I put down my teacup. “Of course, sir.”
Mr. Wang cleared his throat.
“My wife and I are blessed with five children. My first four children are girls. They are all very well educated, two doctors, a lawyer, and a dentist. My youngest is a boy. He is a double major at the University of San Francisco. He is an engineering and architecture student. He will graduate in six months with a double master’s degree.” Mr. Wang allowed himself a small smile of paternal pride.
“All of my children know what I am and what I do. All of my daughters have married powerful men and started their own families. Some of these young men are integral parts of my business ventures, some are not.”
He took a moment and cleaned his glasses.
“My son Kuai will have nothing to do with my business. He intends to do public works, designing buildings, hospitals, and public housing. He rejects all of my business dealings. This is perfectly all right with me; my business life is not a life I would hope for my children. He has made this very clear to his mother and to me. Again, Mr. O’Farrell, this is a very delicate situation.”
He swallowed hard.
“I have been informed that my son is dating a Caucasian girl at the university. I know that you may think that I insist that he marry within his race. This is very true, but that is not my problem. I have been hearing stories that this young girl may be interested in my son for reason of monetary gain, and not of matters of the heart. I have heard she was or is married, and perhaps she has worked as a prostitute in her past. I do not know for sure.”
I could tell that this whole business was eating Mr. Wang up inside. He rubbed his stomach like he had acid indigestion.
“As you can imagine, I can’t start looking into this matter without my son finding out. Plus my two assistants lack the social charms to extract information without bodily harm to others. Likewise, I cannot imagine them following this girl without being noticed. Jimmy tells me you are an excellent investigator and discreet. Please look into this matter for me, Mr. O’Farrell. All I ask is that you ensure that my son or his young lady friend never find out about this. If she has ulterior motives, my wife and I need to know so we can deal with it.”
I tossed out a question.
“What if she is a gold-digger? What will you and Mrs. Wang do?”
Jimmy squirmed in his chair, as if I’d asked the wrong question.
Mr. Wang smiled.
“That is a fair question, Mr. O’Farrell. If this young woman is simply looking for money, we will give her what she wants and make her go away.”
Mr. Wang sat at his desk and crossed his arms.
“This young woman is not a competitor of mine. I will not deal with her harshly. You have my word on that, Mr. O’Farrell.”
Mr. Wang stood. “I must prepare for my luncheon. Mrs. Wang is woman not to be kept waiting. Again, thank you for coming and I wish you good luck.” We shook hands, and off he went through the side door.
Jimmy went to the booze cart and poured a couple of drinks. He handed me a glass of scotch. It was very good scotch.
We took a slug of our booze. “Nice leather chair behind that big desk, Jimmy. See yourself in it someday?”
Jimmy smiled. “The last three gees who thought they could take over the Wang Empire are missing and presumed dead. I don’t plan to join them, I’ll simply wait for the Wang’s to retire, thank you very much.” He paused. “Mr. Wang doesn’t talk money, Sean. What do you get?”
“Fifty bucks a day, plus expenses.” I said.
“Mr. Wang will pay two hundred and fifty a day, plus expenses.”
“For the love of Mike, Jimmy,” I said.
“I know, Sean, it’s a lot of dough, but don’t squawk. I told Mr. Wang you are the best. It makes him feel better that he is getting the best by paying the best.”
“Just so we are clear, Jimmy, if there is any crime business in this, I will walk and walk fast.”
Jimmy held up his hand like a traffic cop telling me to stop.
“Sean, take my word, the old man is aboveboard on this one. This is personal for him and his wife. If it were business he would use his own people.”
I took a swallow of the scotch.
“All right, Jimmy, I’m in. But if the dame is clean, I won’t paint her any other way.”
“Don’t worry, Sean. Mrs. Wang is in full and complete control of this operation, and that includes Mr. Wang. They are both off for some charity event, but she came in here not to remind him, she came in here because she wanted to get a look at you and approve of his choice. That’s what the nod was for.”
“Well, I’ll be damned,” I said.
Jimmy’s face got very hard and his voice lowered a little.
“Don’t kid yourself, Sean, about Mrs. Wang. A couple of months ago at some Chinatown charity event, some local guy from the neighborhood had too much to drink and made a pass at Mrs. Wang. He said some pretty disgusting things to her. It was vulgar. He said he wanted to put his penis in her mouth. He put his hand on her ass.”
“Jesus, Jimmy, you can’t blame any guy, she’s a looker.”
“Sean, they found the guy in an alley with his hand cut off and his dick in his mouth.”
“So what you are telling me, Jimmy, is don’t cross Mr. Wang. It could be very unhealthy.”
“Think again, Sean. Mrs. Wang had it done.”
“I get it. So tell me, Jimmy, you ever had your hand on the vivacious Mrs. Wang’s ass?” I said.
“I like my hands and my dick right where they are,” Jimmy said. “No thanks, Sean.”
CHAPTER THREE
Jimmy gave me three pictures of the son, Kuai, and a couple more of the girlfriend. Dorothy was her name. He also loaded me up with Kuai’s apartment address, phone number, class schedule, and the places where he studies. He spent a lot of time at the main branch of the library on Larkin Street. I thought my school schedule was packed, but this boy was just plain goofy. I found the kid coming out of his first class and followed him all day. He took classes from eight in the morning until five in the late afternoon. A double load. He crammed in a fifteen-minute lunch and a fifteen-minute dinner on the run before he hightailed it to the library. He met the girl there. They studied together, how romantic. At nine thirty they shut the place down and caught a cable car up to Hyde Street and his apartment. She stayed for thirty minutes or so, then he walked her to her place over on Chestnut. He went straight back home and the lights stayed on at his place till one. Man, this kid was bing. No one could keep up this kind of schedule. If she was a chippy, I don’t know where they were finding the time.
After two days of this nonsense I decided he wasn’t going to alter his schedule at all, and if he did it would be on the weekend. I might learn something on Saturday morning.
So I gave it a rest on Thursday and went to the library on Friday, to see if the kid was on schedule. Like clockwork, the kid showed up at 5:30 p.m. on the dot. The girl arrived at six and they went to a large table in the reference section. Some skinny kid showed up and asked for help with math homework and the kid was generous with his time. From a distance I could tell the kid was a good teacher, patient, and thoughtful.
I was reading a book when I noticed the kid looking over at me. I never made eye contact. It was time for me to move away so the kid couldn’t notice me again.
I was reading a collection of short stories by Mark Twain. Great stuff, but I needed to check it out and bring it with me if I was going to finish it.
A mean-looking broad was manning the checkout desk. She was about sixty, but looked about eighty. She had frazzled gray hair on top of a pruney puss. When I was in the Navy, I had a chief petty officer that worked for me who looked like he could pull a battleship out of the water and on to a dry dock all by himself. He killed and ate junior officers for lunch. You didn’t talk to that bird unles
s you had to. This must have been his wife.
A little kid of about seven was ahead of me in the line. He slipped the book and library card onto the desk. The little old lady shuffled through a card index and held up a yellow card.
“You have a fine on file for five cents. You can’t check out any books until you pay your fines.” She kind of spit it out at the poor kid and she had a wicked smile.
The poor kid was quaking in his shoes.
“I’m sorry, I’ll pay the fine, but I need this book for a school assignment and I really need to check this out,” he said.
The old lady showed no mercy.
“What makes you so special, young man? Do you think we can grant special fee waivers to everyone? You need to go home and tell your mother—”
I butted in before the witch could throw the poor lad into a boiling cauldron and slapped a nickel on the counter.
“And just who are you?” she said.
“I’m a guy with a nickel. Cut the kid a break. He needs the book for school.”
You could see the wheels turning in her head; she was reviewing her librarian’s playbook trying to figure how to work this one.
“Are you his father?” she said.
“No.”.
“Well, you can’t pay his fines, then.” She was pleased with herself.
I took the nickel off the counter and handed it to the boy.
“Here you go, young man. Here is a nickel, and you do anything you want with it,” I said.
Now it was the kid’s turn to think. After a moment of deep contemplation he delicately placed the nickel on the counter.
“I do believe I have a library fine to pay,” he said.
Apparently the old lady didn’t have this covered in her list of rules. She looked at the kid, then gave me a dirty look, picked up the nickel, pressed the five-cent key on the cash register and slammed it down. She gave me a dirty look as she checked the book out to him. He grabbed it, told her thank you and skedaddled. He called over his shoulder, “Thanks a lot, mister.”
Now it was my turn. The old lady took off her glasses and put her flat hand under her hair and lifted it slightly. She smiled at me, and it was creepy.
“Hey you know something, handsome. You’re pretty good-looking.”
“Well, that makes one of us,” I said.
It took a moment for the insult to sink in. She reached under the counter and slammed a POSITION CLOSED sign with an arrow pointing at the next station. She got on her broom and stormed off.
The next station had seven people in it. Nice going, O’Farrell. You’re a real charmer, pal.
I lit a Lucky and started reading in line. It took ten minutes to reach the counter. When I got there the librarian stuck a jumbo-sized amber ashtray under my beak.
“Mr. Carnegie doesn’t like it in the library,” she said.
I snuffed the butt and got a good look at this librarian. She was a knockout. She was in her early thirties and tall, maybe five nine or ten. When you are six feet two, you don’t meet many women that are tall. She had red hair pulled tight into a bun and the prettiest green eyes hiding behind large framed tortoise-shell glasses. She was wearing a paisley dress with a lace collar, kind of plain, subduing her figure a little bit, but you could tell there was plenty of motor under the hood. She had long, elegant fingers, covered with shiny red fingernail polish.
She also had an absolute necessity for old Sean O’Farrell: she didn’t have a wedding ring, or a line on her ring finger to indicate there had been one there before.
I slid her the book and she gave me ever so slight a smile.
“I was wondering if you got the new Hemingway book yet?” I said.
She brightened up.
“For Whom the Bell Tolls. I’ve read the reviews, but it doesn’t hit the bookstores until next week. We should have it in about two weeks. Would you like to add your name to the reserve list?” Now she gave me a real smile.
“Yes please,” I said.
I was starting to wonder if she was wearing red anywhere besides her nails. She wrote down my information on a card and again on a piece of paper.
“So what does a librarian like you do when you are not checking out books?” I felt like an idiot the moment I said it. A pimple-faced freshman could be smoother than that. Come on, O’Farrell, get in the game.
The mood was instantly destroyed. The wicked witch of the west returned from her break and came right over.
“You still here, bub?” She turned to the pretty librarian. “Don’t take any grief from this creep. Give him his book and move him along.”
The redhead drummed her fingers on a large open dictionary. The smile was long gone.
“Here is the information you requested. Sir.”
She slammed the dictionary shut and slid the book, library card and paper to me. She lowered her head and was back to work. I told her thank you. “Good evening, sir,” she curtly replied.
I went down the steps, lit up a butt, and went over to a bench at the far end of the pavilion. I was far enough away from the front entrance of the library that when the kid and the girl came out I could pick up the tail and they wouldn’t notice.
There I was sitting on the bench, feeling sorry for myself. It was long time since I flirted with a young lady. Apparently it went over like a lead balloon. Real smooth, O’Farrell, nice and clumsy. That redhead did everything but push you down the stairs. I really was out of practice.
It was a beautiful evening, the just-beginning sunset golden and orange, and casting warm and refreshing rays. The air was fresh with a breeze from the sea.
I returned my attention to Mr. Twain and the short story called “The First Lie I Told and How I Got Out of It.” It seemed like appropriate material for the private eye or a lawyer to know.
There was a slip of paper in the book. It had a reference number for the waiting list for Hemingway’s new book. But in the corner in very neat writing was her name. Kaitlin O’Doherty. And a phone number, and a note: Call me later.
Well, not too clumsy after all. I was in love.
CHAPTER FOUR
I was bored out of my mind. The two lovebirds went to the library on Saturday and Sunday, from opening to closing. The only break they took was going outside to eat sandwiches. All this high-flying living was starting to get to me.
Since I was living at the library, I was on the lookout for Kaitlin O’Doherty. But apparently she had the weekend off. I called her twice. No answer. I left it at that. I didn’t want to seem too eager.
On Monday, I followed Dorothy from class to class for about two hours. There was no doubt about it that she was on her schedule and likely to remain so. I decided to pick up the tail after classes later this afternoon, and headed to my office.
The Russell Building is a swell place for an office. It’s not all that fancy, but it is functional. It was built of steel and marble after the big earthquake. Only twelve floors, but expansive, taking up the entire block. I also had a great view of Union Square and the rent was right. More importantly, the building was teeming with law firms. It was like being the in-house gumshoe for nine firms. The lobby was tall and grand. Marble tile and pillars soared up forty feet. There were four elevators and a pair of bathrooms.
On the left side of the middle of the lobby was a niche with a custom newsie and coffee stand. Marty Durrant was the owner and operator. Old Marty was three days older than dirt. He spent thirty years on the San Francisco police force before he was injured in the line. He took a round in his left leg that damaged the knee and compromised the thigh muscle. Marty walks with a limp and on damp, rainy days he uses a cane. He spent a few years on the Chinatown beat and knows who all the players are.
With bathrooms in the lobby and Marty’s top-drawer tonsil varnish, there was always a steady cop presence. The cops loved Marty and he enjoyed bein
g kept in the loop. Once a cop, always a cop. He had newspapers, magazines, pulps, gum, butts, and of course coffee, pretty good Joe too. Behind the counter Marty kept a side-by-side Greener shotgun. It was the old-fashioned kind with two triggers. It was like a portable cannon. Not that he would ever need it. It just made the old bird feel protected, I guess.
To top it all off, Marty had a part-time job: busting my chops. I, of course, returned the favor.
“Deck of Luckies, Mike,” I said.
“You know something, O’Farrell? You are tooting the wrong ringer, gumshoe,” Marty said.
He tossed a deck of Camels on the counter.
“Hey, I asked for Luckies.” I tried to act offended.
Marty tapped his fingers on the glass display case.
“You’re something of a sleuth, O’Farrell. When you start getting my name right, I might start getting the butts right.”
“Okay, Marty, can I please have a deck of Luckies, please!”
Marty gave me a phony condescending smile. “There, that didn’t hurt coming out your mush, did it, O’Farrell?”
Marty slid the smokes across the glass counter. He flipped me a pack of matches to go with it and with his large paw, he collected the Camels and the dime off the counter.
“So what’s shaking, Sean?”
I lit a butt. “I got a case in Chinatown for a big wheel named Wang.”
Marty straightened right up.
“Jesus Christ, Sean, you watch yourself. The Wang’s are meaner than any junkyard dog you will run into. Any story that may have heard about the Wang’s, no matter how mythical it may sound, chances are it’s true.”
“Come on, Marty. They can’t be all that bad.”
Marty refilled his coffee cup and looked around the lobby, like he was making sure no one was listening in.
“Back in ’09, they found that one of their people was feeding dope to the cops. The inspector that was handling the case went to meet his contact in the Tenderloin district, outside of Chinatown. The contact didn’t make the meeting. The dick went home; his wife and kids were asleep in the house. When he opened the garage the informant was hanging upside down with tongue cut out. A little calling card and reminder to all in Chinatown what happens when you start talking.”
The Halfway to Hell Club Page 2
