charlie have been working robberies in Arcadia for months. This was just a step up.”

  Lock took a breath. He was trying to figure out what, if anything, this changed. Chow Yan had been lying. Not much of a surprise there. He’d done what most people did and only revealed as much of the truth as he had to in order to keep Lock on board. It was unlikely, but possible, that he didn’t know how the people from whom he’d received Emily had come to possess her.

  There were still two young people in the clutches of MS-13. That hadn’t changed. The task remained the same. Finish the job. Make the exchange. And after that?

  Should they tell the LAPD what they knew? Probably.

  But where did that leave Emily? Fresh from the trauma of having been kidnapped she’d discover that her life to this point had been one long abduction story. The man she’d thought was her father was a liar, and her real father was some kind of . . . Some kind of what? Lock didn’t know. Dumping a bunch of MS-13 muscle face down in a swimming pool might be considered a public service by some. It wasn’t anything that he or Ty would mourn.

  “What are you going to do?” Carmen asked him.

  It was a good question. One to which he didn’t have a complete answer. Not yet anyway. There was a lot to digest. “For now?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m going to do my job.”

  50

  The California Highway Patrol’s Los Angeles headquarters was located near downtown Los Angeles, close to the intersection of the 10 and the 110 freeways. The 10 ran east to west, the 110 north to south.

  The intersection of the two major freeways offered the quickest access to the Greater Los Angeles area. Lock had selected a parking spot directly across from the Seventh-day Adventist Church on Georgia Street, on the other side of the 110, for the same reason.

  Neither he nor Ty knew yet where the exchange would take place––east LA, downtown, on the Westside, or out in the San Fernando Valley––but the interchange would allow them access to those areas of the city and more. Now all they had to do was wait for the call agreeing the final deal and providing them with the location for the exchange, which, for obvious reasons, was the kidnappers’ call.

  Lock shot Ty a look as he noisily sucked up the last of his shake.

  “Sorry, dude, don’t like to waste any,” said Ty, shaking the
paper cup.

  “Why don’t you just take the lid off and lose the straw?”

  “Too much risk of spillage,” said Ty. “This shirt cost me like a hundred and fifty bucks at Nordstrom’s.”

  “Really?” said Lock. “Someone would have had to pay me that much to wear it.”

  Ty pinched at the fabric. “What’s wrong with it?”

  “Where do you want me to start?” said Lock, taking in the eye-blindingly bright yellow and red patterned shirt.

  Ty responded with another loud straw clearance. “What do you think our client is going to tell his daughter? Assuming we get her back in one piece.”

  “About being adopted?” asked Lock.

  “And the rest.”

  Lock took a moment. It was “the rest” that would present the problem. Whatever relationship Chow Yan had with Emily could be blown apart. At worst she might never forgive him. At best it would cause untold upset and emotional turmoil. For both of them.

  Lock’s cell phone rang. He answered. It was Orzana.

  “We’re agreed on the final figure. You can transfer it now and I’ll set everything else in motion.”

  Lock looked across the road at the church. “You must be new to this,” he said to Orzana. “There is no way you can get the ransom upfront.”

  At the other end of the line, Orzana sighed. “No harm in asking. Okay, half now, half when you see them at the exchange.”

  That was more like it, but Lock wasn’t satisfied. With the kind of money involved it was smart to minimize the upfront payment and load the back end. That way there was more incentive for MS-13 not to go back on their word, and deliver Emily and Charlie to him in good condition.

  “Twenty per cent now, the balance on delivery.”

  “And what guarantee do we have that you’ll pay the eighty?”

  “You have my word, although I also want a guarantee that they won’t be having any more of these negotiations.”

  “I think it’s fair to say that this was a one-off.”

  “Good. Just don’t go getting any ideas. That’s friendly advice. We’re handling this privately, but the LAPD and the Feds are going to be all over you after this. You make a habit out of this, especially with these people, and it’ll end badly.”

  “What? You mean Chinese?”

  “No, I mean wealthy people,” Lock clarified. “This isn’t South America.”

  Orzana chuckled. “We know that. So, forty per cent now?”

  “Thirty, and that’s my final offer.”

  “Okay.”

  Lock gave Ty a thumbs-up to signal that the deal was done. “So where do you want to meet?” he asked Orzana.

  “All in good time. Just make sure your phone line stays clear,” said Orzana, before terminating the call.

  It was a reminder to them that, right now, Orzana still held all the cards, or at the very least the two that mattered. Lock tapped on Li Yeng’s number and waited for it to connect.

  As soon as Li answered, he outlined the agreement. There was a hasty, muffled conversation, and Li came back on the line. “That’s all fine. I have an account set up that will allow us to make an instant transfer into whatever account they want to receive the money.”

  “Good,” said Lock.

  “And you’re confident that they’ll deliver?”

  “As confident as I can be. These situations are always delicate, but we’ve established some trust now, and that’s what counts. As long as nothing else happens to upset them, I’d say we should have Emily and Charlie back with you by midnight.”

  “That’s great.”

  There was more muffled talk and then Li said, “Wait. Mr. Yan wants to speak with you.”

  “Mr. Lock, I wished to thank you myself for this. I can’t tell you how relieved I am.”

  “I appreciate that, but we’re not there just yet.”

  “I’m sure everything will be fine.”

  “I certainly hope so.”

  Ty must have sensed something in Lock’s manner as he finished the call.

  “What is it?”

  “Even if we get them back safely, this isn’t going to be over. Not after what happened at that house out in Malibu,” said Lock. “MS-13 aren’t exactly the forgiving kind. They won’t be happy until they have this particular tiger by the tail.”

  Ty raised his milkshake cup, peeling the lid back and swirling it around to make sure he hadn’t missed any of the dregs. “In that case,” he said, “there won’t be anything to tell the kid.”

  51

  Shotcaller blinked as the car’s trunk opened. Dazzled by the shift from total darkness he squinted up at the man who loomed above him, his squat body silhouetted against the bright, unrelenting sunshine.

  The MS-13 boss was still struggling to come to terms with what had happened. It was his people who dished out the beatings. His people who stuffed their battered bodies into the trunk of a car before driving somewhere quiet to dispose of the evidence.

  But not this time.

  His body was a mass of pain. He had been dropped by a heavy blow to his liver that had left him writhing on the ground in his backyard when he had gone to investigate a noise outside. What had followed was brutal and relentless. He had been hit so hard and so many times, with such targeted ferocity, that it had been hard to believe it was one man hitting him and not half a dozen.

  The last thing he remembered before blacking out was looking down at his blood lacing the lawn, scarlet splashed over the vivid green, like an old painting. He’d come to a short time afterwards in the trunk of what he was sure was one of his own cars.

  It wasn’t the first time it had been used for such a purpose. But he had never imagined that he would be the one taking the ride.

  He had survived, though. He was breathing. It was time to gather himself. To show this man what Salvadorian pride was all about.

  Shotcaller tried to move his hands to grip the lip of the trunk and haul himself out. They wouldn’t move. It took him a second to realize that his wrists were bound together with thick black tape.

  The man leaned into the trunk. Shotcaller cleared his throat, gathering an oyster of phlegm and launched it at the man, who stepped back, laughing.

  Shotcaller waited for the beat down to start again. It didn’t. The man stood there, looking at him, his expression neutral.

  “Where are they?” the man said.

  “Who?” said Shotcaller. If that was what this was about, those two Chinese kids, then this man who had beaten him was going to be very disappointed. He’d die before he snitched on his fellow gang members and gave up that information.

  “It’s okay,” said the man. “You’re going to take me to them.”

  Shotcaller smiled up at the man. There was zero chance of that happening. The man was crazy.

  “No, I won’t. I promise you,” he told him.

  The man shrugged. “We’ll see.”

  “Yeah, we will. Anyway, why are you sweating this? Those two are going back to their family as soon as the money’s paid. All this is a waste of effort.”

  The man’s expression shifted. His eyes narrowed. His features darkened. Shotcaller had pushed some kind of button. If he’d pissed the guy, then good. “Relax,” he continued. “Let their family deal with it.”

  “Their family?”

  “Yeah, the father,” said Shotcaller. “He has money. He’ll pay a ransom. It’s not a problem.”

  “And a father would do anything for his child?” the man said, stepping to the side so that Shotcaller couldn’t see him.

  There was the sound of someone else struggling. A car door opened, then closed again. Feet scuffed on the ground.

  The man reappeared. He was dragging someone with him. They were about five feet four inches, wearing baggy jeans and a blue plaid shirt. A hood had been placed over their head.

  Shotcaller screamed as he realized who it was. “You asshole! He has nothing to do with this.”

  The man reached to the back
of the teenager’s neck, and undid the twine securing the hood. He yanked it off with a flourish, like a magician performing a reveal.

  Shotcaller’s son stared at him. His face was drawn and pale, and he was crying. “Alex,” he said. “Listen to me. It’ll be okay.”

  It was only then that he noticed the man had gathered something else from the car. It was a gallon-sized container.

  The man swept the boy’s legs out from under him. He landed face down. He pulled him onto his knees and pulled his head back by the hair. He held up the container so that Shotcaller could see the label.

  One Gallon

  Hydrochloric Acid Solution

  “Don’t do it, man,” Shotcaller said.

  The boy must have picked up the panic in his father’s voice. “Dad, what is it?”

  The man slowly unscrewed the top from the container. His manner was what unsettled Shotcaller the most. He was perfectly calm. He tossed the container top to one side and hefted the container above the boy’s head.

  “Okay! Okay! I’ll find out.”

  The man’s arm stopped in mid-air. He reached into his pocket with his free hand, pulled out a cell phone and held it up.

  “What’s the number?”

  Shotcaller gave him the digits. The man punched them in. Holding the container in his other hand, he walked over to the trunk and held the phone up to Shotcaller.

  “Yeah, it’s me. I need to know where they are.”

  He paused. This wasn’t going to be information given freely. “No, listen, I don’t have to explain myself to you. Just tell me.”

  Another pause.

  “Okay, okay.”

  He gave the man the location, adding, “But they won’t be there for another hour. That’s the exchange point.”

  The man put the cell phone back into his pocket.

  “Let him go,” said Shotcaller, trying to sound like he was somehow back in charge.

  The man lifted the container high up above Shotcaller’s head and tilted it. The liquid poured out onto his head and ran down his face.