by Jay Brandon
Nguyen asked no questions. Chui began to whistle. He was thinking, Now where in this bright happy city is there a dark comer for the small yellow body beside me?
Part Three
RAPTORIAL NIGHT
Chapter 11
TANG
He didn’t go out like an American criminal, head down, hands covering his face, resigned to wait for his call to his lawyer. Tang fought like a schoolchild. He twisted, he clawed, he screamed for his men. It was very irritating for Rybek, who was irritated enough to begin with. He threw the fifty-year-old Vietnamese against the side of his car and managed to get the cuffs on him. He would have done more than that if not for the TV cameras. How the hell had they known to be here? Rybek hadn’t known himself until half an hour earlier. A lieutenant had walked by and dropped something on his desk.
“What’s this?” Rybek growled.
“It’s a warrant. I’m not surprised you don’t recognize one. Go serve it.”
“Why me?” Rybek had said, not touching the thing.
“Look at the name on it” was all the lieutenant said, and walked away. It wasn’t even his lieutenant. Rybek barely knew the guy. He didn’t like it. When he looked at the name on the arrest warrant, he liked it even less. He knew Tang. They had never met face to face but Rybek thought he knew him well. He was a gang leader, Tranh Van Khai’s chief rival for power in the Vietnamese community. Their war was responsible for the Vietnamese corpses that had littered the city for the last few weeks. Rybek had had little hope of pinning anything on him directly, or on Khai. He had just been waiting for them to decimate each other’s ranks, let the smoke clear, then start making some lower-level arrests and hope against hope someone would talk. Now someone higher up had stepped in and short-circuited that plan. The warrant was for Tang’s arrest for the murder of—Rybek didn’t recognize the names, but he figured they were the white couple who’d been killed in the car bomb explosion. Who the hell’s bright idea was this?
Once they had Tang in the car, he cowered against one of the back doors, babbling nonsense. “Be cool,” Rybek’s partner told him, and that calmed the Vietnamese down about as well as a cattle prod would have.
“What’s his problem?” Leveur asked.
“Don’t you know?” Rybek said. “He’s in the hands of the Man.”
“Hmmph. My kids ain’t this scared of me.”
Normally if he was conducting a murder investigation, Rybek would have taken the suspect back to Homicide and seen if he could get anything out of him. But this didn’t seem to be his investigation. So he just booked the cringing gangster straight into jail and went off to find out what the hell was going on.
Raymond Hecate saw the footage of the arrest on the evening news and thought, Okay, it’s over now.
Khai saw the same newscast and thought, Almost done.
Tang pressed back against the bars, then looked behind him and thought better of that. On the other side of the bars was a tank just like this one. A skinny tattooed white man stood close behind him, eyeing him through his cigarette smoke. Tang stepped away from the bars. Doing so, he brushed against a man in his own tank and flinched away. The man stared at him.
The tank he was in was designed to hold sixteen men. That night it held about twenty-five. Most of them looked listless as cattle. The sixteen bunks had been staked out and the men on them looked hot-eyed, ready to defend their hard-won territory. The others milled around or squatted on the floor. In a back comer of the cell on one of the bunks something was going on that Tang wanted to be as far away from as possible. Men’s backs blocked his view. Someone whimpered.
Most of them seemed resigned to being there for a night or a month or a year. Only Tang was terrified. He was not American, and he was not insignificant trash like these. In Vietnam he knew what it meant when a gang leader was arrested. It meant his rival had gained control of the police. It meant he would not be seen again. It hadn’t occurred to Tang that here another Vietnamese could gain such control. He had been a fool.
But he was not going to lie down and wait to die. He moved warily through the men in the cell, keeping his distance as best he could. Khai would have an agent there. But maybe the man was afraid to act in front of these others. He would wait until they slept. Tang had a little time. He studied the faces.
When the small gang in the back comer broke up and began drifting out, the cell grew even more crowded. Someone pressed against Tang’s back. He leaped away, banging into someone else, who shoved him aside, into the bars. The noise sounded loud because the men in the cell were starting to settle down. A few were already sleeping. Soon the lights would go down.
Tang took a deep breath. He had already picked out the biggest man in the cell. He sidled up next to him and said, “I talk to you?”
The man looked far, far down at the middle-age, pudgy Vietnamese. He didn’t say anything.
Tang said, “I need help. I pay for it.”
He stuck his fingers in his mouth, far back, behind his teeth. The fingers emerged holding the ring he had saved when the guards searched him. The ring was gold. Its setting glittered with small diamonds. He handed it to the big man, who took it and wiped spit off without apparent distaste. Tang let the man study the ring, hoping he knew value when he saw it.
“I rich man,” Tang finally said.
The big man grinned for the first time. “You was a rich man, Jack.” He closed his hand and the ring disappeared.
Tang looked placidly into his face. “I still rich,” he said. He inclined his head. “Outside. Have much more.”
“So fucking what? Know what it’s worth in here? Jack shit.” The big man started to turn away.
Tang put a hand on his arm. The man looked down at it—fat little fingers on the hardwood of his arm. Then he looked into Tang’s face. The whites of the big man’s eyes were cloudy. They seemed to be roiling even when his face was stony and unmoving.
Tang removed his hand, but without haste. He had committed himself to a course and strangely was no longer afraid.
“I need protection,” he said. “You.”
The big man looked down at him with something like amazement. “Screwy little gook. What makes you think you can buy me? I take what I want.” He held up his clenched fist. It looked half as big as Tang’s head.
Tang said calmly, “Outside you could not get near me if I said no. In here you already have everything I own. You protect me now, I give you more once outside.”
“You talk big, little thing.” But the man hesitated. He opened his fist and looked at the ring again. It was not a poor man’s ring. He studied the placid little man in front of him. “What if I say no?”
Tang’s eyes slid around the cell. “Then I try to hire three others to take the ring away from you.”
The big man grinned broadly. “Better make it five, Tiny. And there ain’t five in here could do it.” He clenched the fist again, so hard the muscles in his arm leaped into prominence.
“That why I came to you,” Tang said.
The big man kept smiling. He was easy now. The tension had dissipated. “What you offering?”
“Keep me unharmed. When we get out, three thousand dollars.”
“Five.”
Tang appeared to mull it over, so the man would think he had made a good negotiation. Then “Done,” he said.
“All right.” The grin disappeared. The big man was working now. He turned to look over the cell. There were two or three men close to them. The big man’s scowl drove them back. He took Tang’s arm and steered him toward the back. The bunks there were against a wall, not bars. They weren’t accessible from adjoining cells. Tang began to think he had chosen wisely.
The big man chose a corner bunk. It was, of course, occupied. “Out,” Tang’s protector said shortly.
The man on the bunk was thin and wiry, and his eyes had the reddened look of someone coming down from something and not liking the plateau to which he had fallen. “Fuck you, pal,” he said.
The
big man’s hand was around the other’s throat before Tang even realized it was no longer holding his arm. The hand was so big the palm alone covered the whole front of the man’s throat. The fingers met the thumb in back.
“You got that wrong, Jack,” the big man breathed. “I ain’t your pal. And you ain’t fucking me.”
The fire in the thin man’s eyes flared and died. He sat up and Tang’s protector let him go, off the bunk and away. The big man kept watching him. The thin man glared around him, picked out another bunk across the cell, and displaced its occupant after a brief skirmish. The ripple effect continued until the most easily intimidated bunk-holder trickled down to the floor. The cell grew quieter again.
“In here,” the big man said. Tang stretched out on the bunk. The big man sat on the edge of it, his back to Tang. He glared around the circumference of the cell. A few eyes met his, once.
There were lower bunks and upper ones. Tang was on a lower bunk. It was like a cave, with his hireling guarding the entrance. Tang began to relax. Terror was exhausting. As he relaxed he found himself very sleepy. Tomorrow, he thought. It was the first time since his arrest he had thought about tomorrow.
A head edged cautiously over the edge of the bunk above them. “You want to keep those eyes?” the big man said, and the head withdrew. After a while the lights went out. There was movement in the darkness, but none of it nearby. The big man folded his arms but didn’t close his eyes.
Behind him, he heard his charge’s breathing grow deeper. A little later there was a gentle snore.
The big man watched and waited.
“What the hell does that mean?” Daniel asked. He was watching the evening news with Thien, watching Rybek arrest Tang. Thien had appeared suddenly just after the attack on Daniel, as if they had an appointment. He had turned on one of the TVs in the shop and they were watching it just as if two men hadn’t just tried to kill Daniel.
“That is Khai winning,” Thien said. “Tang will not be heard from again. I think it’s all over now.”
“What does that have to do with Carol?” Daniel asked. “What did she ever have to do with it?”
“I don’t know.” Thien watched the television intently.
Daniel still had the gun in his hand. He had turned off the burglar alarm and called a glass company. Thien had suggested that.
What did it mean—Khai’s enemy arrested and an attempt made to kill Daniel at almost the same time? Was Khai tying off loose ends? Daniel reached for the phone. Thien had already told him wait, wait, but they had seen the newscast now and Daniel didn’t know what good it did him. It was time for police.
“Police will be worse than useless,” Thien said, reading his thoughts. “Call Khai instead, let him know you are still alive.”
“If he tried to kill me, he may have already killed her. Or be about to.” Daniel picked up the phone.
“And surely will if police come.”
Daniel paused.
“The situation is the same,” Thien said. “Except that now it is almost over. Whatever use Khai had for your wife, maybe he has it no longer.”
Daniel hesitated. Events called for some response from him, but what? Did he go forward, back, sit tight? It wasn’t about him, he knew that, or even about Carol. Somehow they had just been caught in it. He felt as if he’d stumbled out into the middle of a giant ballroom, where hard-eyed men glided by in intricate patterns while Daniel slithered and slipped and tried to stay out of their way, expecting any moment that one of them would stab him or his partner in the back. He and Carol were adrift in a predator’s waltz, elegant and deadly.
He started dialing again. When the call was answered he said, “Let me talk to her. Now.”
And then he would talk to Khai. As Daniel waited to see who would come to the phone, he watched Thien watching the television. All he could see was the back of the boy’s head. Later he would remember that, that it was Thien who had talked him out of calling the police.
The Vietnamese was just a lump on a lower bunk when life in the cell began stirring. The men who’d slept on the floor were the first ones up, shuffling around, waiting for someone to abandon a bunk. The men looked different after a night’s sleep. Some of the crazed ones looked less so. The sullen ones were more so. Those who’d been patient the night before were now restless, waiting for lawyers and family and bail bondsmen.
Those who’d been in longer than a day knew to start congregating near the front of the cell early. Breakfast was served at seven, and sometimes there were fewer trays than there were prisoners. When the metal cart came creaking down the aisle almost all the bunks were empty. Tang’s was one of the few still occupied. The big man was nowhere near it.
The guard kept order while passing out the trays, but that order broke down as soon as a man got his hands on one. He might keep it only a second. Men grabbed trays, hunched over them, and tried to break out of the mob. They grew louder, fueled by the perpetual anger of jail.
Tang woke with a start. He couldn’t imagine where he was. But before he could sit up, calling for his men, he remembered. He lay unmoving. His protector was gone. Tang moved ever so slowly. He was covered by a thin blanket now. It seemed to have removed his body. He couldn’t feel his legs.
There was no one near him. He was quarantined like the first victim of a plague. Slowly Tang pulled back the blanket. He felt so weak.
“Breakfast in bed, Tiny. Sit up there.”
The big man had suddenly reappeared in front of him, two metal trays in his hands. Tang sat up, glad to see his legs moving. His whole body felt still asleep from having slept on the thin mattress over the metal bunk.
His guardian thrust a tray into his hands and shoved him gently aside to make room for himself on the bunk. Tang looked at the food solemnly, as if he couldn’t remember its purpose. Beside him the big man was wolfing down eggs and bologna.
“I am alive.”
“Damn straight,” the big man said. “I take a job, I do it. You owe me five big ones.”
“I am alive,” Tang said again. He was starting to smile. He left his tray on his lap and clapped his hand on the big shoulder beside him. He laughed loudly. The big man looked at him strangely.
“Khai failed,” Tang said, to no one. “Even in here I beat him. He is dead man now. When I get out—”
His laughter stopped abruptly. He had survived one night. How many more would there be?
That worry was assuaged two hours later when a guard appeared along the corridor calling his name—mangling the pronunciation, but undoubtedly Tang’s name. The guard ignored the black and white and brown men thrusting their hands through the bars, pretending to answer. “Here!” called Tang, and the guard stopped.
The big man was still at his side. Tang turned and grasped his hand, his smile restored. “This bail is wonderful thing,” he said eagerly, like a new citizen. “We do not have in my country. We have rot in jail.”
“We got that here too, Jack. But I be out in three more days. I know where you live. Five big ones.”
“Five big ones,” Tang happily agreed. “Gate will be open for you. Maybe you work for me again, eh? I have big job for someone like you.”
“First the pay, then we talk continued employment,” the big man said. He was smiling too. He found the eager little man amusing. Might be fun to work for him. “But first the five, right, Jack?”
“Right, Jack,” Tang babbled happily. He was overjoyed. He was alive and Khai would pay. Retribution would be sweet. It would almost be worth the fearful night he had spent.
He had only this short gauntlet of sullen prisoners to run. They were all turned to look at him, envious of his good fortune.
“Back away,” the guard said wearily. “Get away from the door there.”
Tang hurried. There was no way to keep his face toward all of them. As he passed he turned his back. The door in the cell was just ahead of him. He looked back. His protector was back there behind the crowd, head and shoulders r
ising above them but still far away.
The door opened ahead of him. The guard waited patiently, looking down at his watch. Tang leaped the last few feet. He was there. The door closed behind him. Tang sighed hugely. He turned back and waved to the big man. The big man just nodded and held up one hand—five fingers. Tang nodded too. Well worth the price. He might even pay it
The guard was already walking away. “Somebody’s gone your bail,” he said. “Come on, hurry up.”
The cells they passed were still full. Tang seemed to be the first one being released. That was as it should be. Someone was going to catch hell that he’d had to spend even one night in this foul pit. But he had survived it. Not only Khai would be surprised. Tang’s own men would see what the boss could do when thrown strictly on his own resources. The superior man always prevailed.
He had to hurry now. He must strike while it was still unexpected, while Khai thought him dead or imprisoned. Tang’s thoughts raced ahead as he followed the guard down a dank corridor. The cells on each side now were empty—small, temporary holding cells. Far ahead Tang saw a gate. Beyond it were desks, linoleum instead of concrete, civilians: freedom.
The guard stopped to let Tang catch up. Tang started to pass him, walking fast now. “In here,” the guard said, and pushed him. Tang stumbled off balance into one of the open holding cells.
“What?” he said angrily. “Is there more—?”
The guard didn’t reply. He stepped into the cell and swung the nightstick he was holding. It caught Tang high on the side of the head. Tang fell against the wall, putting up his hands. Too late. The nightstick cracked down on his temple. Tang fell on his back. His eyes were open, staring, but he didn’t move. The guard grabbed his collar with both hands and pulled him up, letting him drop on the bunk. The guard stuck the nightstick back in his belt and pulled out a homemade shiv, the kind so many prisoners in there would be carrying after only a day or two inside. A sharpened triangle of metal that had started life as a spoon or a bunk support.