Natural Causes

by Michael Palmer

  It was nearing nine-thirty. The Szechuan Terrace was still perhaps a quarter full. Most of the patrons were Asian.

  “Do you think that a measure of the goodness of a Chinese restaurant is how many Chinese are eating there?” Sarah whispered.

  “Of course. Doesn’t everyone think that?”

  “I used to before I spent all those years in the Far East. It turns out there are probably as many Asians with a taste for bad Chinese food as there are Americans with a taste for bad western food. It’s only a matter of time before someone opens a McEgg Roll in Beijing.”

  Matt took a place at the long mahogany bar, while Sarah wandered nonchalantly past the booths and then back.

  “No Andrew,” she said, sliding onto the vinyl-covered bar stool next to his.

  “Just going by your description of this Truscott, this turnaround of his is very strange.”

  “Not really. Andrew knows I could have caused him a great deal of trouble at the hospital and didn’t. I also picked up an abnormal lab result he had missed not too long ago. The patient might well have died on the table. Besides, Matt, what choice have we got? This Tommy Sze-to may be the key to everything.”

  At ten minutes before ten, Sarah approached the cashier. He checked briefly with the waiters and then reported to her that no one of Andrew’s description had been in the restaurant. However, he added, the night had been very busy. There was a flicker of recognition in the man’s dark eyes at the mention of Tommy Sze-to, but he denied knowing of any such person.

  “Nobody here remembers Andrew,” Sarah whispered to Matt. “But I think that guy knows who Sze-to is. He says he doesn’t, but his expression says otherwise.”

  “But where in the hell is Andrew?”

  “I don’t know, but I have this uneasy feeling right here under my sternum. Let’s wait ten more minutes.”

  “I have a better idea.”

  Matt went to the pay phone just inside the front doorway and consulted the phone book. Sarah noted that from where the phone was situated, Andrew would have been able to see Sze-to leave almost any of the booths. Her intuition was telling her that Truscott had overheard precisely the conversation he reported. But if so, she wondered uneasily, where is he now?

  “S-z-e dash t-o.… Is that how you said the guy spells his last name?” Matt asked, returning to the bar.

  “That’s what Andrew said.”

  “Well, there are some Sze-tos in the book, but no Tommy.”

  “I’m not surprised.”

  “But there’s a guy I knew from Chinatown—Benny Hsing. And sure enough, Bennett Hsing is listed.”

  “And?”

  “Benny was a clubhouse man with the Sox before he got fired. He was always into everyone’s business, and always telling everyone’s business to everyone else. If this Sze-to is anything more than a figment of Truscott’s imagination, Benny will know him.”

  “Where does he live?”

  “Regal Street. Just a few blocks from here.”

  “And will he talk to you?”

  “He might. He actually liked me. For one thing, my life was so dull that he never got into trouble by spreading gossip about me. No one would have believed I was into anything out of the ordinary, so he never bothered. And for another, when Steve Matz accused him of stealing his gold necklace and eventually got him fired, I tried to point out that legally, without an eye witness or the actual purloined item, Matz didn’t have much of a case.”

  “Then why did this Benny get fired?”

  “Well, I was just a second-year law student back then, and not such a wily one at that. And besides, Matz was leading the team in wins, strikeouts, and earned run average. As long as he kept pitching that way, he could have gotten just about anyone in the organization fired.”

  “Should we call this Benny first?”

  “Benny never was one to stick his neck out for anybody else. I think he might have more trouble coming up with a reason not to deal with us if we just show up on his doorstep.”

  At ten o’clock, they left the restaurant. But first Sarah called Andrew’s home. She had met Andrew’s wife, Claire, several times and had always viewed her as sweet, though painfully shy. Never did she seem a heaven-made match for her flamboyant, acid-tongued husband.

  “I … um … I thought maybe you knew,” Claire said. “You and Andrew being friends and all.”

  “Knew what?”

  “We’ve separated. Andrew left here about six weeks ago. He’s been living in an apartment not far from the hospital. I have his phone number if you want it.”

  “Claire, I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “Thanks. But we’re managing okay. It felt as if he’d been married to the hospital the past few years anyway. Now he tells me he’s been involved with someone else for a while. He won’t say who. Believe it or not, I actually thought he might have taken up with you.”

  “Not at all, Claire. In fact, Andrew and I haven’t spoken to one another in weeks.”

  Sarah wrote down Andrew’s new number and tried it before returning to Matt. There was no answer.

  Regal Street was not far from what remained of the Combat Zone, Boston’s once-booming red-light district. They walked the three and a half blocks through a light rain and the rumble of distant thunder. Benny Hsing’s address was an uninviting brick apartment building with the odor of urine in the entryway and a column of what seemed like too many doorbells for the size of the place. Benny’s name was beside one of them. After two buzzes, he appeared at the top of the hallway stairs, peered down at them, and then rushed to the door.

  “The Cat!” he exclaimed. “Are you ever a sight for sore eyes.” His speech was quick and choppy, in sharp contrast to Matt’s drawl.

  “Hi, Benny. How’re you doing?” Matt said. “Benny, this here’s Sarah Baldwin. You got a minute?”

  “For you? For Black Cat? Of course. Of course. Come up. Come up.”

  He was a paunchy, balding man with bad teeth behind a smile that lacked much sincerity. His chinos and T-shirt were stained, and he smelled of tobacco, sweat, and beer. Sarah acknowledged that he might have changed over the years since he last worked for the Red Sox. But as things stood, she did not have to stretch her imagination far to picture Benny Hsing pilfering someone’s gold necklace.

  “The wife’s asleep,” Benny said, pointing at the bedroom door. He motioned them to a couch that was covered with a brown army blanket. “I get you something? A beer? A Coke? Gosh, Cat, what a coincidence. I watch the Sox playing Detroit just a little bit ago, and I was thinkin’ about—you know—the old days. This man here was a hell of a pitcher, miss. A hell of a pitcher.”

  “So I’ve heard,” Sarah said.

  “And smart. I tell you, miss, they don’t come no smarter. You lawyer now, huh Cat?”

  “Yeah. Benny, we need your help,” Matt said.

  “My help?”

  “We’re looking for someone. A man named Sze-to. Tommy Sze-to.”

  Benny whirled and pointed a knobby finger at Sarah.

  “The doctor! That’s who you are. Kwong Tian-Wen’s doctor. God, you excuse me for saying so, miss, but you much better looking than that picture they have of you in the papers.”

  “Thank you,” Sarah managed.

  “Kwong claims that somebody set him up,” Matt said. “He swears that someone messed around with the herbs in his shop, and then brought his opium up from the basement and planted it on the shelf. Have you heard anything about that?”

  “Black Cat Daniels, right here in my apartment. I owe you, Cat. You were only one who went to bat for me against that bastard, Matz. The only one. It’s been hard for me since they let me go, Cat. Damn hard.”

  He gestured around the tiny apartment. Matt re sponded by pulling out his wallet and laying two twenties on the coffee table.

  “It’s important, Benny,” he said.

  Benny eyed the money with disdain.

  “I don’t know much,” he said. “Nothing, really.”


  “Benny, that’s all the cash I have. Believe me. Hey, wait, listen.” He reached into his wallet again and slid out the two tickets, handling them as if they were priceless crystal. “Here’re two front-row box seats to see the Sox play the Orioles next week. First base line just behind the bag. Tell us what we need to know about Tommy Sze-to, and the forty and the tickets are yours.”

  Sarah started to object to making Ricky pay such a price on her behalf, but Matt stopped her with a quick glance. Benny eyed the tickets avidly.

  “You know how long since I been at a game?”

  “Next week you’re there, Benny. Just tell us what you know about this Sze-to and where we can find him.”

  “It’s only rumors what I know, Cat. Only rumors. Sze-to’s no good. No good at all. He hears I talk about him to anyone, he sells my body one part at a time. He’s tong. You know what I mean?”

  “A gang member, right?”

  “Tong tougher than any gang, Cat. Gangs operate around here only if tong tell them okay.”

  “Go on.”

  “Rumor—only rumor, remember—is that Sze-to got big bucks to mess Kwong up. Big, big bucks.”

  “I knew it,” Matt whispered.

  “From who?” Sarah asked, at once bewildered and frightened at the thought.

  Benny Hsing shrugged and shook his head.

  “Where can we find him?” Matt asked.

  “He come and go. In New York a lot. You know, where the ships come in. Here he’s either with some woman, or more often playing poker at Maurice Fang’s.”

  Benny eyed the money and the tickets, but Matt made no move to slide them over.

  “Where’s this Maurice Fang’s place?”

  “Please, Cat. Sze-to finds out I told you anything, I’m dead.”

  “He won’t find out anything. Now where is it?”

  Benny hesitated, then scribbled an address on the back of an envelope. “Second floor. Green door. Poker game every night until five A.M. Starts up again at ten A.M. Maurice is okay, but he’s Sze-to’s pal. Sze-to is a snake. You should be careful.”

  “We will be. How’ll we know Sze-to?”

  Benny drew an imaginary line from beneath his eye to the corner of his mouth.

  “Big-league scar, Cat,” he said. “Knife, I think.”

  Matt backed away from the money and the tickets. Benny snatched them up. Then he hurried into the bedroom and returned with a baseball.

  “Here, Cat,” he said. “You been good to me. Then and now. This here is ball you threw to clinch division title against Toronto. Remember? I’ve almost sold it half a dozen times, but I always say, ‘No. This is Cat’s ball, and someday I’m gonna have the chance to give it to him.’ ”

  “That’s very nice, Benny. Thanks.”

  Matt hefted the ball a couple of times and then dropped it into his jacket pocket.

  “You just be careful of Sze-to,” Benny said. “Be careful, and keep Benny Hsing’s name out of it. Good luck, miss.”

  Sarah thanked him and then preceded Matt down the dimly lit stairs to the fetid entryway. Outside the glass-front door the rain was heavier now, and more wind-whipped.

  “Let’s go to that diner at the corner and figure out what we want to do next,” Matt said.

  Sarah gestured to their surroundings and pinched her nose shut. “Anything that will get us out of this spot. That was really pretty sweet of Benny, though. Don’t you think?”

  “What?”

  “Giving you that baseball.”

  “Yeah,” Matt said. “That was very sweet except for one thing. I already have the ball from that Toronto game in a case in my den.”

  The steady rain continued, though it still was something less than a thunderstorm. After coffee and deep dish apple pie, Sarah and Matt left the small diner and darted from doorway to doorway to a Bank of Boston money machine. They had considered and rejected all of the options they could think of, and had finally returned to the first one—find Tommy Sze-to and somehow get him to disclose who had hired him, and why. They would resort to whatever it took: pleading, bribery, threats—if necessary, even some arm twisting.

  Sarah no longer harbored any doubt that someone had hired Tommy Sze-to to tamper with the herbs in Kwong Tian-Wen’s shop. Someone out there wanted to see the old man ruined or Sarah’s career destroyed. Possibly both. But the chances of keeping a gangster like Sze-to around Boston long enough to have him questioned through legal channels were slim—roughly the same as the chances of interesting those legal channels in the whole business to begin with. There really was no good option. They had to confront Sze-to before he learned they were after him and disappeared. It was that simple.

  The money machine refused to shell out more than $250, but Matt allowed as how that might be to the machine’s credit. They darted and splashed the four blocks to the address Benny had given them for Maurice Fang’s all-night poker game. Though unasked, the question of what might have happened to Andrew Truscott continued to gnaw at them both.

  Their plan—what little there was of it—was to act as if they had official legal business with Sze-to, maybe some money due him.

  “What if he doesn’t bite on that?” Sarah asked.

  “Then we move on to Plan B, whatever that is. In the end, everything just might boil down to which one of us is bigger.”

  “Or more heavily armed.…”

  The three-story, dilapidated building was tucked on a narrow side street just a block from Kwong’s shop. The street door opened on a foyer that was cluttered with junk mail and no better lit than the one on Regal Street. The avocado-green door, painted in high-gloss enamel, was just at the top of the first flight of stairs. Sarah and Matt could hear string music and a woman’s high-pitched singing voice from the other side.

  “Just remember to look like you know what you’re doing,” Matt whispered before he knocked.

  The door was opened a fraction of an inch—just enough for them to see a sliver of a face and a single, rheumy eye. The singing, louder now, was Chinese, and clearly a recording of some sort.

  “What do you want?”

  The voice was gravelly and impatient.

  “My name’s Matt Daniels.” Matt flashed a business card, then just as quickly put it away. “I’m an attorney with Hannigan, Daniels, and Chung. If you’re Maurice Fang, I need to speak with you.”

  “About what?”

  “Actually, it’s about money that is owed to one of your clients. A lot of money. Mr. Fang—please. I know about the card game going on in there, and I couldn’t care less. But I don’t do business standing in hallways. Now please, could we come in? It’s very late, and I’d really like to get this whole thing over and call it a night.”

  Out of sight of the eye, Sarah nodded that she was impressed with Matt’s performance. After a momentary hesitation, the police bar was moved aside and the avocado door opened. Maurice Fang’s apartment was considerably better furnished than Benny Hsing’s, but it was also a lot smokier. A thin, cirrus cloud wafted out from a room one doorway down the hall.

  “Who are you looking for?” Fang asked.

  He was a willowy man, perhaps sixty, wearing a black dress shirt and solid white tie. Someone’s grandfather trying to be Nathan Detroit was Sarah’s first impression. Matt immediately maneuvered his way around so that he was between Fang and the smoke-filled room.

  “As I said, I’m an attorney. This is my associate, Miss Sharp. There’s been an estate settlement. We’re trying to find a man named Sze-to. First name, Tommy. I’ve been authorized to pay up to fifty dollars for information that will help me find him so that we can take care of this matter. We’ve been looking for him all day. Finally someone suggested we try here.”

  “Who?”

  “Mr. Fang, I’m a lawyer. Everything that’s told to me is told in confidence. That way no one has to worry. Including you.”

  “Let’s see the fifty,” Maurice Fang said.

  He took the bills and ordered Matt and S
arah to wait in the living room. Then he stepped around them and into the card room. Matt remained where he was. Sarah moved up beside him. After a minute, Fang returned and handed back the fifty.

  “No one knows where Sze-to is,” he said. “Hey! Wait a minute!”

  Matt had barged past him to the doorway.

  “I want to ask myself,” he said. “We’ve had a long day.”

  Sarah stepped up behind him and could see immediately that one of the six Chinese men playing cards and smoking was Tommy Sze-to. He was slightly built and pasty, with simian features, a pencil mustache, and a striking scar running exactly as Benny had depicted.

  Maurice Fang tried to pull Matt from the room, but Matt easily shook him off.

  “I don’t know if any of you is Mr. Tommy Sze-to,” he lied, “but I need to speak to him about money he’s got coming to him—a lot of money.”

  The men at the table just stared up at him. No one moved.

  “You see?” Fang protested. “You see? Now, get the hell out of here!”

  Matt glanced back at Sarah. They both knew there might never be a second chance. Sze-to was obviously not buying Matt’s story.

  “I guess we go to Plan B,” Matt whispered over his shoulder.

  He gauged the room for a moment, and then stepped forward and grasped a startled Tommy Sze-to’s right hand with his.

  “Nice to meet you, Mr. Sze-to. Nice to meet you,” he gushed.

  Before Sze-to could react, Matt pulled him to his feet, twisted his right hand behind his back, and locked his own left arm around the smaller man’s neck.

  “What the fuck?” Sze-to gurgled.

  “I’m not going to hurt you, Tommy,” Matt said, pulling him out into the narrow hallway, “but we need to talk.” He tightened his grip. “Do you understand?”

  Sze-to nodded. Matt kept his firm hold and turned Sze-to around to face Sarah.

  “Do you know who she is?” he demanded. “Do you?”

  Sze-to struggled briefly, but quickly gave up. He was at least six inches shorter than Matt and fifty pounds lighter.

  “Let go,” he managed to say.

  “Do you know who she is?”

  “Yes.”

  “And why we’re here?”