by Don Easton
Chapter Six
It was eight o’clock at night when Jack and Laura drove to the Hanoi House restaurant. They found the van parked in the alley behind the restaurant. It was a dented, older model Ford Econoline with curtains across the back window. The licence plate was registered to the restaurant.
Parked next to the van was a new silver Audi. Jack radioed in the plate and discovered it was registered to Tom Nguyen, who was fifty-six years old. Jack then had them cross-check the name through the Canadian Police Information Centre database.
Tom Nguyen was listed as having a long criminal record for drug-related offences, assault and armed robbery, but no criminal convictions within the last fourteen years. There was also a notation on CPIC that Nguyen was of interest to the Asian Organized Crime Task Force with a request that they be notified of the circumstances or reason for the check.
“No criminal convictions of Nguyen for fourteen years,” noted Laura. “What do you think?” she said, with a wry smile. “Is AOCTF hassling some poor guy who has long since learned the error of his ways and is trying to be a good, hard-working citizen?” she mocked.
“I’m sure he’s no poster boy,” replied Jack. “More likely he has clawed his way up the corporate ladder and has others do the dirty work.”
“You going to give AOCTF a call?”
“I’ll wait until tomorrow and give Roger Morris a call when he comes in.”
“Wish they could find the leak,” said Laura, frowning. “Bet it’s one of the Asian translators they’re using on their wiretaps.”
“I asked Roger about that six months ago when he first told me he thought they might have a leak. I asked him if it could be one of the monitors who is the leak. I recommended a good friend of mine, Vivian Mah, out of Victoria, but he thinks his monitors are clean. He’s not even a hundred percent certain they have a leak. They were getting close to busting the head of one of the triads when things went sideways. From the circumstances, he only suspects they were tipped off.”
“Time will tell,” replied Laura. “It always does.”
“Hopefully, but in the meantime, he warned us to keep it in mind before passing anything on to them.”
Jack and Laura parked in the next alley over so they could see if the van left. A call to the restaurant told them it was open until two o’clock in the morning.
They took turns napping in the car and there was no activity until thirty minutes after the restaurant closed. The Audi left first, followed by the van. When the vehicles reached the end of the alley, they went in opposite directions.
Jack and Laura followed the van, which went to an older home in nearby Delta. The van parked in a garage facing the back alley and the driver, a heavy-set Asian man, walked across the yard and into the house.
Jack had barrelled out of the car to watch, then used his portable radio to have Laura pick him up a block away.
“Well?” she asked, when he got back in the car.
“Saw about four or five Asian males watching TV in the living room,” said Jack. “Most looked to be in their twenties, except for the guy driving tonight. He looks to be about thirty-five. I also scooped the licence plates to four cars out front.”
“How long do you want to give them?” asked Laura, stifling a yawn.
“Either one hour after the lights go out,” replied Jack, “or if they don’t, then I’ll chance it and go in one hour before sunrise. Go ahead and sleep. I’ll take the first hour.”
“No warrant,” sighed Laura. “Nothing will be admissible.”
“If we get an informant, he won’t know if we had a warrant or not.”
“Think Connie knows what we’re doing?”
Jack shrugged. “She knows we operate in the grey zone.”
“The grey zone? You mean breaking the law.”
“I like to call it the grey zone.”
“Yeah, that will work really well in front of a judge,” Laura said, facetiously. “Gee, your Honour, I thought operating in the grey zone was the same as diplomatic immunity. You mean you’re sending us to jail?”
Jack’s mouth quirked in response.
Laura sighed. “Well, right now I would like to enter the sleep zone,” she said, tilting her seat back and closing her eyes.
At three-thirty the lights went out, and an hour later, Jack picked the lock on the side door leading into the garage as Laura stood beside him, watching the house. Once inside the garage, Laura took up a position where she could see the rear door to the house through a garage window.
The van was unlocked and Jack used his flashlight to search inside. The two seats in the front of the van had a curtain behind them, blocking any view into the rear cargo area. Jack parted the curtain and saw that the floor was littered with candy wrappers and a couple of plastic soda bottles. Unfortunately, so was the front of the van, indicating that the garbage may not have been left by anyone doing surveillance.
Jack opened the glove box. It held nothing of significance, so he went to the rear of the van for a more detailed search. He collected a few of the candy wrappers and one part full plastic bottle of cola. With the amount of garbage still in the van, he figured it would not be missed.
It was when his flashlight scanned over a part-full bottle of grape Gatorade that he knew the hit and run wasn’t accidental. The fluid in the bottle was yellow.
I-HIT has a murder on their hands …
Chapter Seven
It was nine-thirty in the morning when Jack returned to his office after dropping the Gatorade bottle and candy wrappers off with Forensics.
Laura blinked and sat up from where she had been sleeping with her head on her desk and raised her eyebrows.
“I told them the bottle was a priority,” said Jack. “Keep your fingers crossed. We should hear by noon, but if you want to go home and get some sleep, go for it.”
“I’ll hang in,” replied Laura. “I won’t be able to sleep until I find out if they can identify bottle-boy.”
“Forensics is pretty busy. They said it would take longer for the candy wrappers.”
“Yeah, but with the bottle, I’m betting it was a one-man surveillance.”
“Possibly.”
“You guys are so lucky that way. You’ve got better equipment.”
“You could pack a funnel,” suggested Jack.
“I’ve thought of it, but the idea grosses me out.”
“I also swung past the Hanoi House on the way back from Forensics,” said Jack. “The van was already back. One of the other guys at that house must be working the day shift at the restaurant.”
“Sounds like it.” Laura yawned and gestured to the paperwork on her desk. “I ran the four plates you scooped from the cars parked out front. One was a neighbour who lives across the street, so count it out. The other three are all Vietnamese males and all have criminal records related to drug trafficking. One of ’em is still on probation. Here’s the info on all of them,” she added, handing Jack their photos and criminal records.
Jack scanned the photos and recognized the heavy-set driver of the van. “This is who drove the van last night,” he said, tossing the picture back onto Laura’s desk.
“Louie Nguyen,” said Laura. “He’s the one on probation. The owner of the Audi parked out back of the restaurant was named Tom Nguyen. Maybe they’re related.”
“Nguyen is the most popular surname in Vietnam. It is used by thirty-nine percent of the population. Next is the name Tran, used by eleven percent. It doesn’t necessarily mean that they are related —” Jack paused to answer his phone.
“It’s Gerry down at Forensics,” responded a happy voice. “Got some good news for you.”
“That was quick,” said Jack.
“Yeah, well, I didn’t think you would be standing at my door first thing in the morning with a bottle of piss in your hand if it wasn’t important. I got some prints. I’m sure it was him who refilled the bottle because the thumb-print was near the base, pointing down.”
&nb
sp; Jack gave Laura the thumbs-up sign, then wrote down the details. When Gerry was done, Jack said, “Gerry, I have a favour to ask. My investigation could involve an unidentified member who is leaking information.”
“Son of a bitch.”
“Could you keep the work you did for me to yourself? If anyone asks, deny I was ever there this morning and let me know who does the asking.”
“You got it,” replied Gerry.
“Thanks. I owe you one.”
“Maybe next time bring me a full bottle of amber rum instead of piss.”
“Will do,” Jack chuckled.
“We did it?” asked Laura.
“You bet,” replied Jack, bluntly. “We’ve got our man.” He glanced at the notes he made and said, “He doesn’t match any of the plates we ran. His name is Harry Ho … and no, it is not spelled H-a-i-r-y.”
Laura grinned and said, “Someone has a warped sense of humour. Bet he is a hell of a fighter or a fast runner.”
“I doubt his parents knew enough English to realize ‘ho’ is slang for whore and put the two names together. Anyway, he’s twenty-three years old and on probation for his third conviction of trafficking in drugs.”
“Perfect.” Laura smiled. “We’ve got our surveillance man. Makes pulling the all-nighter worthwhile.”
“Peaks and valleys. Right now we’re on a peak,” said Jack.
“What’s this asking Forensics to tell you if anyone calls about it? Do you really think Boyle is that stupid?”
“You must be tired. Do I need to answer that?”
Laura grinned and shook her head.
“Besides, AOCTF think they have a leak,” added Jack. “Who knows where this will end up. If anyone starts nosing around, I want to know.”
While Laura went to obtain a photo of Harry Ho, Jack ran his name through the Motor Vehicle Branch and discovered that he owned a newer-model Mazda RX7 registered to an address in Richmond.
When Laura returned with his photo, Jack examined it carefully. “Young punk,” he muttered. “He’s even smiling in the mug shot.”
“Not like he had anything to be afraid of,” replied Laura. “His record shows he was sentenced to another term of probation, even though he was still on probation for his previous conviction when he got caught that time.”
“He won’t be smiling when I grab him by the throat,” said Jack, bitterly.
“Want me to risk checking with his probation officer?” asked Laura.
“Go for it,” replied Jack, “but keep it general in case it gets back to him. Say that we were running licence plates in regard to a drug investigation and Ho’s car happened to be parked in the vicinity. While you’re doing that, I’ll call I-HIT and let Connie know she has a murder to investigate.”
Connie Crane hung up her phone and walked over to where Boyle was sitting at his desk and said, “Jack called me. Says he is confident that yesterday’s hit and run was a targeted hit by the Vietnamese. He won’t confirm a motive yet, but suggested we discreetly find out everything we can about Mia Parker, along with anyone she associates with.”
“Why is he confident it was intentional?” asked Boyle.
“He wouldn’t say, except that he expected to meet with a confidential informant in person tomorrow to get more details.”
“Yeah, right,” said Boyle, sarcastically. “He’s blowing smoke up our asses.”
“Why do you say that?”
“The victim was killed yesterday at twelve-forty-eight p.m.” Boyle uttered the time of death as though he were mimicking giving evidence in court, then continued, “As of last night Taggart said he didn’t have any Vietnamese informants.”
“I know when she was killed. If you are trying to impress me with your memory, you’re going to have to do better than that.”
Boyle glared. “I’m simply saying he wouldn’t have had time to get an informant this soon. He’s bullshitting … trying to make himself look good.”
Connie eyed Boyle for a moment. “Jack doesn’t need to make himself look good when it comes to getting results. He is very good at what he does. Sometimes he needs to make himself look innocent, maybe, but not good.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“I mean that we better do what he suggests and see what tomorrow brings.”
“So you think we should take him seriously?” Boyle frowned.
“From what I know about Jack, it would be a fatal mistake not to,” replied Connie, gravely.
“Well … it would have been nice if he had offered us some evidence before we go to all this work,” griped Boyle.
“Oh, I’m sure the evidence will come soon.” Connie sighed. We’ll probably be putting it in body bags …
Chapter Eight
After speaking with Connie, Jack remembered that AOCTF were interested in the owner of the Audi parked at the Hanoi House Restaurant next to the van and called Sergeant Roger Morris.
After a friendly greeting, Roger said, “I got the computer kick-back this morning, saying you ran Tom Nguyen’s name last night. I was wondering if you would call.”
“No idea on who your leak is yet?” asked Jack.
“Not a clue,” sighed Roger. “Like the old shell game. Keeping track of who you tell or what misinformation you spread. I feel shitty about the whole situation. I think we’ve got a great group. Bugs the hell out of me to think someone might be dirty. Only a few of us in the office know what I suspect and I want to keep it that way. Our secretary is one person I trust because she came on board two months after the initial leak.”
“You told me you weren’t a hundred percent certain you had a leak,” said Jack, nodding at Laura who gave him an exaggerated smile after hanging up from speaking to a probation officer about Ho.
“I know, but I think when I called you, I didn’t want to believe it,” lamented Roger. “Since then, we have had a couple of other things go sideways. Always with the Chinese. We’ve nailed a lot of the Viets without much problem.”
“I hate it when someone on our side goes dirty,” said Jack, bitterly. “Hope you nail ’em soon.”
“Yeah, well … sooner or later I’ll figure it out.” He paused, then asked, “So why are you interested in Tom Nguyen?”
“His Audi was parked behind a restaurant I’m interested in. The Hanoi House.”
“That figures,” replied Roger. “We heard through a source that he was the silent partner of a restaurant, but didn’t know the name and haven’t had time to work on him.” Roger paused, then noted, “So this is connected to a possible homicide.”
“How do you know that?” said Jack, before remembering that Connie had called AOCTF yesterday to ask them about the Hanoi House. Having worked for the last twenty-six hours straight, yesterday seemed more like a week ago. “Never mind, I know,” he added. “And for your info, it’s no longer a possible homicide.”
“Involving Tommy boy?” asked Roger.
“Don’t know yet. Laura and I expect to be meeting an informant tomorrow.” Jack saw Laura raise her eyebrows at his comment and added, “At least, with any luck we will. What can you tell me about Tom Nguyen or the Hanoi House?”
“The Hanoi House not much, except they have a bunch of low-level dealers running a dial-a-dope business out of there. We work a level above those punks. Drug Section isn’t interested either. Too low on the food chain.”
“And Tom Nguyen?”
“He’s a VC-3. He would be a good guy to work on, but we’re too busy chasing the shooters who are below him.”
“A VC-3? What’s that stand for? Viet Cong?”
Roger snickered and said, “In his case, it probably could, but doesn’t. We’ve had to come up with our own system to keep track of these guys in our minds. There are so many common names with the Chinese and the Vietnamese, that it’s next to impossible to keep track of who is who.”
“Tell me about it,” replied Jack, sympathetically. “I’ve only had a few investigations that touched a bit on Asians. Between t
he Trans, Nguyens, Wongs … it’s hard to keep straight.”
“Yeah, not to mention that some of them really do seem to look alike,” replied Roger. “So for the Asian criminals in British Columbia we devised a system. VC-3 stands for Vietnamese Criminal, third rank from the top. Sometimes we add a name to it and say Tom Nguyen VC-3 to help keep it straight, but the important thing is to know their position in the group so you know what degree of importance to put on whoever or whatever it is you’re talking about.”
“So he’s the third guy down. Pretty important,” noted Jack.
“One of many third guys down. Let me give you an outline. The VC-1, who currently is friendly with Satans Wrath —”
“That would be Dong Tran?” said Jack. “Sixty-two years old and heads an importing company?”
“Yup. Figured you would know him,” replied Roger.
“I’m up on Satans Wrath, but haven’t had time to take a good look at the Asians yet.”
“You know that Dong Tran VC-1 is the connection Satans Wrath uses as a go-between for the Chinese?”
“Yes, but I also know Dong Tran likes to run his own show as well,” replied Jack. “I’ve been leaving him for you guys, although I realize you’re busy with the shooters.”
“That we are, so any help you can give us is much appreciated. Anything you want, let me know. I’ll send you over some reports and photos of these guys as soon as we’re done talking.”
“Thanks, I really appreciate that,” replied Jack.
“Basically the head Chinese mobster in Vancouver, or CC-1 as we call him, is Benny Wong. He’s sixty-seven years old and for the Chinese, he’s like the guy that Marlon Brando played in the old Godfather movies.”
“Do they have to kiss his hand?” asked Jack, jokingly.
“Naw, just his ass. Wong owns a shipping company, deals in commercial real estate and several other ventures. The Chinese triads are a really complicated bunch to figure out because they’ve been around forever. They victimize a lot of the new immigrants who are straight citizens, but have a tendency to fear the police.”