“We’ll talk about it. Any calls?”
“You must be kidding. You have cases, remember? These lawyers are driving me daffy. As only lawyers are trained to do. When …”
“Tomorrow, Julie. First thing. Any non-lawyer calls?”
“There’s a Mr. Chang. He says he’s president of a bank. He seems gentlemanly. He wants to see you at your earliest convenience. His words.”
“Got it. Anything else?”
“That man who called before. Says his name is ‘George.’ He seemed nicer this time. He wants a call.”
I took down George’s number. “Good work, Julie. Will you transfer me to Mr. Devlin?”
“No. Maybe. On one condition.”
“Julie, you work for me. Will you transfer the call?”
“First hear my condition.”
“I know your condition. I promise. I’ll be in tomorrow morning. I’ll return the calls.”
“Hold for Mr. Devlin.”
I brought Mr. D. up to date on everything I’d learned from Danny and Mickey. I also slipped in the fact that we had a new client. I felt I should offer him an explanation. When we formed the law partnership of Devlin & Knight to deal in criminal defense work, we knew that some, if not most, of our clients would be guilty of something, even if not the crime charged. We were comfortable with that, since the only one in the courtroom to balance the totally damning efforts of the prosecuting attorney against our clients would be Mr. D. or me. Somewhere in the middle, justice would result more often than not.
On the other hand, we drew a line. We promised each other that we’d never take on the defense of anyone who made murder a profession. That cut us out of representing anyone associated with an organized crime gang—Italian, Irish, Russian, Albanian, or, relevant here, Chinese. I disclosed up front that Mickey Chan was a lifelong member of the tong.
Mr. D. listened while I drew a fine distinction between the usual business of the tong and Mickey’s part in the violin matter, noting that the latter involved the hauling of his junior partner’s chestnuts out of the fire on two occasions so far.
That last consideration got Mr. D. on board in short order. He passed on the word that his old pal Billy Coyne had in fact gotten a “true bill,” an indictment against Mickey for the murder of Mr. Liu. Only Mr. D. could have pulled the additional information out of his old battle-mate that Mr. Coyne was acting strictly on the orders of his politically ambitious superior, District Attorney Angela Lamb. His discomfort level with the indictment, that he personally would have to try for the prosecution, was around a nine.
I asked Mr. D. the reason for Mr. Coyne’s discomfort. His answer was a quote in two words: “Shaky witness.”
I postponed returning the call to my new Romanian friend, George, while I cleared an agenda item in Chinatown with Harry. He had misgivings, but he guided our way among the sidewalk traffic down Tyler Street, up Beach Street, and down Hudson to the Chinese Merchants Bank.
We entered the bank and met the graciously smiling loan officer. I felt the first letup of anxiety since we’d walked through the traditional Chinatown entrance arch called Paifang in China. It signifies the ancient virtues of loyalty, chastity, and filial piety. I began to think we might finally have found them in this bank, this institutional shelter from the fangs of the tong.
I asked to see the president, Mr. Chang. The usual question about an appointment seemed to be trumped by the mention of my name. That was a pass directly into Mr. Chang’s office with an invitation to sit. Tea was offered and refused in light of the fading hour of the afternoon.
“Mr. Knight, nice of you to drop in. You received my call.”
“I did.”
“If I might come to the point directly?”
“Please.”
“Our bank made a loan in the area of a million dollars. You were a party to the transaction after our delightful dinner at the China Pearl.”
“I remember it well. I was not actually a party to the loan. I was more of a delivery boy for a violin.”
“Yes. A very particular violin. A Stradivarius. That violin was, in fact, the security for our loan to Mr. Liu, as head of the Chinese Merchants Association.”
“My understanding, yes. I believe the violin was then to be loaned by the Merchant’s Association to the Boston Symphony Orchestra, to be played in concerts by Mr. Tang, the concert master.”
“Ah yes. And yet, in my conversation with Mr. Tang this morning, it seems the violin has not been turned over to the orchestra. It seems to have remained in your possession. I find that puzzling, Mr. Knight.”
I took that last as a question. My instant assumption, based more on instinct than anything more solid, was that Mr. Chang was not an arm of the tong. I seriously doubted that he was even in the circle of those who knew the real reason why three gangs were scrambling to get their mitts on the instrument. If my assumptions were true, I was on a playing field with Mr. Chang that I could work with. If not true, God help any number of us.
“Mr. Chang, I understand your concerns for the bank’s interests. Let me assure you that the violin is in perfect condition, totally secure.”
“Ah, Mr. Knight. Your assurance is comforting to the foolish insecurities of an old man. Your reputation is certainly cause for full confidence.”
“Thank you.”
“And yet, we are both men of experience in an insecure world. My understanding is that regretfully our Mr. Liu is no longer with us. The source of repayment of the loan is, shall we say, that much more uncertain. We had been content to rely for security on the value that Concert Master Tang assured us resided in that instrument.”
“Of course. And—”
“Together with, if I may continue, our confidence in its safekeeping by the Boston Symphony Orchestra. We raise no question whatever of your own integrity, Mr. Knight. You do, however, understand my position.”
The hell of it was that I did understand his position. He had approved the loan on the signature of the supposedly honorable, but no longer existent, Mr. Liu. His personal future with the bank could hang on the availability for sale of that fiddle. I knew it was safely, invisibly tucked in a South Station locker. On the other hand, if I didn’t give him something to take to his board of directors, he was truly up an undesirable creek without means of propulsion.
On the third hand, the secret of the location of that violin was my only life insurance.
I gave it a few seconds of serious mulling before splitting the difference. I was still assuming Mr. Chang’s innocent lack of knowledge of Mr. Liu’s tong involvement, a plausible possibility given the anonymity of the higher tong officers.
“Mr. Chang, I’m going to meet you halfway. If you’ll meet me in the lobby of the Parker House Hotel tomorrow morning at eleven a.m., I believe I can set your mind at rest.”
“Could you be more specific, Mr. Knight?”
“Only to this extent. You have my word that your security interest is fully intact. Tomorrow, I’ll back that up with something more concrete.”
The tentative smile on Mr. Chang’s face said that my words had not given his world the rosy glow of confidence he had hoped. “And they say, Mr. Knight, that we Chinese are inscrutable.”
I stood and extended my hand. He did the same. “I believe that if you check any source, Mr. Chang, you’ll find that my word is more concrete than any written contract.”
He bowed courteously. “I have checked, Mr. Knight. Till tomorrow morning.”
* * *
WHEN WE GOT to the sidewalk, Harry gave me a questioning “where to?” look. I made a suggestion. Harry mulled the wisdom of it for a few moments. I could sense his discomfort when he said, “Your call, Mike. Let’s go.”
We retraced our steps on Beach Street to a small grocery store close to Harrison Avenue. The Chinese symbols on the door, as well as labels on all of the boxed, bagged, and canned items on the shelves, had no English translation. It was no surprise that I was the only non-Asian in the house.
Harry led the way with a whisper over his shoulder. “Walk in here as if you know what you’re doing, Mike. Face is everything. Don’t look at the Chinese writing. You can’t read it anyway. It just makes you look as lost in here as you are. Not a good impression for bargaining.”
I whispered back, “Okay. You know what we want. You do the talking.”
“Your Chinese isn’t too fluent today?”
I gave him a slight punch in the back. He ignored it and walked directly back to an old man who was lifting a thirty-pound bag of rice into a cart for an elderly Chinese woman.
When he straightened up, Harry was beside him. Even before Harry spoke, I saw the grip of tension Harry’s presence produced in the old man’s face. He turned immediately to the curtain to the back room. Harry caught his arm and said something in a low tone in Chinese. The man seemed frozen. Harry kept speaking in that quiet way of his.
I had no idea what he was saying, but it ended in what sounded like a question. The old man slowly nodded in the affirmative. Harry released his arm. Harry reached back and pulled me by the elbow to stand close to the old man. Harry’s next Chinese sentence ended with “Mr. Knight.” The old man bowed stiffly. Harry said to me the words, “Luk Tan.”
I took it as an introduction, bowed and repeated the name with a “Mister” in front of it. The old man’s hands began to quiver. His face expressed either fear or pain. Perhaps both.
Harry continued in Chinese. His tone was soft, but the fear in Mr. Tan’s eyes just seemed to deepen. At one point, he shook his head. Chinese words came out in a stream, punctuated by more negative head-shakes.
I started to speak, but Harry squeezed my arm. I took the cue and clammed up. The old man became more effusive. My best guess was that he was pleading. When he finished, Harry looked back at me with a defeated look. “Let’s go, Mike.” Harry bowed respectfully and led me back out to the street.
On the way out, I became aware of the presence of four Chinese boys in the aisles, probably in their late teens. Their eyes never left us. I needed no coaxing from Harry to take an orderly but direct path to the outside world. We took a left on Beach Street and cut a direct path in the direction of the parking lot. Not feeling on particularly friendly ground, I set a brisk pace. Harry pulled me back. “Slowly, Mike. Don’t lose face.”
I whispered, “It’s not my face I’m worried about. It’s the rest of my body.”
“Slow down, Mike. Think about it. We were on their turf. They own everyone in that grocery store. If they wanted to take us apart, they’d have done it there.”
“Why didn’t they?”
“That’s what worries me. Actually, more than you and me having to take them on in a hand-to-hand. There were some powerful influences holding them back.”
“Such as?”
“I don’t know. The tong? Something higher?”
“You mean a triad? Hong Kong?”
“I don’t know. I’ve been out of this world too long.”
“So what did we get out of this? What did the old man say?”
“I told him we came to see his wife.”
“And?”
“You saw him. He’s terrified.”
“What about his wife?”
Harry looked over at me. “She’s gone. She just disappeared. He said she went with a lawyer to some courthouse yesterday morning. She had to testify about something she saw. She never came back. They made it clear he was not to go to the police.”
“Who are ‘they’? Did he say the tong?”
“One thing you should know, Mike. These people never say the word, ‘tong.’ Never.”
“What do they call them?”
“They don’t. They just go on with life no matter what the tong does to them.”
I walked the last block to the car wondering how far we’d advanced the ball, if at all. We shook hands. Harry said, “Call me if you need me. And you will need me before this thing plays out.”
I watched my faithful friend walk down the block. About halfway down, he turned around. He yelled back. “We could have, you know.”
“We could have what?”
“Taken on all four of those punks, hand-to-hand.”
That brought a smile. “You think? Professor Wong? You get into many four-on-two brawls at MIT?” I had to smile. “I admire your self-concept.”
“Piece of cake. They’d be no match for the wrestling champions of Harvard Kirkland House.”
I said to myself, “Of ten years ago.” The words that came out were just, “Good night, Harry.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
I OWED A return call to my Romanian acquaintance, George. First, I indulged in a luxurious fifteen minutes on the phone with Terry in New Hampshire. It was an injection of pure love and confidence into an otherwise shaky day. I assured her that Piper was enjoying something of a vacation with Julie and that I was cruising at the best speed I could muster to a safe reunion for the three of us. Details about my Chinese and Russian interplay would only have broken our euphoric lift.
My next call was to George. He seemed pleased, if not surprised, that I got back to him. “Michael, you lead a charmed existence. You walk between two of the most vicious gangs that pollute the earth like a mouse between two feral cats. And yet you press on with admirable equanimity. How do you manage it?”
“Remember the song, ‘With a Little Help from My Friends?’”
“I do indeed.” His tone changed. “And yet, it’s a dangerous game.”
“Really? I hadn’t noticed.”
“Hah! You keep your sense of humor. May I be blunt? Your friends can’t be everywhere. You wear a brave face, but life is what it is. At any moment, a sniper’s bullet, a knife. I’m serious. There is very little reality to back up your admirable bravado.”
And thus, in an instant, the juice of euphoria from my call with Terry was drained to the dregs.
“Thank you for the cold shower, George. And do you have a solution? I’m wide open to suggestions here.”
“Yes. I like you. I’d prefer that you go on living.”
“Two minds with but a single thought.”
“Then I have another thought. If that violin fell into the wrong hands and led either of those two scourges to the treasure, the disaster for your country would be immeasurable. It would be even worse for my Romania.”
“I know. You’ve mentioned that. So where does that leave us? You and me?”
“I need to see that violin. Remember, over the centuries it’s moved from Odessa through dealers in Guangzhou and Hong Kong, and somehow from there to Mr. Oresciu in Romania. There are a lot of gaps. I need to be sure we’re talking about the same violin the ship’s doctor wrote about. Otherwise it’s a dead end.”
“It’s a consideration.”
“Then also consider this. You’re the only one who can produce it. And your life is, as we agree, tenuous.”
“Total honesty here, George. Suppose I were to let you see it. Could you tell for sure that this was the one in the ship doctor’s journal?”
In a whisper. “Yes.”
“How?”
Silence.
“Two-way street, George. How?”
“If I tell you, and you fall into the hands of either mob, they would compel you to disclose it. No question. Their methods are beyond anyone’s resistance. It would bring them one serious step closer to the treasure.”
“Then we seem to be at an impasse.”
“Not necessarily. Shall we bargain, as friends?”
“I’m listening.”
“The first step is clear. On whatever terms you like, I need to see the violin.”
I knew I had to move the situation off dead center. He gave me a few moments to solidify a decision.
“I’ll go this far. I have an appointment to show the violin to a Mr. Chang tomorrow morning. I believe he has no part in the tong. His career is on the line. He’s the president of the bank that loaned the million dollars to pay the prior owner for the violin thr
ough Mr. Oresciu in Romania. That violin is the bank’s only security.”
I could feel the tension in his voice rise.
“When and where?”
“Tomorrow, eleven a.m. The Parker House on School Street, opposite old City Hall. We’re going to meet in the lobby. If you’re there …”
I could hear his breath rate increase. “How will you handle it?”
“I know the assistant manager. She’ll have a private room for us.”
“I’ll be there. I could provide security.”
“No. Just you. All alone. One more thing, and there is no flexibility here. I’ll show it to you, but I keep possession of the violin until this whole calamity is set to rest. Understood?”
“I could provide a safer—”
“No. Here’s another condition. If you don’t want to tell me how you’ll know, you will at least agree to confirm to me that the violin is, or is not, the one. I have the same doubts.”
“I promise an honest answer.”
“Give me one more truthful answer. If you see the violin, can you interpret the code? Will you know how to find the treasure?”
“No. Not yet. And that’s the truth. But we’re one step closer. The rest depends on you, Michael.”
“Meaning what?”
“The only one I know who can lead us to the deciphering of the code is Mr. Oresciu, the violin maker in Tesila.”
“If he can decipher it, why didn’t he do it when he had the violin in his shop?”
“I didn’t say he could decipher it. He can lead us to someone who can. I have this from his own words.”
“Did he mean the prior owner?”
“Unlikely, or the treasure would have been turned up long ago. He didn’t say who.”
I took a minute to think through the next step.
“Then suppose I show you the violin, perhaps even let you take all the pictures you want—this is just supposing. Why would you need anything further from me? You can get the rest from him.”
The conclusion I hoped to jump to was that George could then go on a treasure hunt. Of the three contestants, I was favoring his side anyway. I could turn the violin over to Mr. Chang to secure his bank’s loan. I’d somehow get the word to the tong and the Russians that the thing that had them pouncing on me was out of my hands permanently. Terry and Piper could come home, and we’d all live happily ever after.
High Stakes Page 12
