by Jon Mills
He didn’t like the idea of heading down to the station, if there was any warrant out for his arrest, they’d be able to pull it up in no time. Jack didn’t think there was anything outstanding on him. He was pretty certain that Banfield would have covered his involvement in the Sicilian incident but he couldn’t be sure. Though in all honesty, a small part of him no longer cared if he returned to jail. Perhaps that’s why he didn’t bolt at the first sound of the siren. After losing his sister and Eddie, it had practically been the last straw. The first month out of New York, he had found solace at the bottom of a bottle, relief in cheap escorts, and peace in seedy, fifty-dollar motels.
No longer a hit man for the mob, no longer with Dana, he had to agree with John Dalton — he felt lost. Like a ship without direction, each day just felt like he was bobbing along aimlessly.
When they arrived at the station, Deon took him through the usual routine of getting his photograph and ten digits. He sat around waiting to give his statement with a cup of acidic coffee in front of him. The thought had passed through his mind about walking out. Officers were so busy answering phones, punching keys, and manhandling offenders they wouldn’t have batted an eye at where he’d gone. But he was tired of worrying about what they were going to unearth on him. He had paid for his crimes, he wasn’t an angel but he hadn’t killed those men.
Officer Smith hustled over to where he was seated.
“Sorry about the wait. Things have been manic around here lately.”
He brought up a program on his screen and started to take all of his personal details.
“What’s your full name?”
Jack wasn’t in the business of handing out fake names. Police weren’t idiots. It wouldn’t take them more than a few minutes to pull up your details through a driver’s license, or other forms of ID. Maybe in time he would change that but for now it didn’t matter. He tossed him his driver’s license.
“Everything you need is on there. Maybe while you’re at it you can look into what happened to my truck?”
“Someone steal it?”
“Yeah. Back in Ohio.”
“Out of our jurisdiction but we can certainly have someone look into it.”
He continued entering all of Jack’s details.
“New York. A long way from home.”
“It’s not my home.”
“No? What are you doing in L.A.?”
“Still haven’t decided.”
He gave him a suspicious look. Probably wasn’t the best thing to say but he couldn’t give two shits. As far as he knew he hadn’t done anything criminal — at least, that they knew about.
The memory of the two guys that he’d blown away earlier that morning entered his mind. But at least those chumps had it coming to them. They gave him no choice.
“So you know Dalton?”
“Yeah. He’s a good man. Does a lot for the folks on Skid Row.” He paused to reflect. “I made a promise that I would help keep the drug dealers away from the mission. So far it’s been working well.”
“And the Chinese?”
“That’s a new problem.”
“What about the kid?”
“He’ll be detained by INS until they can find a way to get him home. But they have to find him first.”
“He was at the mission.”
“Well, he must have ducked out as he was gone when we went to look for him.”
“And his sister?”
“We’ll be looking into that once we find him.” He paused, observing Jack. “You have a lot of questions about someone who is of no concern to you.”
“Maybe I don’t like to see bad stuff happen to kids.”
“Well, then you’ll fit in well down at the mission. They are all about helping the downtrodden.”
Another police officer came by and handed Deon some paperwork.
“You handled yourself pretty well back there. Guessing you must have some military background?” Deon asked.
“No.”
“What about fighting?”
“I’ve done my fair share.”
Deon tapped his pencil against the table. “Oh yeah? Competitions?”
“No, streets. Rough neighborhoods.”
“Oh, that kind.” He continued filling in his details. “Now about what happened. I know you showed me what you did but can you run me through the event as it played out?”
Jack nodded and began at the start. He knew Deon was just double-checking his story for inconsistences. A few minutes later he had all the pertinent details logged in.
“A question. Why didn’t you kill them?”
“What?” Jack replied.
“Well, I mean two guys with guns. I would have probably shot them dead.”
“Guess I’m a lousy shot.”
Deon chuckled before narrowing his eyes. Jack could tell he wasn’t buying it.
“Well, that should do it. Just hang tight, I have to get this printed off, then run a few background checks and you should be clear to go.”
“Just like that?”
“Unless there’s anything else you need to tell me?”
“No,” Jack nodded slowly. “That’s it.”
As he walked away, Jack had a sinking feeling in his gut. He began to second-guess his decision to remain at the scene. I should have walked. Idiot, he’s going to pull up your past record and you’re going to be screwed. He slouched back in his seat and watched the parade of drunks, junkies, and criminals get booked in. One of them was making a scene, pushing back on a young female officer, she called for backup. For a split second he was about to assist her when two burly officers rushed the guy and knocked him to the floor. He was spitting and screaming all manner of profanities. For them it was just another day on the job.
He’d never really contemplated going down that path. On the surface it looked all heroic except for the fact that most of the assholes they pulled in would get out because the justice system was flawed. The number of lawyers and judges that Gafino had on the payroll back in the day was proof of that. It all came down to how much you were willing to pay. Everyone had a price. Few had a moral compass that hadn’t been tainted by blood money.
Jack glanced at the folder that was on the table. The one that had been given to Deon by the other officer. He gave a cautious glance around and then flipped it open. There was a stack of papers inside. Some of them were marked INS. He pushed the first few pages aside and saw the name, Sheng Ping. An address for a restaurant called the Red Dragon.
Deon soon returned. Jack could tell by the look on his face that he knew more about him than he had when he walked away.
“Seems you have quite a lengthy rap sheet.”
“I’ve done my time. I’m just trying to keep my nose clean.”
“Not doing a very good job of that.”
“Depends how you look at it. I’ve not killed anyone.”
“Yet.”
There was an awkward beat.
“Look, I can respect a person having made mistakes in the past. Hell, half of the people down on Skid Row have criminal backgrounds. Now if it wasn’t for the fact that John Dalton is speaking on your behalf, I might look at this a little differently. However, having said that, please understand that if it comes to my attention that you have any other reason to be at that mission except for a job…”
He didn’t need to finish what he was saying, Jack understood.
“And a word of advice. Call us before you feel the need to pull a gun on someone, even if it’s in self-defense.”
“If I’m not mistaken, Officer, Deon, right?”
“That’s right.”
“A security guard has the right to protect themselves.”
“A licensed one. Yes.”
Jack smirked. He wasn’t kidding anyone. This officer was as sharp as a tack.
“Now we’ll be running a check on those guns, and if you are going to be carrying, I’m going to want to see a license.”
“I’m sure John will ar
range that.”
Deon glanced at the open folder on the side of the desk, then he looked back at Jack.
“As for the Chinese. If they show up again, you be sure to contact us first. No hero moments, okay?”
“Perfectly clear.”
Jack left there with a name on his lips, and an address scribbled on a scrap of paper.
Chapter Eleven
It had taken the better part of a few hours to track down a number for Dana Grant. If she wasn’t going to get a clear answer out of Detective Banfield, perhaps the woman could shed some light on Jack. She leaned back in the office chair while Cooper was on a coffee run. The guy was really starting to get on her last nerve. On the way back to the department he’d been badgering her about why she was single. In the process of answering his flurry of questions, she discovered that he’d already been married twice. He’d cheated on his first wife and the second one left him for another woman.
The woman picked up on the other end of the line.
“Hello?”
“Could I speak to Dana Grant?”
“Speaking.”
“Sorry to bother you. I’m Special Agent Baker from the FBI. I was hoping to have a few words with you about the incident that occurred in New York three months ago.”
She heard her sigh on the other end.
“This is really not a good time.”
“Is there a more convenient time to speak?”
“Look, I’m trying to put all that behind us. My son and I, I mean.”
“I understand. There just seem to be a few things that are amiss with the statements that were taken. I wanted to have you clarify what Jack Winchester’s involvement was in this.”
She went quiet on the other end.
“Is he okay?”
“Who, Jack? I don’t know. I assume so, no one has seen him. We don’t have an address.”
“Have you spoken with Detective—”
Before she finished, Isabel told her yes.
“He was close to Frank, is that right?”
She paused as if contemplating what she should say. It was to be expected. If she was romantically involved with Jack, there would be a degree of hesitation. She was hoping that she could use that to her advantage.
“Yeah, it’s a pity to think that Frank might lose his job over this.”
“Why would he?”
“Falsifying reports.”
“I’m not sure what it is you think I can help you with, but Frank never struck me as someone who would lie.”
“Frank? Not Detective Banfield?”
Isabel noted the way she used his name on a first-name basis. Folks rarely would do that. It was always officer this or that. The detective said this or that. She had wondered if Frank had already spoken with Dana.
“Detective, I mean.”
“Has Frank been in touch with you since the incident?”
“A few times.”
At least she wasn’t lying. It would have been fairly easy to check her phone records if she had said no.
“Do you mind me asking what you discussed?”
“I think that’s something you should talk to Frank about.”
This approach obviously wasn’t working. Knowing Frank, he would have got in contact with her the moment they had left his home. Whatever he was trying to cover up, Isabel sure as hell wasn’t going to let go of this until she found out who was truly responsible for the murders. There was so much about it that didn’t make sense based on the information in the reports. Why did the Sicilian Mafia take her? How did Jack’s sister and friend end up dead? But more importantly, how did Jack manage to walk away? She had pored over case files going back eight years. New York FBI had been doing surveillance on Gafino’s crew for a long time. Jack had been seen numerous times with Roy Gafino. Word on the streets according to those who were involved in several sting operations was that Jack was Gafino’s right-hand man. If there was a problem that needed to be handled, they sent him in. Rarely ever did he fail. Though they had never been able to build up enough evidence to land him inside beyond the four-year stint that he’d done in Rikers.
It was a known fact that the New York Mafia had ties to Italy. She had read the reports on the huge drug busts that had taken place down at the docks. They would have sought to recoup that loss. How they did it was another thing entirely. Her gut told her that maybe Jack was seen as a threat. It wasn’t uncommon for crime families to rat on each other. That’s how the FBI managed to put them away. There was no loyalty among criminals.
“How did you meet Jack Winchester?”
“He moved to Rockland Cove. I was running a motel at the time. I’ve since sold it.”
“Did you always live there?”
“Yes, I grew up there.”
She listened to Dana open up about her parents. It was an easy way to get people to talk. You just flipped everything away from the hard questions, to questions about themselves. People loved to talk about themselves.
“I’m curious, Dana. If you grew up there, why did you move away?”
She heard the hesitation in her voice. “I just felt it was time to move on.”
“Was it because of Jack?”
“No. It was because of my son. I didn’t want him to be endangered.”
There it was. That was her way in.
“You are aware, Dana, that even though you have moved, it’s very easy for someone to track you down. It didn’t take me too long. I’m sure you don’t want to endanger Jason. That is your son’s name?”
“That’s right.”
“The kind of people you encountered. Those who Jack used to run with don’t tend to take things lying down.”
“What are you getting at, agent?”
“There are repercussions for everything that happens. The FBI takes in a group from the mob. Lawyers get them out, they come after those who put them away. The same applies for those who killed their own. Right now, this isn’t about Jack being a danger to others. It’s a matter of safety for Jack, you, and your son. Jason.”
She lingered a little longer on her son’s name, driving home the point and twisting the knife deeper. The love of a man could make a woman do many things, but the love of blood, that was a helluva lot stronger.
“What do you need to know?”
Chapter Twelve
Sheng Ping received the news by way of a phone call while he was in the middle of having sex with one of the many girls he had brought into the country. It was the perks of the trade. Not only had he established himself in Chinatown as someone who could deliver on his word but he had worked his way up to a coveted position of dragon’s head in the transnational criminal organization.
Now, as he sat drinking green tea he recalled his initiation ceremony. The altar with incense that burned either side, the goat that was sacrificed, the wine and blood of the animal that he drank before passing beneath an arch of swords while reciting the oath others before him had uttered. After, he burned incense, then raised three fingers from his left hand as one final secret and binding gesture.
From the very beginning he’d had his sights set on the branch running out of Chinatown. It didn’t take long before he had instilled fear into the locals and members of the Triads. Extortion, drug trafficking, gambling, and prostitution were just some of the revenue streams he had dabbled in. Of course the restaurant business was just a front for their illicit activities. Unlike rival Italian gangs, his or anyone’s ability to rise up to a place of leadership was easier because members didn’t have to seek permission from those at the top in order to engage in criminal activity.
That freedom was both a blessing and a curse. It meant he could operate and partner with police, INS, and other gangs without sharing any of the profits with the organization. While that structure had enabled him to climb the ladder to a place of leadership, it also meant that others could undermine him and steal profits from under his nose. Years ago he’d made a promise to his father that if he ever made it into a
place of leadership he would change that. Triad groups would not be granted full autonomy to make profits and keep it all. They would be forced to give a large percentage of it to him. No longer would they settle disputes through negotiation. Instead he settled them by the way of the gun.
That evening he sat at a booth in the Red Dragon dressed in a full black suit. Rarely ever was he seen without one on. One thing he couldn’t afford was to have people think he was weak. How he dressed was as much a part of the mystique that he had developed around his name as were those he’d killed.
Sipping green tea, he looked over the paperwork that showed how much revenue they had brought in over the past year. Every year they had smuggled in close to three thousand people. It was nothing compared to what other Triad gangs were doing on the east coast, and across the border in Mexico. When he reached a place of position he was informed that over one hundred thousand Chinese every year were brought into the United States at different ports. The money collected was astronomical.
He glanced up from his paperwork at the local businessmen who came into the Red Dragon. They were discussing how much money they had made on the stock exchange. To any regular folk, it may have seen like a lot. To him it was just pocket change. Small game. He didn’t concern himself with anything that was below a million dollars.
The three laughed loudly as they tucked into dishes of chicken balls, sweet and sour sauce, and noodles. The noise got louder the more they drank. Often people would forget who he was and they would need a gentle reminder. He gestured to Yu Cheng who stood just a few feet from him. Dressed in black he walked towards them and placed his hand on the shoulder of one of the men. They looked around. Sheng watched intently over the top of his green tea as Yu requested them to lower their voices. At one time Sheng wasn’t a man given to violence unless it was required. Then over the years acts of violence had served him well in instilling fear into those around him. However, over the past two years he had become more careful. Small ripples of violence could be traced back to his store, and while at one time he didn’t care if it landed him in prison, now he had a wife and three children. They relied on him, as did many of his associates. He would be no use to them behind bars.