Riding the Snake (1998)

by Stephen Cannell

  If they had been just a few seconds later, they would have missed the whole thing. As they reared the front of Chan's shoe shop, they could see three young men, dressed in black, struggling to pull Chauncy Chan out the side door of his store. Chauncy was screaming for help, but nobody was responding. Pedestrians watched in disbelief as one of the Triad hoodlums pulled a knife and held it to the struggling Chauncy's neck. Tanisha yelled at Julian to stop the car. He hit the brakes, and while the car was still skidding to a stop, she yanked the plastic Glock out of her bag and started banging off rounds, pouring lead just past Julian's chest and out the far window. She could see her rounds sparking off the side of the building. She was firing for effect, not trying to hit the three hoodlums, because she didn't trust the inaccurate handgun and didn't want to hit Chauncy. The barrage scared the Triad killers, who were still trying to wrestle Chauncy Chan over to their car, where another man dressed in black pulled a Russian AK-47 out of the back seat.

  Julian put the Ford in gear and tromped down on the accelerator. It shot into the parking lot, but then, as if from out of nowhere, a cart vendor rolled his trolley right into their path, and, for a second, Tanisha and Wheeler were looking into the frightened eyes of Zhang Fu Hai. Fu Hai was there with the stolen cart to block the drive if anybody came. He desperately held the cart handles while Julian's English Ford skidded into the contraption. The three young gangsters now dove for their car, and one came up with another AK-47. Without a second's hesitation, both armed men started spraying lead at the entangled English Ford. The little vehicle rocked with the impact of the rounds, the bullets shredding the interior, coming dangerously close. The windows on the car shattered, raining crystallized safety glass all over them. The sound of tearing metal and ricochets filled the street.

  "Bloody bastards," Julian screamed. He had his Russian 7.65mm auto-fire out and was blowing off rounds. The hot brass was ejecting, bouncing down, burning Tanisha's legs. She didn't react. She fired the Glock. until it locked empty; then, ducking below the window, she dropped one clip and slammed in her backup, chambered the gun, and came up firing.

  While this was happening, Wheeler, who was unarmed, dove out of the car on the far side. The AK-47s continued to burp death at them from the parking lot until both Russian weapons pin-locked. They heard the gangsters start up their car and roar out past the now-disabled English Ford, pausing just long enough to pick up the terrified Fu Hai, who had been hiding behind his bullet-mangled trolley. He dove into the back seat of the Triad car, which then roared away, up the crowded street.

  Tanisha, Wheeler, and Julian had lost sight of Chauncy Chan. They took off, running toward the shoe shop, exploding into the store. "Police!" Julian yelled, and they saw Chauncy bent over a wounded Chinese woman, who was bleeding from a bullet wound in her chest. Chauncy was talking to her softly in Chinese.

  Chauncy Chan looked up. He had blood streaming down his neck where the point of the blade had stuck him. "My wife. They shot my wife," he said in terror.

  Julian moved to the phone and called for an ambulance. Wheeler was standing in the center of the shop when all of a sudden his legs and arms began to shake. It was all he could do to stand up. This time, the reaction was not from alcohol, but from adrenaline. He looked at Tanisha. The residue of combat fear still lingered on her face; the plastic Glock hung hot and empty in her hand.

  "I don't know about you," Wheeler said softly, "but I'm starting to get pissed."

  Chapter 25.

  Powwows

  Willy Wo Lap Ling sat in his living room and listened while Henry Liu explained what had happened. The Hong Kong apartment was modest but had exceptional Feng Shui. Feng Shui was the Chinese practice of having a house or business "read" by a Master to see if the layout of space and the directions the windows faced, along with the position of the bathrooms and kitchen, would bring good fortune or bad. Wo Lap had had the house read by the best Feng Shui Master in Hong Kong. As a youth, he had not had time for such indulgences, but now he took no chances. The Feng Shui Master said the apartment was cloaked in good fortune: It was facing north, toward the harbor, which guaranteed wealth; the main windows faced away from the mountains; the front door to the apartment was east; and the kitchen was farthest from the bedroom. The Feng Shui Master said this layout guaranteed favorable health, sexual prowess, and good fortune. Willy hoped the Master had been right as he listened, in distress, while Henry Liu told of the difficulties now facing the Triad.

  Johnny Kwong had been careless. His mother, in California, had allowed the United States government to find out about their payoffs, forcing Willy to order the death of an American attorney, as well as Johnny's own mother. Since he could no longer trust Johnny, Willy had also ordered his Death by a Myriad of Swords.

  Willy feared the loss of his Guan-Xi with Beijing. He was on the eve of his political career and was not willing to accept blunders from Limpy Liu. He listened with rising anger as his old White Fan, and now most powerful Shan Chu of the Triad, explained the many problems.

  "The Americans who came here believe that you have made an agreement with Beijing and that it is on paper. That is what Johnny Kwong told us before we executed him. They have a partial map of the Walled City and had contacted one of Jackie Puilinger's disciples to try and complete it. We failed when we went after this man earlier. He is just a shoemaker, but somehow he escaped. I think we may have fallen into some jeopardy," Limpy Liu said, his ugly, pock-marked features and protruding teeth giving him a scary but comical appearance. He limped slowly over to the picture window that looked north and protected Willy from the dual dragons of greed and avarice.

  "This cannot be a serious threat," Willy said. "If it was serious, would they send a woman, a racial, who has limited Guan-Xi, even with Americans?"

  "If they try to breach the Walled City with a force of police, we could have a bloody confrontation," Limpy Liu warned. "We might lose the City of Willows because of interfering Western politicians who will demand to know why it exists here, why our Temple hides in the park. Our secrets will be exposed."

  Willy sat still for a long time, his liver-spotted hands thrust forward on his knees. "The cunning hare always has three burrows," he finally said.

  Limpy Liu nodded. "So you believe we are protected? The police here don't know of your arrangement with Chen Boda."

  "I believe that it will be almost impossible for the police to move against me. Beijing will instruct their police not to kill the hen to get one batch of eggs. They have much to lose. But you must take great care not to make matters worse," Willy told the Shan Chu. "And you must be ever vigilant. You must place our best Red-Pole fighting section on the roof and around the perimeters of the park. You must protect the City of Willows with your lives."

  Henry Liu moved painfully to the door. His bad leg had been his life's biggest curse. He had been shot in the leg by an English policeman when he was fifteen. The butcher surgeons in the Kowloon clinic had repaired it badly, and it had never healed correctly. He had had it amputated just below the knee three years ago, but it was now worse than before. It ached when he walked on his prosthesis. His stumped leg was always rubbed raw from the appliance, and late in the afternoon he found it difficult even to stand. Now he stoically endured both the pain and Wo Lap Ling's stern warning. He left with his new instructions: He would guarantee the safety of the City of Willows or give his own life in failure.

  After he had gone, Willy sat in silence on the sofa in his darkened apartment. He was too old to run from weak enemies. He would not scurry in fear from a Black woman. He had no better place for his money and political papers than where they were now sequestered. He had fashioned a set of Chinese boxes he felt were impenetrable. The documents were currently locked inside a safe, inside the altar, inside the Red Flower Pavilion, inside the City of Willows, inside the Walled City of Kowloon. He had been at this game for three-quarters of a century. He had come a long distance in his life and crossed many treacherous rivers. He also k
new: Distance only tests the endurance of a horse. It is time that reveals the character of a man.

  Wheeler's own thoughts pestered him like begging children. He was tired of evaluating himself, but he couldn't stop. Every thought he had led him back to his. own performance. And then, making it worse, he had not been able to shake the memory of Chauncy Chan being dragged out of his shop, or the sight of the woman bleeding on the floor, or the look of panic and loss in Chauncy's eyes when he turned to them and said, "They shot my wife."

  He felt guilt for all of it. He was the conduit that had brought destruction into Chauncy's shoe shop. And then, changing channels on this screen of bad memories, he began reviewing his sorry performance that morningWith the smell of cordite in his nose from Julian's and Tanisha's gunfire, and panic in his chest, he dove out of the car, fearing for his life, unable to move fast enough, ducking for cover while Julian and Tanisha returned fire with grim expressions.

  "What the fuck did you expect, you stupid asshole?" the Prankmeister whispered, but his voice had grown dim. Wheeler had become disgusted with himself. But still, what was he doing? What did he expect? There seemed to be almost no upside in it for him. He could destroy his brother's legend and devastate his mother, sister-in-law, and nephew, Hollis. He could easily end up dead, half a world away, perhaps the victim of a horrible, torturous death. So what the fuck was he trying to prove? And then he felt a surge of protective love and a sense of loss for Pres. He began to choke up in the darkened hotel room, but he still couldn't cry. Something was stopping him. Some sense that he had not purged himself of selfish thoughts. He had failed his little brother. He had not protected him. If after Prescott's murder there had once been some part of him rooting for his brother's exposure, at least that part had finally died. He no longer felt anything but shame for not being there to guide Pres. All he wanted now was to solve his murder and make the ones who had done it pay. In that effort, he could recapture some portion of his self-respect.

  Wheeler couldn't live with who he had been; he couldn't stand the memory of the Prankmeister. His old life now looked sad and comical to him. As he lay in bed on the twentieth floor of the Peninsula Hotel at one in the morning, he could finally see how he must have appeared to others. He could finally understand his father's disdain. His cheeks stung with embarrassment for himself and for the hollow waste his life had been.

  Then the door opened and she was standing in the threshold of the bedroom, back-lit by the sitting room. She had on the terry-cloth robe that she never seemed to believe was complimentary.

  "Wheeler?" she said softly. "Are you awake?"

  "Yes," his voice a whisper.

  "Can I talk to you?"

  "Yes."

  She moved across the room slowly and sat on the edge of his bed. She didn't say anything for a long moment, but he could feel her body trembling slightly.

  "I'm scared," she said. "I'm scared and lonely."

  He reached out and took her hand. "Me too," he said. Then he put his arm around her and tried to comfort her. She pulled away, unsure what she wanted.

  "I need to hold somebody," he said softly. "I need to hold you."

  She looked down at him. "I'm afraid we may die before we get home. I'll never see my grandmother or my niece again," she said.

  He pulled on her wrist, and this time she allowed him to pull her down on the bed, next to him. He could smell her hair, sweet and fresh from a recent shower. Her body was firm and yet tender. She lay next to him, but somehow apart from him. He could hear her breathing, feel her breath on his neck. He reached out with his right hand and brushed the hair off her forehead. In the dim light, he looked into her black eyes. He could see the strength of ages there. Not just generations, but centuries of Black courage looked back at him. She had been forged by her past relationships, her racial history, and the violent streets of South Central. She was a fierce warrior, but somehow she had not lo;st her humanity. She had fought to retain it while he'd given his away at a country club bar for free. As he lay there, looking into her eyes, he wondered how he'd gotten so far off the road, how he'd managed to place value in such a string of asinine accomplishments. Then she took his hand and put it against her face, reached forward, and kissed him. He was surprised by it. Surprised she found anything worth cherishing in him. But some of his fear and self-loathing melted with that kiss.

  He looked in her eyes and wondered how he could ever be good enough for her.

  Chapter 26.

  The Other Woman

  "For a crook, this bloody fool was an ear-bashing bore," M Julian said as he led them down the steps of the Royal JL Hong Kong Yacht Club, across the grassy park in front of the Colonial Club House, and down onto the concrete docks. The Yacht Club was just around the point from Causeway Bay and looked north, toward Kowloon, across Victoria Harbor. The docks were tucked in behind a massive concrete jetty wall. A magnificent collection of sailboats and motor yachts were nestled there, floating evidence of the Colony's past European splendor. Some of the boats were now falling into disrepair. Their owners had fled Hong Kong, and the dock workers hired to maintain them had taken a holiday. Other vessels had found new owners, with government titles, and they still sparkled in the midmorning sunshine.

  Julian headed down the main concrete pier. "The lout was basically a drug-runner," he continued. "We seized his apartment and his office building, which was in his mum's name, then we find out he's got this piece of all-right floating down here. This was in July, just before the hand-over. I didn't bother to tell the lads in the police building I found the thing. With all of the confusion, this bauble slipped beneath the radar."

  They were now approaching a fifty-five-foot, pearl-white, custom motor-sailer with teak decks and a large center cabin. Its name was painted across the stern in English script:

  The Other Woman 'Hong Kong'

  Julian jumped aboard and unlocked the main salon with a key that he pulled from a hook under the aft starboard seat locker. They moved into the beautifully appointed salon, and Julian started opening the teak shutters to let the light in.

  "This is a bit more cozy," he said. "I've been taking her out, from time to time, keeping the brightwork fresh, but the marine licensing board is about to have a go at it and I'll be forced to step away. Been lucky to have use of her these last six months," he said, then went down the few steps to the galley, opened the refrigerator, got three beers, and moved back and handed one each to Wheeler and Tanisha.

  Wheeler smiled and looked longingly at the frosty bottle of English Red Crown in his hand. His mouth watered for a swallow. He could almost feel the alcohol going down his throat, unlocking and warming his stomach, washing away the burning nausea that he experienced every morning.

  "What is it you wanted to see us about?" Tanisha said.

  Julian had called them at nine and asked them to meet him at the Yacht Club. Now he sat on the big sofa in the main salon in tan slacks, a T-shirt, and boat shoes and looked at them.

  "I just came from the hospital over in Ling Tim where we took Mrs. Chan. She'd been on the critical list since yesterday, but she packed it in this morning at eight thirty-five."

  Wheeler's heart sank. He looked at the beer in his hand. His throat burned. He wondered if there was any Scotch whisky aboard.

  Julian continued, "Chauncy went into a flat spin after she died. Started screaming at the docs and the like, then he took off. I tried to stop him, but he was in a bloody lather. I found out an hour ago that he got his kids and disappeared.

  Tanisha realized that with Johnny probably dead and Chauncy gone, they had just sevened out.

  "You want my take?" Julian continued. "This was always a doggy business. Even if we got to that park, we wouldn't be able to breach the Triad headquarters. They have fighting sections, suicide assassins, called vanguards. They're martial artists armed to the teeth with Russian weapons. You saw the firepower they had yesterday. We'd need a division of Royal Marines to get in there," he said, with a sigh. "I'v
e decided to bugger off. Been thinkin' about it for months. I can smell my own death coming, so I'm gonna leave."

  "You mean you're gonna run!" Wheeler said, setting the untouched beer down.

  "It's over. I'm out of rope and up to my knickers in trouble with my Chinese chums in the Colony police. You'd best be off, too. The police and the Triads are obviously in league, and Willy's at the center of it. We didn't endear ourselves to that buncha teara-bouts yesterday when we fired on them. Johnny's in the orchard and I don't need my name on a bloody invitation to the Ice House to know I've used up my stay."

  "Where are you going to go?" Wheeler asked.

  "That's not something I plan on sharing with you, laddie. . . . Not that I don't trust you, but it's bloody hard not to talk when somebody shoves a live fucking rodent up your arse."

  When Wheeler and Tanisha got back to the hotel, she had managed to convince him that without Julian and Chauncy, they had no way of proceeding. Tanisha wanted to go home. She had called and left a message with Captain Verba earlier, saying that she had more family problems in Cleveland and needed a two-week leave. She asked his voice mail if he could postpone her I. A. D. hearing. Now it was time to face that situation.

  While Tanisha went upstairs to change, Wheeler sat in the lobby and tried to think of some way to continue. After reviewing everything, he realized they had no options left. He had failed Prescott in death, just as completely as he had in life. Wheeler watched the flow of people in the Peninsula lobby, feeling such a depression he almost couldn't deal with it. Self-loathing swept over him. Finally he stood and walked to the concierge desk and ordered two tickets on the next flight out to Los Angeles. The first available seats were on a Singapore Air red-eye that left Hong Kong's Kai Tak Airport at one A. M. that next morning. While Wheeler was at the concierge desk booking the seats, Tanisha called from the suite and said she would meet him in the Pen Room grill off the lobby. He arrived there and found her in the leather booth in the back. They hadn't eaten since breakfast, but neither was hungry, so they just ordered Cokes.