Fu Hai had felt the bullets hit him. Just as before, when he was shot in the City of Willows, he had felt absolutely no pain, just the dull, jerking sensation as the bullets hit his body and flung him backwards, out of control. Then he was lying in the water, his head against the side of the tunnel wall. He could not breathe, he could not move his legs. His arms were leaden, but were pawing the air in front of him, as if they belonged to somebody else.
Then the beautiful Black woman leaned over him. She was backlit by the flickering candles. She looked down at him with no expression. He tried to focus his vision on her, but she was slowly fading away from him. He had to do something. What was it he had to do? He could not remember. Then his right arm fell on the backpack with the strange mechanism in it. He clutched it like a lifeline, holding it tight, straining against its bulk. Then he was no longer looking at the Black woman, but at his little sister. . . .
It was a bright sunny day, in their backyard in Beijing. Xiao Jie was ten. She was walking with him in their courtyard garden. His mother was inside, cooking dinner. Soon his father, Zhang Wei Dong, would be home from his calligraphy shop. Fu Hai had made a paper bird for Xiao Jie. It was very intricate and had many folds. Fu Hai had worked on it all afternoon. When you pulled the tail, the wings would flap. Fu Hai showed his adorable little sister how it worked. Her bright child eyes twinkled with excitement; her round face with its perfect complexion shone. Her white teeth and black eyes glittered. As always, she sparkled for Fu Hai, clean and clear as a diamond. He loved her so much his heart could almost not contain the feeling.
"Fu Hai," she said, "is it really for me?"
"Nothing is too good for you, little sister." He smiled. "I would give my life to make you happy."
And he reached out to give her the paper bird, reached high so she would be sure to get it. He was so proud to have once more put the light of happiness into her beautiful eyes. He would never fail her. Would never let any darkness stain her happy face. She took the paper bird, smiling. Overhead, through the graceful curved branches of the ginkgo trees, shone the pale blue, cloud-wisped sky of northern China, ageless and serene. And then, as if the act of giving brought final peace, the darkness closed around him and Zhang Fu Hai was gone.
Tanisha saw his hand come up as if to give her something. And then she saw that he was struggling to lift the backpack, his arm twitching, his eyes pleading, as if giving it to her was the most important thing on earth.
She grabbed it from him and opened it up. She pulled out a metal box, which she could see had been opened before. The leather straps had been cut or broken. There was Russian writing on the side. She opened the box and she was looking at what she was sure was one of the missing Russian suitcase nuclear weapons. She stood, holding the box carefully in front of her. Then she inched back through the mass of huddled Snake Riders to Wheeler.
He was now on his back in the water, his head lolling against the side of the tunnel.
"Oh Jesus, Wheeler, don't go, please don't go, baby."
He opened his eyes. "Where would I go?" he mumbled. "I'm a fucking care package." He saw what she was holding. "What's that?"
"I think ... I think this is . . ."
"Get out of here with it. Gotta disarm it."
"What about you?"
"I'm fine. Feel great." And then he coughed and blood came out of his mouth.
"Shit, you're dying."
Then, unexpectedly, the Prankmeister's grin was on his sallow face. "Go," he said. "Go or we're all dead."
She got up and started moving down the tunnel, running with the bomb cradled in front of her. But her thoughts were back with Wheeler in the flickering candlelight. She pushed on, slipping once and going down on one knee, almost dropping the box. She clutched it tighter, afraid if she lost it, she would never find it again in the inky blackness. Her breath was coming in gasps, tears were filling her eyes. She could see nothing.
She didn't know how long she'd been running in the dark, but finally she thought she saw light way down the tunnel. She moved faster, and then a few minutes later, she was blinded by a five-hundred-watt xenon light.
"Freeze!" the NEST Commander yelled, as the light targeted her in the tunnel.
"Don't shoot her, she's a cop," Al Katsukura said, pushing his way toward Tanisha.
"Detective Williams, LAPD. I got it," she said breathlessly, as she held the bomb out in front of her. One of the NEST commandos moved forward and carefully opened the metal box. He recognized what she had handed him. "She's right," he said, and quickly put it in a baffled NEST carrying case they had with them.
"You've gotta help him. He's in the tunnel," she said. "There are hundreds of immigrants back there. Please help him. He's dying."
"Who's dying?"
"My partner," she said, refusing a more elaborate or accurate description. Al didn't correct her.
"Get this out of here!" the Commander yelled at one of his men, then looked at his watch. "You've got less than ten minutes to disarm it. I'll find these people. Take her out with you."
"No, I'm going back in there."
The Commander turned toward her. "You're going with them," he ordered. "Where is your partner? Is this a maze of tunnels here?"
"There's only one pipe into where they are," she said. "I'm going--I'll show you."
"Listen, lady, this is a fucking nuclear emergency! You do what I tell you!" he said, his anger and anxiety spewing.
"I don't know who you think you are, Chuck, but I don't work for you!" she shot back.
Then he hit her, stunning her and knocking her backwards. "Get her the fuck out of here!" he yelled. "Barker, Watts, Ferguson, you're with me."
"You asshole, why'd you hit her?" Al screamed, knocking the Commander backwards with a forearm shiver.
"She's in the fucking way. She's arguing against orders. We got a nuke alert going here, pal." Then the Commander turned and yelled at his men, "Let's go!" They headed up the tunnel, shining the xenon light ahead of them. Al grabbed Tanisha by the arm and helped her out of the tunnel.
They found Wheeler where she'd left him. He was unconscious. His pulse was faint. Two of the NEST commandos lifted him and carried him back toward the beach, while the rest of the NEST team gathered up the frightened Snake Riders and herded them out of the tunnel.
When they got Wheeler to the beach, the NEST helicopter had arrived from the airport, and they loaded him aboard.
Tanisha was standing next to the door of the Bell JetRanger as they strapped him in. Al Katsukura was with her. "I'm going with him," she said, as the NEST Commander moved up to her. He put a restraining hand on her shoulder, and she spun, shoving the Magnum .44 into his face. "Ain't gonna work twice, sugar," she said. "Now, back off."
They let her climb into the helicopter. She sat next to Wheeler, holding his hand as the chopper revved up and lifted off the beach. It flew over his uncle's anchored fishing boat and headed east toward Long Beach General Hospital. She looked down at Wheeler's pale face and squeezed his weak hand. "Jesus," she finally whispered, "are you ever something special."
Chapter 44.
Gold from the Rainbow
In bomb disposal work the rule is "No news is good news," especially if you're unplugging a one-kiloton nuclear bomb. They had averted disaster by mere minutes.
Wheeler was in critical but stable condition in Long Beach General Hospital, a lucky choice, because that hospital had the best gunshot trauma ward in the state.
Two days after they had opened Wheeler up and dug the bullet out of his chest he had been downgraded to serious, and shortly later moved out of ICU into a private room on the sixth floor. He awoke with vivid memories of the gunfight in the drainage tunnel, but nobody in the hospital had heard anything about it, or the bomb. None of it had even made the evening news. There was a guard outside his door, and he was allowed no visitors until he was debriefed by somebody from the State Department. When he was strong enough to sit up and talk, he was visited by Lew Fisher. T
he narrow-shouldered bureaucrat pulled a chair up next to his bed and looked down at Wheeler, smiling without warmth.
"Glad you pulled through," he said disingenuously. He had really been hoping that Wheeler would die on the table. Nothing personal. But nobody needed to know how close L. A. had come to a nuclear disaster. "That was quite a heroic thing you did."
Wheeler thought so too, but didn't quite know how to answer.
"At any rate, I think you and I need to come to an understanding, and I need to get some assurances. While you've been unconscious, the story we put out for the news was that we had a chlorine gas leak at the airport. Canister broke coming off a cargo jet. Deadly gas seeped into the atmosphere, blah-blah-blah. We made it as boring and humdrum as possible. The story made one news cycle and died quickly. We said the evacuation of the airport and surrounding area was simply precautionary."
"Is that counterintuitive or counterfactual?" Wheeler asked sarcastically.
"It's disinformation."
"A lie."
"Look, let's not get sideways with each other over this. Fact is, if the real story got out, we'd have more confusion, not less. We'd have government commissions and political speeches, and, in the end, nothing good would happen. We need to keep the panic level down to efficiently track the rest of these missing devices."
"That's reassuring, but from what I've seen so far, you guys couldn't track mud onto a carpet. What happened to Willy?"
"Willy attempted to leave the United States and had an engine malfunction. A gas tank exploded on his jet and he didn't make it. I've read the documents you brought from his Hong Kong headquarters. Looks like the Reds in Beijing lost their hand-picked candidate. With that Agreement, I think we can persuade them not to meddle any further in Hong Kong's elections. If they do, we'll make that document public. On the homefront, the FBI is investigating those Congressmen and Senators. We'll eventually get to the bottom of that." Lew Fisher hitched his chair closer, "We need to know, Mr. Cassidy, that you intend to keep this incident to yourself ... no press statements, no book, no TV interviews."
Wheeler smiled. "What if I don't want to cooperate?"
"That would be unfortunate and momentarily tricky. But we're not entirely scenario-dependent. Let's suppose you say exactly what happened, but the California Governor, the L. A. Mayor and Police Chief, as well as everybody in the federal government who is in a position to corroborate your story, say Mr. Cassidy is just a little confused after his accident. With no corroboration, you're gonna look like a guy who took a ride on a spaceship."
"Got it," Wheeler said.
Lew stood up and looked down at Wheeler. "That is not to say that your nation isn't immensely grateful to you for your part in this. You helped avoid a rigged election in Hong Kong and a nuclear explosion here, and you brought down a powerful Triad leader who had targeted the United States. You are to be commended and congratulated. However, that having been said, you are also just a two-dollar chip in a billion-dollar board game."
"No Civilian Medal of Honor, huh?"
Lew Fisher stood. " 'Fraid not. By the way, the official story on your wound is, you were out on your uncle's boat, cleaning your shark rifle, and it accidentally discharged and you got shot in the chest."
"That should play. I usually can't seem to do anything right. Did my big toe accidentally get stuck in the trigger?"
Lew Fisher shook Wheeler's hand. "If I can ever be of service, Mr. Cassidy, don't hesitate to call."
"You wouldn't be interested in clearing all this up with my mother?"
"We stay out of family situations," he said, and walked out of Wheeler's life, never to be seen again.
Wheeler wondered what had happened to the Snake Riders, and what had happened to Prescott's and Angela's murder investigations, and if they had caught Ray Fong's killer. He guessed that his brother's part in the smuggling of illegal aliens and influence-peddling in the corridors of government would probably go unreported. Too much was at stake, and for that he was glad.
Tanisha had slept in the hospital, and as soon as the guard was taken off Wheeler's door, she spent her days seated on an uncomfortable chair in his room, playing cards with him or just holding his hand till he could get to sleep.
"Your mother still hasn't come to see you?" she asked one evening after dinner.
"Nope. But she sent me some mail." Wheeler handed her an envelope. It was a legal letter informing him that he had been removed as a beneficiary of his father's estate.
"Shit, you're kidding."
"Beverly Hills is a tough town," Wheeler said.
Ramon Delgado took time off from behind the W. C. C. bar and visited the hospital one afternoon, bringing his family. He stood respectfully by Wheeler's bed. The children and his Spanish-speaking wife were dressed in their Sunday church clothes, smiling awkwardly at him. "You're getting better, Mr. C.," Ramon said, his handsome features lit by his grin. "You'll be back at the club any day now."
Mrs. Delgado had cooked him chicken and beef enchiladas in casserole dishes, covered with Saran Wrap. Ramon had smuggled in a bottle of Wheeler's trademark hops, Vat 69. After Ramon left, Wheeler gave the bottle to his night nurse.
Days stretched into weeks. The drains and catheters were unplugged and Wheeler was finally released. He left the hospital in a wheelchair. When he stood up in the parking lot next to Tanisha's old yellow Mazda, he felt ten feet tall and one foot wide. He teetered the two steps to the passenger seat, then lowered himself in with a sigh.
Rick Verba had managed to get the Internal Affairs case against Tanisha dropped. This unprecedented career feat had been accomplished with the help of the LAPD Superchief, Carl Leddiker. He, like Wheeler, had been briefed by Lew Fisher. The Chief couldn't tell the I. A. D. Shooflies what Tanisha had done. Instead, he just wiped her slate clean with no explanation.
Then, one Sunday afternoon, two weeks later, they were sitting in Wheeler's apartment, curled up on the silk sofa in front of the window that overlooked Bel Air Country Club. A light rain was falling through scattered clouds, and a four-color rainbow arched magnificently over the greens and fairways. It was the best rainbow Wheeler had ever seen. It seemed to contain a message that there could still be value in life, and gold at the end of his rainbow. Wheeler had gained back half of the weight he'd lost and was beginning to think he would eventually get back to normal. But he was worried about how he was going to pay the rent on his penthouse. With his inheritance gone, he decided he needed to go out and get a job. They had the Sunday paper open and were looking at the want ads.
"Here's one," Tanisha said. " Tainting Contractor seeks Sales Executive.' "
"Yuk," he said. "I'm crazy enough without inhaling paint fumes all day. How 'bout this? 'Position for in-house Advertising Exec, Southern California Volkswagen Dealership.' "
"You have a colorful history with Volkswagens," she said, remembering his prank fifteen years ago.
"I'm surprised I ever got away with that shit," he said ruefully. "Somebody shoulda knocked my lights out."
She put down the paper and nestled into the crook of his arm. He felt her breath on his neck and her hair against his cheek.
"My place is too small, but we could live at my grandmother's house," she said. "It's cheap."
"I don't think I went over too good down there." And then they sat quietly on the sofa. He was looking at her. He reached out and touched her hair. "When I look at you, you know what I see?" he asked.
She shook her head.
"I see royalty. I see strength and nobility. I'm completely diminished by it. I want to be so much for you. I want to make you proud. All my life I've been a fuck-up. I'm almost forty, and I'm sitting around looking in the want ads, trying to get my first job. But I want you to know something, Tanisha. I'm gonna make it work. I'm gonna beat the odds ... and you know why?"
"Why?"
"Because I have somebody to do it for. I finally found my reason."
She kissed him and held him, then put her head
on his chest and listened to his heart beat. They sat in the apartment and watched the late-afternoon sun. The gold, red, green, and purple rainbow slowly faded. As he watched it go he realized he had never been happier. One day soon, when he had a steady job and both feet under him, he would propose marriage to her, and he knew she would say yes. He would marry her and never give her a reason to be sorry.
She snuggled closer, and he could feel her heart beat with his, feel her warmth against him, and then, after almost six weeks, he knew it was finally time. His eyes fell on a shelf full of pictures. Some were of his mother and father, some were framed shots of Wheeler with old girlfriends. His eyes sought out the picture that was his favorite. He could barely see it across the darkening room. It was a shot of him with Prescott, the day his brother graduated from junior high. Wheeler had an arm around Pres, who was looking up at him in awe. In Prescott's eyes there shone a look of hero-worship and love, in Wheeler's was a look of protective determination. It was a picture of a promise that had not been kept.
"Will you teach me how to throw a football Wheel?"
"Will you show me how to skateboard?"
"Will you get her to go out with me?"
And then he was crying for a brother he had loved, but not protected. Tanisha held him while the sobs racked his body.
As the sun set, Wheeler finally said good-bye.
Table of Contents
PART ONE
PART TWO
PART THREE
Riding the Snake (1998) Page 35