by Sean Black
Charlie grabbed the hood and tried again to pull it up. “Can you see a catch in there to open it?”
“No.”
“Can you at least look?” he said.
Pony leaned over in the passenger seat and tapped Joker’s elbow. “Check it out, ese.”
Joker looked across to what had caught Pony’s attention. On the opposite side of the freeway a white Lamborghini was pulled over. Some young Chinese dude was stood next to it, his piece sitting in front.
Joker slowed the beat-up Dodge pickup they were driving.
“Nice whip,” said Joker.
“Maybe they need some help,” said Pony.
Joker knew what he meant. He just wasn’t sure it was a good idea. They could take the car, that wasn’t an issue—it would be like taking candy from a baby—but would they be able to get it back home to East Los Angeles without being stopped?
The pickup they were in, with the lawnmower and gardening tools thrown in back, had been their secret weapon since they’d started working Arcadia. Any time they were stopped they just pulled the no habla English, Officer routine and made out they were driving home from a day doing yard work. So far it had worked like a charm.
Why mess up a good thing? thought Joker, the older of the two by three years.
“What’s the matter?” said Pony. “It’s right there. I don’t see no cops.”
“You not forgetting something?” said Joker.
“What’s that?”
“The dude’s broken down, dummy. How are we going to get it moving?”
“We could tow it.”
“You serious?”
“Not all the way back. Take it somewhere off the road. Throw an old tarp over it. Come back later and get it,” said Pony.
That was why Joker liked working with Pony. He was crazy, like you had to be in Mara Salvatrucha, but he was crazy smart too.
Joker slowed and spun the wheel. The Dodge turned, bumping over the median, crossed two lanes and headed for the broken-down Lamborghini.
Emily Yan shielded her eyes from the glare of the truck’s headlights as it drove the wrong way down the breakdown lane, and stopped in front of them. Charlie was so dumb. He couldn’t even call a proper tow truck. He was lucky he was born rich. If he’d been born poor, he would have starved to death.
Charlie sprang back at the truck’s approach. He popped the door and climbed in. He was in a panic, but Emily didn’t pick up on it.
“These are the guys you called?” Emily said to him, as two young-looking Hispanic guys got out of the truck’s cab. They looked more like gangbangers than mechanics. Not that she’d seen many of either group, apart from on TV.
“I didn’t call them. I haven’t called anyone yet,” said Charlie, leaning over her and flipping open the glove box.
Emily’s heart rate jumped. The two guys were strolling toward them. They looked relaxed but the way they walked carried menace. “Then who are they?”
The two young men were almost level with them. One had stepped to Charlie’s side of the Lamborghini, and the other was closing in on Emily. They should have at least put the top up, but it was too late for that.
“Nice whip,” said one, running a finger down the bodywork. “Real smooth.”
“This your chica?” said the other, his eyes all over Emily.
That was when she saw Charlie pull the gun from the glove box. It was big and black and frightening. She’d had no idea it was even there, and he’d never mentioned having a gun.
Now he had it in his hand, and was pointing it up and out at the guy closest to him. The guy seemed more than amused than anything. He smiled and put his hands up, like he was in a low-budget gangster movie. “Easy there. We just wanted to see if you needed some help.”
“We don’t need your help, thanks,” said Charlie.
He didn’t seem nervous any more. Emily put it down to the gun. Charlie wasn’t much of a fighter, and he definitely wasn’t a tough guy, like her father or his friends. Charlie was rich and soft and had always had the family’s money to get him out of trouble. Which made the gun all the more surprising.
“Okay, homie,” the guy was saying. He made a gesture to the guy who was on Emily’s side of the car.
They both started to back up.
Charlie started to get out. Emily reached over to grab him and pull him back in but he shrugged her off. “They’re leaving,” she said.
“Yeah, we’re leaving,” the guy said to Charlie.
“So hurry up and get the hell out of here, beaners,” said Charlie.
The guy’s smile fell away. His brow furrowed, his face tightened and he turned side on. The headlights caught his face. That was when Emily noticed the tattoos that ran all the way up his neck to his forehead. She couldn’t make out much. At least one was in Spanish. She picked out the number 13.
“What you say?” the guy said.
Even with the gun in his hand, Charlie seemed to sense he’d overstepped some invisible line. It was like a line he’d heard and spat out without thinking.
The guy took a step towards Charlie. His chest was puffed out, his shoulders back. He didn’t blink.
The guy on Emily’s side said, “Chota.”
That one word seemed to break the spell. The two guys walked back to their truck, got in, and turned around before taking off.
Seconds later, a wash of red lights explained their sudden departure as a California Highway Patrol police car pulled in behind them. Emily snapped the glove box open. Charlie jammed the weapon inside. Emily closed it again.
The truck was gone. The patrol car pulled around them and parked in front of the Lamborghini.
“I’ll speak to them,” Emily hissed at her cousin.
“Whatever. You see those Mexicans shit their pants?”
She rolled her eyes. The two guys had taken off because of the cops, not because of her cousin, but try telling him that. “Shut up, Charlie,” she told him. “Let me do the talking.”
Removing her make-up, Emily stared at herself in the mirror. She would have to speak with Li Yeng about Charlie. Li Yeng was her father’s . . . She wasn’t sure what his official job title would be. She guessed the English word ‘fixer’ would be close. Officially, he looked after her father’s investments, but he also kept an eye on her and Charlie.
Emily had never really gotten a read on Li Yeng. He was detached and business-like. He looked like the kind of man who got out of bed already wearing a blue Brooks Brothers pinstripe suit. She knew he was from Beijing and had studied for his MBA at Harvard. She also knew that he came from a poor family in Henan province.
What had never been explained was how he had made the transition from being the son of a poor farmer to his present position. For all the talk of Communism being about equal opportunities, China was like most countries. If you weren’t born into a family with money and connections, it was hard to make anything of yourself. Not impossible, but the odds were stacked against you.
She did know that Li Yeng had relied upon her father’s patronage. He had paid for him to study in America. But, like everything her father did, it had been an investment that Li Yeng was expected to pay back, with interest. That was why he had been charged with keeping an eye on them as well as all the real estate.
She finished removing her make-up and applying moisturizer. She glanced down at her iPhone. Messages were stacked up. Dumbass Charlie had been all over his social media about how he had scared some gangbangers. Sent them home to the barrio with their tails between their legs.
He had been going on in group chat about Chinese power, and other kinds of stupidity. Those two guys hadn’t been scared of Charlie. Not even when he had a gun pointed at them.
That was what had unsettled Emily the most. Someone pointing a loaded gun seemed like just another day at the office for them. They probably knew it wasn’t the gun so much as who had their finger on the trigger.
At least she was home now. She would get some rest, maybe skip her
first class, and start tomorrow fresh. Next time she would insist they take the Audi rather than that penis on wheels.
4
The BMW rolled slowly down the street. They had ditched the pickup and made a call. Two of their homeboys had delivered this new whip. It had been stolen the day before from long-term parking at LAX so the cops wouldn’t be looking for it just yet.
In two days’ time it would be in an auto shop being broken up. But for now it would help them prowl Arcadia without drawing the kind of attention a pickup would at this hour. Even the most eager gardening services weren’t out blowing leaves at three in the morning.
“Slow down,” said Pony. “I can’t see.”
They were scoping each driveway for the car. After the cops had arrived, Joker and Pony had watched from a safe distance as the tow-truck guy had gotten the Lamborghini started.
Usually they would have let it go. But not after the Chinese kid had pulled a strap on them. Now this whole thing was a matter of honor. Of pride. MS-13 pride.
Mata, roba, viola, controla.
Kill, steal, rape, control.
That was the Mara Salvatrucha motto.
Not run like a couple of punkass bitches because some rich kid pulled a gat.
He should have let them have his car. Instead he had played it like he was some kind of gangster.
“What’s with all the lions?” said Joker.
It was true. Lion statues stood guard outside many of the houses.
“They’re supposed to ward off bad spirits,” said Pony.
“Good luck with that,” said Joker, and they laughed.
They came to the end of the block.
“Down there,” said Pony.
Joker made the turn. Pony had a weird sense about things like this. He always had. Ever since they’d been little. It was like he had some sixth sense about stuff. It was freaky. Give him a haystack and Pony would know where the needle was.
The BMW crawled down the block. Pony hit the button to lower his window. He leaned out. “Stop,” he told Joker. He popped the door and got out. He walked up to a gate, a lion at either side, bigger than any of the neighbors had. Joker promised himself that next time they were out here with the truck, he would take a pair of these lions and put them outside his mom’s house. Maybe start a new trend in the barrio. Why not? They looked pretty cool.
Pony waved at him. He flashed their sign.
“You found it?”
“Yeah,” said Pony.
Joker threw the BMW into park, left the engine running and got out to see for himself.
There it was. Right out front of the house on the driveway. The white Lamborghini.
What an asshole, thought Joker. Not putting a car like that in the garage when you had one. It was like you were begging to get jacked.
“Mark it up,” said Joker.
Pony took a few steps back, and looked up at the house. All the lights were out, save one that burned upstairs. “We’re here now.”
Joker shook his head. That wasn’t what had been agreed. They were already pushing their luck coming back. This wasn’t like jacking up a car. A car just went where you pointed it. People weren’t like that. They had their own ideas.
If they were going to do this, they needed to do it properly. That meant they had to know exactly what they were walking into.
Plus they needed a green light from up above. You couldn’t be MS-13 and just go do stuff like this. It had to be run past a shotcaller first.
“Mark it,” said Joker.
Pony pulled the chalk from his pocket, and scrawled the sign down low so no one would notice it. He kept looking up at the house. He was still staring at it as they got back into the car and pulled away.
5
International Arrivals Hall
Los Angeles International Airport
* * *
The Red Tiger stood behind the line and waited to be called. Finally, it was his turn.
He walked forward. He handed the Customs and Border Protection officer his passport with his documents tucked inside. The officer took them without a word and began to look through his passport.
“What’s the purpose of your visit to the United States?” asked the officer.
“I’m attending a business conference.”
Before he had left, he had searched the internet for conferences in the Los Angeles area. He had found one for businesses that manufactured store displays and signs. Less than three hours later, he had a website online for such a business with his name and picture as CEO.
He had booked a hotel close to the venue in downtown Los Angeles, as well as a place at the conference. His story would check out.
“How long will you be in the United States?”
“One week.”
That was what his return ticket said. The truth was he would stay as long as it took, but a week was about as long a stay as was credible for a sign maker attending a business conference.
The officer stared at the screen in front of her. She tapped a few times at her keyboard.
The Red Tiger stood in silence.
“Okay, sir, if you could place the four fingers of your left hand on the scanner.”
The Red Tiger did as instructed.
“And now the four fingers of your right.”
Again, the Red Tiger complied.
“If you could look at this camera.”
He looked at the lens, his eyes unblinking, his expression perfectly neutral. His picture was taken.
More tapping at the keyboard. More checking of his documents. Finally, his passport was handed back to him.
“Thank you, sir.”
He nodded, walked to the escalator that would take him down to the baggage-claim area. As he stepped onto the escalator he slowly exhaled. The hard part was done. He was here.
6
Li Yeng ran his hand along the side of the Lamborghini. There was no question that it was a beautiful piece of machinery, so stunning in its form that it qualified as a work of art.
But it was not a car for a twenty-one-year-old Chinese boy with impulse-control issues and a history of making bad decisions. He would mention it to the boss. Discreetly, of course. Perhaps the boss would suggest to Charlie’s mother that something more modest would be appropriate. Not that modesty was a trait of this generation.
The house in front of him was one of a dozen he had presented to the family for purchase. It was the largest, the most expensive, and the gaudiest of the twelve. It was absurd that two young people barely out of diapers would require a seven-thousand-square-foot home with a swimming pool, spa area, and wine cellar.
Li Yeng lived in a one-bed apartment in downtown Los Angeles. It was a nice building, but it was no more and no less than he required. He was kept so busy that he was rarely there so he didn’t need frills or luxuries beyond somewhere to sleep, bathe and, on rare occasions, cook and eat.
The front door opened and Emily stepped out. She startled at the sight of him.
“I was about to knock,” he said.
“You scared me. Why do you have to creep around?”
He ignored her. One of his hard and fast rules was not to upset Emily. In a country that normally venerated sons, his boss worshipped the ground that Emily walked on. Li Yeng suspected it was because he recognized something of himself in his daughter. She was what the Americans called a tough cookie.
Yes, she liked the trappings of wealth, but she was also serious and hard-working. Her grades were excellent and she always applied herself. When the boss retired it would likely be Emily who took over the family business and interests. He could only hope that she would keep him on as the family’s trusted first lieutenant.
“How was the party last night?” he said, changing the subject.
She rolled her eyes. “So boring. You know, the same people we see back home.”
That much was true. It seemed like half the children of China’s wealthiest families were within twenty miles of Los Angeles. They
hung out together. They went to the same clubs. They dated each other. The only difference was the location.
“So nothing interesting happened?”
Emily stared at him. He always did this. Asked questions like he knew more than he did. She studied her nails. She badly needed a manicure. “Not really. Why do you ask?”
“No reason. Is Charlie awake?”
“Why don’t you go see for yourself?” she said, clicking the button to open the garage.
The door whirred open. She walked past him. He could smell her perfume, French and expensive. She was wearing heels. She was always dressed like a runway model.
Li Yeng had watched her turn from a precocious brat into this self-assured, self-contained young woman. He had found himself thinking about her when he was alone. As soon as he did, he pushed the thought away. He could never allow himself to see her in that way.
He was so blinded by all of this that he had almost forgotten why he was there. “Before you go.”
“Yes?” she said.
“I’m to remind you both to set the alarm, even when you’re inside at night.”
Suddenly he had her attention. “Why?”
“What do you mean? It’s just important. That’s all.”
She stopped and walked back to him. “Yes, but why mention it now? Has something happened?”
This was bad. The boss had warned him not to alarm her unduly but to make sure she was vigilant. He didn’t know how you did one without the other. Vigilance required some level of heightened awareness.
He had to think of something quickly. “There have been some robberies. That’s all. Nothing to worry about, but if the alarm isn’t set our insurance would be invalid.”
“Our?”
“Your,” he said, correcting himself.
“Maybe you should speak to Charlie. He’s the one who has trouble with the rules.”
“I will.”
With that, she disappeared in a cloud of Chanel and the clip-clop of red-soled shoes. He stood back and watched as she drove past him, and roared out into the street, the Audi bottoming out at the end of the steep driveway.
