Stealing the Dragon cwi-1
Page 27
He grabbed a table next to the window and nodded at the cooks behind the counter, managing a half-assed smile. He felt his eyes go to half-mast and thought about ordering coffee but knew he’d hate it when it arrived. He thought of Agent Williams and waved down the waitress to order iced tea and scrambled eggs.
Cape wasn’t hungry when the food arrived, and after an hour the tea was eating a hole in his stomach. He’d been holding the paper in front of him but couldn’t remember a single sentence. The radio behind the counter finally broadcast a news update that mentioned the explosion at Yan’s office, but it didn’t give any details. He felt his stomach cramp up and walked to the men’s room and splashed cold water on his face, then washed his hands. They looked clean, but he could still see the blood all over them.
He dried his face and looked in the mirror but couldn’t find any answers in his own eyes. He turned away and stepped back into the restaurant to find someone sitting at his table.
John Williams looked up from the paper and smiled.
“Your eggs are cold.”
Cape shrugged. “Lost my appetite.”
“That’s too bad,” said Williams. “I just ordered.”
It almost made Cape smile as he sat down. “Coffee?”
“You bet,” said Williams. “And eggs and hash browns.”
“Bacon?”
“Goes without saying,” said Williams. “Getting your appetite back?”
“We’ll see.”
“Most important meal of the day.”
“It’s almost lunchtime.”
“Yeah, but these folks serve breakfast all day,” said Williams. “Your kinda place.”
Cape nodded absently. “How’d you find me?”
Williams jerked a thumb at the window. “Not that many beat-up convertibles in this town, where everybody’s gotta own a Lexus or a Mercedes. ’Sides, you parked on the biggest road in the city. Figured I’d check the streets in front of the breakfast places first.”
Cape felt himself relax. He reached for his tea, reminding himself why Williams was such a good cop.
“What’s up?”
“There was an explosion at Harold Yan’s office this morning.”
Cape pointed to the radio. “I heard that,” he said. “What’s the deal?”
“Bomb went off,” said Williams, getting right to it. “Plus they found a dead body.”
“Yan?”
Williams studied Cape for a moment. “Heard you sent the po-lice a picture.”
He hadn’t answered Cape’s question, an old cop trick. “So it wasn’t Yan?”
Williams shook his head. “Another fella, Asian male in his thirties.”
Cape concentrated on keeping eye contact. Liars always drift. “He died in the explosion?”
“He might have, if he hadn’t already been shot.”
“And you’ve never seen this guy before?”
“I haven’t, but that don’t mean much,” said Williams. “But it turns out, he’s got a record.” He took a sip of coffee and looked over the rim at Cape, adding, “He’s not the guy in your picture, though,” making that last part sound almost like a question.
“You sure?”
“I’m never sure,” replied Williams. “Plus it was a shitty photo.”
“I took it at night,” said Cape. “With a digital camera.”
“What did the cops have to say about that?”
“They’re pissed,” said Cape. “Said I should have stuck around.”
“They’re right,” said Williams. “But you had someplace you had to go, huh?”
“Something like that.”
“Don’t suppose you were awake at seven thirty this morning?”
“Sure,” said Cape. “I was over on Bryant Street, talking to the police.”
Williams raised his eyebrows and his mouth twitched, but he stopped the smile before it appeared. “That’s quite an alibi.”
“I’m flattered,” said Cape. “But shouldn’t you be talking to Harold Yan?”
Williams leaned forward on his elbows. “See, that’s the problem. The police had the same idea, and after they found the dead guy, no judge is gonna stop them from going over to Yan’s place and letting themselves in.”
“So?”
“They found an unidentified female in her late twenties, minus one finger, Harold Yan, and Harold Yan’s head.”
“Dead?”
“Yeah, all three of ’em,” replied Williams. “Yan’s definitely dead, so’s his head, and the girl’s been shot with a small caliber automatic, clutched in Yan’s hand.”
Cape grimaced and looked down at his plate. He could still feel the kick from Yan’s gun in his hand and see the small hole in Lin’s chest. Leaving Sally’s sword next to Lin was easy, but shooting a girl he once hoped to save wasn’t something he could shrug off. Sally told him it didn’t matter, Lin was dead and gone, but even she turned away after they spoke of it. It was Cape’s plan, and something he had to do alone.
When he looked up, Williams was watching him closely.
He said, “Seems Harold Yan wasn’t who he appeared to be.”
Cape met Williams’ gaze and held it for a minute, then nodded. Williams was giving him an opening.
“No, he wasn’t,” said Cape. “He set up the smuggling ring.”
“You saying Michael Long is innocent?”
“No,” said Cape. “I’m saying he’s stupid, and he broke the law, helped finance the operation. But Yan arranged for the ship, then when it went bust, he killed the guy in the warehouse and put the finger on Long.”
“You can prove this?”
“No,” said Cape. “But I can tell you Yan used a middleman, the guy in my picture.”
“Who was he?”
“He was supposed to be a bodyguard for Freddie Wang, but he was really working for Yan.”
“Doing what?”
“Making an impression on Michael Long, getting the money, scaring the shit out of him,” said Cape. “That was Yan’s idea, to frame Freddie Wang if the cops started looking any deeper. If Long identified the guy, no one would connect him to Yan, so Freddie ends up behind bars.”
“This middleman…you killed him?”
“No,” said Cape without hesitation.
Williams nodded and said, “Probably Freddie. Don’t suppose he’d be too happy about one of his guards two-timing him.”
Cape felt at least one of the knots in his stomach unwind.
He had accounted for all the killings except for the guy in his trunk, who obviously had been in the process of planting a bomb underneath Cape’s car. And Cape had rejected the theory that the man suffered a sudden heart attack but had just enough strength to lock himself in the trunk before he died. His neck had been broken by a professional.
Cape knew Sally had been going out on patrol at night and asked her about it. At first she just looked at him, her green eyes betraying nothing, but after a moment she smiled and said, “Don’t mention it.”
He never would.
Williams delicately picked up a piece of bacon between two fingers and took a bite. “That button you gave me, Yan gave it to you?”
“Yeah,” said Cape. “Figured you’d get to that right away, with his name on it.”
“Still talking to Interpol, but they’re pretty excited, want to know why I’m asking about some dude who’s been dead for ten years.”
“What did you tell them?”
“Said he was busy running for mayor,” said Williams. “Want to know what else?”
Cape waited.
“Once the cops finally called us, we checked the dead girl’s prints.”
“And?”
“They were all over the ship.”
Cape nodded. “Case closed?”
“Kinda neat,” said Williams. “Don’t you think?”
“You mean everybody being dead?” asked Cape. “Seems kind of messy to me.”
Williams took another bite of bacon. “Remember when I s
aid you weren’t all that interesting?”
“How could I forget?”
“Changed my mind,” said Williams. “Know what that means?”
“You started a file.”
Williams nodded. “Sorta have to, if I want to keep my job, but it’s no big deal. In your case, there ain’t jack shit to put in there ’cept random bits of information that seem to come to you from above.”
“You leading up to a question?” asked Cape. “’Cause I noticed you have this roundabout way, sort of like you’re sneaking up on me.”
Williams chuckled. “You gonna tell me how you came by this information on Harold Yan?”
Cape seemed to think about it. “Not today,” he said. “That alright with you?”
Williams pursed his lips. “Yeah, I guess so,” he said slowly. “You obviously ain’t one of the bad guys, and truth is, this case’d be nowhere if you hadn’t stirred things up.”
“You think I stir things up?” asked Cape indignantly.
“Don’t push it.”
“OK,” said Cape, holding up his hands.
Williams glanced at Cape’s plate, the eggs runny and frigid. “Sure you don’t want something to eat?”
Cape looked over at the waitress, then glanced back at Williams. “You buying?”
Williams shook his head. “Not a chance.”
“What the hell,” said Cape. “Maybe I’ll have some pancakes.”
Chapter Sixty-three
Linda’s hair was barely visible over the top of the newspaper, shifting back and forth as she read aloud.
“…believed to have died in the explosion, his identity being withheld pending notification of next of kin…the suspected gas leak was confined to Harold Yan’s offices…” Linda lowered the paper, her hair lurching forward as she addressed Cape across the table. “I thought you said he was shot?”
Cape shrugged.
“And that there wasn’t any gas.”
Another shrug.
Linda scowled and raised the paper, muttering under her breath. “The Chronicle never gets their facts straight.” Her hair nodded in silent agreement as she resumed reading. “…police later found Yan in his home with an unidentified female, both apparently the victim of foul play…blah, blah, blah…the mayor was quoted as saying ‘The city has lost a valued public servant, and I have lost a worthy opponent and good friend, unless it turns out he was a criminal, in which case I am shocked and deeply concerned…’”
Cape arched an eyebrow. “It didn’t say that.”
Linda held up a hand, calling for silence as she continued. “…the mayor’s aides later denied any statement had been made, saying a press conference would be called tomorrow.”
Linda lowered the paper just as their food arrived.
They were having dinner at one of the many restaurants with Hunan in the name, two doors down from Freddie Wang’s place. It was an understated restaurant with very little tourist traffic-most of the neighboring tables were filled with young Asian couples or families. Linda was surprised when Cape suggested it but didn’t object. She had an abiding passion for sizzling bean curd.
“I thought you’d had enough of Chinatown for one week.”
Cape broke his chopsticks apart and rubbed the splinters off them. “Just the underside of Chinatown, the part I never knew existed. This part,” he paused as he skewered a fried wonton, “this part I miss.”
Linda concentrated on her bean curd for a minute before looking up. “Thanks for telling me what happened.”
“Thanks for your help,” replied Cape. “Sorry the Sloth didn’t come.” His friend rarely ate out, eating so much slower than everyone else.
Linda nodded. “He’s counting on some leftovers, so try to restrain yourself.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Linda smiled, the lines around her eyes multiplying. After a moment, she said, “You left some things out, didn’t you?”
It was Cape’s turn to smile. “You always were a great reporter.”
“The messy parts?”
“Yeah,” said Cape, looking more serious now. “Very messy.”
Linda studied him. “You OK?”
“Ask me again in a week.”
They ate quietly for a while, the background chatter of the restaurant soothing, fits of laughter, snatches of happy voices, all sending a subliminal message that everything was normal again.
Linda broke the silence first, saying, “How’s Sally?”
“I can never tell, really,” said Cape. “And this was hard on her. She’s taking a few days off, going to visit some old acquaintances.”
“Really?” said Linda. “Where?”
“Hong Kong.”
Zhang Hui sat behind his desk, the only light coming from the small halogen next to the phone. It cast his face half in shadow, the left side pale, the right all but invisible. Both eyes were cavernous, the sockets dark pools, taking all of the light and giving none of it back. He raised his head idly as Xan stepped into the room and stood just beyond the shadows.
Hui asked, “Did you bring it?” His tone was casual, two old colleagues picking up where they left off.
“That’s what I said when I called.”
“So?”
“Your brother is dead.”
“So I heard,” Hui said indifferently.
“He was supposed to be dead ten years ago.”
“Was he?” asked Hui, leaning into the light.
Xan refused to be baited. “We were both here, with your father.”
The mention of his father got Hui standing, both hands on the desk.
“Don’t forget your place, Master Xan.”
“I never have.”
“Neither one of us is innocent.” Hui stood up straighter, his hands pressed in front of him.
“True,” said Xan. “I looked the other way when you killed your father, and I-”
“-tried to kill my brother,” said Hui.
“That’s not what I was going to say.”
“But it’s true,” replied Hui.
“Yes.” Xan looked into Hui’s eyes, wondering where the pupils were hiding.
“So how are we any different?”
Xan bit his tongue. “Who was killed ten years ago?” he asked. “Who died in the fire?”
“Does it matter?”
“I’m curious.”
“This trip to America has made you nostalgic, Xan.” Hui paced back and forth. “You’ve had ten years to ask this question.”
“Seeing your brother surprised me.”
“How did he die?”
“The first time or the second?”
“The first time was a sze kau,” said Hui testily. “A foot soldier assigned to guard the guest house. My brother killed him, then took his clothes and fled.”
“He killed one of our soldiers,” said Xan evenly. “One of my men.”
Hui scowled. “Men like that were deserting all the time. Did you miss him?”
Xan didn’t say anything for a minute. “You helped your brother?”
Hui stopped pacing. “Of course.”
“Your father would not have approved,” said Xan.
Hui gave a bitter laugh. “You think the old man was killed by poison darts because he approved?”
“He told you and Wen the combination to the cabinet.”
“We were his sons.”
“You’re ruthless.”
“Thank you.”
“And you changed the combination so he would trigger the darts.”
“Wen did that, as well,” said Hui. “My brother lacked charm, but he was always thinking.”
“And you sent the heart to him, so he could win his election?”
“Think of the possibilities, an alliance with the mayor of San Francisco.”
“It’s against our laws.”
Hui shrugged. “That’s why I told you it was stolen.”
“You tortured men to find it-our men,” said Xan. “And I helped you.”
“You lied to me.”
“You sound surprised.”
“Then why send me to bring it back?”
Hui spoke as if talking to a child. “It was lost, you fool. It didn’t arrive on time.”
“So you saw an opportunity to settle an old score.”
Hui nodded. “I heard Dong was in San Francisco.” He smiled, delighted with his own genius. “I knew you would assume he’d stolen it and kill him-if, indeed, he had the heart.”
“He did.”
Hui’s eyebrows shot up, though his eyes were still too dark to see. “You killed Dong?”
“No.”
Hui’s hands slapped down on the desk. “Why not?”
Xan ignored the question. “Your brother betrayed the society.”
Hui waved his right hand dismissively. “Nonsense. He forged alliances, made us stronger.”
“I’m a soldier,” replied Xan. “I don’t deal in semantics.”
Hui studied Xan as if he had just walked in the room, a complete stranger. “I thought we had an understanding ten years ago that none of this-none of this-is personal. You were always stubborn but never naive, Xan.”
Xan didn’t answer.
“What has changed?”
Xan shrugged. “Perhaps I have.”
“You…change?” Hui gave a short laugh and sat down. “I’ll die before that happens.”
“Perhaps you’re right.”
Hui narrowed his eyes, catching something in Xan’s tone he didn’t like.
“Where is it?” he asked impatiently. “Where is the heart of the dragon?”
“Right here.” Xan moved to one side.
Hui saw two legs step into the faint pool of light beyond the desk, right then left. Another step and the torso appeared. It was a woman. He couldn’t see the face, but a flash of light revealed the curved blade of a sword.
Hui glanced toward Xan but saw nothing but shadows. As he reached for the phone, Sally stepped into the light.
The taxi Linda had called was sitting at the curb.
Cape opened the passenger door and Linda stepped down from the sidewalk, resting her right hand along the top of the door. She turned toward Cape and asked, “You sure you want to walk?” He nodded and she ducked her head inside the cab, telling the driver to wait.