Four O'Clock Sizzle: An Inspector Rebecca Mayfield Mystery (The Rebecca Mayfield Mysteries Book 4)

by Joanne Pence

  “You expect to be able to pull off something like that?” Seymour asked.

  “Sure.”

  “No, you can’t,” Rebecca said. “You make it sound easy, but I can think of a million ways it can go very, very bad. To start, Hanemoto could decide there’s no way he’d let you take over anything. If he’s already killed his best friend, he’ll have no qualms about pulling out a gun and shooting you on the spot.”

  “I’m sure my friends in the FBI won’t let that happen,” Richie said, facing Seymour. “Maybe I need to wear a wire so if anything goes wrong, you’ll come rushing in like the cavalry, right Seymour?”

  Seymour snorted.

  “You can’t do it, Richie,” Rebecca insisted. “That group is too dangerous.”

  “Shig was my friend, and someone killed him. And I can’t forget that my idea was the catalyst that ultimately got him killed. Who knows who they’ll go after next.”

  “But this is simply too dangerous,” she said.

  “It’s also the best and fastest way for it to end.”

  Rebecca vehemently shook her head. “You’re a civilian. You can’t—”

  “Rebecca, I can,” Richie said. He faced Seymour. “How do we do this?”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Richie sat in his car in the Hall of Justice parking lot and phoned Shay. He was definitely going to need his friend to help him make it out of this situation in one piece. He trusted the FBI, but not with his life. Plus, as he, Seymour, and Rebecca talked, an idea had formed—a dangerous idea, but well worth trying—and he needed Shay to pull it off.

  They met at a coffee shop to work out the plan as much as possible, and then the two of them went to dinner at Kyoto Dreams. Richie had been stunned to learn it remained open after Shig Tanaka’s death. That in itself was a huge red flag for what was going on.

  As a waitress brought them to a tatami room, Richie gave her his card. “Please give this to Mr. Hanemoto. We would like to talk to him. It has to do with Mr. Tanaka.”

  Her eyes widened, and she hurried away. Another waitress brought them a bottle of warm sake and two small cups. She filled a cup for each of them, and then left. They had no sooner finished the first cup than they were told Mr. Hanemoto would see them.

  The two followed the waitress down a hall, past the restrooms and kitchen. Two offices and a storeroom were located there. She knocked lightly, and then opened the door to the first office. “Here is Mr. Hanemoto,” she said to Richie and Shay bowing slightly, and then she left them.

  A short, slight man with squared shoulders and a stiff demeanor stood as the two entered the room. He gave a small bow. “I am Hanemoto. I recognize you as one of Mr. Tanaka’s friends”—he inclined his head towards Richie—“but not your companion.” He faced Shay.

  “This is Henry Tate, my associate. Henry, Mr. Hanemoto.” It always struck Richie oddly using Shay’s real name—Henry Ian Tate, III. He’d never learned where the nickname “Shay” came from, and knowing the guy, probably never would.

  Hanemoto and Shay shook hands.

  “You know,” Shay said looking at both of them, “since this doesn’t involve me, maybe I should just go back to the restaurant. I’d hate the sake to get cold.”

  Richie nodded his agreement.

  “It was a pleasure to meet you,” Hanemoto said with a quick, stiff bow.

  As soon as Shay left, Richie faced Hanemoto. “I’d like to set up a meeting. It should be sometime and someplace where we can talk at length, and openly, about the future.”

  Hanemoto’s eyebrows rose with surprise. “I cannot imagine why you would request such a thing.”

  “Can’t you?” Richie asked. Then, although he hadn’t been invited to sit, he took a seat to show he wasn’t going anywhere until a time and place was set for the requested meeting.

  o0o

  Later that night, Richie phoned Rebecca to say Hanemoto had agreed to meet at Kyoto Dreams, but only at a time when no one else would be anywhere near: four o’clock in the morning.

  Rebecca needed to relay the information to Seymour and work out the logistics to make sure Richie stayed safe. She also told Richie that although the FBI was in charge, she had gotten Lieutenant Eastwood to agree to have the San Francisco SWAT team on the scene and ready for a take-down, if it came to that. Although the FBI had various tactical squads, she personally knew many local SWAT members and trusted them. Still, the entire situation was making her quite nervous.

  Richie told her he was at Big Caesar’s, and would be there that night until closing time. She didn’t need to ask why. He recognized the danger he would be walking into, and she suspected he was making some last minute plans “just in case.” The thought made her stomach clench.

  Alone in her apartment, she tried to nap, but her mind was so filled with all that could go wrong with Seymour and Richie’s plan that sleep wouldn’t come. Richie wasn’t trained in undercover operations, and hadn’t signed up for this kind of danger.

  At two fifteen in the morning, he arrived.

  She opened the door and put her arms around him. “It’s not too late to change your mind.”

  He held her close a long moment. “If I did, I’d have to spend a lot of my time looking over my shoulder. We’ve got to get rid of these people.”

  “It doesn’t have to be your fight,” she said.

  “Doesn’t it? Too many fingers have pointed at me, including El Effin’ Grande and maybe the Yakuza.” He walked to the sofa and sat, leaning forward. “Worse, I’ve got an idea about what might have really happened, and if I’m right, tonight will end what might grow and fester into a blood bath. So, since I’m already caught up in it, I’m in the best position to stop it.”

  “But you shouldn’t be.” She sat beside him, her hand on his back.

  “I know what these people are like,” he said, “and what they’re capable of if they get unhappy. It ain’t pretty.”

  “I wish it didn’t have to be you,” she whispered.

  “Hell, you aren’t the only one!” he admitted.

  She tried to smile, but couldn’t quite manage it. His phone buzzed. It was a text message. He read it, and his mouth tightened. Who, she wondered, was sending a message at two-thirty in the morning? “What’s happening?”

  “Nothing unexpected,” he said as he put the phone back in his pocket. He faced her. “Let’s think about something else for a while. Tell me, was your sister another one who suggested you stay away from me?”

  She warmed at the memory. “Not hardly. She liked you, and when you tried to rescue her from those goons, wow!” Her gaze became intense. “She also said something odd, that we need to stop listening to what we say to each other, and listen more to what she suspects runs deeper.”

  He looked a bit perplexed, but slowly his expression eased to a gentle smile. “I think I like your sister,” he murmured. He put his arm around her and they held each other close as the last few minutes ticked by before it was time to meet Seymour.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  At three in the morning, Rebecca and Richie drove to the FBI parking lot in the Federal building. Seymour met them and led them to a van filled with the government’s listening equipment and monitoring system. A technician put a wire on Richie under his shirt and then checked to be sure it was working properly. Feeling the wire against his skin made everything he’d agreed to do that much more real—and deadly.

  Rebecca said nothing, but the look in her eyes said it all. He knew she was worried about this, and that didn’t make him feel any better about it. The hardest part was the waiting, sitting in that little, claustrophobic van with Rebecca, Seymour, and a couple of others, watching the hands of the clock slowly tick by.

  Finally, it was seven minutes before four. In the empty, early morning streets, the parking lot was only a few minutes away from Kyoto Dreams. Time to go. Rebecca looked scarcely able to move, and he gave her hand a quick squeeze as he stepped out of the van. With the FBI and SWAT teams in pl
ace, Richie got into his Porsche.

  But before he started down this road, he had one last thing he needed to do.

  He took out his phone and deleted the liar app. He had rarely seen an employee work as hard as Tommy Ginnetti in getting Big Caesar’s up and running again, and he believed Rebecca sometimes even more than he believed himself. He didn’t need any stinkin’ app trying to cast doubts on them. As the deletion protocol ended, he was glad to have the sleazy thing out of his life.

  That done, he started the Porsche. On Polk Street, he drove a few blocks north until he needed to turn off to reach the alley behind Kyoto Dreams. There, he stopped at the back door of the restaurant. The sound of the Porsche helped mask any footsteps that might have been heard as a few members of the SWAT team moved closer. They had all agreed the most natural thing was for Richie to drive as close as possible to the meeting point.

  He got out of his Porsche, lightly ran a hand over the back of his hair to smooth it, and tugged at the cuffs of his white shirt so they formed a sharp line against his suit jacket. He then walked to the back door and knocked. A Japanese man he’d never seen before cracked it open. The man said nothing, but nodded and opened the door wider. Richie entered. The man locked the door behind him, and then led him to Hanemoto’s office.

  o0o

  Rebecca stayed in the van and rode with Seymour closer to the restaurant. The driver parked on Van Ness Avenue, a busy street, a block and a half from Kyoto Dreams. “Aren’t you too far away?” she asked.

  “We can hear from this point,” Seymour said. “If we get any closer, we risk being noticed. I’m sure they have people watching the street—just as we do.”

  She couldn’t see a thing from where they were parked; it was maddening. “Is the SWAT team close enough?”

  “They’re your people, not ours. I think my guys could have handled it just fine, but your boss can be a real ass when he wants to.”

  “But you are coordinating with them, right?,” she asked.

  “Yes, Rebecca. You can stop worrying. Your boyfriend will be fine.”

  “He’s not …” she began, then stopped. Who was she kidding?

  She rubbed her fingers nervously. It was all well and good for Seymour to tell her everything would be fine, but how the hell did he know?

  o0o

  Hanamoto was seated at his desk and stood as Richie approached. The two shook hands and then Hanemoto poured them each a single malt Scotch. He handed a glass to Richie. “Kampai.”

  Richie repeated the toast. Both took a sip, and then moved to a round table and sat.

  “I know you were Tanaka-san’s friend,” Hanemoto said, “so I will listen. But I believe this meeting may be a waste of both our times.”

  “I know what’s been going on here,” Richie told him. “I know about your fake accounting books, and about your money laundering. I want in. That’s all. I intend to become a part of it.”

  Hanemoto expression flitted between mirth and outrage. “Ridiculous! I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “It’s way past time for games,” Richie said. “You aren’t good enough or important enough to handle this on your own. You need me. Tanaka is dead, and many people think you killed him.”

  A look of disgust came over Hanemoto’s face. “If so, they are stupid.” Hanemoto sneered. “He was my friend. I would never do such a thing.”

  Richie nodded. He believed Hanemoto, and understood the man’s outrage. He took a different tactic. “Tanaka told me he was getting tired of what was going on here. The restaurant was doing well, but he was in too deep to take his profits and leave.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  Richie shrugged. “Don’t I? People talk to me. It’s what I do. That’s why my business is perfect for the kind of thing you’re doing. Right now, I work much harder for my money than you’ve had to, and I’m tired of it. You’re getting a nice cut just for keeping a phony set of books. It’s a great business. And my nightclub can hide a whole lot more money than a restaurant. Working with me, your rewards will be much greater than they’ve ever been here.”

  Hanemoto’s eyebrows twitched at the word “your.” “But, therefore, the danger will be even higher.”

  “Without Tanaka, you don’t have a restaurant.” Richie’s words, his tone, were harsh and firm. “You’ve tried to keep it running, but it’s just a matter of time before there are more questions than you have answers—like why you’re charging top chef prices when you have little more than a short-order cook in your kitchen. You have to know that.”

  “My chef can learn,” Hanemoto said defiantly. “Or we will find another.”

  “And raise a lot of suspicion. Kyoto Dreams’ location is prominent and expensive; it’s reputation was high with Tanaka, as were its prices. To stay open now that he’s gone will create a lot of curiosity. Curiosity that you can’t afford.”

  As the argument continued, Hanemoto looked defeated and older than his years. “Kyoto Dreams was Tanaka’s personal dream,” he said. “I hate to see it die the way he did.”

  “You have no choice,” Richie insisted. “I think it’s time you consider changing the structure of this business. Close Kyoto Dreams, and use your business skills elsewhere. Perhaps with me,” Richie said.

  “Why should I trust you?” Hanemoto asked.

  Richie paused before answering. “Let’s turn that question around,” he said finally. “Many people think you killed Tanaka, your friend. If they think you’re that kind of man, with that sort of character, perhaps I’m the one who should be suspicious. Why should I trust you?”

  “I said I did not kill him!” Hanemoto all but growled the words.

  Richie eyed the man, then, with his voice barely above a whisper, said, “I believe you. I never thought you would kill him. But what I don’t understand is why he had to die.”

  Hanemoto finished his Scotch. Now, it was his turn to reflect before speaking. “There is a saying in Japan that goes something like, ‘if you do not enter the tiger’s cave, you will not catch its cub.’ Tanaka entered the tiger’s cave many years ago. Perhaps his death was inevitable.”

  “What do you mean?” Richie asked.

  “Tanaka-san worked with the Yakuza in Kyoto. They helped him get started when he needed them, so he was loyal to them. He also thought, once he left Japan, that phase of his life would be over, and that he was free of them. But then, here in San Francisco, they came to call. They are trying to spread beyond Japan, you see.”

  Richie nodded.

  “They came at a time when the restaurant was struggling, when there were economic troubles both here and in Japan. Tanaka thought he might need to close all his restaurants, declare bankruptcy. They offered a way to keep them open. He went along, but even so, he hated having them, again, in his business. And then, El Grande and his men discovered that the Yakuza were attempting to move into El Grande’s territory. The two battled, and apparently, the Yakuza was not yet strong enough in San Francisco to fight them off. El Grande demanded we continue the money laundering scheme, but that we work for him now. And then, because of Tanaka’s former ties with the Yakuza, and because of their threats against his family and fiancée in Japan, he couldn’t get away from them completely. We laundered money for El Grande, but half of our profits from that went to the Yakuza.”

  o0o

  Rebecca couldn’t handle sitting in the cramped van and listening to Richie and Hanemoto talk.

  If the Yakuza had no part in any of this, and Richie was in no danger, everything would be fine and it didn’t matter what he and Hanemoto were talking about.

  But if Richie was in danger, and if Yakuza killers were lurking around him, what good would it do for her to be in a van a block and a half away?

  “I’m moving closer,” she said.

  “Relax,” Seymour ordered.

  She tried, but couldn’t. Every nerve in her body screamed that something was wrong. This was going too quietly, too peacefully. She did
n’t trust it.

  She got out of the van and pulled the hood of her black sweatshirt up to cover her blond hair, then crept along the buildings towards Polk Street. She knew most of the SWAT team had been stationed in the alley at the back of the restaurant. She expected far fewer men were covering the front.

  She headed that way, moving slowly and staying in the shadows.

  o0o

  “So you were being squeezed,” Richie said. “El Grande pushed the Yakuza out of his territory—at least temporarily—but they kept their claws in you because of Tanaka’s fears for his family. Tell me, did you keep a separate set of books or what?”

  “We didn’t dare. If El Grande found out, he may have wanted an even larger cut than he was taking. I kept everything in my head. Our transactions with the Yakuza were all in cash, as much as possible. I handled it personally.” Hanemoto folded his hands and paused a while before continuing. “In the end, Tanaka wanted to get away from both of them—the Yakuza as well as El Grande. When he was talking to you and Pierre Fontaine at lunch that day, and all of you thought about a way to get some free publicity, he jumped at the chance. You see, his reputation as a top chef was growing. Major restaurants wanted him, which would have meant much more money and less work for him. But he needed a way to get out of the shackles around him here. And then, he thought he found a way.”

  “How?”

  “Last Monday, there was a fire at Diego Bosque’s shop in the morning and at your club in the evening. Diego and Tanaka met that night—apparently they went out drinking. They were convinced the arsons had something to do with the San Francisco Beat article, but they didn’t know what. Late that same night, very late, in fact, Tanaka called me. He was very drunk, probably high as well, but very excited to tell me his plan. He said it came to him while he was with Bosque. The two had argued, in fact. Bosque thought the idea was dangerous, foolish, even. But he insisted Bosque was wrong. He was going to do whatever it took. That was the last I heard from him.”