The Snakeheads

by Mary Moylum

  “It’s an entertainment palace, Mr. Slovak.”

  Sun Sui sat, full of ease, watching his lawyer answer the questions.

  “It caters to those who want to eat, sing karaoke, dance or watch others dancing. My client’s market study told him Toronto was like New York and L.A. And there was an excellent opportunity for this kind of business. Any business-school grad would be able to see the common sense of taking advantage of market conditions.”

  Nick raised an eyebrow. “Oh, is that what this is? Trafficking in people and prostitution takes advantage of market conditions?”

  “Are you making a finding of fact, Mr. Slovak? Or are you merely smearing my client’s good name?”

  “The evidence we have is this. Two hundred and sixty-three foreign work authorizations have been issued since the club opened two years ago. Mr. Sui may or may not be aware of what’s going on at his club, but that number seems excessive. I don’t think there’s any shortage of women in this country willing to work as exotic dancers. And my staff has been looking into how many of these so-called entertainers have claimed asylum when their visas expired. From our checks so far, quite a few.”

  Sun Sui spoke at last. His English was only slightly accented, his voice well-modulated but defiant. “Yes, some of my girls have made that decision. And yes, my girls do more than waitressing. It’s something along the lines of a supper club, and I agree their outfits are very thin. Go to another club like mine and you’ll find that’s customary. However, I don’t see myself as a trafficker in people. Or girls for that matter.”

  “Then what are you?”

  “I’m a businessman. An employer of beautiful girls from small villages all over Asia. I offer these girls the opportunity to leave their backward lives and see more of the world. If they wish to use their beauty to find husbands here I see nothing immoral in that.”

  Sui was a guy who could think on his feet.

  “Girls without underwear, giving extra services like blow jobs. You see nothing immoral in that? Turning village girls into prostitutes isn’t immoral in your book, huh?”

  “I don’t pressure them. Those girls who want to make extra money, offer extra services. They are showgirls. Perhaps they look like prostitutes to you. That doesn’t mean they are prostitutes.”

  “You know what they say in this country? If it walks like a duck and quacks like a duck, it is a duck.”

  “Sun, don’t say another word! Mr. Slovak doesn’t have the best of intentions here.”

  “Oh, come on, Verster!” Nick slapped the file folder against the corner of his desk.

  “This meeting is over,” said Verster, standing up. “My client hasn’t broken any laws or immigration regulations. He filed 263 applications to bring in a bunch of good-looking women on temporary work permits. If you think that’s abuse of procedures, it would be more productive of you to question your own immigration officers on why they signed them off.”

  Nick stood up too. “Your client peddles drugs on the third floor of his supper club.”

  “My client does not peddle drugs and has never observed anyone selling illicit substances in his club. And he’ll testify to that under oath, Mr. Slovak. So what if his business venture isn’t politically correct and his club isn’t a highbrow affair? Mr. Sui isn’t a politician courting votes from the morally conscious middle class like yourself.”

  Nick brushed this aside. “Whether the drugs were free or for sale is a moot point. The fact of the matter is, drugs were being used there. In my book, prostitution and the possession of drugs are offences under the Immigration Act as well as the Criminal Code. There is also the fact that casinos are known to be big moneylaundering operations.”

  “You know what you sound like, my friend? Like you’re out to redeem yourself after the tongue lashing you received on television from the mayor. If you think you have any evidence against my client, I suggest you file criminal charges. We’ll deal with that. But I’m not wasting Mr. Sui’s time by listening to innuendo and veiled threats.”

  Nick took a deep breath. “Please, sit down, Mr. Verster. There are still a few matters we have to discuss.” The last thing he wanted was to be accused of intimidation or brutality. He knew he’d have to exercise discipline in nailing the owner of the Mandarin Club because the rich and powerful rarely served their time. They hired other people to do it for them.

  Verster, after a look at his client, sat down again. Nick allowed a moment to pass as he shuffled loose papers inside a file folder. “You’ve brought your tax returns for the two years you’ve been in the country as I requested?”

  Sui said nothing. Verster seemed to be doing all the talking now. “What exactly are you investigating? If you’re looking into income tax irregularities, I assure you there aren’t any. My client’s accountant will meet with you if that’s your concern.”

  “I’d like to look at them now, counsellor. To see what exactly the club’s writing off in terms of expenses.”

  “Isn’t that more a function of the tax department than an immigration matter?”

  “Reviewing tax returns of non-citizens falls within the ambit of Immigration. I suggest you review your copy of the Immigration Act, counsellor.”

  “Christ almighty, Mr. Slovak. Can’t get my client on one thing, try another, is that it?”

  Nick ignored Verster, turning his attention back to Sui. He really didn’t care if Sui was cheating on his taxes. But he wanted the man who had shot and killed Walter, and if he and Kappolis had to charge Sui with running a prostitution racket and tax evasion, so be it, he thought. The damn problem with Gee Tung’s information was that apparently Dubois hadn’t read him his rights. That meant his evidence was largely inadmissible in court. But even if Li Mann had pulled the trigger, Sui probably bought the bullet. All they had to do was find evidence connecting the two together; it would probably lead directly to Li Mann’s doorstep. It sounded simple, but Sui was a man with a thousand tricks up his sleeve.

  “That drive-by shooting outside your nightclub. Was it a result of gang war over turf between the Flying Dragons and Lo Chien? Do you know anything about that?”

  “I only know what I’ve read in the papers like everybody else,” Sun said mildly, making eye contact with Nick and Kappolis.

  “In other words you have no knowledge of or participation in the Flying Dragons, or of any gang rivalry with Lo Chien?”

  “None.”

  Nick knew from Sun’s body language that he was lying.

  “Where the hell are these questions coming from? Are you accusing my client of being a triad member? This is just too fucking much!” barked Verster, jumping up from his seat.

  “No, Don. Let me explain.” Sun held up his hand. “Yes, Mr. Slovak, you’re right. We do have a problem with the gangs in Hong Kong. The Lo Chien wanted me to pay protection money in Hong Kong and Taiwan. I refused. Now they’re pushing me in Canada. In Taipei, I tried to get into the movie business. They firebombed my studio there.”

  “Did you report this to the police?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “What would they have done about it? The Taipei police could do nothing. And if we had called the police here, Lo Chien would be angry enough to torch my club. And then what would I tell the club investors? Sorry, your rate of return is zero? I couldn’t do that. That would push me into bankruptcy. Besides, I’m Chinese. We don’t wash our dirty laundry in public.”

  The look of annoyance etched on Verster’s face seemed to be permanent. “I fail to see how petty gang rivalry impacts on my client’s immigration application.”

  Too bad those Lo Chien gang members were killed in that shootout the night before last, Nick thought. Their testimony on the Lo Chien triad might have been interesting. Nick paused, then, in a controlled voice, he continued, “Gee Tung, one of the agent smugglers we captured at Akwesasne said he belonged to the Flying Dragons. And that the Flying Dragons had an arrangement with the Mandarin Club. The police re
ports indicate that the drive-by shooting outside your club was turf warfare. I’d like Mr. Sui to tell us what he knows about these incidents.”

  “Now you’re also accusing him of colluding with snakeheads? On top of the prostitution, immigration fraud, and tax evasion?” Verster fumed.

  “I’m accusing him of nothing. This is an investigation only.”

  “Bullshit! In the space of over an hour, you’ve managed to accuse him of being a pimp, triad member, drug pusher, agent smuggler and money launderer!” Verster’s tone was belligerent. “You keep this up and I’ll have you and your department up on charges of defamation of character and harassment.”

  The two men had a brief staring contest. Pretending he’d won, Verster sat down again, snarling.

  Kappolis, Nick noticed out of the corner of his eye, seemed to be finding this amusing. The detective had always had big problems with lawyers. Leaning on the desk, Nick asked, “So what we were told isn’t true? Your club isn’t under a Dragon roof?”

  Verster was livid. “What the hell are you implying now, Mr. Slovak?”

  “Don, please, let me fully explain. Yes, I pay protection,” said Sui pulling out a sheaf of press clippings from his suit jacket and handing it to Nick. “Here my friend Ray, who was in the karaoke business in Seattle, narrowly missed death. He refused to pay protection money to the Sun Yee On triad. I know another club owner in Vancouver Chinatown who wasn’t so lucky. He refused to pay protection money and was gunned down as he was getting out of his car.”

  Why the hell was he backtracking now? Nick wondered. A moment ago, he’d denied all knowledge of these matters. “Mr. Sui, when I asked you earlier if you knew anything about the drive-by shootings outside your club, you said you didn’t. Now you’re telling me otherwise.”

  “I didn’t think it was relevant. I thought I was coming to sort out an immigration and tax matter.”

  “I see,” said Nick, but the tone of his voice said, “You’re lying.”

  “You understand, the Dragons saved my life when Lo Chien gang members burst into my club last year and tried to kidnap me. Naturally I am grateful. But how could I explain this complicated relationship to the police? Would they understand my cultural obligation to repay that debt? Since the Dragon members liked coming to the club, I gave them free use of one of the rooms. The bookings are done through the booking attendant. I’m not involved in day-to-day operations. I’m sorry that I misled you earlier. I had hoped to keep everything simple and uncomplicated.”

  “Isn’t it convenient that your general manager Andy Loong can’t corroborate this evidence?”

  Nick’s sarcasm appeared to be lost on Sun, or he chose to ignore it.

  “Yes, it’s unfortunate. I was very distressed about his death. I told my staff to cooperate fully with the police. But since I wasn’t there,” Sun shrugged, “I can’t help the police in that matter. And as for Lo Chien, I really don’t know whether they were targeting us for protection money. It may be true. But I didn’t know. Andy took care of such things.”

  Maintaining the same disbelieving tone, Nick went on, “I’ll lay my cards on the table if you will, Mr. Sui. Could you please explain to me why one of the snakeheads from an alien-smuggling operation we busted last week happened to have the telephone number of your establishment in his pocket?”

  Verster thumped his fist on Nick’s desk. “Mr. Slovak, I fail to see what possible connection this could have to my client. The smuggler probably meant to make reservations for dinner or karaoke.” Verster’s voice was dripping with sarcasm. “Is there anything else you want?”

  “Actually, there is. We’d like Mr. Sui to take a blood test. Blood was found on the smugglers’ boat, which doesn’t match that of any of the migrants or smugglers. Mr. Sui, I hope you’ll agree to that.”

  “He most certainly will not,” Verster said in a menacingly tight voice. “I’m not letting you go any further with this fishing expedition, trampling over my client’s constitutional rights.”

  Sun interjected. “Please let me explain something. I understand that you’re saying that the telephone number of my club was found in the possession of these men. You must understand that my club’s booking number is unlisted. Members have to carry the number around with them.”

  “Then you’re saying this snakehead is a member of your club?”

  “He might be. The membership list has over a thousand people. Unlike your department, the club does not check to see if applicants have a criminal record.”

  “I’d like you to tell me where you were on the night of August twelfth, last Friday.”

  “As I told you, I’m trying to expand my movie business. So far, we’ve produced three films in Taiwan. One of them won an honourable mention at Cannes. In My Mother’s House. You should rent it.” Sun flicked lint off his trouser leg. “On August twelfth, I was at home working with one of my lead actresses. We were revising a script for a movie in which I’ve invested five million dollars. It will be shot next year somewhere inside China. I haven’t quite figured out the precise location.”

  “And what’s the name and number of this actress?”

  “Suzie Wong.”

  Nick laughed out loud in disbelief.

  “That’s her screen name. And if you want her phone number, sorry, I don’t have it with me.”

  Nick leaned back against his chair and scrutinized Sun. Reading him was like looking for invisible ink. Trying to trap him one more time, he reached inside the file folder and passed Sun a photo of Gee Tung.

  “Have you seen this man at your club, or anywhere else?” Nick passed him a black-and-white mug shot of Gee Tung.

  Sun Sui held the photo between his hands and studied the face in the photo. Showing no sign of recognition, he replied, “No, I don’t think I know him.”

  Keeping his eyes on Sun’s face, Nick said, “This man is a member of the Flying Dragons triad. Your club number was found in his pocket. He’s also one of the agent smugglers who was caught in the weekend operation I mentioned. One of our senior immigration officers was killed. You probably read about it in the papers.”

  “No, I don’t read the papers every day. I must’ve missed that story,” Sun replied in an even voice.

  This time the lie was obvious. Sun was good, but not that good.

  “My last question to you pertains to the investor application you filed in Hong Kong. It appears that you never filed a tax return while you were a resident of that city. I’d like to hear the details of how you made your money to start two nightclubs.”

  “Mr. Slovak,” Verster burst in, “I fail to see the relevance of these questions. What does it matter if Mr. Sui filed tax returns in Hong Kong or the kind of jobs he held.”

  “The relevance of the question is to ascertain sources and approximation of income. As we both know, profiting from the proceeds of criminal activity is against the law. In fact, assets from the proceeds of crime can be confiscated under IPOC …”

  “Don’t threaten my client with IPOC, Slovak. You know what I think of IPOC.”

  The two men glared at each other like boxers in a ring. The Integrated Proceeds of Crime program had been set up by the RCMP to seize the assets of drug traffickers and organized crime rings. Since the 1980s it had been expanded to include drug smuggling and illegal immigration rackets. Nick had clashed with Verster when the lawyer was acting for a Somali warlord, Ibrahim, who had come to Canada and reinvented himself as an agent smuggler. He had brought tens of thousands of Somalis into Canada illegally, and they had paid him back by committing welfare fraud on a massive scale.

  Nick and Dubois had used IPOC to confiscate Ibrahim’s savings accounts, totalling over three million dollars. Verster had argued the case all the way up to the Supreme Court, accusing the government of using IPOC as a tax collection agency. In court, Verster had called Nick a “tax collector with a gun.” The Bar and the multicultural groups picketing outside the court room had labelled Nick a Nazi, and had stuck swastikas on
the sidewalk in front of the Immigration Building.

  Verster’s eyes were now angry slits. “You know Mr. Slovak, you’re trying to pin every crime in the book on my client but you don’t have a shred of proof to make a case. And you won’t find any evidence, because there isn’t any.” Verster leaned over Nick’s desk. “If you don’t cease and desist this nonsense, I’m going to sue the pants off you and your department for defamation of character of a prominent member of the multicultural community.”

  With Herculean effort, Nick refused to rise to the bait. In a voice of deadly calm, he said, “I wouldn’t advise you to play the race card like that, counsellor. You never know who’ll get hurt.”

  “I don’t need to play any card. All I have to do is file the appropriate papers and we’ll see you and your department in court. Then we’ll see who gets hurt.”

  “Oh? Is that a threat, counsellor?”

  “It’s a statement of fact.” Verster glared at him, his mouth twisted in an angry snarl.

  After Sun Sui and his lawyer had left, Verster slamming the door behind them, Kappolis said, “Verster was scared. See how quickly he jumped at you like that?”

  “Yeah. The big question is, how did a country bumpkin from Communist China bankroll two nightclubs in Hong Kong? We’re talking pre-takeover days here. What’s his rags-to-riches story? If we find that out, we’ll learn a lot.”

  “What’re the chances of that?”

  “Slim. We’ll put in calls to our embassies in Asia. But filing an annual tax return isn’t a big thing in those countries. I’m not holding my breath.”

  “What next, Nick?”

  “If I get enough evidence linking Sun to Walter’s death, then we’re going with prosecution. If not,” Nick shrugged his shoulders, “then we move for deportation.”

  Long after Kappolis left, Nick sat in his office contemplating Sun Sui’s immigration file. It reminded him of another file. A Russian businessman who turned out to be the head of some Moscow mafiya. In Sun’s case, he didn’t have enough evidence to make an arrest. At least, not yet. Still, he had reason to believe that Sun Sui was a member of an organized crime gang, that he was involved in trying to smuggle those illegal migrants across the U.S. border, and that he had bought the bullet that had killed Walter. All he had to do was prove it.