Wildcase - [Rail Black 02]

by Neil Russell

  “Hassie’s waiting out front,” she said with far too much enthusiasm.

  “Let me guess—his regular foursome canceled.”

  “How did you know?”

  “He’s an A+ in golf, but a D- in clever.”

  “When are you coming back?”

  “Don’t know yet. You need anything, ask Nick.”

  “He set me up with the most fun guy last night, except that he handled me like he needed asbestos gloves. Is everybody that afraid of you?”

  I could only imagine what Nick had said to him. “Keep the oven stoked, I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  “Hurry, I miss you. I need some more of that danger stuff. Hey, if I’m going to Hong Kong, I need a passport. Can Nick handle that?”

  “Probably, but you’re not going anywhere, Miss Monroe. You did great on opening night, but the show closed.”

  “But, Rail, there’s a baby involved.”

  “There are babies everywhere.”

  “Yes, but we know about this one. And we took his money.”

  “No, and that’s final. We’ll give the cash to a home for wayward Thoroughbreds. Now, blow me a kiss and get ready to fend off the world’s most attentive country club owner. There won’t be a shot all day he won’t have to help you with.”

  Stuffed full of French toast and peppered bacon, Eddie and I hoofed it down to Chinatown, then killed half an hour looking in shop windows and watching some little kids set off firecrackers. The older I get, the more I enjoy the sound of children laughing. The purity of the innocent living each moment without care ends sooner with each generation. It’s hard to believe we got along so many years without kindergarteners knowing how to waterproof a banana.

  Fat Cat was waiting in front of the glass-fronted tour office that was sandwiched between a Chinese grocery and a dim sum palace. He was decked out in white shoes, white slacks, red and blue silk shirt and a white straw hat. I presumed somewhere under all that fabric was a gun and a badge.

  Eddie looked him up and down. “Jesus Christ, who the fuck dressed you? Air France?” Right on cue, Fat Cat burst out laughing. Except for its deepness, it sounded a lot like the kids with the firecrackers.

  “How’d you do with Cañada?” I asked.

  “Lives in Nevada. Someplace called Suicide. How do you like that shit? It ain’t on the maps, but I called an old homicide guy in Vegas, and not only did he know Cañada, he said the only way to get to him is through his doctor.”

  “He sick?”

  “No clue, and the cop clammed up. But I got the doc’s name.”

  “Okay, let’s go see about a tour.”

  * * * *

  27

  Lavender Bathrobes and Flaming Snapple

  The Happy Asia office was spartan, just a large open area of gray metal desks with a waiting area of mismatched furniture. The light blue linoleum was buckled and cracked, and the only decorations were travel posters slugged haphazardly with the company name. Three ceiling fans moved air slowly, a fourth was out of commission. The owner might be worth in the hundreds of millions, but she wasn’t putting any of it into interior design. Probably better for business. Who wants to think they’re keeping their tour operator in Maseratis.

  A half dozen attractive, young Asian women, all wearing skintight, green silk sheath dresses were standing and chatting in Chinese over Starbucks and Virginia Slims. California is still trying to decide if the penalty for smoking should be caning or mutilation, so until they get it straight, I’ve stopped making citizen’s arrests. I gave the women a few seconds, but when it became obvious they weren’t going to fight each other for the chance to talk to us, I walked over. “I’d like to see Suzanne Chang.”

  A model-pretty lady in her twenties took in my height, then did a slow evaluation of my associates. “No in,” she said.

  It’s standard procedure in ESL communities to go language stupid when you’re not sure who you’re dealing with. I took out my card and handed it to her. “Richy-richy man. Berry important.” It was crude, but I knew she spoke English as well as I did.

  “Is that supposed to be funny, cocksucker?” I was wrong. Better.

  “Put me down for a hate crime, but I need to see your boss.”

  She tossed her head and turned on her heel. I watched the green silk move in all the right places as she strode to the back and pushed the button for an elevator.

  When word came back that Suzanne Chang would see me alone, Eddie and Fat Cat went looking for the Starbucks, while I was escorted to the second floor.

  In stark contrast to the downstairs bullpen, the owner’s office was elegantly appointed. Delicate, hand-painted, coral wallpaper perfectly showcased the oversize black and coral antique Chinese art deco rug, and a wall of eight-foot multipaned windows looked out over a flat red roof down to the bay.

  Behind the very feminine white, gold-trimmed desk stood a young woman with her back to me wearing nothing but a high-hipped turquoise thong. Her sleek, black hair hung to her waist but didn’t hide her exceptional figure. She was doing something with her hands, and I realized she was brushing somebody’s hair.

  When she finished, she stepped aside, and though she was as beautiful as I expected, her breasts tight and the aureoles large and dark, her face was as expressionless as a mannequin’s. She gave no indication of being aware of my presence.

  The desk chair then swiveled, and a handsome, not gorgeous, fortysomething Chinese lady with her hair pulled back by an ivory comb and wearing a little too much bloodred lipstick and heavy eye shadow rose to greet me. Her deep-cut lavender silk robe was high-end designer and showcased some excellent plastic surgery. But there was something wrong with the fit, and when she came around the desk, I saw what it was. She had a malformed right hip, which caused her to walk with a rolling limp, and over the years, the unnatural movement had twisted her spine off center.

  She extended her hand smiling. “The older I get, the more I enjoy being made love to in the morning. How about you, Mr. Black?”

  “Only if she doesn’t snore in my ear.”

  Her laugh was warm, genuine. She took in my size. “I doubt that’s ever a problem. I’ve read about you. I’m pleased we’re able to meet, or have we done this before?”

  The scent of jasmine filled my nostrils. It fit the lady. “We haven’t. And thank you for seeing me without an appointment.”

  Suzanne Chang took a seat in a white, upholstered chair and indicated its mate to me. While I got settled, the woman in the thong knelt and helped Suzanne work her bad hip into the right position to cross her legs. Though difficult, it wasn’t clumsy or self-conscious, and the younger woman was expert at the manipulation. When she was comfortable, Suzanne said, “This is Meong. She will stay.”

  Meong made no attempt at a greeting or even eye contact and moved to a sofa on the other side of the room. The same green silk dress worn by the women downstairs lay there, but she made no move to put it on. Instead, she sat, lit a cigarette and began paging through a magazine. I didn’t need a scorecard, but it was an interesting dynamic.

  “Do you have a wife, Mr. Black?”

  “No, I don’t. Please call me Rail.”

  She nodded. “And I’m Suzanne. Well, Rail, if you ever get one, and her doctor tells her it’s no problem to deliver breech, remember me and slap the son of a bitch until his ears bleed. My mother just lay there while they pulled on my leg. Thank heaven, there was a pretty good brain on the other end, because it’s been slim pickings in the dating department. If you know anything about Chinese men, you understand.”

  “It’s not limited to the Chinese,” I said.

  “Probably not, but they’re the ones I have a PhD in.” She looked at Meong, who seemed to be engrossed in her magazine. “But if life deals you lemons . . .” She didn’t sound bitter. On the contrary, her voice was matter-of-fact. “Okay, lesson’s out of the way. What can I do for you?”

  “I’d like to ask you some questions about your family.”

/>   She nodded gravely. “I didn’t think you were here to book a tour.”

  “I apologize for delving into things that might upset you, but some friends of mine died recently. Very unpleasantly. I’m trying to find out if there’s a connection.”

  “From over twenty years ago?”

  “It’s complicated, but possible.”

  “Then you must be the kind of friend most people never have. I’m sorry about your loss. Were they Chinese?”

  “One was. Her husband, no. Chuck and Lucille Brando.”

  “I don’t know what I can tell you. I’m not familiar with either of them.” I couldn’t tell if that was the truth or not.

  “Forgive me if I don’t seem organized. Did Randy leave a family?”

  She looked at me with a mixture of dismay and sadness, and I thought for a moment she might ask me to leave. “No, Randy never married. Philip and Wendy had the children, Allison and Abigail.”

  I saw no advantage in asking her to revisit what we both knew Randy had done. “Were the brothers close?”

  “No, Philip was six years older—a lifetime when you’re a kid. I was a year younger than Randy. Both boys were highly intelligent, but in different ways. Randy was quieter, more introspective. Philip was always challenging. He had a gift for big ideas.”

  I thought about Kujovic. Bold, he’d said. “What kind of ideas?”

  She waved her arm at the room. “My father built this business from our kitchen table into the largest Chinese tour operator in the country. But as successful as he was, he stayed within the community, mostly sending wealthy Asians from the States to Hong Kong. When Philip joined him, he immediately saw that Japanese companies were far more profitable because they concentrated on tours from the home islands to Europe and the United States rather than the other way around.

  “At that time, people in China were just beginning to accumulate money, but they never considered traveling outside the country because it was impossible to get a passport. Philip convinced the right people in Beijing that allowing Chinese to go abroad and shop for things they couldn’t get at home would increase demand for consumer goods. Goods they could then begin manufacturing or knocking off. As Philip used to say, ‘You’ve got to know what it is to want it.’”

  “Very smart.”

  “That wasn’t the half of it. Then there were the travel taxes, the import duties and the fees for currency conversion. It was like pointing to an ocean of money, and all the government had to do was to issue some passports. It also didn’t hurt that Philip took care of the right officials. My brother didn’t invent the economic revolution, but he gave it a vitamin.”

  “And in the process, Happy Asia got an exclusive contract.”

  “Ten years.”

  “The markup on tours didn’t make you as wealthy as I hear you are.”

  “Those goddamn lists. I think what really pisses me off is that they’re accurate. Who finds out that all that stuff?”

  I smiled. “I feel your pain. If I were more motivated, I’d buy Forbes just to delete myself.”

  She smiled, and it was warm. “But you’d leave everybody else on.”

  “Of course. I always read them.”

  “Me too.” She laughed. “But you’re right. The real money began to flow after Philip came up with the brilliant idea of inviting malls to partner with us. It also made the exclusivity irrelevant. Once we had the shopping centers, Beijing was locked in. You have no idea how many Chinese have never laid eyes on LA or New York but know Houston and Minneapolis like the back of their hand.”

  “And Vegas, of course.”

  “They owe us a couple of hotels, minimum. But it didn’t happen until Caesars built the Forum Shops. Unlike Americans, Chinese men like to gamble and shop. And they out-spend their wives.”

  “So I have the Changs to thank for jamming the aisles at Neiman Marcus when I need a tie.”

  She laughed. “Guilty as charged. And for dressing my help to attract the decision-makers.”

  “That wasn’t lost on me.”

  “In that case, may I make a suggestion? Linda, the young lady who brought you up here, knows the city quite well. I’m certain she’d be pleased to show it to you.”

  I wasn’t so sure that was how Linda would have viewed it. “Thanks, but I’m flying out tonight.” Somewhere, Linda breathed a sigh of relief. “Do you do business with Markus Kingdom?”

  She seemed surprised at the question. “Why do you ask?” It was as good as a yes, and when I didn’t answer, she added. “He’s a little high on the totem pole. We work mostly with his managers.”

  “How about personally? Are you two friendly?”

  “No.” Her tone had an edge that seemed unnecessary, but I didn’t want to lose her, so I shifted gears.

  “Was Randy jealous of Philip?”

  She seemed glad to get away from Mr. Kingdom. “No, not at all. Philip made the deals, Randy ran the company. Everyone loved him. Philip was impetuous, temperamental. Randy never got angry, so he was an ideal inside man. Unfortunately, I am like neither, but I’m good at hiring, so I get by.”

  I suspected she did a lot better than get by. “How did you get along with Philip?”

  “I barely knew him. We grew up in the same house, but that was it. Philip was always off doing something to call attention to himself. He was a ranked tennis player and dated glamorous girls, not necessarily Chinese. Compared to Philip, Randy and I were wallpaper. Very dull wallpaper. Our parents used to get this beatific look on their faces whenever Philip walked into a room. I don’t think they had any idea, but Randy and I sure did. The oldest boy . . . well, you know the drill.”

  I smiled. “So it was Randy and you against the golden-child?”

  “Kids. Seems silly now. Philip earned everything he got, and nobody was starved for love. But to answer your question, yes, like me, Randy was very sensitive, so I mothered him, and he did his best to protect me from the jerks who thought my walk was the funniest thing they ever saw.”

  I nodded. “More than once I’ve grabbed some kid by the scruff of his neck. Once, one screamed he was going to have me arrested, and I handed him my phone. He ran. I’d rather have grabbed his dad, but there aren’t many of those around. Interesting world we’ve created.”

  “The person on the receiving end never forgets. Even this many years later, if I want to have a good cry—and what girl doesn’t sometimes—I can conjure up an incident or two. My father used to just shrug it off and say it would toughen-me up.” She looked at the ceiling. “Hey, if you’re listening up there, I don’t feel so tough.”

  The window behind Suzanne’s desk was open, and a typical bay breeze was blowing. To keep the floor-length draperies from billowing, someone had tucked their hems into the bookshelves on either side of the window, obscuring much of the shelves’ contents. Suddenly, a strong gust of wind blew one drape loose, and as it fell away, a large, jade statuette of a tiger came into view.

  The now-free drape began flapping loudly, and Meong got up. “I’ll get it,” I said, and crossed behind the desk.

  I wedged the drapery into a space on a different shelf, stepped back and admired the tiger. It lay on its stomach, eyes closed, and though different in pose from the other two I’d seen, it had been created by the same hand. Or at least under the original artist’s guidance. “Definitely not Pier 1,” I said.

  “It belonged to Randy. I don’t know who carved it, but it’s supposed to be quite old. Randy said it was from a collection, but I’ve never seen any of the others. This one is Sleeping Tiger, and he said there’s an Attacking Tiger and a Waiting Tiger. Others too, but I don’t remember anymore. It was very important to him, so I kept it after . ..”

  Her voice trailed off, and I returned to my seat. “Did you ever hear of a Fabian Cañada?” I asked. “He might have been a cop. LAPD.”

  She looked past me. Not a good sign. When a person’s eyes wander after a direct question, it generally means they’re evaluating whic
h shade of deception you’re most likely to buy. “It’s an unusual name. One I should remember. It doesn’t ring a bell, but a lot of years have gone by.”

  Way too much information for what should have been a simple yes or no. “How about Big Jim Rackmann?”

  It was like I’d cracked her with a bullwhip. She went rigid, her mouth twisting into a grotesque sneer. “That piece of shit! That lousy piece of sanctimonious, Bible-spewing shit! May the motherfucker die of cock cancer and the maggots eat him twice!”

  Meong was suddenly beside her, caressing her face, trying to comfort her. I waited for Suzanne to get herself under control, but she let loose with another screaming stream of profanity stronger than the first. When she ran out of new words, she repeated the others until she had to stop to catch her breath.