by Easton, Don
“You are the young one,” he said. “You speak English?” he asked.
Hang nodded, but the man still gripped her chin, making nodding difficult.
“Let me hear you talk,” he commanded.
Hang swallowed and said, “Yes, I speak English. My father taught me.”
“Good. And you are going to the States to live with an American family, correct?”
“Yes, to live in the house of Mister Pops.”
“Mister Pops!” The bald ape glanced at the vulture and they both chuckled before turning back to Hang. “Your English is good,” he said, releasing her chin. “Your sister was supposed to come. Why didn’t she?”
“My father wanted me to go first. To make sure it would be good for my sister.”
“That is very prudent,” said the vulture. “Your father is a wise man, but you will see that you are very happy there.”
The bald ape grabbed Hang’s hand and held it up to show the vulture her extra thumb. Hang felt her face flush with embarrassment. The vulture spoke harshly to the bald ape in his own language and the ape dropped her hand. Hang felt his eyes upon her for a moment before they moved on.
When the men finished dividing the women into two groups, the bald ape walked back to one young woman and poked her in the ribs with his finger and turned to his Vietnamese colleague and said, “This one is too fat. Nobody will want her.”
The Vietnamese colleague said, “She is fat now, but she will be much thinner in six weeks when she arrives.”
The bald ape blurted out a laugh.
Hang had been warned that the voyage on the ship would be cramped, with little time on deck. It would be a tough journey, but one they were told they would forget completely once they arrived in America. Still, his cruel laugh—he is like the rats who live in the sewer. The sewer I must cross to America.
She risked glancing at the vulture. His face was cold, without expression. A slit under his beak cracked open and he said, “They are all okay. Get them to the ship.”
Moments later, Hang found herself crammed into the back of a large cube van. There was standing room only and she was glad that Ngoc Bích had remained by her side.
It was three hours later when they hurried up a wooden gangplank in the dark to the deck of a ship. The women were told to remain in the two groups they had been divided in. Each group was directed to a separate cargo hold.
They were told to climb down a ladder leading below deck and a man stood at the top of each ladder to help. Hang stooped to get on the ladder and felt the man grab the cheek of her buttock and squeeze tight while emitting a laugh.
Hang gasped but before she could respond, Ngoc Bích slapped the man hard across his face. He released his grip immediately and pulled back a fist to punch Ngoc Bích in the face. At the same time, another man’s voice uttered a command from the darkness for them to be quiet.
The man who had grabbed Hang scowled and lowered his fist. He grabbed Hang by the arm and made her go with the second group of women. She quickly made her way down the ladder into the cargo hold and, along with the others, stood waiting for further instructions.
An hour passed and, following the shouts and commands from above, the diesel engines coughed and rumbled to life, causing the ship to shake before it slipped away from its moorage.
A crew member eventually came down the ladder and told them the cargo space they were in was their home for the next six weeks. He pointed to a plastic pail that they could use for a toilet and pieces of cardboard on the floor for them to lie on. Nobody would be allowed up on deck for two weeks, after which they may be allowed up on deck at night only. The passengers looked at each other in shock as the crew member climbed back up the ladder and closed the cargo doors behind him.
Three of the young women started crying. Hang stared at them blankly for a moment before picking up a piece of cardboard and selecting a spot near the hull of the ship to lay it down. She was cold, even with her new coat, and brought her knees up close to her chest. She lay with her back to the hull, but felt the vibration of the ship’s engines and readjusted the cardboard.
When she was settled once more, she stared at a black cord with a yellow light bulb that hung from above, swinging with the movement of the ship. The dim light did not hide the fear she saw in some of the faces around her. She wished Ngoc Bích had not slapped the crew member. She felt exhausted. Maybe later they would be allowed to be together ...
Hang suddenly awakened to the sound of someone vomiting beside her. She felt nauseous, too, and moaned, grabbing her head as a piercing pain reduced her vision to flashes of light. The smell of diesel was overwhelming and water had leaked in, turning much of the cardboard mattresses into soggy masses.
The woman who vomited faced a string of obscenities from another neighbour, which only brought more angry voices and commotion from others. Another woman climbed to the top of the ladder and yelled and pounded on the cargo door. From somewhere in the ship, Hang heard Ngoc Bích yelling and the pounding clang of metal being struck with a pipe.
The cargo doors were opened and the women rushed to stand beneath as fresh air and rain came in from above. The crew member took only the first few steps down the ladder before cursing and going back up. He returned a few minutes later and tossed down a mop while ordering another woman to bring up the plastic pail so that it could be dumped overboard.
Three weeks passed and, despite the promise to be allowed on deck at night, had that luxury rescinded because of severe storms. The ship rocked and creaked as it was blasted by the wind and heavy waves. During this time, the cargo doors were closed again to prevent flooding. It was also the time when most people were sick.
On this night, the storm was worse than usual and Hang was one of the few who had managed to keep her food down. She waited until most of the others were asleep before deciding to take the opportunity to squat over the plastic pail.
She balanced her steps on the rollicking floor of the ship as she headed for the pail, only to see that it was overflowing. She wondered what to do just as the ship gave another violent heave, sending the pail sliding across the floor and tipping over. She decided to wait.
On the following night, the storms abated. It was January 29th, this year’s official beginning of the celebration of Tet Nguyê;n Dán, or “TET,” as it is commonly called, marking the lunar New Year. This year was the Year of the Dog. Today, their daily rations of rice, noodles, and fish soup was replaced with ample quantities of chicken, pork, and vegetables.
As soon as darkness came, everyone was allowed on deck. It didn’t take Hang and Ngoc Bích long to find each other. They decided to speak Vietnamese to each other. Tonight would be a night to relax. Even if they couldn’t be together on the ship, they promised each other they would remain friends when they got off. Then there would be plenty of time to practise English.
They watched as a couple of the crew members waved bottles of wine and invited some of the women back to their rooms with them. Some of the women went and Hang caught the look of disapproval from Ngoc Bích as she stared after them.
“The crew ... their rooms will be warm,” said Hang. “Is it wrong to drink wine?”
Ngoc Bích turned to Hang and smiled and said, “You are a child, my new sister. It is not just wine that these men want to put in the women.”
Hang felt embarrassed but said, “The women, maybe they will just enjoy the warmth and then say no, and leave.”
Ngoc Bích shook her head and said, “That is why the men will share the wine. These young women will be too drunk to say no ... and if they do, the men may not listen. Never dishonour your family by such behaviour.”
Hang was appalled that Ngoc Bích would even feel the need to convey that to her. “I never would. Yuk! Never!”
“Good. No man would ever want you for his wife then,” said Ngoc Bích seriously.
“I will never dishonour my family,” replied Hang solemnly. “My father has told me about such women. Greedy wom
en, who give their bodies to men.”
Ngoc Bích nodded. “Always respect what you do and respect yourself. In America I am going to be trained to give massages and work at a hotel where the very rich go,” said Ngoc Bích. “I will make lots of money and then,” Ngoc Bích paused as her eyes twinkled, “when a man with a bottle of wine invites me to his room ... I will go.”
“You will go?” exclaimed Hang.
“Yes. Because that man will be my husband.”
Hang laughed and Ngoc Bích joined in. Hang could not remember the last time she had laughed. Ngoc Bích’s comments made her realize how lucky she was ... or would be in three weeks when they arrived. She was told that the home of Mister Pops was so large that she would have her own bedroom. He was even so rich that when Linh came, she would also have her own bedroom.
Pops turned the radio on to maximum volume before flushing the toilet and crouching down to hurry through the short passageway that led to the television room in his basement. Once free of the passageway, he pushed the square doorway shut behind him.
He stood panting for a moment. Not that he was out of shape. He was a big man with a narcissistic drive that compelled him to maintain a daily routine of bodybuilding. His panting was not from physical exertion. It was from excitement.
Pops’s house was a four-level split built over the side of a hill. In the basement of the home, he had discovered a small trap door leading to a dead space in the earth behind his foundation. The trap door was intended to gain access to some plumbing pipes that led from the upper levels down to the run-off pipes in the earth below.
When Pops first stuck his head in the hole and shone a flashlight around, he saw a space that ran the width of his house and was several metres wide. It was partially back-filled with dirt and debris from when his house was built. The area was completely sealed off by cement foundations that supported the upper levels of his house farther back on the hill.
For many months, Pops lay awake and fantasized about what special use he could make of this newfound space. His fantasies were about to become real.
Now Pops stood and held his breath and listened. Not a sound! He placed his ear to the wall and could hear a slight sound from the radio, but if he had not known better, he might have deduced it came from some other home in his neighbourhood.
“Yes!” he shouted with elation, while punching his fist into the palm of his other hand. The heavy thickness of soundproofing worked! He opened the passageway door and ducked back inside to retrieve the radio.
The room he had built was basically a smaller room within the space. It was like a huge rectangular plywood box with an igloo-style passageway that led into it. There was a drain on the floor, along with a foam mattress, a toilet, and a set of shackles and chains fastened to the floor at each end of the room.
chapter two
Corporal Jack Taggart glanced at Constable Laura Secord as she patiently sat at her desk while flipping through the Royal Canadian Mounted Police Gazette. Her desk butted up to his and space was at a premium.
The Intelligence Unit targeted organized crime, which meant gathering information on secretive societies. Investigations often fanned out like inverted pyramids. One criminal would lead to others and these others would lead to others and so on, as investigators tried to determine who were involved in criminal enterprises and who were just associates.
Jack and Laura’s office slowly collected more and more file cabinets that in themselves became like Pandora’s boxes for those who would look inside to try to grasp the nature of the beast.
It was late Friday afternoon and their shift should be just about over. Should be, but wouldn’t, grimaced Jack, while waiting to receive a text message on his BlackBerry. He knew Laura wouldn’t complain. Personal life often took a back seat as they adjusted their hours to match the hours of people who worked without schedules. At least it did if you were to be effective. Effective in your work. Not effective in your personal life.
His thoughts went back to the person he was waiting to hear from. Why? Why would Damien make such an obvious faux pas? The National President of Satans Wrath .... You didn’t end up in charge of the top organized crime family in Canada by being stupid. So why?
Satans Wrath had chapters in dozens of countries. They operated like an international corporation with paramilitary discipline. In many countries, including Canada, they were at the top of the list when it came to organized crime. Each chapter had its own president and each country had one national president. In Canada, that was Damien.
Jack felt a vibration on his belt. Finally ...
Laura saw Jack grab for his BlackBerry. She studied his face as he read the text message. Jack was more than her boss. Next to her husband, Jack was her closest friend.
He glanced up and said, “It’s him. Montrose Park in forty-five minutes.”
“I don’t know it,” replied Laura.
“Near Second Narrow Bridge.”
“I’ll call Elvis,” said Laura. “You mind dropping me off at home later? We rode in together this morning.”
“Hopefully he’s not already waiting outside to follow us,” said Jack.
Laura pursed her lips to hide her grin. Her husband worked on the Anti-Corruption Unit, which handled the more serious investigations directed to Internal Affairs. Jack’s name was familiar to everyone in her husband’s unit. He had been the subject of more than one investigation.
Not that it did them any good, mused Laura. Jack does operate under his own set of rules and his methods are unorthodox—okay, illegal—but never corrupt.
It sometimes left Laura in an awkward position with Elvis, but he trusted her own moral judgement ... and she trusted Jack’s. Her marriage was something of a balancing act, not just for her, but for Elvis, too. They had elected not to discuss work at home.
Since being transferred to work with Jack on the Intelligence Unit last year, Laura really appreciated just how necessary it was to have an Anti-Corruption Unit. Organized crime specialized in turning what were once good cops into dirty cops. Elvis did not have an easy job. Something that made her love him all the more.
“Sure I’ll drop you off,” said Jack, continuing their conversation. “I’ll give Natasha a call, too.”
Laura dialled Elvis, who put her on hold. She watched as Jack called his wife. Natasha was a doctor who worked in an emergency clinic on the downtown east side. Not an easy job, either.
Laura heard the first few words of Jack’s conversation to Natasha. “Hey honey, I’m going to be a little late. Maybe around seven. Laura and I have to go meet a friend ....”
Laura’s thoughts went to who they were really meeting. Meeting a friend meant meeting a confidential source. Real names were never used. Jack was extremely protective of any of his sources. Their friend in this case was Damien. Not actually an informant, but as a top criminal, Damien and the police sometimes had common enemies. Laura knew that only too well.
Last year a Colombian drug lord by the name of Carlos planned to murder Damien and had tried to kill Jack. The biker’s rules stated they would never phone the police or cooperate with them. Last year was different. Damien was scared for his own family and reluctantly agreed to go along with Jack’s plan to neutralize Carlos. Can’t believe my mind thought the word neutralize —Jack’s influence no doubt. I should have thought murder.
Jack convinced the brass to let them travel to Colombia on the pretext of arranging an undercover purchase of a shipment of cocaine by using Damien as an informant. His real plan had Damien introduce them to a rival Colombian drug lord by the name of Diego Ramirez and convincing Ramirez to kill Carlos. The plan worked. Ramirez never did find out that Jack and Laura were undercover police officers.
Ramirez used a string of shoe stores and leather factories to launder his money and aid in his exportation of tonnes of cocaine. When they all met last year in Colombia, it was obvious that he was attracted to Laura.
At Christmas, Ramirez sent a box full of exp
ensive shoes to Damien to pass on to Laura. Damien held on to them for over a month before sending them to her house. Laura thought Damien should have known better. Gifts from Damien or a Colombian drug lord would definitely attract the attention of the Anti-Corruption Unit. She was glad that Elvis was not home when they arrived and did not see her take them out to the trunk of the car.
This resulted in another secret that she kept from him. Keeping secrets from her husband bothered her immensely. Elvis always knew when she was up to something ... but was kind enough not to probe too deep when it came to the job.
When Laura finished talking to Elvis, Jack said, “Come on.
We’d better tell Quaile something.”
Moments later, Jack walked into Staff Sergeant Quaile’s office with Laura at his heels. Quaile was in charge of their particular Intelligence Unit, having arrived from a Commercial Crime Section in the fall.
Quaile was pegged as a high flyer. Someone who was rapidly climbing the corporate ladder. Jack knew that Quaile obviously had the backing of some high-ranking officer from somewhere in his career. His transfer to the Intelligence Unit was just another step in balancing his experience. Which means he won’t be here long.
Jack waited until Quaile looked up and said, “Laura and I are heading out to meet a source. We’ll be gone for the day.”
Quaile glanced at his watch and said, “Thirty minutes before your shift ends? Is that what you are really doing—or are you just skipping out early?”
Jack felt his jaw clench, and replied, “We are meeting a source.” There was a noticeable edge to his voice.
“Really? What source?” Quaile’s tone now matched Jack’s.
Damn it, why antagonize a snake? Jack thought. I’ll only be bitten. Jack’s voice returned to normal and he replied, “Fred Farkle. He’s a dope dealer.”
“Oh,” replied Quaile. He stared at his own hand for a moment while drumming his fingers on his desk. Reaching a decision, he abruptly looked up and said, “Okay, but you’re not claiming overtime for this. You should have rescheduled to a more appropriate time.”