by Jon Mills
But it had raised a number of questions, some of which only Detective Banfield would be able to answer. As much as she was sure that Dana was telling the truth, she had to wonder whether the detective had instructed her on what not to share.
The question was why? Why cover for a known mob member? A member of a crime syndicate that he had been looking to take down for years.
Inside her car, drinking a cup of coffee, she had contemplated going to his home, but after the last heated exchange, she had a feeling that he would just slam the door in her face. No, instead she contacted those who knew him down at the department and asked if one of them would ask him to meet for coffee. Instead, she would show up.
It was a little underhanded, she had to admit, but then she had never been one for following the rules. With little information to go on, all she had right now were suspicions.
She watched him park his black Ford sedan outside the Urban Bean and head inside. Once he had taken a seat, she pushed out of her car, crossed the busy intersection, and walked in.
Several old people flipped through a local newspaper. A young couple ogled each other over cups of coffee and servers busied themselves with orders. Frank was busy looking down at his phone when she slipped into the seat across from him. He was wearing a loose black shirt, jeans, and brown shoes.
“I should have figured.”
He went to leave and she muttered without even looking at him, “Dana Grant had a lot of interesting things to say about you and Jack Winchester. Now I’m pretty sure Internal Affairs would be quite interested in what I’ve learned. Though perhaps you can shed some light on why you let him go.”
Frank turned back. He hesitated before taking a seat.
“The food any good here?” she said taking one of the menus.
Jack leaned against one of the dumpsters out the back of the mission while the boy tucked into a whole-wheat bun full of egg and bacon.
“Where did you learn to speak English?”
He looked like a squirrel, filling his cheeks with pieces of bread while trying to swallow what he already had in his mouth. He was thin and short for his age. He looked malnourished and fear could be heard in his voice as he spoke.
“We had exchange students at our school and our father is a teacher.”
Jack nodded slowly; chewing over why someone with a well-paid job would send their child overseas. He ferreted inside his jacket and pulled out some Marlboro Lights. He tapped one out and placed it between his lips. Smoke drifted in the wind as he lit the end.
“You shouldn’t smoke. It’s bad for you.”
He chuckled. “Yeah. I guess you’re right. How come your father sent you over here?”
“Our mother passed away a year ago, he couldn’t afford to give us the life he wanted.”
“Which was?”
The boy flashed him a look of surprise as if it was self-explanatory.
“The city we come from is very poor. When one family has a new refrigerator, because their child is in America, others want the same. America is considered the land of dreams. A place where anything can be achieved.”
“Obviously not,” Jack replied, thinking not only about his own life but the circumstances the boy found himself in. Zhang washed down his food with a bottle of juice and began to look satisfied and less fidgety.
“Have you not thought about going home?”
He snorted. “We can’t go home. They will kill us before they send us back.”
Jack couldn’t make sense of it. He probed him for more details.
“But surely it’s no skin off their nose to load you back up on a ship and send you home.”
“We owe them a lot of money. All of us do.”
“How much?”
His chin dropped. “I don’t know exactly but another one of the people that came over said they were going to have to pay back seventy thousand dollars.”
Jack nearly choked on the smoke he was inhaling when he told him.
“At that rate you will be working until you’re thirty.”
“I know. One girl wanted to leave, they shot her right in front of us.”
“So how did you escape?”
“They don’t watch us all the time. Only in the first day or two. When my sister and I were separated I was put to work in a restaurant. When I put out the trash I just decided not to return.”
“Where were you before this?”
Zhang fished into his pocket and handed a card to him.
“It’s a dance club. Lots of women, food, and sex.”
Jack took a deep pull on his cigarette then dropped it on the floor, crushing it below his boot.
“And where is your sister?”
“I don’t know. In Chinatown somewhere.”
Jack squeezed the piece of paper in his pocket between his fingers. He pulled it out and asked Zhang if he had heard of the Red Dragon.
“Yes. That’s where we were kept when we arrived.”
“Did you meet Sheng Ping?”
“No. They hustled us into a back room and kept us there in the dark until they came and took us away.”
Jack shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “How many of you were there?”
He frowned before replying. “Eleven on the boat but some died on the way over.” He paused. “Can you really help?”
“Maybe.”
He ran a hand around the back of his neck feeling the heat of the day burning his skin. He stepped out of the direct light and felt instant relief. A cook from inside the building came out carrying two heavy black waste bags. He tossed them into the dumpster and gave a curt nod.
“You know you can’t stay here. They’ll be looking for you and as helpful as the owner is, the police are going to want to take you over to the INS detention center. Who knows what that might mean for you, though it could help? What do you want to do?”
“Get my sister back.”
“Of course, I mean, now.”
Jack wasn’t in a position to tell him what to do. Zhang already been down that road with Sheng Ping. And anyway, he didn’t look like he was the kind of kid that followed orders.
“Can I stay with you?”
“You can’t stay with me, kid.”
The boy blew out his cheeks and Jack felt sorry for him. While he wasn’t enslaved to Gafino, he knew what it was like to be stuck between a rock and hard place. Jack looked up and down the narrow alley. It was full of dumpsters, garbage blowing around, and a few homeless cardboard shacks. His best option was to go along with Deon and have INS handle it, and yet the thought that Sheng might have someone down there on payroll was a strong possibility. His time in the mob had taught him not to trust anyone, especially those in authority. Jack scratched his chin.
“One night. Okay, just until I can figure this out.”
Zhang’s eyes lit up
“Where are you staying?” he asked enthusiastically.
“Don’t get your hopes up, kid. It’s not the Ritz.”
He shivered at the thought of the cockroaches he’d seen scampering across the floor.
Chapter Eighteen
Against his better judgment, Jack fished into his pocket then gave Zhang the address, his key card, and forty bucks.
“You keep your head down, don’t talk to anyone. When you reach the address, give the guy at the counter a twenty-dollar bill. Use the other twenty for food. Tell him you are going to be staying the night and this should cover it. Don’t answer the door to anyone. You hear me?”
“Got it.”
He shoved the money into his pocket, took the key card, and raced off down the alley. Jack watched him reach the mouth of the alley and turn left. Before he disappeared out of sight, he saw a silver sedan swerve and cut him off. A Chinese guy hopped out and scooped him up. Zhang let out a gasp before the man covered his mouth with a hand and yanked him back in.
Jack double-timed it down two hundred feet of alley. He burst out of the mouth into the congested street. Chinese people
were everywhere; the car had stopped at the corner of the block, waiting for the lights to change. Not even thinking twice, he rushed out into the road and stopped the first car by putting his hands out. It came to a halt a few inches from his legs. The man inside was a black cabdriver; he stuck his hand out the window and started yelling. Jack came around, keeping an eye on the car that had now begun to move.
“Get out,” he yelled yanking the door open.
“The fuck I will.”
Jack grabbed a hold of him and tossed him to the curb before leaping in and gunning it. He didn’t even take a second to close the door or buckle up. The car roared as he floored the accelerator. In his rear mirror the cabbie was bouncing up and down, screaming profanity.
The Yellow Cab zipped its way around two cars ahead of it. He still had the car in view but they had a bit of a head start. When he reached the lights they were beginning to turn to red. He smashed the pedal and burst over the rise in the road. A truck honked its horn and pedestrians cursed him. The driver of the silver sedan must have spotted that he was on their tail as he hammered the throttle and swerved erratically around a corner. He slammed his foot on the brake, yanked the wheel a hard left to avoid hitting a woman with bags. Now he found himself barreling down the sidewalk as pedestrians jumped for their life. A few seconds later he was back on the road and zipping down an alley.
When he saw one of the Chinese men lean out the window and start taking potshots at him he wished he’d brought a weapon. He heard the snap and ping of bullets as they zipped by, and struck the vehicle. He did his best to maneuver, and stay out of the way.
As both cars shot out of the alley, skidding back onto the main street, his cab smashed into another car as it swerved. He checked for a second to see that the occupant was okay before speeding off. He hadn’t stopped to think what he would be charged with if the police nabbed him, he had tunnel vision right now. The stores blurred in his peripheral vision as he accelerated.
He punched the gas and came up hard behind the vehicle. There was no safe way of stopping them. He slammed into the back and the silver sedan jerked forward. The driver nearly lost control of the vehicle. He did it again. This time the sedan swerved into oncoming traffic nearly causing a crash. The sedan swerved back but not before he brought the cab up alongside it. His head jerked sideways to catch a glimpse of the driver. A few more seconds, then they were gone. He only glanced up a second in the rearview mirror but it was enough for the large truck that was coming from the right to slam into him. Glass exploded all over him, metal crunched and brakes screamed as the cab shot sideways then went into a spin before crashing into a store window.
The sound of sirens was the first thing he heard as he came to. A trickle of blood ran down the side of his face. Jack was slumped over the steering wheel. Everything came to him in flashes, bursts of light, then noise from people shouting and yelling. Someone asked him if he was okay. He turned his head to see a young Chinese lady with dark, shiny hair. The sirens were getting closer. He felt a shot of pain in his side.
He knew if he didn’t get out and away from the vehicle he’d be arrested and then jailed the moment he was released from the hospital. He couldn’t afford that to happen. He punched the door open and collapsed onto the pavement.
“Stay still, the ambulance will be here.”
“No. I need to go.”
“Are you insane?” She muttered something he didn’t catch.
Jack gripped his side as he slid his legs out. He moved his feet to check that nothing was broken. A small crowd had gathered in what he came to learn later was a quiet section of Chinatown. He glanced at the cab that had steam coming out of the front. The side he came out of was scratched to fuck, and the other side crunched up. He was fortunate that the truck didn’t hit him from the driver’s side or he would have been dead. Maybe there was an angel on his side, something bigger that what he knew guiding his actions?
The Chinese woman glanced around nervously as he staggered to his feet, then stumbled back to the ground.
“Help.”
He wasn’t one for asking for help but the odds were stacked against him and for whatever reason this woman looked as if she was nervous herself about the police showing up.
“I can’t.”
She went to walk away.
“Please.”
Another glance over her shoulder as a larger crowd began to form. Her chin dropped before she reluctantly turned back.
“This way,” she said, wrapping her arm around him and guiding him down the street a short way before taking a sharp right into an alley. Several police cars zipped by as she continued leading him through a cluttered backstreet. A few minutes later he followed her down a series of stone steps and through a low doorway. Inside the smell of Chinese food lingered in the air.
The sound of sirens could be heard in the distance.
He had no clue where he was.
But he was alive.
Chapter Nineteen
Frank Banfield knew this was going to come back and bite him in the ass. He cursed Jack under his breath. He’d made a lot of poor decisions in his career but this one was right up there. His entire career had been one crazy roller coaster of chasing down leads that would allow him to nail Gafino. Jack achieved in a matter of months what had taken him his entire career.
Whether or not he agreed with the road that he chose to travel, or whether Jack had killed for Gafino, there was no denying that he had made the streets better. His method was lawless, brash, and dangerous but he got the job done.
Now some uptight FBI agent who didn’t have a clue about what she was sticking her nose into was grilling him. She might as well have walked up to a hornets’ nest naked and poked it. Whether it was Jack’s or the mob’s feathers she ruffled, she was going to attract attention that was liable to get her killed.
“I knew him growing up but don’t think for one minute, Agent Baker, that I wouldn’t have put Jack behind bars if I had proof that he had killed people.”
“But he made your job easy.”
“And my life a living nightmare, I think you’ve forgotten that part.”
She wiped the side of her mouth after finishing off a sandwich. He got a sense that she was full of herself. A woman who probably had some accolades and degrees behind her and possibly had put away her fair share of criminals, but when it came to dealing with the Mafia she was wet behind the ears.
“Tell me, Agent Baker, what made you leave the department for the FBI?”
She took a sip of her coffee.
“If I told you it was to piss off a whole bunch of men, would that suffice as an answer?”
He smirked. “I’m not concerned about whether you are feminist, a vegan, or a part of the lesbian and gay community. What bothers me, agent, is that perhaps you are going to find yourself spending a lot of time chasing something that isn’t there.”
“Oh it’s there, detective. He’s there, and I’m sure you know he was behind the Sicilian Mafia killings. In which case he will be brought to justice for his crimes.”
Frank snorted. “Best of luck. You are chasing a ghost. You asked me what Jack Winchester is like. Let me lay it out for you. You don’t find him. He finds you. And if he does, you better hope you have made peace with your maker. In all the years that we had Roy Gafino’s crew under surveillance, never once were we able to place Jack at the scene of a crime except once, and he did time for that.”
“They eventually slip up, detective. All of them do. They grow a conscience. Leave behind a witness.”
“Well if he does, you better hope that witness has around-the-clock protection because if they mention his name, you can be sure he will slip in without you noticing, take out your witness, and breeze out of there like a ghost in the night.”
She chuckled before reaching into her bag and retrieving the case file on Gafino and the Sicilian Mafia. She flipped it open and spread out the photos of the dead.
“You call that being a ghos
t in the night?”
Frank finished the remainder of his coffee.
“No, I call that a calling card, a message to others that if you persist in pushing his buttons, you’ll wish you hadn’t.”
The agent pulled together the photos.
“You almost sound as if you admire him, detective?” She glanced at him; a look of amusement on her face. Oh, he’d seen her type before. One eye on promotion, the other glued to the book on how to be a good FBI agent. It was sad to think that she would probably end up with a bullet in her head. If the years had taught him anything, it was you had to know when to pull the reins in, and when to let go. It was a line that few knew how to manage until they had experienced a loss or seen what the Mafia was capable of doing to those that squealed.
“Don’t make the mistake of thinking that life is just black and white, agent. There’s a whole lot of color in between. In your rush to see justice, let’s hope you aren’t color-blind to what you think is the wrong color.”
She leaned back in her chair, gnawing on the side of her lip. She scratched her chin. Her eyes flicked back and forth between the report and him. She was contemplating what he was getting at. He wasn’t going to come out with it and tell her to let it go again. She had to figure that out for herself the way he had.
“Tell me, Frank,” she leaned in. “It is okay to call you that?”
He nodded noting the way she tried to mirror him, personalize, and even keep the same tone of voice. He kept shifting back and forth to throw her off until she gave the slightest smile.
“What would you have me do? I mean, if you were in my shoes.”
Frank cleared his throat. He knew she was playing a game. Hoping to draw him into telling her what he had already done by answering her. If he said, look the other way, she would know he had looked the other way. If he answered by suggesting that she do her job, she would know that he was lying.
“I would consider buying sneakers because you are going to be pounding the pavement for a long time chasing this one.”