The Chairman's Toys

by Graham Reed

  Before showing the photo to Agent Wang, I zoomed in on it until the signature on the licence filled the screen, leaving none of his colleague’s photo visible. He studied it for a moment and then returned his attention to the pad of paper on the desk and began to practice the signature. Three tries and he had it down perfectly. Agent Wang smiled with evident professional pride. I couldn’t blame him.

  Chapter Forty

  Agent Wang looked cool as a sea cucumber as he sat in the bank’s waiting area browsing through a brochure on retirement savings funds. I was sweating like a stevedore. Partly it was nerves but mostly it was because of the quilted jacket I was wearing in spite of the day’s balmy weather. I had chosen it for the large hidden pocket sewn into the lining of the jacket, used in the past to mule around shrink-wrapped packages of Granddad’s Ganja, but today filled by a thick envelope of glossy 8x10s printed off of beaversandbananas.com, an explicit photo sharing website I had discovered a few hours earlier. Who knew amateur porn was such a popular form of creative expression? I sure wished I still didn’t.

  The embarrassment factor for the photos was already sky-high by any objective standard, but when I called the bank I hedged my bets by making our appointment with a woman named Dorothy Bernbaum rather than her more worldly sounding colleague, Maury Rogers.

  “Mr. Tao?”

  Agent Wang looked up from his brochure and smiled. I turned and joined him. Jackpot. Standing before us in a dusky-rose pantsuit was my old Sunday school teacher’s stunt double. “I’m Mrs. Bernbaum,” she cooed, hands clasped before her in the ready-to-pray position. She had a gossamer bouffant and kind eyes shyly peering out from beneath crinkly old eyelids gunked with makeup purchased in a bygone era of clearly defined genders and ramrod moral compasses. I knew instantly that this woman firmly believed beavers should be dammed and preferred her bananas on sundaes. Her angelic smile glowed as the fluorescent lights glanced off lipstick the colour of an overripe peach.

  “Would you care to follow me?”

  Agent Wang and I rose from our chairs. There was a soft clacking sound as Mrs. Bernbaum daintily raised the glasses hanging on a chain around her neck and slid them into place on the bridge of her nose. “And you are?”

  “Jake Constable, ma’am. I’m with Mr. Tao.”

  She nodded and patted me on the arm. “Please do make yourself comfortable in our waiting area and we’ll be back shortly. Right this way, Mr. Tao.”

  “Actually, if you don’t mind, I’ll just come along.”

  Mrs. Bernbaum wrinkled her nose. “Are you a registered co-renter of Mr. Tao’s safety deposit box?”

  “No, ma’am. But Mr. Tao invited me to join him.” I reached out to place a friendly hand on Agent Wang’s shoulder. “We’re close friends.”

  “Isn’t that nice.” Mrs. Bernbaum gave me a reassuring smile before turning to Agent Wang. “I’m sorry but your friend will have to wait here. Our security policy stipulates that only registered renters may access the safety deposit boxes—I’m sure you understand.”

  Agent Wang nodded. “No problem.”

  “Yes, problem!”

  Agent Wang and Mrs. Bernbaum looked over at me in surprise.

  “I need to go with you, Mr. Tao. You…wanted my opinion on the documents, remember?” I forced a laugh. “I can’t very well do that sitting out here, now can I? Mrs. Bernbaum, you said it was bank policy to only allow renters to access the boxes, and a policy is really just a guideline, isn’t it? Surely exceptions can be made.”

  “Goodness me, is that what I said?” Mrs. Bernbaum put her hand to her mouth as if preparing to blow me a kiss. “I’m very sorry for the confusion. I actually I misspoke when I said that was the bank’s security policy.”

  I smiled with relief. “No need to apologize. But we are in a bit of a rush so if…”

  “What I meant to say was ‘rule,’” Mrs. Bernbaum continued in the same carbide tone of voice my old Sunday School teacher had employed for the invocation of divine law and other forms of behaviour modification. “So are you going to drop your keister into that chair like a good little soldier, or do I need to have Mr. Edwards come over here to explain our security procedures to you?” She pointed toward a half-asleep Don Rickles impersonator in a rent-a-cop uniform.

  “No, ma’am.” I didn’t want to be responsible for anyone’s cardiac arrest. I already had enough cadavers on my conscience.

  “I will take care of the documents myself,” Agent Wang said with a smile as he followed after Mrs. Bernbaum toward her office. “Do not worry.”

  My pocket bulging with dirty pictures, I dropped my keister into the chair like a good little soldier and began to worry. It was Sunday School all over again.

  Chapter Forty-one

  I kept one eye on the door of the bank and the other on fake Don Rickles. After ten minutes I stopped worrying about the nonagenarian security guard making trouble, since he had begun snoring audibly. I also decided that more than enough time had passed for Mrs. Bernbaum to have alerted the authorities if Agent Wang had failed to convince her that he was Zhang Tao, so I stopped worrying about the cops charging through the door.

  Which freed me up to worry about other things. Like what Agent Wang was going to do once he got a look at the information on Mickey’s daughter. Ditching me seemed to be a likely option. I assumed Agents Wang and Chung wanted to search Mickey Wu’s place to find something that would give them the leverage to force him to return to China. Both Zhang Tao and Mickey Wu seemed to think that the documents in the safety deposit box would do the trick, and who was I to doubt their expertise in the matter? So, once Agent Wang had them, he would probably lose interest in breaking into Mickey Wu’s house. Which meant he wouldn’t need me anymore.

  The credibility of my hypothesis increased when I spotted Mrs. Bernbaum return to her office without Agent Wang.

  I hurried over and barged in just as she was closing the door. “Where’s Agent…my, uh, real estate agent, Mr. Tao?”

  Mrs. Bernbaum exhaled gassily. “You’re a very rude young man, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  She pursed her lips and glanced at her phone.

  “If you’re thinking of calling for Don Rickles, don’t bother. He’s having his nap. I’m sorry for barging in like this. It’s just that Mr. Tao and I are on the verge of closing a killer deal and time is very much of the essence. Is he still back with the safety deposit boxes?”

  She looked aghast. “I certainly wouldn’t leave him there by himself. The bank’s security rules prohibit…”

  I waved my hands in surrender. “I’m sure they do. So where is he, then?”

  Mrs. Bernbaum hummed to herself for a moment. “I don’t know why I should tell you anything. Are you even a client of this bank?”

  I nodded earnestly. “Ever since my dad opened a junior saver account for me on my seventh birthday. Just before his heart attack,” I added haltingly, as if in the grips of an emotion.

  Her eyes narrowed. “There’s no such thing as a junior saver account.”

  “Fine. Listen, I promise I’ll leave as soon as you answer my question. I really am in a hurry.”

  Mrs. Bernbaum huffed twice before squeezing around behind her desk and dropping her pant-suited derriere into the chair. She arranged her reading glasses on her nose and affected great interest in a stack of forms in front of her. “After Mr. Tao was finished with his deposit box he very politely excused himself and went to visit the little boy’s room.”

  “Thanks. And when you’re finished looking at those, have a gander at these.” I took the manila envelope from my bag and tossed it on her desk. “Maybe you’ll recognize some clients.”

  Chapter Forty-two

  Mrs. Bernbaum took the Lord’s name in vain loud enough to wake fake Don Rickles from his slumber. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him reach her office just as I reached the j
ohn. I didn’t really expect to find Agent Wang there but I had to go through the motions.

  After ensuring that both the facilities and my bladder were empty, I decided to bug out before Mrs. Bernbaum found the section of the policy manual pertaining to the circulation of the bank’s revenue reports and other obscene materials. On my way out, I saw her standing outside her office conferring quietly with a portly man with salt-and-pepper hair and an expression of solemn concern. Her expression of mortification curdled into something nasty when she spotted me. I quickened my pace accordingly.

  I had initially been relieved to see that the security guard hadn’t been part of the huddle but felt less sanguine when I spotted him loitering near the door. Worse yet, he started moving toward it as I approached.

  Fake Don Rickles arrived at the exit one step ahead of me and reached out to grab the door handle.

  “Thanks, I got it.” Before he had a chance to say anything I gave the door a hard shove. It pulled him off balance, forcing him to let go before he toppled over entirely. I was outside in an instant and heading around the corner at a jog. I heard an angry “Hey!” behind me but didn’t turn.

  On most days I wouldn’t change a single thing on the Porsche 911 but at that moment I would’ve traded it for a Ford Fiesta if it came with a fob. I had the key in the door and was watching the lock pop up when I felt the arm around my neck. I wouldn’t have credited fake Don Rickles with the strength or the technique to spin me around like a top until it started to happen a split second later.

  “Watch the bodywork,” I grunted as I was slammed onto the hood. “This is a classic.”

  “Yes, it is.” Agent Wang nodded slowly as he looked it over. “And I thought we agreed that you were going to take me for a ride in it.”

  I grinned up at him. “It would be my pleasure.”

  “Then why were you trying to ditch me?”

  Over Agent Wang’s shoulder, through the window of the bank, I could see Mrs. Bernbaum staring at us as she fanned herself with a term deposit brochure. She was flanked by a surly looking fake Don Rickles and the portly salt-and-pepper banker, who merely looked perplexed. I nevertheless felt satisfied that we had officially worn out our welcome. “Did you get the documents?”

  “Of course,” Agent Wang replied indignantly.

  “Great.” I climbed off the hood of the car. “Jump in. I’ll try to explain on the way.”

  Chapter Forty-three

  “So where the hell did you disappear to?” My junior hockey coach always told me that the best defence is a good offence.

  Agent Wang was suitably taken aback. “I had to stop by the restroom to do a number two.”

  I looked over at him appraisingly. “You know your use of idiom is very impressive.”

  Once again he beamed with professional pride so I decided to switch gears. “And I wasn’t trying to ditch you—I thought you had ditched me when Mrs. Bernbaum returned without you. I went into her office to ask where you had gone. She said you had gone to the bathroom but by the time I checked it you must have been done.”

  Agent Wang nodded. “When I came out, you were no longer in the waiting area, so I exited the bank and found a discrete location to wait and watch your car. It is unwise to linger at the scene of a crime.”

  I couldn’t disagree with him there. “So where are the documents?”

  He popped the locks on his briefcase and extracted an envelope. I was pleasantly surprised to note two things: First, it was still sealed. Second, it was identical to the ringer I had left with Mrs. Bernbaum. It was reassuring to see that the entire plan hadn’t been terrible.

  “Slow down.”

  I reflexively checked the road ahead and the rearview mirrors but didn’t see any cops. “Why? What’s the problem?”

  “I just received a text from my partner. Mickey Wu has returned home.”

  I hit the gas. “Is anyone with him?”

  Agent Wang shook his head. “I said slow down. We have to wait until he leaves before we go in. And he knows you, so I don’t want him to see us near his house. It might arouse his suspicions.”

  “But we could follow him. Don’t you think it’s weird he didn’t come home last night? We might be able to find out where he’s staying.” I was confident that wherever it was, I would find Richard and Dante there as well.

  Agent Wang managed to hiss primly. “Most likely with one of his girlfriends. He spends an average of four nights a week at their various residences.”

  “Impressive.”

  “Degenerate,” Agent Wang replied scornfully.

  “I didn’t mean Mickey Wu. I’m talking about you and Agent Chung. You guys really do your homework.”

  Agent Wang inclined his head modestly. “Thank you. But do not try to ‘butter me up.’” He tried but failed to suppress a grin. “Do as I say and decelerate immediately. I fulfilled my end of our deal, no questions asked. Now it is time for you to fulfill yours.”

  I cursed and slammed on the brakes. Not because of Agent Wang’s appeal to my sense of honour but to avoid slamming into the car ahead of me on the Burrard Street Bridge. Traffic was bumper-to-bumper as usual, and there was no avoiding it. Zhang Tao had done his banking downtown whereas Mickey Wu lived in Kitsilano, on the other side of False Creek. I had never been sure whether Vancouver was intruding into the ocean or the other way around. It made for lots of dramatic coastline and nice views, but also meant you usually had to cross a bridge just to go to the bathroom.

  “But you don’t know for sure he was at his girlfriend’s place, right? What if he’s about to leave town? Maybe he knows you’re after him.”

  “How could he know that?” Agent Wang studied me suspiciously. “Have you spoken with him?”

  I kept my eyes on the road. “Mickey Wu fired me before I even met you. But I was his house-sitter and let me tell you, the guy is a real jetsetter. I wouldn’t want you to lose track of him.”

  Agent Wang said nothing. He had a heck of a poker face so I had no idea whether he was considering what I said or had simply decided to ignore me entirely. In any event, gridlock traffic was accomplishing the goal of stopping me from getting to Mickey Wu’s place anytime soon.

  “We can’t make contact with Mr. Wu until we have more information,” Agent Wang said at last.

  “You mean leverage, right?” I glanced over at him. “To force him to return to China.”

  “Our objective is to convince him to return home voluntarily. To make reparations for his crimes.”

  I didn’t bother to respond. We had reached the far side of the bridge, which rendered the nuances of Operation Fox Hunt, and my deal with Agent Wang, moot points, as far as I was concerned. I nosed my way onto the Cornwall exit and goosed the 911 toward Point Grey Road, now only minutes away.

  To my surprise, Agent Wang didn’t complain. He was busy reading another text. “We are fine. Mr. Wu is leaving now.”

  Agent Wang groaned when yet another text chimed in.

  “What’s the matter now?”

  “Mr. Wu has a suitcase with him.”

  Chapter Forty-four

  We spent the rest of the short ride in a funk. Agent Wang was worried that his quarry really might be preparing to leave town. Personally, I wasn’t concerned about the suitcase. I knew there was no way Mickey Wu was going anywhere without the documents on his daughter. My guess was that he had returned home to pick up a change of thongs and was now headed back to wherever he had Richard and Dante stashed—and I had just missed the opportunity to find out where that was.

  Agent Wang motioned for me to pull in behind a blue Chevy Impala with tinted windows parked a half block down the street from Mickey Wu’s wall of bamboo. “Come on,” he said.

  As soon as we got out of the car, Agent Chung emerged from the Impala. I waved at him. “What’s shaking?”

  He paused, frowning. “I do
not believe anything is.”

  “He does not understand idiom,” Agent Wang whispered to me as we walked toward him.

  “So you’re saying it’s all Greek to him?” I whispered back.

  Agent Wang giggled. “Yes, with Agent Chung it is all jumbo mumbo.”

  I nudged him with my elbow. “Great minds think alike.” His smile withered when he noticed Agent Chung glaring at us. They went back and forth in Mandarin for a couple minutes, after which Agent Chung appeared mollified. “Okay, let’s go,” he said. “Time is…wasting?”

  Agent Wang nodded encouragingly. I reached over and slapped him on the shoulder. “Now you’re getting it.”

  It had occurred to me that Mickey Wu might have changed his codes after my festive misadventures in his abode so it was a relief when I entered the sequence of numbers on the door panel and heard the deadbolt thunk back into its cylinder. When I pushed Mickey Wu’s front door open, it was pure adrenaline rush. Not just because of the view, which was still spectacular. Nor because the alarm immediately began to whine ominously. The rush came from the pure thrill of entering the house illegally.

  If Agents Wang and Chung were also feeling the buzz, they didn’t show it. As soon as I silenced the alarm, they calmly strode into the house with a clear sense of purpose. One might almost think they had done this kind of thing before.

  Having no sense of purpose of my own, I decided to return to the scene of the crime. “I gotta drop some friends off at the pool,” I called after them and beelined for the bathroom.

  I knew Mickey Wu would have had it cleaned up, but it still felt strange to be standing in that gleaming, lemon-scented bathroom knowing that a man had so recently been lying there, slowly decomposing in a puddle of his own blood. It also gave me a feeling of satisfaction to picture Thaddeus down on his knees mopping it up.