by Graham Reed
She stared at her factory worker shoes and said nothing.
“Nina? Why would you do that to me?” I was almost shouting now. No one was smiling anymore, but I didn’t care.
“I can’t risk losing my business over this, Jake.” Her voice grew ever quieter as mine became louder.
I took a couple breaths to calm myself before continuing. “You won’t. I was the one who screwed up, so I’m the only one whose business is in jeopardy. But I’ve already talked to Mickey Wu and he wants to keep this thing quiet as much as I do. So this whole thing is going to go away quietly and no one’s going to lose anything.” Aside from the guy on the bathroom floor, of course.
Nina didn’t respond, but her uncle jumped in with what sounded like some kind of rapid-fire imperative. Without looking at him, Nina nodded almost imperceptibly. “This is very important to my uncle. To our whole family,” she whispered.
It finally dawned on me that it might be Li Wei who was the threat to Nina’s livelihood, not Mickey Wu. Back when we were together, she had frequently boasted about how well connected he was, and how many big money clients he had sent her way. Maybe he was threatening to turn the tap off. “Nina, is your uncle forcing you to do this?” I ignored his glare.
“I need to protect myself and my family. That’s all.” Nina shook her head quickly. “You wouldn’t understand.”
I couldn’t argue with that. While I stood there fuming, Li Wei issued one more set of orders in Mandarin and headed out the door with Agent Wang sailing along in his wake.
Nina’s mouth was moving as she fell into step behind them but I knew that all but the last three words were her uncle’s. “You are to meet Agent Wang at Mickey Wu’s house tonight at eleven p.m. If you don’t show up, we will call the police. I’m sorry, Jake.”
Chapter Twenty-seven
After they left, I headed to Revolver in search of an antidote for the bitter taste Nina’s coffee and conversation had left in my mouth. The emotional taps started to run dry about halfway through our marriage, but her betrayal still took me by surprise. Almost as much as Nina letting anyone—even her gargoyle of an uncle—tell her what to do.
With all the booths occupied, I was forced to take a seat at the long, communal table where the entrepreneurial hipster contingent of Revolver’s clientele held court. I set my phone on the table in front of me and typed in a few words. While Google scoured the Internet for information on Li Wei, I eavesdropped on a man with elaborately coiffed facial hair extol the virtues of his dried seaweed food truck idea to a dreadlocked blonde. I had lost my appetite by the time the search results came back.
Li Wei’s name popped up in numerous Chinese government propaganda pieces, as well as a few news articles. Judging by the evolving quality and cut of his suits in the accompanying photos, the man’s climb up through the Party ranks had been a long one, during which time his hairstyle had changed very little. He had briefly served as an alternate member on the Seventeenth Central Committee but was removed when he became one of the primary targets of an official Party probe. Into economic corruption, of all things. Most search results led to pages in Mandarin, but I did come across an English post on a defunct blog that ranted at length, and rather colourfully, about the fact that Li Wei somehow escaped conviction.
For a while after the investigation he received no media attention at all. Then his name gradually began to pop up again, predominantly as an outspoken proponent of anti-corruption initiatives, but also announcing his prestigious appointment to the All-China Federation of Industry and Commerce. I noticed that other members of that Federation had become members of the Central Committee, so it looked like Li Wei had managed to get back on track for Committee membership, despite his brush with scandal. Nina’s uncle had to be more formidable than he looked if he was able to battle his way up through the ranks of the Chinese Communist Party not just once, but twice.
I was almost starting to feel guilty about the situation Mickey Wu was in. According to Nina, Li Wei hadn’t even heard of him before my party, but now he had Mickey in his crosshairs. And for what? The heinous crime of underreporting China’s appetite for thongs? Judging from the size of Mickey Wu’s mansion, the truth about that might have caused its own scandal.
I, myself, was no stranger to undeclared income, or trying to make a fresh start. Now that The Norwegian had reappeared in my life, I was becoming painfully aware of what it was like to have past transgressions come back to haunt you. The fact was, I could relate to Mickey Wu’s plight more than I cared to admit.
I might have even been tempted to warn Mickey that the guys from the Ministry of Public Security were about to break into his house, if they hadn’t been forcing me to go with them. Then it occurred to me that warning him might actually solve both our problems.
If I told Mickey what Agent Wang had planned, he could simply make sure to return home before this evening. Agent Wang had already admitted that they had no official powers to investigate or arrest Mickey Wu. So if he was home, Agent Wang would simply have to abort the operation. And if he couldn’t sneak in anyway, there was no need to punish me for not helping them do it.
If Nina needed any extra convincing on the last point, I could threaten to tell the press that Chinese secret agents were sneaking around trying to break into fancy Vancouver homes. Although it felt uncomfortably rat-like, I decided to let myself off on a technicality—it wouldn’t get them arrested, but it would make things plenty inconvenient for them. I was no expert on covert ops, but I was pretty sure that publicity didn’t help.
And speaking of not getting arrested, since Agent Wang couldn’t slap the cuffs on Mickey Wu, it didn’t seem like the Ministry of Public Security had much leverage to coerce or dislodge him from his new life in Canada. Which meant that if Mickey Wu knew they were coming at him, he shouldn’t have too much trouble fending them off. All in all, giving him the heads-up seemed like a pretty big favour, and a good way to square things between us.
Having convinced myself that it was the right thing to do, or the least wrong thing under the circumstances, I was reaching for my phone when the first chords of “Stayin’ Alive” rang out. I always get a little shiver when that happens. This time, the shiver turned into a momentary bout of paralysis when I saw the call display. Barry Gibb’s electrifying falsetto was already crowing about being a woman’s man by the time I cut him off and took the call.
“Hello, Mr. Wu. What a coincidence, I was just going to call you. I’ve been talking to some people about you recently, and I think you’re going to want to know what they were saying.”
“This really is a coincidence, Mr. Constable. I was about to say the exact same thing to you.”
This stopped me short. “Oh?”
“Mmm-hmm. I’ve been entertaining some friends of yours on my yacht. They claim you actually do have the cell phone I’m looking for. Is this true, or do I need to have Thaddeus reprimand them for telling me tales?”
Knowing that only Richard and Dante could have told him this, my heart dropped all the way into my gut. The pain was visceral as the stomach acid began to eat away at it. “It’s true,” I admitted.
“I thought as much.” I could almost hear his smirk and it sounded like it was in need of a solid punch. “After some initial resistance to answering my questions, they remained quite committed to this assertion.”
“If you’ve hurt them—” I said angrily. Mickey Wu cut me off before I had time to come up with some appropriate threats.
“Calm down, Mr. Constable. Your friends are a bit worse for wear at the moment, but they’ll be fine. Assuming you cooperate, that is. I’m prepared to view your previous denial as a misunderstanding, Mr. Constable, but I am going to have to insist that you bring me that phone without delay.”
“Let me talk to Richard and Dante.”
There was silence on the line, but I didn’t let it last. “There’s no way you’re getting that
phone until I know they’re okay.”
Mickey Wu sighed. “Please hold the line.” His delivery was so blandly polite that I half expected a top-forty Muzak remix to start playing while he put me on hold. Instead, I heard a terse, muffled exchange in the background, followed by much sweeter music altogether.
“Jake?” Richard said breathlessly.
“Richard! Are you okay?”
His hesitation said much more than his words. “It’s no day at the spa. But, yeah, we’re okay. Thaddeus hits like a girl.”
I grinned in spite of myself. “Well, if anyone would know…”
“Whatever, Constable. I kicked your ass when we were on the high school wrestling team.”
“Groped it, more like. Listen, I’m coming to get you guys….”
“That’s wonderful news,” said Mickey Wu, having reclaimed the phone from Richard without warning. “Now that you have confirmation that your friends are okay, I trust you will do as I ask and bring me the phone?”
“If I do, will you let us all go?”
“Of course. I think you and your friends have already enjoyed more than enough of my hospitality, don’t you?”
I didn’t trust Mickey Wu any more than I suspected he trusted me, but doing what he asked seemed like the only shot I had to get Richard and Dante back. “I’ll bring it. Where are you? What’s the name of the yacht I’m looking for?”
Mickey Wu chuckled. “Just bring the phone to the Granville Island Marina at nine o’clock this evening. Oh, and I hate to sound clichéd, but come alone if you want to see your friends again.”
Chapter Twenty-eight
I went home to put my affairs in order. Which is to say, I did a load of laundry and fed the fish. If I didn’t make it back by morning, the tetras were just going to have to learn to take care of themselves. I was going to be tied up feeding other fish.
After that, I had a nap. It was pitch-dark when I woke up, causing me a short-lived moment of panic that I had overslept and missed the meet. My phone assured me that it was just before seven p.m. My stomach concurred.
An idea struck me. It was last-minute and low-percentage, but I knew I had to try. It could make the difference for the long night ahead. Before I had second thoughts, I was out the door and into my car.
Traffic was inexplicably light that time of day in this kind of city, so I made excellent time as I tore through the rain-soaked city streets. Much to my amazement, there was even a parking spot right out front with twenty-two minutes left on the meter. I couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, for once, the Fates were laughing near me, not at me.
A pair of bikers gave me the crook eye when I burst through the door. I ignored them and zeroed in on the bearded man in the red-stained smock. Before I could get to him, a twitchy reprobate with elaborately inked sleeves covering pincushion arms cut into line in front of me. I resisted the urge to slug him. This night would be a long one, and quite possibly violent. I had to save my strength. The only thing that mattered right now was that the man in the smock wasn’t turning people away. Yet.
When the reprobate had finished transacting his business with the bearded man, I stepped forward, feeling confident. But I had to know for sure. “You still got the dough?”
He wiped sweat from his brow and glanced casually at the brace of knives lying in easy reach. “I wouldn’t be talking to you if I didn’t.”
I nodded, satisfied. “Finocchiona.”
He gave me an appraising look. “Good choice.”
I had barely sat down when a tired-looking woman with a safety-pin collection in each ear turned to the bearded man and drew her finger across her throat.
“That’s it,” he shouted. “We’re out of dough for the night!” Exclamations of despair rippled through the crowd still pushing its way through the door. Those of us who had made it in time tried not to smirk as we sat at our tables.
It took the man with the beard just over four more minutes to get me the goods. I took much longer eating them, savouring each bite of fennel sausage and rapini, knowing this could turn out to be my Last Supper. If so, I couldn’t have picked a better spot. Every meal at Pizzeria Farina was a religious experience.
Wiping the last traces of tomato sauce from my lips, I saw from the clock on the wall that it was time to mobilize. I headed out the door to my car. The meter ran out while my key was still in the door lock.
Before putting the car into gear, I took out my phone and sent a text to Wendy. I pulled into traffic, then immediately pulled out again and sent the same text to Nina.
richard and dante are on mickey wu’s yacht. am going to get them back. don’t call the cops.
Chapter Twenty-nine
Tearing across town on my way to Granville Island, I made demands on my little car that the Porsche engineers probably never imagined, and certainly wouldn’t condone. It was close but I made it, pulling into the parking lot at 8:58 p.m. The food markets were just closing, the tourists spilling out. I followed a family loaded down with dreamcatchers and freeze-dried salmon back to their Dodge Durango to grab their parking spot.
After that, I waited at the entrance to the marina, scanning the crowds for any sign of Mickey Wu. At 9:08 p.m., Thaddeus appeared at my shoulder. I had to hand it to him, he moved well for a squat man. Must be the tracksuit.
“Come with me,” he ordered, spraying the remnants of a mouthful of candied salmon onto my canvas jacket.
I expected him to lead me into the marina where the larger boats were moored but we passed it by and continued along to the small public dock where a handful of runabouts were tied up. Apparently, we were headed out to sea. I regretted not stopping by Richard’s to get something yachty to wear.
Thaddeus jumped down into a Zodiac boat tied up at the far end of the dock, landing as solidly as a portly panther. When I started to climb in after him, he put his arm out to stop me. “Hold on, Constable. You got the phone?”
I pulled it out my pocket to show him.
Thaddeus’ eyes narrowed. “Finally.”
“Been looking for this for a while?” I hoped to mine some information to add to my sparse supply.
He showed me a grin like rusty saw blade. “Here and there.”
Even though it was arguably now a case of too little, too late, I sensed an opportunity to solve a recent crime spree. “Would that happen to include my home?”
He snorted gustily. “You call that dump a home?”
“It has a certain industrial aesthetic that’s not for everyone,” I admitted.
“More like a shitbox aesthetic, you ask me. Didn’t anyone ever explain to you that brick is for factories? And what was with that fucking Sanyo?”
Unable to mount a defence, I decided to go the conciliatory route, show there were no hard feelings. “I’ve been thinking of switching to a projector.”
“Smart move. The stereo, now that was alright.”
“I appreciate you not messing with that.”
He shrugged. “I got respect.”
“You’re a professional.”
“Exactly.”
“You did Richard and Dante’s places, too?” I tried to look impressed.
“Of course. Like you said, I’m a professional.”
“How’d you find them?” I figured there was no harm in asking, since it was something that actually had been bugging me.
The saw blade reappeared. “Followed you around. Led me right to ’em.”
Right there, laid bare, was the difference between the professional and the amateur enthusiast. I nodded, chagrined. “There’s one thing I still don’t get. Why did you kidnap Dante?”
Thaddeus looked annoyed. “Yeah, that wasn’t supposed to happen. I thought I heard your fruity pals leave together, but when I went into the place, he was still there.” He nodded appreciatively. “The little guy put up a pretty goo
d fight.”
“So just to be clear, you’ve had him the whole time, right? He never was on Chip Thompson’s boat?”
Thaddeus frowned. “Who the hell is Chip Thompson?”
I spread my hands. “Exactly.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Thaddeus complained.
“Don’t worry about it.” Thaddeus was clearly nothing more than the muscle actuated by Mickey Wu’s brain. An effective combo, judging by the way they had forced Dante to lure Richard in. And me after that.
“Enough chit chat. Give it here.” Thaddeus held out his hand.
“What?”
He rolled his eyes. “The phone, what else?”
I smiled at him. “Yeah, right. And then you take off and leave me here on the dock? Not a chance. I’ll give it to Mickey Wu. No one else.” I held the phone out over the water. “Or I could just toss it in the drink right now.”
“Suit yourself.” Thaddeus made a snuffling sound. It took me a minute to identify it as laughter. He waved me aboard. “Don’t worry, Constable. Leaving you behind was never the plan,” he said as he pushed us away from the dock and fired up the motor. I could make out more snuffling over the twin howls of the wind and the outboard as we left False Creek and headed out towards open water.
We ran without lights, at first hugging the coastline to the north, only a phone’s throw from Sunset Beach Park. The myriad lights of downtown backlit athletically dressed “urban hikers” taking in the evening air. Once we cleared the beaches, Thaddeus veered west and began threading between the battered freighters anchored further out in English Bay. The brightly lit homes of Kitsilano and Point Grey to the south, and West Vancouver to the north beckoned from the receding coastline, but Thaddeus continued out into the Strait of Georgia. Maybe it was the darkness, or possibly my nerves, but the trip had a disorienting, timeless quality to it. I couldn’t have said whether it took fifteen minutes or fifty.