by Jon Mills
Yu walked away and the men quieted down. Within five minutes they were back to making the same level of noise. Sheng ground his teeth as he tapped numbers into a calculator. There were few things that bothered him more than being distracted when he was dealing with business matters.
He glanced up at Yu. He didn’t even need to explain to him what he wanted. They had worked together for so many years. A gesture, an eye roll was all that was required. Yu approached the table for the second time. This time he didn’t ask them politely to lower their voices. He grabbed one of the men by the throat and hauled him up. Unless people saw it, they would never believe that it was even possible. Size mattered very little in Chinatown. People knew that you only had to hit the right pressure point and the person would become immobilized temporarily or permanently. There were one hundred and eight pressure points in the body — thirty-six of them were deadly. Yu had the man by two of them. The aging businessman gurgled as Yu applied more pressure. The other two at the table did nothing except gawk in horror. They knew better than to get involved. Yu waited for Sheng to decide the man’s fate.
There was nothing better than holding a life in your hand. It wasn’t as much about killing a man as it was about sending a clear message. Sheng sipped at the tea, breathing in the sweet aroma of incense before he told Yu to let the man go. He slumped to the floor, grasping his neck. The others apologized profusely, grabbed up their friend, tossed some money on the table, and left immediately.
Silence swept over the room except for the muffled sounds of a busy kitchen, and a couple of younger Chinese students whispering among themselves. He didn’t have to worry about them filming as no cellphones were allowed inside his restaurant. The sign on the door was clear. No video or photos. He never worried, as his reputation preceded him and the locals respected what he had done for the area. Of course it wasn’t all about fear, he had boosted the economy of businesses in Chinatown and owners knew it. At one time large sections of the district had struggled to draw in tourists and locals but now with the influx of cheap workers — business couldn’t be any better.
The shrill of the bell above the door announced Sheng’s two o’clock meeting with Teddy Wu who managed a chain of underground gun shops as well as a large block of apartments. His contribution to their work in the city had not gone unnoticed. After a crackdown on weapons in the city, the need for illegal arms had become essential. At first Sheng tried to pay off the mayor but he wouldn’t have any of it. Threatening him also did very little. He might have killed him if it wasn’t for the fact that he’d got word from one of his paid hands inside the department that they were investigating Sheng.
Ted gave a nod and greeted him with a short bow before taking a seat across from him. Everyone he came in contact with had an agenda. There were those vying for position while others sought money or friendship. Teddy had been one of the few that he could rely on. Sheng kept only a handful of close friends out of fear of being overthrown.
“Can I get you something to eat?”
“Thank you, tea will be fine.”
Teddy glanced at Yu, and the paperwork in front of Sheng before continuing.
“Business good?”
“Always, my friend.”
“Any word about the impounding?”
Sheng felt his throat tighten a little at the reminder. Nothing pissed him off more than losing money.
“It’s being handled. Anyway, you have some news?”
He nodded as a waitress, a girl no older than fourteen, shuffled out with a cup of green tea. She didn’t make eye contact, or smile. In many ways they functioned like robots. That was the way he liked it. She shuffled away and disappeared out back.
“I hope you have good news for me.”
Teddy cleared his throat before taking a sip of his tea. “There has been a complication, Sheng.”
Sheng met his gaze hoping that this wasn’t going to cost even more money.
“How so?”
“My men are being charged with attempted kidnap.”
Sheng adjusted his tie, feeling it beginning to restrict his breathing.
“What happened?”
Teddy brought him up to speed on the events that had taken place down at the mission.
“One guy?”
“He’s not from around here.”
“And what about the boy and the family?”
“No sign of the boy. INS has the family. My men are out right now looking for him.”
Sheng squeezed his eyes closed and tried to calm his rapidly beating heart. It wasn’t just about retrieving his merchandise, or even preventing the incident from being traced back to him as he knew Teddy’s men wouldn’t mention his name. It was about losing face. If other rival gangs caught wind of this, it could mean others would try their luck. That’s all they needed. To see a few cracks in the exterior of his operation and they might attempt to take him out.
“And the two men?”
“In the hospital right now.”
“Who is this man?”
“We are still trying to establish that but you can be assured, Sheng, I will personally see to it that he is dealt with.”
He let out a slight chuckle. Teddy was a great businessman but lousy at dealing with confrontations. He wouldn’t deal with it, his men would.
“Who else was involved?”
“Officer Smith. A couple of officers on the payroll.”
“He still hasn’t accepted money?”
“No, Sheng.”
Officer Deon Smith was unlike his co-workers who were more than willing to enhance their monthly income by looking the other way. Deon, however, was appalled by the idea. He was starting to become a liability. If Deon wasn’t so involved with the mission down at Skid Row, or an intricate part of helping the INS, he would have had someone take care of him by now.
“This man you mentioned. Find out who he is and deal with it.”
“You can be assured, Sheng, it’s already done.”
Sheng slammed his fist against the table. “Don’t give me lip service. Take care of business or else.”
He liked Teddy, but like any of the others, if he ceased to serve his purposes, Sheng wouldn’t hesitate in removing him from his inner circle. And there was only one way a person left.
In a coffin.
Chapter Thirteen
After collecting his belongings from the mission, Jack checked into the Madison on Seventh Street. Apparently it had a reputation for being the best hotel on Skid Row, which meant it was affordable to anyone who didn’t want to sleep in a tent. It was a historic-looking hotel with one hundred and ninety-eight rooms. From the moment he entered he could tell the place needed an overhaul. Checkered black-and-white floors that badly needed a cleaning, paint peeling off the walls, and the air conditioning, well, it was like entering a boiler room. The first thing he saw when he walked through the door was a clerk behind chicken wire. He’d never seen anything like it and he’d been in some real dives in New York. He scoffed as he approached the counter. They had obviously had trouble in the past and wanted to protect themselves against bottles, knives, and god knows what else people were in the habit of tossing their way.
A big sign in red made it clear that no visitors were allowed in the rooms.
The guy behind the counter wore thick brown-rimmed glasses, which made his eyes look like they were bulging out of his head. On the side counter was a can of beer in a brown paper bag, and drooping out the corner of his mouth was a cigarette. He squinted one eye as he leaned forward and his gut pressed up against the edge. The whole place stunk of urine and marijuana.
“One night. That will be thirteen dollars,” he croaked.
“How much?”
“Listen up, mister, we don’t offer discounts and if you are going to cause any trouble, go elsewhere.”
Jack nearly choked. He’d heard of places being affordable but this couldn’t be right.
“Are you sure?”
He was used to pay
ing anywhere from fifty to one hundred and twenty dollars a night.
“About what?”
“The price. It seems a bit low.”
The man’s face lit up, he obviously hadn’t heard many folks complain about it being low. He leaned forward and Jack caught a whiff of his smoky breath. “Well now, if you are interested we do offer luxury rooms for sixteen dollars.”
Jack didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. He’d seen some shabby hotels in New York but none of them were priced this low. He looked back outside to the street, wondering whether or not he should find a better place. It wasn’t like he couldn’t afford decent accommodation and he didn’t expect his stay to be long term but it was close to the mission and well… when in Rome…
“I’ll take the luxury room,” he said stifling a chuckle.
“No guests. You understand me. No sneaking whores in.”
Jack cast a glance around at the lobby. It looked like the whores already lived here. A woman in a fake fur jacket, with a skimpy skirt and black fishnet stockings, sat in the corner of the room snapping on gum while she added another layer of red lipstick. She caught him eyeing her.
“Twenty, I suck you off, forty and I’m yours for the night.”
She flashed yellowed teeth, one of them was missing.
“Thanks, but I’ll take a rain check.”
He would have rather jammed his dick in a meat grinder than hit that up.
The clerk behind the desk slid across a key card.
“First sign of trouble and you are out. You hear me?”
Jack stared at his name tag on his filthy shirt. “You got it, Bob.”
“Who the hell’s Bob?”
Maybe in his hazy state he had picked up the wrong name tag, or perhaps he was just another one of the mentally unstable that frequented these parts. It was a sad state of affairs to think that so many were clustered together in one area. Homelessness was rampant as were mental issues.
He handed the guy a few crumpled-up green notes and then went over to the elevator. He stabbed the button with two fingers. Nothing lit up.
“It’s out of service,” the girl said. “Hasn’t been working for over a month, has it, Bob!” She yelled out the last part, placing emphasis on his name. He just stuck up his middle finger, then returned to watching some soap on TV. Jack lugged his duffel bag into the stairwell.
“If you get lonely later, hon, don’t forget, I’ll keep you company.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” he said shouldering the door and flashing a weak smile. The very offer made him shudder. It wasn’t like he hadn’t slept with escorts but that was way below his standard.
His room was on the fourth floor. He didn’t dare touch the walls, or banister. There was some brown liquid dripping down the stone stairs. It wasn’t urine, but it sure as hell wasn’t cleaning fluid. The stench was like grease and shit rolled together.
The fourth level was dimply lit. A few fluorescent lights throbbed as though they were about to die. He heard a guy arguing loudly, and then a bang as if someone had been thrown into a wall. He passed by another room and heard the whimpering cry of someone in the final stages of an orgasm. Thin walls, shit! Now he wished he had some earplugs. He made his way down to the far end of the hallway. He dropped his bags on the stain-ridden carpet that once might have been clean. He paused at the door wondering if he should have taken John up on his offer. At least the shelter looked sanitary. He didn’t even want to see what the room looked like.
Just as he was about to slide the key card down, a door behind him cracked open. He cast a glance over his shoulder to see a pair of eyes peering back. A young female looked out at him. She didn’t say a word. Just stared. It was all kinds of odd.
“Hello,” he said trying to be friendly. She closed the door. He cocked his head to one side. “Okay, then.”
When he entered the room, the air was heavy, musty and it was pitch-dark inside. He hit the switch and the place lit up. His eye immediately caught a lone cockroach racing across the floor before a few of its compadres followed.
“Of course.”
He ducked into the washroom and glanced at the floor, counters, and walls. The floor felt tacky beneath his shoe. When was the last time this place had seen a lick of paint or a cleaning cloth? He grimaced. The door behind him automatically clunked shut and he felt a deep sense of loneliness. How did people survive in this dump? The thought of living out the remainder of his life holed up inside a dilapidated hotel alongside prostitutes, heroin addicts, and the mentally unstable wasn’t something he wanted to dwell on for long. He tried to reassure himself that this was just temporary. A place to keep his head down low while he figured out what he was going to do.
A sign on the wall read, NO SMOKING!
No smoking? Smoking was a minor problem compared to this shithole. He tossed his jacket down, strolled into the bathroom, turned on the faucet. It was a few seconds before water coughed out. It was accompanied by the sound of the pipes clanging and a strange buzzing sound. The water looked a slight shade of brown at first then slowly turned transparent. Rust, he hoped. Cautiously, he splashed some over his face before wiping a hand across the mirror. His face was sporting a little too much growth, and he needed some sleep. “Who are you?” he muttered to himself. It wasn’t that he didn’t know who he was as much as he hadn’t defined himself beyond the life he’d left behind.
He grabbed up a towel and patted his skin dry. The weight of the violence from the morning bore down on him, as did the selfless help that John had given by covering for him. Reaching into his pocket, he snagged a box of cigarettes, went over to the window and jammed it open. He cupped a hand over a match as he lit the end and blew the smoke out. It danced against the light of the street lamps. Down below he looked at the line of tents pitched along the edges of the building. Tarps and junk covered the sidewalk, all of it screamed — save me. But there was no one coming to save them. Off in the distance, the lights of the financial district and five-star hotels provided a stark contrast to the poverty that was found below his window. The squeal of sirens could be heard mixed with the rants of the drunks. The night itself was warm. The sky was dark with a just a fine glimmer of fiery orange and reds painted across it as the sun was choked out of view.
He fished into his pocket for the address he’d scribbled on a torn piece of paper.
The face of the boy cowering behind the chair entered his mind. The horror in the eyes of the Lo family as the man grabbed the woman by the neck. For a few brief moments he thought about what Eddie might have done.
How many people had Eddie helped over the years? Sure, he was driven by payment but was that it? He knew Eddie better than that. He was the type of man that would have given you the coat off his back. Over the past three months he’d had time to go through everything that he’d left behind. The idea that perhaps he could do some good after all the years of doing bad, seemed inviting. He was what he was, a product of his environment. He’d known nothing but running with the mob but now that was behind him. Maybe he could start again, this time use his skill for the benefit of others.
Zhang and the Los.
There was no payment to be gained through it.
But there was the satisfaction of helping those who couldn’t help themselves.
Could that be enough?
Chapter Fourteen
As an officer and member of the SWAT team, Deon along with members of the tactical team had been waiting for the green light and warrant to search the Red Dragon. Sheng Ping had been on their radar for several months. While known associates, including the two men who had been charged for attempted kidnapping, hadn’t mentioned Sheng, a local businessman who had previously been busted for employing illegal immigrants had dropped his name.
INS and law enforcement had been working together to place Sheng’s known businesses under surveillance. What they thought was going to take only a matter of weeks soon turned into months, and a year later they still had no evidence
that he was smuggling in Chinese.
However, with the recent impounding of a ship, INS said they had enough on him to warrant a search of two known properties.
That morning as the sun peeked its head above the horizon, Deon geared up. He slid into his tactical vest, attached the straps to the Velcro around his midsection, and clipped his utility belt on. While not all of the police covered their face when they went in, Deon did. He wore a balaclava that only revealed his eyes. He had his wife, Aaliyah, and his ten-month-old baby to worry about. Every day as he headed out onto the street he would kiss both of them on their foreheads. On a regular day there was no telling if he was going to come home. It didn’t matter how good a cop you were, all it took was some junkie to pull a gun and it could be over.
He swiveled around on his side of the bed and stared at Aaliyah, he rested a hand on her leg and listened to her sleeping. As her chest rose and fell softly he was reminded of why he joined the police. Eighteen years with the department and he still loved it, despite all the red tape they had to push their way through. There was something good about getting out there among the people and trying to help them. That’s what he signed up for, to help people. Even though there had been times he wanted to quit, it was when someone came up to him that used to live on Skid Row and told him about how they got out, that he realized it was all worthwhile.