by Dave Daren
“I knew this was too easy,” the judge remarked. “All right, Bertoch, what is it now?”
“We’re requesting a restraining order against Mr. Creed, Your Honor.”
“That’s ridiculous!” I protested.
“Mr. Creed followed an ArDex employee just a few nights ago,” Bertoch continued. “He then had an angry confrontation with that employee in a restaurant and threatened said employee. He has also trespassed on ArDex property, including property at the Port of Los Angeles. We are requesting that Mr. Creed be banned from ArDex property and that he be asked to stay a safe distance from all ArDex employees.”
“Your Honor--” I began.
“Is this true?” the judge interrupted.
“I might have run into counsel the other night,” I admitted.
“And the trespass?” the judge pressed.
“I was investigating property that my client owns,” I offered.
“Mr. Creed,” the judge began before Bertoch could say anything else. “I appreciate the zeal you have for representing your client, but that doesn’t give you free rein to do whatever you want.”
“Your Honor, in order to conduct this case, I will need to interview ArDex employees, and I’ll need to be able to see the ledgers that are kept on ArDex property,” I replied. I tried to keep my voice firm, but I knew that I had walked into a trap. Now I just needed to find a way out.
“You will at that,” the judge agreed. “So here’s the deal. You may only meet with ArDex employees at an agreed on date and time for any deposition. Opposing counsel will be present. Any other encounters are strictly off-limits, which should go without saying, but here we are. Same rules for ArDex property. Now, any other business?”
“No, Your Honor,” we both intoned.
“Good,” the judge replied. “Now, get out so I can take care of the next matter.”
I gathered my few belongings and hastened from the courtroom. Bertoch’s last motion still burned, and it was only made worse by the knowledge that I had brought this on myself. Once outside the building, I stopped to gather my thoughts and rein in my anger. I saw the gaggle of Ramsey attorneys stroll across the plaza, Bertoch in the lead. A small part of me wanted to pick up some of the small pebbles that were scattered about and toss them at the group. Instead, I took a deep breath and turned my attention to the pigeons that sat by the fountain.
The phone rang, and for a moment, I thought I would simply ignore it. But caller ID revealed it was Sofia, so I took a seat on the edge of the fountain.
“Sofia,” I said. “I hope you have good news.”
“Uh-oh,” she replied. “What happened?”
“The judge is allowing the case to go forward,” I said. “And he agreed to two months of discovery.”
“And?” she prompted.
“And I basically just got reprimanded for confronting Kurzak,” I sighed. “I officially have to stay away from any ArDex employees and ArDex property except for pre-arranged, attorney-approved meetings.”
“Ouch,” Sofia agreed. “That really hurts.”
“Well,” I said as I brightened. “I have to stay away. No mention of anyone else.”
“I’m not going back to the docks,” Sofia laughed. “I think they’ll remember me.”
“I don’t doubt it,” I snorted. “So, what do you have to report?”
“A few things,” she said. “I have translations for you, as well as information on that house. What would you like first?”
“Start with the translations,” I replied.
“So, those boxes in the shipping containers,” she replied. “The labels on the boxes basically all say the same thing, baby wipes.”
“We guessed that was the legitimate shipment,” I mused.
“Second translation,” she continued. “Kurzak’s angry guest. The short version is that he demands to know if you’re that pesky attorney. He then spends several minutes asking Kurzak why the problem hasn’t been dealt with yet, when was Kurzak going to deal with the problem, and finally, he threatens to deal with the problem personally if Kurzak doesn’t.”
“I’m guessing I’m the problem,” I said.
“You and Anna,” Sofia replied. “You’re both mentioned.”
“Damn,” I muttered though I had suspected as much.
“As for the house,” Sofia stated. “The listed owner is a REIT.”
“Ummm,” I mumbled as I tried to remember anything about REIT. “Real estate investment trust?”
“Right,” Sofia agreed. “Basically, they’re supposed to act like mutual funds for real estate instead of stocks or bonds.”
“Supposed to,” I repeated.
“Guess who runs this trust?”
“I don’t suppose it was someone using the name Mizuchi?” I asked hopefully.
“Sorry, no,” Sofia sighed. “But it tracks back to a holding company that is part of the Mizuchi’s baby empire.”
“Ahhh!”
“The holding company manages several investments, mostly trust funds,” she added. “But here’s the curious thing. I was able to find some of the trust documents, and they all have the same beneficiaries.”
“Do tell,” I said.
“Keiko and Masao Daigo,” she replied triumphantly.
“Who?” I asked, genuinely puzzled. I picked through my memory of every name I’d encountered in this case to date, but I couldn’t remember anyone by the name of Daigo.
“It took some digging,” Sofia continued, and I could just imagine the proud look she had on her face as she said this, “But I finally tracked them down. It’s Asaki’s sister and brother-in-law.”
I felt as if all the air had just rushed from my lungs. We’d had no luck finding anything else on the daughter, and the wife had been a ghost. We’d given up on trying to track the Mizuchi through family ties and now this had just fallen into our laps.
“Wow,” was all I managed to say.
“So I decided to take a closer look at the sister and her husband,” Sofia mentioned.
“Please, enlighten me,” I begged, in my best ham actor voice.
“Most of what I found comes from about a nine-month stretch back when Keiko and Masao were first married,” Sofia warned me. “The wedding was a big production, apparently, with Asaki footing the bill. Masao’s family was old-time wealthy, and apparently could trace their lineage back to some famous shogun or such. He met Keiko at college, and it was love at first sight. His family didn’t like her at first, but somehow she won them over.”
“I wonder if her brother had a hand in that,” I pondered.
“Maybe,” she replied. “Keiko told one of the local reporters that the comfort she provided to Masao’s parents after one of their grandchildren was injured in a boating accident is what helped sway things in her favor.”
I let out a whistle.
“It was quite a grand affair,” Sofia continued. “It seems like it went on for days. Once they were married, the couple disappeared from the public eye. That is, until there was an incident involving some yakuza and a teenage girl.”
“I don’t like where this is heading,” I murmured.
“It’s as bad as you think,” she sighed. “The girl was heading home from school when witnesses say a group of young men surrounded her and started harassing her. She ran away, and the men just stood on the corner where they’d encountered her and laughed. Everybody figured that was the end of it until the girl turned up dead the next day. She’d been raped and beaten. Her parents claimed that the same group of thugs had been stopping her for months, making suggestions about how much fun they could have together. Witnesses to the encounter said the same thing.”
“Let me guess,” I said. “The men were members of Mizuchi’s yakuza.”
“Yep,” Sofia agreed. “But the girl’s family wasn’t from Sapporo and wasn’t at all interested in protecting the yakuza. Her father worked for the Ministry of Foreign Affairs.”
“An outsider with power,” I re
marked. “The yakuza’s worst nightmare.”
“Exactly,” Sofia replied. “The national police force became involved. People began coming forward and telling stories about their own encounters with the same young men. They were all arrested and charged with murder.”
“So how do the sister and husband fit into this?” I asked.
“One of the local reporters did a series of interviews,” Sofia explained. “You know, interviews with local politicians and business leaders, describing how terrible the yakuza were and vowing to do what was necessary to get rid of them. This same reporter convinced Masao to do an interview. He took that opportunity to diss the Mizuchi and the yakuza. He accused them of being street thugs, and said that Japan needed to return to its core values if it wanted to end the tyranny of, and I quote, ‘these dumb oxen’.”
“Brave man,” I said in appreciation. Just from my few encounters with that same gang, I could imagine the price for such a speech would be painful. “He’s still alive?”
“Yes,” she replied, “But only just. Not long after that article appeared, Masao became very ill. Doctors couldn’t diagnose it, and the family was convinced he was doomed.”
“So they found the right diagnosis?”
“I don’t know,” she said plaintively. “What I do know is that a few months later, Masao issued an apology, basically retracting all the terrible things he’d said about the yakuza. And then, suddenly, he was fine again. Keiko and Masao left Japan shortly after that and took up residence here in California.”
“In a home paid for by Asaki,” I finished.
“So, boss, did I do good?” Sofia asked with a laugh.
“You did great,” I assured her. “In fact, you did so great, that I’ll even stop on my way back to the office and pick up some of those lemon tarts you like so much.”
“You spoil me!” she declared.
“And you love it,” I replied.
Maybe the day wasn’t so terrible after all. I still had a case, I had an interesting new lead to pursue, and Sofia in a good mood was worth the long drive back to Van Nuys.
Chapter 14
The dangerous thing about my new digs was how well I slept. I’d finally figured out the alarm clock, but so far, I’d managed to sleep through the first five minutes of its insistent beeping every morning. I’d even managed to sleep through my upstairs neighbor’s amorous adventure one night, which he’d at first felt compelled to apologize for when we’d met in the elevator the next morning, and then described it in excruciating detail.
So I surprised myself when I jerked awake to the sound of my cell phone ringing in the middle of the night. I was buried under the covers, and the only thing I managed to free was my right arm. I almost knocked the lamp over before I grabbed the offending device from the charger.
“S’up?” I mumbled into the phone.
“Vince,” a woman’s panicky voice cried out. I managed to pull myself into a sitting position.
“Anna?” I asked. I’d never heard her hit such a high octave, but everything else about it was pure Anna.
“Please,” she begged. “You have to help me.”
“Where are you?” I was out of the bed now and blindly pulling clothes from the closet.
“I’m driving,” she replied. “Just driving.”
“What happened?” I demanded.
“There were two men,” she said, her voice slowly creeping up another octave. “In the house. Heath woke me up.”
“Anna,” I called gently, even though what I wanted to do was shout at the top of my lungs. “Take a deep breath and then slow down. Tell me everything, from the beginning.”
“Okay,” she replied, and I heard her draw a deep breath and then another. “Okay, I can talk.”
“What happened?” I asked more calmly.
“Heath woke me up,” she began. “He jumped onto the bed and landed square on my stomach. When I tried to push him off, he yowled at me and then ran under the bed. I got out of the bed to check on him when I heard the floorboards creak in the hall. I grabbed that weird little statue Denice has in her room. You know the one?”
“The gargoyle,” I replied. Anna had shown it to me. She couldn’t decide if the thing was supposed to make her feel safer or if it was supposed to terrify her. We’d both agreed that it was an ugly little brute.
“So I went to the door,” Anna continued. “When it opened, I waited until the person stepped into the room, and then I swung that thing with every bit of strength I had.”
“Good girl,” I cheered.
“I’m pretty sure I clocked him in the head,” she replied, a bit of glee slipping in now. “He started cursing, so I ran past him. I ran to the kitchen to get the car keys, thinking I would just jump in the car and drive away. I could hear the man was right behind me, so I just threw the back door open and ran outside. I ran right into a second man.”
“Anna,” I breathed.
“He was startled, too,” she said. “Or I might not have gotten away. I jammed the keys into where I figured his eye sockets were and then kneed him in the groin. He went down, hard.”
“Anna,” I repeated.
“I made it to the car,” she continued, “And I nearly ran over one of them as I was backing out. I’ve just been driving around, wondering what to do.”
“Where are you?” I asked again.
“I’m not sure,” Anna said after another deep breath. This one sounded less shaky.
“Do you know where Roscoe’s is, on Pico Boulevard?” I prodded. It was the only place I could come up with that would still be open this late and that had its own parking lot.
“By the comedy club?” she replied.
“Yes, that’s it. Can you make it there?”
“I think so,” she said. She was calmer now. “Yes, okay. I can just get on I-10.”
“All right,” I said. “Go stand inside when you get there. It should still be busy at this time of night. I’ll meet you there.”
“Thank you,” she whispered before hanging up.
I threw on whatever I had managed to dislodge from the closet shelf, a pair of gym shorts and an old hoodie that had slowly faded from a bright gold to a wispy yellow, it turned out. I grabbed my phone, my keys, and my wallet and ran for the elevator. I know the elevator moved at the same speed it always did, but that night it felt like it had stalled between floors and refused to go anywhere else. The only evidence I had that I was even approaching the lobby was the panel that counted down each floor as we went by.
I flew through the lobby and out the door. Theo had returned my Honda earlier in the day, and I had never been so happy to see it as I was that night. Don’t get me wrong, the DeVille could be fun, but my Honda could move in and out of city traffic and make tight turns in a way the Caddy never would. And don’t even ask me about the gas bill.
Traffic wasn’t heavy, but I still dodged a few poky drivers along the way. I might have slipped a few red lights as well. As I predicted, Roscoe’s was still busy, serving up chicken and waffles to late-shift workers, party-goers, night owls, and the usual crew that prowls the city while the rest of us are asleep. I parked the car out front and ran inside. The place was busy, but not so packed that I couldn’t scan the crowd.
Anna wasn’t there.
I stepped back outside and peered down the street. No sign of the Explorer, so I ran around back to the parking lot. It was well-lit, and a few stragglers were hanging out, swapping a few more laughs. I spotted the SUV about half-way down, awkwardly parked. I ran to the driver’s side window and tapped on the glass.
I heard a muffled cry, and then the door opened and Anna peered out at me from large, tear-filled eyes.
“I’m sorry,” she apologized in a voice raw from crying, “I couldn’t bear the idea of going inside.”
“It’s okay,” I said. “I found you.”
She fell out of the SUV then, and I pulled her against my body. She clung to me, her fists balled around the fabric of my shirt, f
ace pressed against my chest. I heard her heave a great hiccuping sigh, and I wrapped my arms around her. I buried my face in her hair, just taking in her scent and thanking whatever deities were out there for keeping her alive and safe tonight.
“Stay with me tonight,” I whispered. “It’s a secure building, and I don’t think anyone’s figured out that I’m there.”
I felt her nod against my shirt. I stepped back and lifted her face so I could see her eyes. They looked huge in this light, and endlessly deep. There was a gentle strength there that I wanted to dive into.
“You did great,” I reassured her.
“I should call the police,” she said quietly.
“We can do that from the apartment,” I replied. “First, let’s get you out of here.”
She nodded again, and I led her back out front to the car. I saw a smile ghost across her lips when we stopped by my car.
“Back to going incognito?” she asked.
“Something like that,” I laughed quietly.
I held the passenger door for her while she slipped inside, then ran around to the driver’s side. I pulled into traffic and pointed the car towards home. Anna was quiet. I glanced at her as we made our way along Pico, but she was absorbed in her own world.
“I left the door open,” she finally said as I shifted lanes to avoid an elderly woman in a Buick Roadmaster doing twenty in the left lane.
“What door?” I asked, confused. I thought we’d locked the SUV before we’d left, but maybe we hadn’t.
“The door to the house,” she replied. “I ran out of there so fast.”
“We’ll check in the morning,” I assured her.
“I hope Heath is okay,” she sighed.
I checked the rearview mirror again and noticed that a small Toyota that had pulled out right behind us was still there. Normally, I probably wouldn’t have paid much attention to it, but tonight I was on edge.
“Let’s go for a little drive,” I suggested.
Anna looked over at me and then out the back window.
“Which one?” she asked. There was a tired edge to her voice now.
