Stealing the Dragon cwi-1

by Tim Maleeny

  No more lying and obfuscation. Just life and death-two old friends Wen had known since he was a boy. He’d never been stronger than his brother but was always more clever, which is why he came out ahead even when others were arrested or killed. Like that yakuza swine Kano, so many years ago. Today was no different. After this was over, he could put the mask on again and become Harold Yan, charming politician. But for this moment he could be himself, Zhang Wen. Ruthless, powerful, and smarter than everyone else.

  As he looked at Cape across the factory floor, he ran his left hand across his face. “They told me the plastic surgery would be painless,” he said. “They lied. I couldn’t smile for almost two years. My jaw ached. My scalp itched constantly.”

  “Head lice?” asked Cape.

  Wen ignored him. Nothing the gwai loh could say was going to ruin this chance to stop acting for a few minutes-to be free to say whatever he wanted-because no one in this room would live to talk about it. The girl would be dead in less than ten minutes, one way or another, then he’d play hardball with this buffoon detective. See how cocky he was after a few minutes with his bodyguard Shaiming. And even if he didn’t get the heart today, Wen knew he would eventually. Kill enough people and you’ll find someone willing to make a deal.

  The detective was talking again.

  “Why the ship?” he asked. “Why smuggle those people from China-why take the risk before the election?”

  Wen shook his head, marveling at how someone so stupid could know so much about him. “Do you have any idea what political campaigns cost?” he said. “That ship brought in more cash from those families than a hundred fundraisers.”

  “What about the speech in your office? How this affected-”

  Wen cut him off. “All citizens of San Francisco? You think the socialites in Pacific Heights spent more than two minutes at cocktail hour talking about that ship?”

  “I was thinking more of the folks here in Chinatown.”

  Wen laughed, a sharp sound even to his own ears. “Not all Chinese are equal, detective. There are people with power, and there’s everyone else-that’s true in China and it’s true here. Those families were a means to an end. They just happened to be Chinese.”

  “So it was just for the money.”

  “And the heart,” said Wen. “Don’t forget why you’re here.”

  “You actually believe the heart would help you win the election?”

  “You wouldn’t understand,” replied Wen. “If you hold the heart, you cannot be defeated in any contest.”

  “If you say so.”

  “Where is it, detective?” asked Wen. “You’re running out of time.”

  “How do I know you’re not going to double-cross me, like you did Michael Long?”

  Wen smiled at the memory. Long was desperate to save his company, said yes to everything Wen had suggested. He even offered the use of his warehouse. “This is a different situation.”

  “Yeah, maybe. But I saw the guy in the warehouse, with his throat cut-I assume that was your handiwork.”

  Wen glanced over at Shaiming with a look of pride, then said something in Cantonese.

  Cape didn’t like the expression on Yan’s face-or Wen’s face-and was having a hard time deciding what to call this asshole from one moment to the next.

  Wen had gone from looking surprised to worried when Cape first walked into the warehouse, but now the guy looked almost euphoric, like every question Cape asked was a trip down memory lane.

  He was pretty sure Wen, Yan-the man in front of him-was nuts.

  It’s all out in the open now, thought Cape. He’s going to kill the girl, then me. Cape realized Wen thought he had an accomplice, someone to call on his cell phone that would bring the heart. But Wen’s expression said he figured it would still be for sale later, after Cape was dead. There wasn’t any leverage if you didn’t want the heart for yourself-you either valued the heart or you didn’t, in which case it was only worth something once it was sold. One way or another, Wen would get what he wanted, with no witnesses.

  Cape saw Shaiming nod at Wen and unbutton his coat, revealing a snub-nosed revolver sticking out of his pants. Cape stole a glance at the monitor and wiped his hand across his hip.

  Lin had managed to drag herself against the door, perpendicular to the monitor and video camera. She could barely keep her head up, but she managed to raise her right foot and kick, once.

  The video camera crashed to the floor just as the door over her head splintered below the deadbolt.

  Xan kicked a second time, separating the door from the frame. A third kick knocked the door off the top hinges, leaving it hanging and twisting against the broken lock. Wrapping both hands around the door, he heaved backward.

  The screen behind Wen turned to static as Cape drew his gun and pointed it somewhere between Wen and Shaiming, who was already holding the grip of his revolver.

  Wen raised his phone and brought his thumb down on the keypad.

  Shaiming took a step forward and pointed his gun at Cape.

  Sally let go of the rope.

  Cape took aim and pulled the trigger.

  Chapter Sixty

  Sally plummeted headfirst toward the factory floor.

  She was a black blur in Cape’s peripheral vision as the automatic jumped in his hand, the slide cycling backward with the spent cartridge ejected from the chamber. The roar of the shot deafened Cape instantly, leaving only a ringing in his ears. He couldn’t hear Shaiming’s gun fire but saw the muzzle blast of the revolver, shards of cookies stinging his face as the mountain of fortunes next to him exploded.

  Cape adjusted his aim and squeezed off another round.

  The second shot slammed into Shaiming’s chest, knocking him back on his heels as Cape fired again, hitting him in the gut this time. The revolver flew from Shaiming’s hand as the back of his head hit the floor, the gun spinning across the cement and bouncing off the wall.

  Sally tucked her chin to her chest and reached behind her head, drawing the katana from its scabbard as she turned 180 degrees in mid-air.

  Pivoting on his right heel, Cape saw Wen draw a palm-sized automatic and point it at him. He was going to fire before Cape completed his turn.

  Sally landed directly in front of Wen, coming up from a crouch with her sword raised, her left foot leading her right.

  Wen staggered back a step but kept the gun up, his eyes wild. Cape couldn’t see Sally’s face, but Wen’s expression changed with a flash of recognition, his eyes narrowing as he pointed the gun at Sally’s chest.

  Slow motion took over. He’s got her, thought Cape, rocking onto the balls of his feet, his legs feeling glued to the floor. No one’s that fast, not even her. He felt the heat of the gun across his fingers, the sweat in his eyes, the weight of his own heart as it tried to beat faster, but he couldn’t see past Sally to get a clear shot.

  The door at the back of the room slammed open and bounced off the wall with a sound like a gunshot, so loud even Cape could hear it. All heads turned as Xan kicked the door again as it swung back at him, Lin cradled in his arms.

  It took a fraction of a second for Wen to see Xan was unarmed, but it was enough. He snapped his head back toward Sally and, sensing movement, squeezed the trigger.

  Sally swung the katana in a vicious arc, stepping into the cut as the blade cut through flesh, her momentum pushing the sword as her weight shifted. Wen’s head flew from his shoulders like the cork from a champagne bottle, tumbling in mid-air before landing dead center in the pile of broken fortune cookies.

  Wen’s torso wobbled for an instant before crumbling, the gun clattering to the floor, a trail of smoke coming from the barrel.

  Sally stood over the body, her nostrils flared and her eyes wide, the edge of her sword glistening red. She lowered the sword and turned toward Wen’s head. Taking a step closer she spat, her saliva landing right between the eyes, still open and frozen with fear.

  Cape took a panicked step toward Sally but she held
up her hand and he froze. Reaching beneath her shirt, Sally tugged at something between her breasts. When her right hand reemerged it held the dragon’s heart, still wrapped in cloth but with a tear across the fabric where the bullet had been deflected. Sally looked at Cape and shrugged.

  Cape felt dizzy and realized he’d stopped breathing. As the ringing in his ears subsided, he turned to look at Xan, who was standing over Shaiming, turning the man’s head to one side with his foot.

  “You have good timing,” said Cape.

  Xan nodded, jutting his chin toward Shaiming. “You shot him?”

  “I had to,” replied Cape, feeling the weight of it settle in his stomach.

  “Never apologize for killing someone,” said Xan gruffly, sounding like a math teacher Cape had in the tenth grade. “Especially if they deserved it.”

  Cape gestured toward Lin. “How is she?”

  Both men turned as Sally crossed the factory, her attention focused on Lin. Xan squatted and sat on the floor, cradling Lin in his lap like a child. A small trickle of blood ran from the corner of her mouth.

  He said, “She’s leaving us, little dragon.”

  Sally ignored him, touching Lin’s face with her right hand.

  “The bomb?” asked Cape. He hadn’t heard an explosion, but after the first gunshot he hadn’t heard much of anything.

  Xan shook his head. “Disarmed. I pulled the detonator from the plastic explosive.”

  Sally looked at him. “Poison?”

  Xan nodded. “Wen killed her long before we arrived,” he said. “She just refused to die before you got here.”

  Sally felt something stir against her hand. Lin’s eyes fluttered open, her lips coming apart with a wet crackling sound. Sally pressed her face against Lin’s, holding her head in both hands, their noses touching.

  Sally’s voice was barely a whisper. Lin’s eyes rolled around before focusing on Sally. Her mouth moved in slow motion. Cape couldn’t hear what they said, but tears sprang from Sally’s eyes and fell onto Lin’s face. Cape had never seen Sally cry. After a moment he blinked, his own eyes welling up.

  The three stayed there, unmoving, Sally sobbing silently, Xan watching her, Cape trying to absorb everything that just happened. It was a long time before Sally sat up and ran her hand across Lin’s eyes. Taking a deep breath, she stood and looked around the room, as if she’d forgotten where she was.

  Cape touched her shoulder. “We have to leave,” he said softly.

  Sally looked at him and nodded. She had stopped crying, but her eyes told him she was somewhere else.

  “Do we leave them?” asked Xan, waving a hand toward Shaiming and Wen’s bodies. “Or take them to the tunnels?”

  Cape caught Sally’s eye and spoke very deliberately. “If they don’t find Lin, they’ll think you were on that ship.”

  Sally held his gaze but didn’t respond. It took Xan a moment but he got it, turning to Sally and saying, “He’s right, little dragon.” Then to Cape he said, “You have a plan?”

  Cape’s eyes never left Sally’s as he answered.

  “Yeah,” he said. “I think I do.”

  Chapter Sixty-one

  It was almost 7:30 in the morning by the time Cape walked into the Hall of Justice on Bryant Street. After passing through the metal detectors, he rode the elevator to the fourth floor, where Homicide Detail was located. Many of the desks were unoccupied, and the small office at the back was empty.

  Vincent Mango sat behind his desk, black hair slicked back, dressed immaculately in a dark gray suit, yellow tie, and loafers. He looked more like next month’s GQ cover than a homicide detective.

  Cape gave him a wave, crossed the room, and took a seat in front of the desk. He checked his watch, then nodded at Vincent.

  “Where is everybody?”

  Vincent looked around the room as if he hadn’t noticed. “It’s that time of day. Most of the bad shit happened already, in the middle of the night, so we got people on the street. And the bad stuff that’s gonna happen today, well, it hasn’t happened yet. Still too early in the morning.”

  “Where’s Beau?” Cape jutted his chin toward the desk behind Vincent.

  “Went home about two hours ago,” replied Vincent. “You know how he hates this time of day.”

  Cape nodded. “I’m here to make a statement.”

  “I heard,” said Vincent, turning toward his computer. “Beau told me. Said you were supposed to come in last night.”

  “I fell asleep.”

  Vincent turned and gave Cape a look, just for an instant, that said keep the bullshit to yourself.

  Cape asked, “You want to hear it or not?”

  Vincent pulled a pair of reading glasses from his jacket pocket and turned back to his computer, fingers on the keyboard.

  “You’re not going to write it down?” asked Cape, motioning toward a yellow pad on the desk. “Beau always writes it down first.”

  “You ever seen my handwriting?” asked Vincent. “Even I can’t read it. Besides, what do you care?”

  Cape shrugged. “Curiosity.”

  “Killed the fuckin’ cat,” said Vincent. “You sent us a picture of a dead guy-or a guy who looks dead-only we can’t find him. How’s that for a start?”

  “OK.” Cape talked for several minutes, getting the occasional look from Vincent but otherwise without interruption. When he had finished, Vincent swiveled in his chair and took off his reading glasses.

  “That’s it?” he asked. “You found a body and didn’t call?”

  “My phone wasn’t working.”

  “You ever hear of a pay phone?” demanded Vincent. “Or 911?”

  “You know how hard it is to find a pay phone in this city?”

  Vincent thought about that for a minute. “Yeah, it’s impossible. They pulled ’em all out once everybody started carryin’ cell phones.”

  “Exactly,” said Cape. “How about getting a cab?”

  “A taxi?” said Vincent. “Even worse-you know, the other night the wife and I were-” He caught himself and scowled at Cape. “You enjoyin’ yourself?”

  “Sorry, Vinnie,” said Cape. “It’s fun to see you get worked up about these things.”

  “I got Beau busting my balls all day, thanks,” said Vincent. “Him, I gotta work with. You, I could arrest if I wanted.”

  Cape held up his hands. “Point taken, Detective Mango.”

  “So get to it.”

  “What?”

  “The point, dickhead, the point. Where’s the fuckin’ body?”

  “I don’t know,” said Cape, shrugging. “I told you already-I found it by Harold Yan’s office-you talk to him again?”

  Vinnie shook his head. “He’s not around, least not yesterday. We call or stop by and his secretary says he’s out shaking hands, tryin’ to get elected. He’ll be back soon.”

  “You check the office?”

  “No way. Yan is connected. Guy’s running for mayor, for chrissakes.” Vincent dropped his voice a few notches. “Excuse me, judge, but we have this picture that might be a dead body-but we’re not sure-and it might have been in front of Harold Yan’s office-but we’re not sure-and we were wondering if you could give us a warrant to search his offices, even though he’d call the press, accuse the current mayor of harassment and get us all fired.” Vincent shook his head. “How’s that sound?”

  “You need probable cause, huh?”

  “You must watch those police shows on TV,” said Vincent. “What I need is a dead body.”

  “Sorry, all I’ve got is a picture.”

  Vincent started to respond when the phone on his desk rang, loudly. It rang like a real telephone, before you had to plug phones into an outlet and they started chirping like birds. The bell on Vincent’s phone was loud enough to wake a dead man.

  Cape watched as Vincent cradled the phone in his ear and dragged a yellow pad across his desk. After a string of uh-huh, when, yeah, right away, he said, “And tell them not to touch anything.�
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  As he hung up the phone, Cape asked, “What was that?”

  Vincent looked at Cape for a moment before answering.

  He said, “That was probable cause.”

  Chapter Sixty-two

  At the precise moment Cape started talking to Vincent Mango, an explosion destroyed Harold Yan’s office on Grant Street.

  The second floor windows facing the street were blown out, sending a light snow of glass onto parked cars. The ceilings on the first floor cracked, plaster hitting the hardwood floors in clumps, but the real damage was contained to the second floor. Xan had used just the right amount of plastique. Neighboring buildings were untouched. A fire started in the reception area outside Yan’s office, which seemed to be the source of the explosion.

  The fire department arrived within ten minutes from the station less than four blocks away, knocking down the door and rushing up the stairs. At first they feared a gas leak that could spread to other buildings until they realized Yan’s offices used electric power and heat. That was when they considered arson. But when they found the body of a dead Asian male with gunshot wounds to the chest in Yan’s office, they didn’t know what to think.

  Ten minutes later Vincent’s phone rang.

  As he grabbed his coat, Vincent told Cape they weren’t finished, would talk later, and Cape just nodded. He walked to his car and waited a few minutes before pulling away from the curb. By the time he approached Grant Street, the block had been cordoned off, the cop cars and truck from the medical examiner stacking up next to the fire engine. Cape kept driving.

  He desperately wanted to sleep but forced himself to drive down the Embarcadero to park in front of Town’s End restaurant, known for serving one of the best breakfasts in the city. Cape knew the owners and wanted to be seen in public for a few more hours. He also didn’t want to go home just yet. If someone wanted to find him today, he didn’t want to make it that easy.