by Dave Daren
“Go get ‘em,” she urged as she signed the paperwork.
“I will,” I promised.
“I just got off the phone with the coroner in Pismo Beach,” she said with a sigh. “I’ll be heading up there in a bit.”
“I would have made the call,” I protested.
“It’s okay,” she replied. “You have other things to deal with. I can at least handle this.”
“I’ll call you later,” I promised. She gave me a half-smile, and I darted back to the car.
I made it to the courthouse area in good time but parking the DeVille turned into more of an adventure. The guy at the first place I tried insisted he didn’t have a spot large enough even though I could clearly see several monster SUV’s in the lot. The guy at the next lot wanted to charge me an extra dollar an hour. I finally found a place that was little more than an empty dirt lot surrounded by a chain-link fence.
Two women, one probably in her forties, the other in her eighties, were ensconced in a pair of beach chairs near the gate. A sun-faded patio umbrella provided them with plenty of shade and the cooler strategically placed between the chairs served double duty as a table.
“Well, will you look at that,” the older woman said as I pulled in. “Haven’t seen anything like that in years.”
The younger woman sauntered over and gave me a wink. “Let me guess, no spots big enough, no spots left, extra because of the size?”
I nodded. Clearly this was a regular problem with the other lots.
“Eight bucks an hour,” she said as she wrote down the plate number and the time on a pad. “Park anywhere.”
Court was busy that day, but in fairness Superior Court is busy every day. It’s the perfect example of hurry up and wait. It was nearly lunchtime, and I was certain that I would have to return in the afternoon when the clerk called my name.
“Here,” I called out.
The judge glanced at me. He reminded me of a bespectacled Morgan Freeman minus the beard and mustache.
“This isn’t kindergarten, Mr. Creed,” the judge replied. “You’re requesting a TRO?”
“Yes, Your Honor,” I answered. Another one of those little nuggets from my old professor. Keep your answers to the judge simple unless he asks for more.
The judge read through the affidavit and brief I had filed with the motion. He made a harrumph when he reached the end.
“So if I understand this, you want to prevent… Tucker Watts from assuming the chairmanship of this company,” the judge said.
“Yes, Your Honor.”
“You also want to invalidate the sale of the stock,” he continued.
“Yes, Your Honor.”
“I don’t see any reason to halt the sale,” the judge said. “Mr. Bernardi is an adult. He can sell the stock to whomever he wants.”
“We believe he may have been acting under duress,” I explained.
“Yes, I saw that. But mysterious phone calls and strange men who disappear before the police arrive aren’t much in the way of proof,” the judge complained. “Your client may not like the way things have played out, but I don’t see any basis for granting this.”
“Your Honor, we’re preparing a complaint against Mr. Watt and the other members of the board. All we’re asking is a temporary halt be granted until the full matter can be heard. Without the TRO, my client and the company will be damaged.”
“That’s all well and good, Mr. Creed,” the judge sighed. “But what exactly are we talking about here?”
“The company has been used by the board for illegal activities tied to the Japanese Yakuza,” I explained. “We intend to prove that but we need to protect the company right now, especially given the sudden death of Leo Bernardi and the threats made against Anna Bernardi.”
I held my breath as the judge scanned through Anna’s statement again.
“This is a shipping company?” he asked.
“It is, Your Honor.”
“Most of this seems speculative,” he reiterated.
“I assure you, Your Honor, that these attacks aren’t speculative.”
“Don’t get smart-assed with me,” the judge warned as he looked up from the paperwork again. “Tell me about your nose.”
“A man with a Yakuza tattoo was watching my office,” I replied. “I told him to leave.”
The judge slowly tapped his pen against the bench, but his eyes never left my face. I stood still under his scrutiny and hoped he wouldn’t ask for more details. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the clerk surreptitiously point to his wrist.
“You’re in luck, Mr. Creed,” the judge sighed. “It’s lunch time, and I’ve still got a full load to get through. You’ve got seventy-two hours. Get your complaint and motion for an injunction in by then or the election and sale stand.”
“Thank you, Your Honor,” I said as calmly as I could manage.
“All rise,” the bailiff called out. The courtroom crowd had barely made it to their feet before the judge disappeared through the door. I was moving just as fast, though I might have thrown a few elbows along the way. Outside in the fresh air, I dialed the office number.
“Sofia,” I said before she had a chance to start her spiel.
“How did it go?” she asked.
“We have the TRO.”
“Fantastic!” she exclaimed.
“Anything on those companies yet?” I asked. “The judge will want to see some sort of connection to the yakuza.”
“Not yet,” she said. “It’s slow going since a lot of this is in Japanese.”
“All right. Take a break,” I suggested. “I have something else you can work on. Watts claimed last night that Leo had already sold his shares. There must be a contract somewhere.”
“You need a copy,” Sofia guessed.
“Yes, and I’d rather not wait around for discovery,” I agreed. “Anna’s connection in the company has been a woman named Fatima Batista. She may be willing to help us since we’re working for Anna.”
“I’ll look into it,” Sofia replied.
“There’s one other project I need your help with,” I sighed.
“Ooh, this sounds serious,” Sofia laughed.
“I’ll need you to provide a diversion,” I admitted. “I want to take a look at the shipping containers that are coming in from Japan.”
“Ah, I think I can manage something,” Sofia purred. “Just tell me where and when.”
“Let me check with Anna and find out which ArDex ships are in port and where, then I’ll text you the gate number.”
“I’ll need to use the DeVille,” Sofia replied, though it sounded like she was talking more to herself than to me.
“Um, sure,” I agreed.
I called Anna next. She had confirmed the body at the beach was Leo and then she’d spent nearly an hour with the local detective. He was still treating Leo’s death as a suicide though no one could explain what he was doing in Pismo Beach.
“Well, we have the TRO,” I told her.
“At last, something went right,” she replied, and I could hear the exhaustion in her voice.
“I want to take a look at some of the trailers but not in any official capacity,” I continued. “Can you tell me which piers ArDex is using at the moment?”
“Can I put you on hold?” she asked. “I can check with the harbormaster. The Bernardi name should still work on him.”
“Go ahead,” I replied. I heard the click as she switched lines followed by the hiss of dead air. I walked aimlessly for a few minutes, then wasted time listening to a man and woman argue about which Wahlberg brother was in which boy band.
“I’m back,” Anna announced. “ArDex has two ships in right now, the Osprey and the Polar Star. They’re docked at berths 121 and 124 so not too far from the main gate.”
“Thanks, Anna. I’ll call you later with an update.”
I made my second call to Sofia and passed along the information from Anna. We decided to meet in the parking lot of the nearby big
box store at 3:30. I had just enough time to get back to the apartment and put on something more appropriate for skulking around the docks.
I arrived at our meeting spot five minutes early and saw Sofia’s car was already there. I pulled up in the next row and Sofia stepped out of her car. She walked over to the Caddy with a wide grin.
“It suits you,” she said.
“Why does everyone keep telling me that?” I demanded as I emerged from my ride.
“Relax. You get to drive my car home tonight,” she said as she tossed me the keys to her car. “Now watch and learn.”
“Wait,” I said as she slid into the driver’s seat of the DeVille. “Give me a couple of minutes to find a good spot.”
“You’ve got five,” she replied.
I pocketed the keys to my third car in as many days and trotted across the parking lot and towards the gate. This gate was strictly for use by port employees so security was tight. Passes were required to get in and out and every vehicle that pulled up was recorded on camera. There was a pedestrian entrance as well and I spotted another camera trained on that one. I slipped an old baseball cap on my head and pulled the hood up on my sweatshirt. Then I just waited for Sofia’s diversion.
The diversion was hard to miss. The Caddy cruised down the street at a sedate pace, the windows rolled down, and a mariachi song blaring from the stereo. Sofia guided the car into the turn for the gate in such a way that she effectively blocked traffic in both directions. One of the gate guards came running over, frantically waving his hands at her.
He was yelling something at her, but it was hard to hear him over the music. Sofia had pulled out her cell phone and was pointing to it while she leaned out the window. She’d opened up a few more buttons on her shirt and the guard was having a hard time keeping his eyes upstairs.
A semi tried to leave the port and honked to no avail. This drew the attention of everyone in the area, including a group of stevedores in line at a taco truck across the street. The dock workers ambled over, grins plastered on their faces while they watched the unfolding drama, and munched on their tacos.
I used the slowly gathering crowd to move closer to the pedestrian entrance. I tried to keep out of the direct line of the camera as I sidled along and made sure to keep my face turned away. The pedestrian entrance required a pass as well, but I managed to slip in when a second security guard darted outside to help his compadre.
I moved quickly and kept to the shadows as much as possible. I had a pretty good idea of where I was going, but I still had to stop and check my Google map app. Apparently, the Port of Los Angeles was not big on signage.
I was about to give up on the map and throw myself on the mercy of the next human I encountered when I found the section I wanted. The closest ArDex ship to my position was the Polar Star but I could see the Osprey as well. There was only one crane operator working the Polar Star, so it was an easy first choice to begin snooping.
The trailers from the Polar Star were all identical: dark blue and with the same small Japanese characters painted in one upper corner. There was nothing in English, and no obvious numbering system. There wasn’t even a wisp of spray paint from a daring graffiti artist. I took a picture of the writing and decided to risk a look inside one of the trailers.
The crane operator was near the stern of the ship now, so I picked a trailer at random and tugged at the handle. The door popped open easily. No locks, no alarms, just a slight scraping sound from the frame.
The interior was packed from floor to ceiling with plain brown boxes, and like the trailer itself, there were the same few symbols on each box, but no other identifying marks. I was tempted to open one of the boxes, but they were packed so tightly that it would be a struggle just to pull one lose. I snapped a picture, then closed the trailer.
A random check on a few more trailers revealed the same brown boxes with the same writing. I took a few more pictures, then decided that it was time to move on. I hoped the Osprey might prove more interesting.
The Osprey was certainly more active than the Polar Star. There was a crane unloading trailers here as well, but there was also a fleet of trucks already on the pier, poised to make their next haul.
Even more curious, the trucks were all from the same company. This was definitely worthy of a snap or two, and I slipped behind an old forklift to get my shot. I should have left as soon as I had a decent picture, but I hung around instead, and waited for a chance to investigate one of the trailers.
I got overconfident. Between the noise from the truck engines, the laughter from the gathered drivers, and the rumble from the trailers as they were dropped onto the dock, I was convinced I could remain unnoticed. I even risked stepping away from the forklift a couple of times just to get a better view. When no one noticed me, it only fed into the illusion.
What I didn’t see was that one of the truckers had stepped away from his rig to light up a cigarette. He saw me skulking behind the forklift while I was still watching the trailers being unloaded.
“Hey,” he called out, “Who the hell are you?”
“Just calling my girlfriend,” I said. I held up my phone as if to prove that I was indeed talking to a girlfriend.
“Well, beat it, kid,” the man warned me. “They don’t like unauthorized people hanging around.”
I gave him a quick salute and started to walk away. I’d almost made it when I heard a different voice yell, “Stop!” with a distinctly Japanese accent.
Keep walking, I told myself. Just pretend you didn’t hear him. I could hear at least two people running after me now.
Damn.
I ducked behind a row of rusty trailers and turned to face the men who were following me. I still hoped I could convince them that I was just there to use my phone in private.
And then I saw that one of the men was the same guy I’d already had it out with at my office. Judging by the nasty grin on his face, he recognized me as well.
“Mr. Lawyer Man,” my familiar foe drawled.
“You have me at a disadvantage,” I replied as we both dropped into our stances. “I don’t know your name.”
Tattoo man’s partner was standing behind him, looking somewhat baffled. He had a bulge under his jacket which looked suspiciously like a gun, but he hadn’t reached for it yet. He seemed to be waiting for instructions from my nemesis.
Tattoo man shot forward, using a series of short kicks and jabs to keep me off-balance. I took two steps back, judging his reach. I definitely had the advantage in that regard, but the man was incredibly quick. He darted in and out, and each time he moved in he would land a quick blow, before dodging back and out of my reach. I felt like I was fighting a swarm of bees.
Tattoo man’s partner uttered something in Japanese, but Tattoo man was focused entirely on me. We continued our dance while our third wheel stood and watched. I finally landed a half-way decent right hook and Tattoo man stepped away.
Both men were staring at me now, and I felt like a mouse that had stumbled into a rattlesnake’s hole. I wasn’t certain I could defeat Tattoo man, and I still had no idea what his partner could do. And there was that gun.
It was time to dump my pride and save my skin. I made a feint towards my right and Tattoo man responded as I expected. The man with the gun started to reach towards his waistband, so as I moved back towards the center, I kicked out. Someone swore, and then I was launching myself onto Gun man’s back. I pushed off and leapt towards the closest trailer.
I managed to grab the top edge of the trailer with my fingertips but the slick paneling along the side threatened to put an end to my escape attempt. I scrabbled for a toe-hold and found the edge of a seam. With a quick prayer, I curled my legs and pushed again. I vaulted to the top of the trailer and looked around. A few of the other workers were looking in our direction, and I could see at least two people on their phones.
I heard a thud and turned in time to see Tattoo man appear at the other end of the trailer. He gave me a wicked grin,
and I sorely hoped his partner wasn’t as nimble.
The partner yelled something in Japanese, and I risked a glance over the edge of the trailer. He had his gun out now and he pointed it at me. I ducked as the sound of gunfire filled the air.
I took off using my momentum to bounce between the stacks of trailers. Tattoo man was hot on my heels, while his partner followed our race from the ground. We closed in on one of the smaller cranes, and I launched myself at the boom as it slowly swung away from me.
I nearly missed it but I managed to fling my arm out and grab a crossbar. The rest of my body crashed into the crane, and I nearly lost my grip as my lungs suddenly refused to draw in air.
The crane shuddered to a halt and I realized someone was yelling. I looked down and saw the crane operator leaning out of his cab. Meanwhile, Tattoo man had stopped at the edge of the last stack and was eyeing the distance between us. His partner skidded around a corner and ran towards the crane. It was now or never if I was going to make it out of here.
I climbed towards the top of the crane, even as the operator started to lower it. The crane suddenly halted again and I glanced down. Gun man had arrived at the crane and was waving his weapon at the operator. Tattoo man shouted something in Japanese, and his partner started yelling at the operator. The crane started towards tattoo man.
I wasn’t as close as I had hoped, but I had to risk it. I made a twisting dive towards the ship and somehow managed to nail a near-perfect tuck and roll onto the deck. I sprinted towards the gangway I’d seen from the air, surprising a deckhand lounging by the railing.
Tattoo man had left his position at the top of the trailers when he saw me take the leap, and he was closing in on the gangway even as I hit solid ground. It was a foot race now, and Tattoo man had the advantage. My ears picked up the sound of an old Sex Pistols song, and I spotted a flatbed truck heading towards the exit. I changed direction, sprinting as hard as I could towards my new target.
The truck was slowly picking up speed, the driver still oblivious to the three men now running along behind him. An old shed was just ahead, and I used the last of my strength to hit the wall and then throw myself into the back of the truck. I landed on a pile of plastic bottles, all neatly bagged and tagged for the recycling center. There was another thud, and I looked up to see Tattoo man had made the jump as well. He was grinning again, and my stomach fluttered. I scrambled to my feet as he stood up and moved into position.
