“It’s not, and I didn’t.” My cheeks burned, and I could barely make eye contact with her.
“Why are you so embarrassed?” she continued in a hushed tone. “He’s a good-looking guy.”
“It’s not like that. Our relationship is completely professional.”
“Relationships change.”
“This one doesn’t.”
“Why not? The case is pretty much over.”
“Where does it stand?”
“Good question. Quai Chan and his goons, had they survived, would have faced a long list of charges ranging from murder to kidnapping and assaulting a federal agent.”
“What about the tunnels?”
“A search of the tunnels garnered us a few more members from the local Triad gang, and we confiscated a large stash of marijuana and illegal fireworks.”
“And the girls?”
“They’re from China—underage and trafficked into the country. We turned them over to ICE’s Victim Assistance Program. Other than that, just bodies left from your rampage.”
“Mine? Try Hercules’.” I motioned toward Kang with my head.
“Nonetheless, Forensics has a long day ahead of them.”
“Kang mentioned a guy named Jing Woo.”
“Boy, you do need a briefing.” House looked down at her watch before lowering her voice. “In three hours, Reilly plans on hitting Jing. We got a tip that he holds court at a tong over on Waverly Avenue. Reilly’s dropping the hammer, using two full tactical teams. I feel sorry for anybody in the building when they strike.”
“I feel out of the loop.”
“You should be. You’re in a hospital. Look, not a lot of people know about the Jing hit, not even SFPD. Reilly didn’t want anything leaked. There is enough incriminating evidence in those tunnels to tie to Jing, app aside. I’m sure there’s more to be found at Jing’s place. It’s about time we cleaned house in Chinatown. SFPD has let that place police itself way too long.”
House motioned over to Kang with her head. “Isn’t there some festival in Chinatown this weekend?” The playfulness in her voice had returned.
“I think so.”
“Ask if he’s going. Tell him you are. You guys can hang out, it won’t feel like a real date, and you can kind of see how it feels without any pressure.”
I stole a look at Kang before turning back to House with a big grin on my face.
“See? I knew you liked him,” she said, laughing.
“That’s a really good idea.”
“What’s a good idea?” Kang said, interrupting our planning session.
Chapter 67
I froze, and my heart leaped out of my chest and hid somewhere under the bed. How long had he been listening? I whacked House on the arm, urging her to say something. She shook her head violently. Suddenly, the talkative one had rigor mortis of the mouth.
He rolled over to face us.
“You’re up,” I managed with as much normalcy as I could muster. “Uh, I was telling Tracy about that festival in Chinatown.”
“Oh, yeah, the music festival. I plan on going.”
“Maybe we can meet up.”
“Yeah, that would be great—granted, if they let us out of here. Text me when you two get there.”
“I can’t go,” Tracy blurted sharply. “I already have plans. Sorry, but Abby, you should go. It sounds fun.”
Man, the acting in this Girl Likes Boy skit is so bad. No way he buys off on it.
“Okay. Abby, looks like you’re stuck with me.”
Okay, he did.
Just as I was about to suggest a time, the devil appeared, and it had a squeaky voice.
“Kyle!”
Into our room walked a thin, tall, high-heeled, Gucci-purse-carrying, pearl-necklace-and-jade-bracelet wearing, plum-lipstick-pouting, hand-towel-as-a-skirt-sashaying, fair-skinned, Asian beauty with a stuffed teddy bear holding a “Get Well Soon!” balloon.
She shuffled in with tiny steps as she shimmied her braless breasts under what had to be the sheerest blouse ever invented in the history of mankind. “I’m so sad to see you here,” she whined as her eyelashes batted hard and long enough to produce sustainable wind energy. “How’s my wovey dovey? Is my waby feewing better?”
She then made kissing sounds and had the bear kiss Kang all over his face. And damn it if he wasn’t eating the act up. Kang was in La La Land, laughing and giggling with that woman as she snuggled up to him. It wasn’t until House cleared her throat that the two broke apart from their over-the-top, puke-inducing public display of affection.
Kang lifted his arm, pointing past this woman. “Suzie, this is Agent Tracy House and Agent Abby Kane. Abby is my partner on the Cotton Candy case.”
Suzie turned to us and flashed a plastic smile that lasted one-point-three seconds before flatlining. She extended her hand. “Hi. I’m Suzie Zhang, Kyle’s girlfriend.”
Chapter 68
Jing Woo never saw it coming.
That’s what happens to a man who lives above everyone: he believes he’s untouchable. Even moments before his door was blown open, Jing ruled as if he were an aristocrat with faithful subjects. Not in a million days or nights would he ever have thought the end would come the way it did. But it had.
The reign of the most powerful man in all of Chinatown had ended. But that’s not all Jing was known for. He was also Chinatown’s biggest private contributor of monetary donations and a highly respected community organizer, at least from a distance. He was responsible for a dozen or so after-school programs for Chinese children, improvements to Portsmouth Square, numerous Chinese cultural expansion events, and an array of beautifying projects all throughout the Chinatown area. He had even helped subsidize the Chinatown Community Development Center, whose primary responsibility was providing affordable housing to Chinese immigrants. For all intents and purposes, Jing Woo was a hero in the community.
But it was a mask of illusion, because all of this good came at a steep price.
Fear was how Jing Woo ruled. And his grasp on Chinatown was tight and impenetrable, even by SFPD. He made millions though the trafficking of opium, firearms, women, and even fireworks. He ran the massage parlors as well as the underground Mahjong games. Every business in Chinatown paid tribute, or they had no business being in business.
For years, Jing saw yearly increases in revenue; there was nothing he couldn’t smuggle in or out of Chinatown. For every dollar he invested into the community, he made one thousand back. It was a no-brainer to be the people’s Robin Hood. Who would want to take down the people’s hero?
Jing Woo soon found out.
Chapter 69
As promised, the hospital discharged Kang and me the following day with orders to take the next couple of days off. I was all for it, especially after hearing about the Jing Woo raid. All the key players were dead. We would have preferred to see them have their day in court and spend the rest of their lives in prison, but the dead thing worked for us.
My family was my only focus when I returned home. I even pulled Ryan and Lucy out of school and awarded them a four-day weekend, which they loved. We had a grand time. We ordered movies on-demand, ate bowls of popcorn, and played multiple rounds of Go Fish.
A few months earlier, I’d signed Lucy up for dance classes to help her get over her shyness. It worked. She put on four five-minute shows for the family, complete with costume changes. We also helped Po Po with the cooking, which she tried to stop even though we knew she appreciated it. When we picnicked in Washington Square, we borrowed one of the dogs from Fanelli’s Deli, Fino, my favorite, and took her with us. Ryan and I continued our discussions on Bruce Lee and martial arts in general. I brought in two masseuses for the family. It was the only time the house remained quiet.
And of course, we resumed Dim Sum Sunday. Po Po was able to see her friends again, Ryan got, not one, but two boxes of snappers, and Lucy was pleased with her new stash of Hello Kitty stickers. Everybody was happy, and I was emotionally co
ntent.
With Operation Family Time in progress, I never did make it to the Chinatown festival to meet up with Kang. I was over it. My feelings were the result of what I had originally thought them to be in the hospital—a super hero crush—a common phenomenon associated with people who are rescued by someone of the opposite sex. Plus, at the hospital, it was clear to me how much Kang liked his new toy and the teddy bear she had brought.
By the time Sunday night arrived, we were all beat. Po Po and the kids had gone to bed early, leaving me alone to enjoy a relaxing soak in a bathtub I don’t use nearly enough. Afterward, I headed up to my office to check my email; I had stayed offline for four days thanks to a missing cell phone I had yet to replace. A quick peek couldn’t hurt.
I didn’t see anything that couldn’t wait until Monday morning, until I saw the email from Kang that contained photos from the staged crime scene. I hadn’t realized he had emailed them while we were still there.
Curious, I clicked on the email and was surprised at how well the photos had come out, considering my experience with Kang’s photography at Treasure Island. Seeing the pictures reminded me that we never did upload them to find out what would happen next.
As usual, my curiosity got the best of me. I still had the Carlsons’ hard drive loaded on my laptop, so I booted it up and clicked on the game. After the familiar intro played out and the headers and map appeared, I clicked on the fifth Attraction, and the paper scroll unraveled, revealing how far we had gotten. The cursor blinked in the empty field titled upload.
Well, why not? The worst that could happen is nothing, right?
I selected two pictures and hit the upload button. A few seconds later, the swirling circle disappeared and the phrase, “Upload complete. Thank you,” replaced it.
Hmmm, interesting.
From what we had learned so far, each time the Carlsons completed a task, it unlocked the next Attraction. So what happens when all the Attractions are completed?
A second later, a chime sounded and the word “Congratulations” floated across the screen, followed by a note. “You have successfully completed the chase in San Francisco. Click the plane ticket for your next challenge.”
I clicked on the animated plane ticket, and it swooshed back and forth across the screen, erasing everything before disappearing. A new map of the world then appeared. This time, there was a new trajectory line connecting San Francisco with Bangkok, Thailand. Also, the five San Francisco Attractions were gone and replaced with five Bangkok Attractions.
I couldn’t believe what I was looking at. The game was continuing. San Francisco was just another stop. Then my eyes spotted the word, “Leaderboard.” I had never seen it before. I clicked on it and watched the Attraction heading minimize, and in its place, a leaderboard appeared. There were twenty-five teams on the board. A large arrow pointed at the fourth position, Team Carlson.
Don’t tell me...
The map had also changed. It no longer only showed the three waypoints representing the Carlsons’ travels. There were a number of arced lines connecting many of the major cities all over the world. And each waypoint was color coordinated to a team on the leaderboard.
No, this can’t be. Other teams! Global!
My chest tightened instantly, erasing everything my relaxing bath had given me. A prickling sensation appeared along my arms and spread out across the rest of my body as my mind processed the information in front of me.
A talk bubble appeared over France. It read, “Team Annihilate has completed the second Paris Attraction.”
Is it updating in real time? Suddenly another talk bubble appeared over Northern California. That one read, “Team Carlson has completed the chase in San Francisco.”
Nooooo! I shook my head. I didn’t want to believe, and yet I had no other choice. There was no denying what I had uncovered. Chasing Chinatown wasn’t just a game for the Carlsons; it was a game for multiple killers all around the world. Innocent people were being slaughtered so that some a-hole could be entertained. How many had suffered so far? How many more were to come? I knew right then that our investigation wasn’t over. It was only the beginning.
<><><>
Russian Hill is book one in the three part Chasing Chinatown series. Stay tuned for the next installment, Lumpini Park. Abby and Kyle are faced with stopping a deadly global game, and the only way to do it is to move up the leaderboard themselves. For a preview, turn the page.
Lumpini Park
The heat index that day was ninety-four degrees Fahrenheit. A fluke? Hardly. Every now and then, San Francisco becomes a hot, sticky mess—something Special Agent Scott Reilly would discover in less than forty minutes.
The assault team consisted of twelve men from the FBI Special Weapons and Tactical Team packed into two modified civilian vans. Reilly and four other agents followed in a black SUV.
Waverly Place was their destination, a small, alley-like street about fifty yards long, lined mostly with temples and a few shops. Mixed amongst the buildings were a couple of Chinese Benevolent Organizations, or tongs. The Hop Sing Tong was the target.
The street was bookended by the vans, and two tactical teams approached the building on foot. The area was unusually quiet for that time of day. A blessing? More like a sign. A hushed murmur of Chinese was the only sound heard as the two teams approached the small crowd of residents that had gathered outside the tong.
Team One was ordered to clear the crowd of looky-loos while Team Two, Reilly’s team, moved into position to breach the front door, only the lead man reported that it had already been forcibly opened.
By the time Reilly and his men entered the tong, sweat had bubbled on his forehead, and salty streams seeped into the collar of his shirt. The Kevlar vest he had on didn’t help matters, but what really hit him hard, enough to stop him in his tracks, was the thick, metallic scent in the air.
Reilly had found the red sticky to go with the red hot.
Two feet into the tong lay a headless man. Reilly sidestepped the crimson pool that had poured from the severed neck. The edges had already coagulated into a gel dam, preventing further spreading. He thought of searching the man for identification but changed his mind. He’d have to step into the sticky to get close enough. He stood and shook his head at the splatter that had sprayed the whitewashed walls. What the hell happened here?
The tactical team on the upper floors shouted Clear! faster than expected. That told him one thing—no resistance. More bodies, I imagine.
He was right.
What he had originally thought was the buzzing of an electrical current turned out to be an assault by another group of misfits associated with death: flies. Reilly let out a breath and turned to the bottom of the bloodstained stairs. Lead the way, my buzzing friends.
After passing the second decapitated man, he gave up trying to avoid the blood. It’s like walking in mud; eventually, you say, “Screw it,” and give in, because what’s the point? The entire shoe would need cleaning.
Reilly had seen a lot during his twenty years with the Bureau. Death didn’t bother him, but headless humans did. He had counted nine so far—more than enough to make him shiver under his weighted vest.
He never understood the thought process behind choosing decapitation over the simplicity of a gun. A firearm provided distance. Decapitation was close and personal. All he could conclude was that a person who reveled in this manner of dispatching people put absolutely no value on life. How could they? It’s traumatic to see the aftermath, let alone watch it take place. Reilly couldn’t imagine being the executioner.
He continued up the stairs as he heard the assault team’s stomping boots make their way toward him. The top floor had been cleared.
“No threats,” said the team leader as he came into view. “Our job here is done. I’ll leave six men outside the building until SFPD can set up a contained perimeter.”
Reilly nodded.
The team leader took another step but stopped and grabbed Reill
y by the arm. “It’s bad in there.” He motioned to what remained of a shattered door barely hanging by its hinges.
Reilly’s intelligence indicated that the top floor was where Jing Woo held court. From the look on the team leader’s face, Reilly had a pretty good idea that questioning the elusive leader would be a no-go. He stepped through the doorway, careful not to spear his arm on a splinter.
The room was still lit, by his count, with fifteen candles of varying heights. He didn’t see the body right away, his eyes needing a moment to adjust to the lower light levels. But once they did, it was unavoidable.
Lying on top of a small teak table, in the middle of the room was Jing. His head, both arms, and both legs from the knees down hung off the edges. The flaps of his robe lay open, revealing his grisly death. He had been opened from sternum to pubic bone.
Reilly took a step forward, unsure whether the shadows from the candle lighting were deceiving his eyes. They weren’t. Jing had been gutted. Only an empty cavity remained. Careful of where he stepped, Reilly moved around to the other side of the table where he discovered Jing’s innards, completely intact and left to rot.
Later, when medical examiner Timothy Green weighed in, he said, “He was alive when his organs were removed. While the procedure was speedy and precise, I believe he felt every bit of it.” Green also reported high levels of amphetamines in Jing’s body. “Most likely used to keep him from passing out during the procedure.”
It was obvious to Reilly that someone else had wanted Jing more than he had. Was it to punish Jing for the disorder that had taken place on his watch? Had they wanted to silence him? Who knew? This was a first for law enforcement in San Francisco. Never had the walls of Chinatown been breached. The department had moved into uncharted waters, and no one knew what to expect from the vacuum created by Jing’s death. All they could do was hope for the best.
Lumpini Park (CC Trilogy #2) Start reading now.
Russian Hill (Abby Kane FBI Thriller - Chasing Chinatown Trilogy Book 1) Page 22