by Sean Lynch
I didn’t know what to say. I was standing in my friend’s kitchen with as virtuous a woman as I’d ever met. I could sense her overwhelming loss, grief, and pain. I felt like a heel. And about as useful as a screen door on a submarine.
“Do you have children, Mister Chance?”
“No Ma’am. I don’t.”
“I have always believed we are judged by how we treat children,” she said. “They are our hearts and souls.” She stared into her coffee. “A man who could hurt a child is not a man; he is a monster. Such a man has no soul. Do you not agree?”
“I do,” I said.
“Why do you think someone murdered my Marisol?” she asked me. “Why would they do such a thing? Shoot her with a gun and leave her on the street like trash?”
“I don’t know,” I told Reyna Sandoval in a voice I didn’t recognize as my own. I was getting tired of declaring my ignorance. I looked from Greg, to Amanda, and back to Reyna. All eyes were on me.
“What is it you were going to tell me, Mister Chance?” she asked. I took a deep breath before answering.
“I was going to tell you details of your daughter’s death,” I said. “Things I was able to learn from the Oakland homicide detective assigned to the investigation.” I gave Greg a grim look. “I realize now that was a mistake. I am sorry.”
Reyna looked at Greg as well. “There is no need to apologize, Mister Chance. I know Mister Greg asked you to do this out of concern for me. As I heard you say, it is not your problem. I am nonetheless grateful for what you have done on Marisol’s behalf.”
What was left of my stomach fell through the floor. I had done nothing. Less than nothing. And to be thanked for that by this wounded, honorable woman was hard to digest.
“If you don’t mind,” Reyna said in her sad, strong voice, “I would rather not have you disclose to me the details of how my granddaughter died. As I said, I much prefer to remember my precious Marisol in her life, not in her death. I thank you for your courtesy.”
Reyna Sandoval slowly stood and turned to Amanda.
“With your permission, Missus Amanda, I would like to return to my chores now. I have much to do.”
“Of course, Reyna.”
“Mrs. Sandoval,” I heard myself say.
She turned around to face me. “Yes, Mister Chance?”
“I’m going to find the man who killed your Marisol. You have my word.”
“You do not have to do this,” she said to me. “It is not yours to do.”
“It is now,” I told her.
“Vaya con Dios Mister Chance,” she said to me. Reyna Sandoval bowed slightly and walked out of the kitchen. I stood there with clenched fists watching her walk away.
Once Reyna was gone Amanda went for the tissues. Greg looked at me like I’d caught him banging my mom.
“Jesus, Chance, what’s gotten into you?” he said. “You spent ten minutes arguing with Amanda about how you’re not going to get involved. Then you suddenly make a U-turn and take the case? What gives?”
“I met Reyna Sandoval,” I said. “That’s what gives.”
“I’m sorry about that,” he said. “We didn’t know she was listening.” Amanda nodded her assent. “She surprised us,” she said.
“That’s not what I meant,” I said. “You pulled the pin this time.”
I guess something in the tone of my voice got their attention. Amanda wiped her tears away and took a deep breath. Greg folded his hands. I’d seen him do that in court a few times when the judge was issuing an unfavorable ruling.
“What does that mean?” Amanda asked.
“It means,” I said, with a more venom than I intended, “I don’t give my word lightly. I looked that woman in the eye and told her I was going to bag the shooter who clipped her granddaughter. I aim to do it.”
“What changed your mind?” Greg asked meekly.
“Reyna Sandoval did.”
I thought I detected a faint expression of triumph on Amanda’s face. The lines in Greg’s face deepened. “What’s your plan?” he asked.
“You don’t need to know,” I said. “I’ll run the investigation, you pay the bills. You’re the client, but it gets done my way. My way works. You want to do it your way, find somebody else. And you’d both better understand that eggs are going to get broken to make this omelet.”
“We’ll pay whatever fee you feel is fair,” Amanda said.
“He’s not talking about money,” Greg said to his wife. “Are you?”
“No, I’m not,” I confirmed. “This is a contact sport, and I finish what I start. Tell me now if you’re not up to it. You won’t get a chance to change your mind later.”
Greg and Amanda looked at each other for a moment. An unspoken agreement passed between them. Amanda turned back to me.
“Reyna deserves peace and her granddaughter deserves justice,” Amanda said, “whatever the cost.”
“You want peace and justice,” I said, “hire the Reverend Martin Luther King. You hired me. Best expect something else.”
“Do what you have to do, Chauncey,” Amanda said. “Absolutely,” Greg echoed his wife.
“Count on it,” I said over my shoulder as I headed for the door. “Thanks for the tea.”
Chapter 6
I went to the Oakland Police Administration building on the way home from San Francisco to see if Sergeant Matt Nguyen was in. I waited in the lobby with the great unwashed while an aloof desk officer paged him for me. It was a little after noon, and I was hoping to catch Matt before lunch. While I waited I read the names of the over fifty Oakland police officers killed in the line of duty. Their names and end-of-watch dates were engraved on a large plaque covering one wall. Some of the cops there I’d known personally.
“Sergeant Nguyen will be down in a minute,” the desk officer called out to me. He was juggling two phones and a lot of irate citizens. I nodded my thanks.
I wasn’t in the best of moods when I left Greg’s house. Greg walked me to my car while apologizing profusely for dragging me into the case. Truth is, I wasn’t angry at Greg; I was pissed at myself.
Part of me had known I was going to take on the Hernandez murder before I’d arrived at Greg’s house; even before I’d met Reyna Sandoval. But meeting her, and seeing on her stoic face an expression I’d seen too many times before in other victim’s faces, cinched it. I was disappointed for deluding myself into thinking I wasn’t going to be affected by Reyna’s trauma because I wasn’t a cop any more. Who was I kidding?
Sure, it wasn’t my problem. But something Amanda Vole said brought it home. She said, “No offense, Chauncey, but isn’t that what you do?” It was one of those questions which doesn’t require an answer and is only asked to drive home a point. Which it did; right between my eyes. Besides, it wasn’t like I had anything else on my plate. And I could always use the money.
Before I left Greg’s I elicited a promise to arrange a meeting with Reyna Sandoval at her home in San Leandro. I had a lot of questions. I also told Greg to get me a parental permission letter drafted and signed by Reyna which would permit me access to Marisol’s school records. All homicide investigations begin with a biography of the victim. I needed to get an idea of who Marisol Hernandez was before her death. For details on how she died, I still had to get my paws on Matt’s homicide notes.
Matt came out of the elevator looking like he wasn’t in the best of moods either. He was walking fast, and gave me a hard look and a jerk of the head indicating I was to follow. He didn’t speak to me as he passed and I surmised, being a highly-skilled detective, that he wasn’t happy to see me.
Once outside of the Police Administration Building Matt turned on me. “What in the hell are you doing here?” he demanded. “You looking to get me in trouble?”
“Take it easy,” I said. “An old friend can’t drop by and ask a buddy to lunch?”
“You didn’t come here for lunch. You want the damned case notes on that whore shooting. I told you I’d call you when
I had them ready.”
“You ashamed to be seen with me?” I grinned. “Your wife going to get jealous?”
“This isn’t a joke, Chance. You’re bad news. I don’t need I.A. to get wind that you and I are chummy right now. You got a rep. I got enough problems with those bastards already.”
“Relax,” I told Matt. I was surprised at how animated he was. “I’ve got plenty of friends still on the job. What makes you so special?”
“You aren’t asking those friends for information on an active homicide case. And don’t bullshit me about ‘looking into it,’ for Greg Vole. You’re working the case. We both know it, so you can forget about denying it. You’re about as subtle as a bull in a china shop.”
“I wasn’t working it when I last talked to you. I am now.”
“Whatever.”
“You in some kind of trouble, Matt?”
He looked warily around. “Not here. You know the Shan Dong House, at 10th and Webster?”
“Yeah, I know it. Superb hand-rolled noodles.”
“That’s the place. Meet you there in ten.”
Parking in Oakland’s Chinatown district is murder, but I found a spot a block east on Harrison Street. It was closer to fifteen minutes later when I walked in past the kitchen staff, behind glass for the patrons to see, and found Matt seated at a table in back. He was staring into his tea. I sat down. He didn’t look up.
“What is it, Matt?” He still didn’t look up.
“We’ve known each other a long time,” I said. “Kicked a lot of doors together. Something’s got you ruffled, and it sure ain’t me asking for inside scoop on a go-nowhere hooker homicide.”
He nodded almost imperceptibly, set his tea down, and looked up to meet my eyes.
“Internal Affairs is up my ass. I’m on the ropes, Chance. Career, marriage, the works.”
“I know how that feels,” I said. “Why?”
“It’s evidence,” he said, lowering his voice. I wished he wouldn’t do that. In a crowded restaurant, when you lower your voice to conspiratorial tones, people’s ears perk up. They automatically try to listen more intently. When you talk normally, you could be admitting to the J.F.K. assassination and nobody would give a shit. Especially in an eatery where English is spoken third behind Cantonese and Mandarin.
“I’m listening.”
“I got a lady.” Matt’s eyes searched mine for disapproval. “Been seeing her for a while.”
Most of the married cops I knew had something on the side. It was an occupational hazard. I’ve never been married, so my views on the topic were moot.
“So you’re stepping out on your wife? Big deal. It’s sleazy, but not fatal. That’ll get you conked with a frying pan, maybe even divorced, but I don’t see how that equates to having I.A. gunning for you.”
“I’ll get to that part. You’re going to think I’m pretty stupid,” Matt went on sheepishly. “She’s a dancer. I met her at one of the after-hours clubs here in town.”
“You’re right; I do think you’re pretty stupid,” I told him. A harried waitress approached and Matt waved her off. Apparently he wasn’t hungry.
Matt was referring to the countless underground gambling joints connected to Oakland’s Chinatown District. The Chinese sub-culture in Oakland and San Francisco was crawling with illicit gambling halls, and much of the Asian gang activity throughout the greater Bay Area was linked to their lucrative trade. Of course along with gambling went drugs, prostitution, loan-sharking, extortion, protection, and just about every other criminal enterprise imaginable, including human trafficking, murder and even a bustling organ harvesting industry. The Tongs were alive and well, and had put down their American roots in San Francisco over one-hundred and fifty years ago during the gold rush days. Before that, the Tongs had a two-thousand-year head start on all other ethnic gangs. As a result, they were light-years ahead in organization.
“You should see her,” Matt spoke up, as if it made a difference.
“Let me guess,” I said. “Out-of-your-league gorgeous. Joan Chen and Gong Li all rolled into one. And attracted to short, middle-aged, overweight, balding, civil servants who also happen to be married. You two must have hit it off right away.”
“Yeah,” he said, on the defensive, “she’s hot. I didn’t think it was going to be more than a casual thing. Next thing I know, she’s into me. And I’m into her.”
“You fucking moron,” I said, not unkindly. “Of course she’s ‘into’ you; she’s owned by the Tongs. And now so are you. You couldn’t smell a set-up? You think it’s love that made her single you out, or the fact you’re an Oakland police sergeant?”
“That occurred to me,” Matt said. “But it’s not like that between us. Really, it’s…”
“Don’t say it,” I cut him off. “Don’t tell me it’s ‘love.’ I’ll vomit.”
“Okay, Chance, I won’t say it.”
“So how does I.A. figure into this? You said something about evidence.”
“I’m getting to that part. Sue has expensive tastes.”
“Her name is Sue? Really, Matt? Really? You got put on the hook by Suzie Fucking Wong?”
“Her last name isn’t Wong,” he snapped.
“It might as well be. How deep are you in?”
“I was getting to that,” Matt said. “Like I was saying, Sue has expensive tastes. I got a little ahead of myself at the tables trying to keep her smiling. Before you know it, I’ve got heat on me from one of the club owners.”
“How much heat?”
“Sixty-seven large.”
I whistled. “People get scragged for a lot less, Matt. You ought to know that. This is Oak-Town, remember? You can get done for the fillings in your teeth in this city.” I squinted at him. “But it’s not like you’re a police detective and would know that, huh?”
“Fuck you, Chance. You asked me and I told you. That’s the story.”
“I’ll finish the story for you,” I said. “It’s one I’ve heard before. Just when you’re about to get jammed up over your debt, a guy, who you coincidentally happened to meet through your soul-mate, Suzy-Q, pops out of the woodwork and offers to cover it for you?” Matt’s face suddenly lost its churlish expression, and he looked like he was the one who was going to puke. “But this generous Samaritan will only cover your losses if you can ‘take care of something’ for him. That how the story goes?”
Matt could only nod.
“What did he want you to do?”
“The guy wanted a certain piece of evidence to get lost.” Matt said. He was again studying his tea and avoiding my eyes.
“Did it?” I asked.
Another nod. “It wasn’t a big deal,” Matt said to his tea. “Or so I thought. I.A. watches the dope evidence pretty closely these days after some of the high-profile internal scandals and thefts we’ve had. But regular Property and Evidence storage can be accessed without too much trouble.”
“Especially by a homicide sergeant,” I added. Matt grunted his concurrence.
“Did your debt get cancelled?” I asked. I already knew the answer.
“It was only supposed to be the one thing,” Matt said. “Next time I see this guy he tells me he’s not going to cover my debt, and now he’s got a laundry list of shit he wants me to do for him. Says if I don’t he’ll go to I.A. himself and report what I did.” Matt shook his head from side to side. “Prick pulls out his phone and shows me some video. Video of me at the tables; a ton of it. Video of my house. My kids. Even had video of me and Sue; including the X-rated stuff. Hotel must have been bugged. Motherfucker owns me.”
“How did you not see this coming?”
Matt looked up at me. His eyes were wet.
“Like you said, Chance; I’m pretty stupid. I was thinking with my little noodle instead of my big one.” Matt’s lip was quivering. “Worse part is, now Sue won’t return my calls. I checked the club she works at; she’s gone.”
“Of course she is,” I said. “She’s on to the
next mark.”
“You don’t have to be so fucking cold about it,” Matt said.
“What do you want me to do, Matt? Hold your hand?” I said. “You’re a big boy, and you played a big-boy’s game. But you forgot the rules. Or worse, like a lot of cops, you thought they don’t apply to you. You got played. It happens.”
“I know what I did,” Matt said. “What the hell am I supposed to do now?”
“Only one thing to do,” I told him. “End it. Now. Before it’s too late.”
“How am I supposed to do that?” he whined.
“Pay the sixty-seven thousand you owe, fess up to your wife, and come clean to Internal Affairs.”
“Are you crazy? I can’t do that. I don’t have that kind of cash. Besides, I’d lose everything.”
“Except your life. Don’t you get it, Matt? The Tongs aren’t going to let go of you. You’re a commodity now; no different than Marisol Hernandez. But instead of peddling your ass on the Track you’re selling your badge. You think you’re special? The only cop in the Bay Area they own? You’re only valuable while you can produce, and we both know they’re never going to stop asking you to ‘take care of something’ for them. It’ll only end when you’re of no more use; which means when you get caught. By then, the Tongs won’t care; they’ll already have another cop on the hook to replace you. Maybe put there by the same girl.”
“That’s swell advice, Chance. I’m supposed to pull seventy grand out of my ass, tell Mary and the kids I’ve been fucking around with a stripper, and turn myself into I.A.? That your grand plan?”
“That’s right, Matt. Didn’t say it would be pleasant.”
“That’s what you’d do in my shoes?” Matt scoffed. “Give yourself up?”
“I’ll tell you what I wouldn’t do,” I shot back. “I wouldn’t delude myself into thinking I can outsmart the Tongs. Especially after I’d already been snared as easily as you were.”
“You’re some friend, Chance.”
“Friends tell you what you need to hear; not what you want to hear. Do the right thing, Matt. Come clean; it’s the only way.”
“Easy for you to say. You’ve got no family to worry about.”