by Easton, Don
“You are a filthy, worthless little child,” he said. “No wonder your father gave you away,” he said as he urinated on her, before taking the hose and spraying cold water into her face.
Every time Hang heard the familiar creak of the passage door, she automatically cringed and drew her knees up into the fetal position as she waited for Pops to enter, mark the X on the calendar, and announce how many days were left until “red-circle day.”
Tonight was different. Pops shoved a large cardboard box ahead of him through the passageway opening and set it down out of Hang’s reach. The box was big enough that it could have held an object the size of a kitchen chair.
“There are special things in here for you,” said Pops. He marked another X on the calendar and said, “Things for red-circle days. As you can see, the first such day is tomorrow.”
Hang didn’t respond, but just stared at him from where she lay.
“What do you think is in the box?” asked Pops.
Hang continued to stare.
Pops tone turned to anger and he said, “Well, you’ve got twenty-four hours to think about it!”
Hang closed her eyes and, a moment later, she heard the creak of the door as Pops left her alone. She immediately got to her feet and got as close to the box as her chain would permit, but she was too far away to see inside it. She went back to her mattress, sat, and stared at the box.
What does it mean? She looked at the calendar again. Four more weeks and Linh will be here ... and I told her to come!
Hang cried in anguish. Eventually she caught her breath between sobs and looked at the calendar. Tomorrow is the first red-circle day. There are more circles later. What do they mean?
chapter seven
I t was eight o’clock at night when Jack and Laura saw the Russians return to one of their favourite restaurants.
Jack lowered his binoculars and said, “Table for two. Doesn’t look like they expect any company. Let’s knock it off and go home and introduce ourselves to our spouses.”
“Looking for a treat, are you?”
Jack chuckled and said, “Something like that.”
“Well, I figure we’re likely wasting our time out here at the moment.”
“Something is going on with these two,” said Jack. “Retired schoolteachers don’t have that kind of money to throw around. Not to mention they had the clout to meet with the top exec of Satans Wrath.”
“I’m not saying we shouldn’t work on them. I know the type. Whatever they’re involved in is big enough that they aren’t standing on the corner dealing ounces. Working on this type ... it’s always peaks and valleys.”
“And right now we’re in a valley,” said Jack. “What we really need is an informant. Someone on the inside.”
“Who and how?”
“Don’t know yet. Tomorrow I’m going to go to a bookstore. Start learning a little Russian and Vietnamese. Will help build a rapport if we do find someone to turn. Besides, it’ll give me something to read when we’re on surveillance.”
It was midnight when Jack glanced out of the ensuite bathroom just as Natasha was getting into bed.
“How good is your Russian?” he asked. “Could you teach me some?”
“With a name like Natasha Trovinski, how good do you think it is?”
“I don’t really know. I’ve heard you talk to your parents.”
“Lazhites’ syooda,” she replied.
“What did you say?”
“Lay down over here.”
“That sounds real good to me!”
The next afternoon Jack and Laura watched as the Russians left their apartment and got into a waiting limousine-styled taxi. They followed them to a location on the west end of Vancouver where the Russians had the limo wait as they went into a store. Laura stayed in the car while Jack took a portable police radio and went on foot.
Jack returned a few minutes later just as the Russians were returning to the limo.
Jack grinned at Laura and said, “They popped into a store called West Marine. They were asking for marine charts for around Seattle. The clerk said they didn’t carry any for Puget Sound. They only carried charts for places north of the forty-ninth.”
“They’re looking for a place to bring a boat in,” said Laura.
“Definitely. Our friend wouldn’t help them with the Vancouver Port so now they’re checking other possibilities.”
“Seattle!” said Laura. “Are they nuts? With what’s going on in the world these days I wouldn’t want to get caught smuggling something into that area. The Americans are liable to shoot first without ever asking any questions.”
Jack’s call to the DEA came up empty. He looked at Laura and said, “They’ve never heard of them. If something crops up, they said they’d call.”
“You two!” said Quaile. “Are they not paying you enough?”
Jack looked up to see Quaile standing in the open doorway. He had his hands on his hips and was staring at the both of them.
“My salary is adequate,” replied Jack.
“Then tell me why you’ve worn the same tie for three days in a row? Not to mention your shirt looks like you’ve slept in it! Laura, you’re not much better. With Jack, somehow I’m not surprised, but with you, I am very disappointed.”
Quaile stared briefly at Laura. If he was expecting to see a look of embarrassment he didn’t. Her look was that of utter contempt.
“I can only imagine that you are being unduly influenced,” he added. “From now on, and until I say otherwise, I want to see the both of you in my office at o-eight-hundred every morning. If you’re not suitably attired, or look shoddy in any way, I’ll send you home to change. You got that?”
“Come on, Staff,” said Jack. “We’ve been doing a lot of surveillance. Bound to get a few wrinkles. Sorry about the tie. I’ll increase my wardrobe, but ...”
“But nothing! Looking sharp is critical to success.”
“I was going to say,” continued Jack, “that the criminals we work on don’t work eight to four shifts—let alone wear suits and ties.”
“That is another thing! I’ve seen your reports. You’re working on a pair of Russians that have no criminal history and who aren’t doing anything.”
“They’re also connected to a Vietnamese gang,” said Jack, “who have a criminal history of ...”
“Half of which are children! My God! It’s me that has to sign off on the bottom of your reports. I’m embarrassed to be sending them forward.”
“Children are being used,” said Jack, assertively. “All the more reason to nail these guys for turning these kids in the first place.”
Quaile stared blankly at him.
“You must admit,” continued Jack, “you’re relatively new to this section. Give us a chance. We’ll get results and then you’ll see the bigger picture. You’ll understand how the tentacles of organized crime work.”
Quaile acted like he didn’t hear. “Eight o’clock tomorrow morning!”
“Staff, you’re being obtuse,” said Jack, louder than he had intended. “Laura and I are working our asses off here. We don’t need ...”
“Obtuse!” sputtered Quaile, before turning on his heel and retreating back to his office.
“Well, I think that went well, don’t you?” said Laura quietly after he left.
“I’m not sure,” replied Jack, taking a deep breath. “Perhaps it’s that sixth sense I’ve developed as an operator, but I have a feeling that he wasn’t entirely happy with us.”
“I sort of detected that, too. Any suggestions? Box of chocolates or something?”
“I was thinking more of throwing a shovel in the trunk and looking for a cemetery.”
“Shoot, shovel, and shut up,” commented Laura.
Jack sighed and said, “I’ve seen his type before. All he wants is to climb the corporate ladder. He won’t be here long. Try and humour him. With his background in Commercial Crime, it may take a while to educate him.”
�
�I think you’re giving him too much credit.”
“We’ll get results soon. That should open his eyes and give him perspective.”
Laura made a fist and said, “I think I’d rather shut his eyes.”
Hang watched fearfully as Pops entered the room. He smiled when he saw her eyes dart from the cardboard box back to him.
“That’s right,” he said. “This is your first red-circle day—but every red-circle day will be different.” Pops lit the propane heater for the first time. Within seconds, Hang could feel the heat start to engulf the room.
Pops peered in the cardboard box. He glanced at Hang and smiled. She heard the sound of metal objects as his hand moved around inside the box. He took out five candles and placed them around the room while lighting them.
Hang stared at him when he flicked off the lights. His eyes glimmered as shadows danced across his face from the glow of the candles and the heater.
Without a word, he disappeared back out into the passageway, only to return a few seconds later carrying a circular cardboard carton. Hang did not need to ask what was inside it. The smell of fried chicken permeated every corner of the room and she immediately began to salivate.
Pops handed her the carton. On top were paper napkins and she tossed them aside and tore the lid off, grabbing the chicken with her hands and eating as fast as she could.
Pops sat beside her and wrapped his arm around her shoulder and said, “It is all yours. Eat as much as you like. Take your time, there are fries in there as well.”
Hang continued to eat, but soon found that she was full. Her stomach had shrunk and the food soon gave her cramps.
“Wipe your hands on the napkin.”
Hang did as instructed.
“It is too hot in here now,” said Pops as he got up and shut the heater off. “Much too hot,” he said, taking off his shirt to expose his bare chest as he strut back across the room.
He smiled down at Hang while slowly flexing one bicep at a time before sitting down beside her. She felt his hand on the back of her head and tensed as he drew her toward him.
“You will kiss me now,” he said. “On my stomach ... just below my belly button.”
Hang nodded obediently and put her head down, grabbing a fold of skin around his navel with her hand, before sinking her teeth into it.
Pops roared, punching her on the side of the head and knocking her over as he leapt to his feet.
“You filthy little bitch!” he screamed, kicking her in the stomach. “You do not appreciate my generosity!” he yelled.
Hang was too frightened to notice the blood dripping from her ear as she curled up in a ball on the mattress before vomiting.
Pops turned on the light and then extinguished the candles before throwing them back in the box. He left the room, only to return with a pair of pliers.
chapter eight
Early one afternoon Jack and Laura followed the Russians as they left their apartment building and walked a few blocks to a pay phone. Moustache Pete gestured to the phone and reached into his pocket and looked at his change. Fat Man did likewise and pointed at a nearby confectionary.
“This could be good,” said Jack. “Pay phone call instead of using their cell. They’re up to something.”
“It’s too deserted there to stand nearby and listen,” noted Laura. “They’d make us.”
“Wait here,” said Jack, before darting over to the telephone.
Now what’s he up to? Laura spotted the Russians coming back out of the confectionary store, but it was apparent that Jack had already seen them and was moving off farther down the street.
The Russians used the pay phone again before walking back toward their apartment building. Moments later, Jack returned.
“Let’s see what we got,” he said, holding up his voice-activated tape recorder.
“You just did an illegal wiretap,” said Laura. Her comment was said more in surprise than it was to rebuke.
“I would never do that,” replied Jack. “I was just going to use the phone and accidentally forgot my recorder when I was there. Glad I remembered it.”
“Right, do you think you’re talking to Quaile or Internal? Come on, let’s see what’s on it! Hope they spoke English.”
“If they didn’t, I’ll call Natasha.”
English was spoken, but between passing cars and the muffled-sounding voice of Moustache Pete, much of the conversation was missing. Two things were heard. It was evident that a meeting was to take place in Costa Rica within the next two weeks. Moustache Pete also said, “The shipment will be as white as snow.”
“Bingo! Coke shipment,” said Laura.
“For sure. Let’s go back to the office. I’ve got the pay phone number. Let’s find out who he called.”
“Glad you’re back,” said Quaile, motioning them into his office. “Have a seat,” he said, sounding friendly.
“We just got something on the Russians,” said Jack. “I happened to overhear them at a pay phone. It sounds like they’re planning to bring a boatload of coke up through Costa Rica.”
“Oh, good,” said Quaile. “Pass it on to Drug Section. I’ve got ...”
“We haven’t reached that stage yet,” said Jack. “We need to ...”
“Don’t interrupt me,” responded Quaile with a noticeable chill to his voice. “This office is done working on degenerates. We’re stepping things up around here. I just got off the phone with Inspector Penn at Commercial Crime. They have a huge stock manipulation case on the go. He said he would be glad to get the extra help.”
“Stock manipulation,” said Jack. “That should be left up to Commercial Crime. The organized crime we target is ...”
“Considering you work on an Intelligence Unit,” said Quaile, “I’m astounded at your lack of knowledge. Perhaps you should review what organized crime is. The Canadian Intelligence Service of Canada says that it is two or more persons consorting together on a continuing basis to participate in illegal activities.”
“Yes,” replied Jack. “The Criminal Code, which is more suited for the RCMP, defines it as three or more persons. But that is not the point. I am personally familiar with real organized crime. It ...”
“Then you will appreciate that your new assignment is within our mandate! I’m sure they appreciate our offer to assist.”
“They never even asked for assistance?” said Jack, angrily. “You just decided to call and butt in?”
“These are white collar criminals. Something far more appropriate for our section to be dealing with. Not drugs or the dirty people you seem to prefer.” Quaile glowered at Jack and said, “I’m sure you pick on them because of their lower intelligence and it is no doubt easy, but those days are over. If you’re not capable of catching the smart crooks then I would suggest that you consider a transfer elsewhere.”
“Staff, please. The Russians are big fish. They’re planning to go to Costa Rica within the next two weeks. Laura and I should go.”
“Absolutely not! As of this moment, you are finished with them. Pass what you have over to Drug Section.”
“We need to do more background work first. Just two more weeks.”
“I said no! I’m done for the day. I expect to see you in this office tomorrow morning at o-eight-hundred. Now leave!”
“That son of a bitch!” Laura muttered when they returned to their own office.
Jack glanced at Laura. Swearing for her was most unusual. Her face had gone a blotchy red, which looked all the worse under the red highlights in her chestnut-coloured hair.
“Quaile wants me out of here,” said Jack. “I don’t know why, but he does. Maybe that’s what this is all about.”
“Why do you say that?”
“You heard his jab about my abilities and his suggestion I should consider a transfer elsewhere. For some reason, he’s got me in his sights.”
“Maybe because you’d rather catch bad guys than shine shoes or kiss butt.”
“Whatever, but he’s
the boss. My annual assessment is also overdue. I can just imagine what that will be like.”
“What can we do?”
“We need to show him that the Russians are big time. Prove that they’re international players. Then maybe he’ll see the light of day.”
“He said not to work on them anymore.”
“I know ... and I know it’s a lot to ask, but for the next week or two, if we work on them non-stop, we’ll prove it. Only come to the office for our morning inspection and then get back out there.”
“We can’t. He won’t let us.”
Jack shook his head and said, “There are always guys like Quaile around. That’s usually the biggest challenge in catching bad guys. We just have to get him to give us more time.”
“How? He won’t listen to us.” Laura saw a smile creep across Jack’s face. “Don’t tell me you have friends in high places, like Ottawa?”
Jack looked at her and shook his head and said, “But I do have friends. I’ll see what influence I can dredge up. At this point I have nothing to lose.”
“I can’t see Quaile ever changing his mind.”
“See what happens tomorrow morning,” said Jack. “Make sure you’re in his office at eight. You won’t want to miss it.”
chapter nine
Bien’s brain didn’t want to accept the message that he got from the smuggler in Hanoi. His worst fears were realized. The smuggler’s words whirled around in his head like a voice that he couldn’t stop.
Hang died in a car accident when she was crossing the street. Most unfortunate. She is an illegal. They can’t get her body. Too many people would be arrested. It would even jeopardize the others when they arrive.
Bien had gasped as he heard the words. The smuggler had continued to speak. Traffic in America is very fast. You have caused the American family much pain. You should have taught Hang to be more careful when crossing the street. You are lucky that they are still willing to accept Linh ....
Now, Bien sat on the floor with his mother. They had plastic chairs inside their room, but Bien’s mother always preferred to sit Vietnamese-style on the floor with her legs tucked under.