“Forget the pay. What do you need?”
“A new identity,” I said. “And not some shabby piece of shit, like you guys use. I need a real identity and a damn good one.”
He thought for a minute, then said, “What you need is a dead body where nobody knows she’s dead. Maybe a young hooker. Something like that.”
“And where the hell do I get one?”
“Leave that to me,” Binh said.
“Whoa! I don’t want you killing anybody.”
“Don’t worry. I won’t kill anyone for you, but I might steal a body—enough of them around. What we need is the right one. I’ll put the word out.”
“I’d owe you big time if you deliver.”
“You already owe me big time,” Binh said. “I do this, and you’ll owe me more.”
Three months rolled by, and there was still no stiff from Binh. I stopped by his corner one day. “What’s the word? I need to get movin’.”
“You’ll get movin’ when we have a decent body,” Binh said, “unless you want to gain a few hundred pounds or magically become black. Do that, and I’ll fix you up.”
I laughed, but was crying on the inside. I was tired of living on the streets. When it was a daily routine, I hadn’t thought much about it, but now that I had some money it was a different story.
Two weeks later, Phuc got hold of me. “Remember that special arrangement I told you about?” he said. “I know someone who’s interested.”
“What’s the catch?” I asked. “Is the guy gay? Is that why he doesn’t care if I fool around?”
“Does it make a difference?” Phuc asked.
“Is the guy you?” I said.
“Does that make a difference?”
I thought about what Mick taught me. “It does, and I’ll have to say, ‘no thanks.’ Mick told me that anyone who made his money with money can’t be trusted in real-life decisions. He said they’d always be deciding on the side of the finance.”
“But this is—”
“Gotta pass,” I said, “but thanks.”
“You still want me to handle your money?” Phuc asked.
“If you don’t have a problem with it, I don’t have a problem. You’ve already done a great job. Might as well keep going. We can both make a lot of money.”
Phuc laughed. “That’s what we’ll do then.”
Phuc had me invest my money in biotech and technology companies. Fortunately, one of them was Apple.
Soon, I became wealthy beyond my wildest dreams. I didn’t have to worry about money anymore, at least not compared to how I was living.
* * *
Fifteen months went by without a match on a body. I slept with a knife gripped in my hand every night, ready to use it if necessary. I guess I never realized how much comfort Mick had provided.
One night, I heard a noise, like someone sneaking up on me. I held the handle of the blade tightly, focused, and tried to see who it was. It was Binh, and he had a girl who appeared to be drunk leaning on his shoulder
“Give me a hand, goddamnit.”
I let go of the knife, and reached up to grab hold of her. As soon as I touched her, I knew she was dead. “What the hell? Did you kill her?”
“No, but I might have found you a name to wear.”
I was trying to contain my excitement, and all the while, a flood of questions ran through me. “What about her license? Her fingerprints? Her —”
Binh said, “As far as I know, she’s never been busted, so fingerprints shouldn’t be a problem. And I know she’s not old enough to drive, so she’s got no license. I think you’ll be pretty safe with her.”
“What about the body?” I said.
“Without ID, it’ll just be another body takin’ up space in the morgue. They won’t keep it long.”
Binh handed me an ID card for the library, something more than a few homeless did to have a place to hang out. Her picture was on the front of the card.
“Look at the bright side,” Binh said. “She’s a fresh kill, and she looks enough like you that you could pass for her. If anyone asks, just explain that when this picture was taken, you were on drugs, and now you’re straight. That will explain a lot.”
“What about people looking for her?” I asked.
“Won’t happen,” Binh said. “She was a junkie whore. No family. No friends.”
“So what do I do?”
He pointed to the ID card with her picture. “We’ll have to get this fixed up, but after that, you’ll be fine. As I said, she doesn’t have a license, and there’s no need to worry about fingerprints.”
“What about cops?” I asked.
“If she’s wanted for something bad, ’fess up and tell them you stole her identity from her dead body. Anything else, take the bust and move on.”
I nodded. “What’s her name?” I asked.
“Lisa,” he said. “Lisa Benz.”
Where Is Rosanna?
Now that I had enough money to make a difference, I knew what I had to do—find Rosanna. She had been hospitalized since the night Mom died, and I had to find out how she was, as she had been moved to another hospital.
I asked Binh for help, and even offered him money for his services. He was insulted at the offer of money, but he did help.
Within two weeks he located Rosanna—she was at St. Mary’s, over by Fulton and Stanyan. I guess they must have moved her there.
The next day I went to visit. I asked for Rosanna Mercaldo, and was shown to her room, but when I walked in, she was just lying there—in a coma.
Her eyes were closed and she couldn’t move, couldn’t even talk. “Rosanna,” I said. “It’s me. Rosanna, do you hear me?”
Whether she heard or not, I didn’t know. Regardless, I was heartbroken. There lay my sister, the only one I could share memories with, and she couldn’t even talk to me.
After about twenty minutes, the doctor walked in. I spoke to her, but she said there wasn’t much hope; in fact, she said that if nothing changed—either in Rosanna’s condition or finances—she probably was not long for this world.
Panicked, I instructed the doctor to give Rosanna the best care she could and I would foot the bills. Before I left, I filled out a few forms and left a P.O. box as the address to send the bills and any correspondence.
I stayed for another hour, sitting by her side, reading her books, telling her stories. It didn’t matter that she wouldn’t—or probably couldn’t—hear; I told them anyway. I cried as I talked of the times we used to play jacks or when we’d meet Mom at the park. It was painful to see her there, in this condition. I wished there was something I could do.
I leaned over, kissed Rosanna goodbye, and made her a promise that I would get the guy who did this to her. I’d find out if he was alive, and if he was, he would not live another year—not after what he did to her and Mom.
Before I had come into her room, I was questioning my mission in life; now my resolve was steeled. Marc—if he wasn’t dead—was going to die.
This was a promise I intended to keep.
An Off-the-Books Sting
We set up the deal with Skinny. I was going to be one of four girls he supplied to the dirty guard.
I met him at 6:00 on Thursday, and we went over the plan. Skinny would “introduce” us, then the guard would tell us when and where to meet so he could escort us to the prison.
At 6:50, we were in front of the Phoenix Hotel, four girls and Skinny. We made our way to room 112, where we met Roger, the guard from San Quentin.
He eyed us carefully, then said to me, “You don’t look like no whore.”
“That’s because I’m not,” I said. “My husband is doing ten years down in Avenol. I don’t get to see him, but I still need lovin’.”
Roger ran his stare up and down my body, then smiled. “They’re gonna love you,” he said. “Not often they get a taste of real meat.”
“Just remember that when it’s time to pay,” I said.
“Your pay
is the same,” Roger said.
“The same? Filet mignon costs more than flank steak,” I said.
Roger smiled. “Show what you’re worth, then we’ll discuss it.”
“Deal,” I said.
A few minutes later, Jeff walked in, dressed in the finest threads, looking like a street thug.
“Lookin’ for Roger,” he said.
“Who’s lookin’ and what for?” Roger asked.
“Your new supplier,” Jeff said. “Hong Le is dead.”
“Regardless of whether he is, or isn’t, what makes you think I would want you as a supplier of whatever it is you believe I need?”
“Because I used to supply Hong Le. There is no sense in paying profit for a middle man. If you buy direct from me, you’ll save money.”
“And what would be the cost?”
“I can save you ten grand off what you were paying, and give you the same shit.”
“I’ve only got one problem with that,” Roger said. “Hong Le might not like the change in business.”
“Like I said earlier, Hong Le is dead.”
A man stepped out from behind the door. “Hong Le is not dead,” he said. “But you will soon be.”
Jeff pulled out a gun and shot him twice in the chest. He turned to Roger. “As I said, Hong Le is dead. Now can we do business?”
“I don’t see why not,” Roger said.
I stared at Hong Le’s body, lying on the floor, blood pooling under him. I couldn’t believe Jeff shot him! What the hell was going on? What did I get myself into?
I sat silent during the price negotiations. Before long, Jeff left. A few minutes later, Roger told me to meet him next Friday, at 8:00 in the morning.
“We’ll get there early,” he said. “Plenty of time to enjoy the day.”
I left a minute later, along with the other girls, and walked down the street. Skinny waited on the corner.
“I heard there was some trouble,” he said.
“Trouble? What trouble?” I wasn’t about to let him know what happened, despite my misgiving.
“I heard Hong Le got shot.”
“Shot? I didn’t see anything.”
“Didn’t see anything, huh? I guess your partner didn’t either.” He gave me a skeptical look, then said, “Just make sure you show up when Roger told you to. He gets pissed if you’re late.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll be there on time.”
We walked three blocks to a little restaurant and had some Vietnamese noodle soup. I had crackers and coffee with mine. Twenty minutes later, when we felt it was safe, Jeff showed up.
“You okay?” he asked.
“I’m okay,” I said. What I wanted to say was, “I can’t say the same about Hong Le.” But since Skinny was still with us, I held my tongue.
“Hurry up and finish the soup,” Jeff said. “We have a lot of work to do.”
It took me ten more minutes to finish eating, then we left and headed for Jeff’s car. He had switched with the patrol car at the station, so we wouldn’t be made by Roger, or anyone else.
We were riding up California Street, when I turned to Jeff. “We should give this to the boss.”
“Not going to happen.”
“We’ve already got one person dead. What are you waiting for?”
“I’m waiting to bust this fucker. It’s a big enough deal that it might earn me a promotion. Look good for you, too.”
“On the other hand, if they find out about Hong Le, we’d both be busted.”
“No way they’ll find out.”
“You think Roger won’t run his mouth? That’s a laugh,” I said. “At the first sign of a deal, he’ll tell everything he knows.”
“Roger won’t tell anything,” Jeff said. “Trust me.”
“That kind of talk scares me, Jeff.”
“You’ll get over it,” Jeff said. “Now, shut up while I think this through.”
I didn’t like his tone, but I wasn’t about to argue with him, especially after seeing what he did to Hong Le, so I shut my mouth, closed my eyes, and tried to enjoy the ride.
I would have enjoyed the ride a lot more if I hadn't just seen the guy next to me kill a man. Of course, knowing that man was a scumbag drug dealer helped soften the blow.
“Are you ready for Friday?” Jeff asked.
“As ready as I’ll ever be.”
“This is dangerous, and don’t let anybody tell you differently,” Jeff said.
“If I had any delusions about the danger, you took those away today.”
“That couldn't be helped,” Jeff said.
“It was unexpected.”
“I guess Hong Le didn’t expect it either,” I said.
“Just be ready on Friday so we don’t have any more surprises.”
“I’d still feel better if we gave this to the boss.”
“The boss won’t get this until it’s done.”
“It might be too late by then.”
“That's a chance we’ll have to take.”
“That's fine for you to say. It’s not your ass on the line.”
“And what a pretty ass it is,” Jeff said.
The plan was to arrive at the meeting half an hour early, bust Roger, and then get out of there. If all went right, we’d be out of there, with Roger in cuffs, before the other girls arrived.
Friday morning rolled around quickly, and I got up an hour before my usual time to get ready.
I arrived at the meeting place forty minutes before the scheduled time and was ready for whatever happened. I was dressed like a slut, and knew it.
I walked into the room where Roger was.
“What are you doing here so early?” he asked.
I flashed more skin than I felt comfortable doing, and said, “Eager to get going. Actually, I'm kind of excited about it.”
He leered at me. “Almost makes me want to be an inmate,” he said, and I felt like he was only half kidding.
Ten minutes later, Jeff arrived, dressed much like he was the first time. He held a brick of heroin in his hand. “You got the money?” he asked Roger.
Roger nodded, and gestured toward a briefcase on his desk. “All there,” he said. “Just like we agreed on.”
“Good,” Jeff said, then he pulled out his gun and shot Roger twice in the chest.
“What the fuck!” I said. “What did you shoot him for?”
“He saw me kill Hong Le,” Jeff said. “Can’t live with that.”
“And where does that leave me?”
Jeff put his gun away, and said, “You’re smarter than him. You won’t talk.”
I waited until he had finished holstering his weapon, then walked to the desk where Roger sat, slumped over. I picked up Roger’s gun—from his desk drawer—and pumped two shots into Jeff’s chest. He fell with an astonished look on his face.
“You’re right,” I said. “I won’t say a word.”
I cleaned the gun of prints, then tossed it on the floor. After making sure the area was clean, I ran to change clothes.
They’d get nothing off the gun. It was untraceable, and it had no prints on it—with the exception of Roger’s, which I conveniently placed back on the grip.
I went into the back room and changed into the uniform I had packed. I felt sure the noise from the shooting made someone call the cops, and I wanted to be ready to greet them. After all, Marc Jefferson deserved my full attention, woman-beating scum that he was. I only hoped in that last second he realized who it was that was pumping bullets into his chest—and why.
I was always surprised he never recognized me anyway. I thought he did that one time, but I brushed it off as casual recognition from the academy, and he went for it.
Cleaning Up the Mess
As predicted, I heard the sirens for the radio cars within minutes. Fortunately, I had come prepared and was now fully dressed in my uniform. Before long, the first officers burst through the door, wielding guns.
I stood still, hands in the air, not wanting to
risk any mistakes. I had called it in as an “officer down,” so they came prepared for trouble.
“I’m on the job,” I said, though they should have been able to tell that from the uniform.
The lieutenant arrived a few minutes later. He looked around the room, knelt to check on Jeff, then stared in my direction. “What happened here?”
I gulped. “Jeff picked me up, as usual, except it was in his car instead of the patrol car. I thought that was odd, and asked him about it, but he said he needed to drop off the car to get fixed.
Anyway, we were driving down Eddy and he spotted a group of gang bangers running into the building. He pulled to the curb, hollered, ‘Stay in the car,’ and took off after them.
“Maybe ten minutes elapsed before I heard gunshots. I got out of the vehicle, and ran toward the sound of the shots. By the time I got here, Jeff and the other guy were down. I saw what looked to be teenagers running out the back. I called this in, then gave pursuit, but they were gone.”
“Do you know this man?” the lieutenant asked, pointing toward Roger.
“Never saw him,” I said. “And since you'll probably ask—no, I don’t know why Jeff wasn’t in uniform. He was dressed that way when he picked me up.”
“Did you get a good enough look to pick them out of a lineup?”
“No. I only saw them from the back, and that was from a distance. I could try though.”
"Go back to the station. Write up what happened, and be prepared for a lot of questions. A lot.”
I stared at him. “Look, I was doing my job. I have no idea what the hell went on here, but looking at the scene, it was a lot more than a few gangbangers being chased.”
“No doubt,” he said. “Now, get going.”
The lieutenant grabbed my arm before I left. “Why didn’t you take the money?” He pointed to a duffel bag full of cash next to Roger.
“It wasn't mine,” I said.
He smiled. “That will go a long way in showing you had no part in this.”
I headed back to the station, but turned on Larkin. I saw Binh on the corner with a few of his boys. I pulled over and rolled the window down. “What’s up, Skinny?”
Promises Kept, The Story of Number Two Page 7