by Sean Black
“Yeah, I went down to see if I could speak with the kid they’d arrested, but it’s a no-go.”
That wasn’t too bad, thought Lock. A gang-appointed attorney had likely beaten them to the punch. It was one thing you could count on with criminals: they had their attorney on speed dial. In all probability they would have wanted their attorney to speak with the kid to make sure he didn’t say anything.
“Well, it was worth a shot,” said Lock. “Let me guess, he already had a lawyer?”
“No,” said Carmen. “He’s dead.”
That was what she had meant by bad news. Lock should have guessed from the way she’d said it. “They saying what happened?” he asked.
“Argument with one of his cellies.”
Lock rubbed his temple. Ty was still deep in discussion with the patrol cop. A van pulled up behind the cars: a crime-scene investigator got out and began unpacking their gear.
Arguments happened in jail. They often ended in assault, sometimes in one party dying. All it took was looking the wrong way at someone, and sometimes not even that. A person’s mere existence could be enough for someone to throw down on the paint.
It was rarer with gang members. More accurately it was rarer that they came off worst. They tended to be more predator than prey. When they were victims it was usually because they had ended up in close quarters with someone from a rival group. It was something that shouldn’t happen but did. The system was way past capacity, which made proper segregation tricky.
“Let me guess. Crip?”
The predominantly African-American Crips and Bloods gangs had an ongoing war against most of the major Hispanic gangs in Los Angeles and beyond. They vied for the same territory and drug markets. As the city’s racial demographics had shifted, so had the face of organized crime.
“That’s what I figured. But Galante asked around. The dude who stabbed him was an MS-13 OG.”
OG stood for original gangster, and was a term applied to an older gang member with rank. They didn’t necessarily have to be one of the founding members, so much as someone who had stuck around long enough to earn senior rank. The theory behind it was simple. Only the best, most durable and luckiest gang members survived long enough to earn OG status.
The kid who’d just been shanked was more the rule than the exception. Most gang members’ luck ran out long before their thirtieth birthday. In the crime trade, forty was a venerable age, the equivalent of a seventy-year-old still going strong in a regular profession.
Lock reflected on the news. “So, they really didn’t want him talking.”
“Or,” said Carmen, “he messed up.”
“Using the bank cards?” suggested Lock.
“Could be that, or something else. Maybe they didn’t like the fact he went out to steal some cars and came back with two bodies.”
One thing was for sure. Pony wasn’t about to provide any answers as to what had sealed his fate. Not to Carmen. Not to Lock. Not to anyone.
His death gave Lock no measure of satisfaction. Looking around the block from where he stood, Lock figured that growing up there made a kid’s journey into a gang if not inevitable then certainly likely. Some people, like Ty, could escape their circumstances, but it took a lot more determination than most kids possessed not to be sucked into a gang.
“What about Orzana? Any word?”
Lock had kept Carmen and Galante up to speed with his and Ty’s visit to the chop shop and his offer to Orzana. “Nada,” said Lock. “But I wasn’t expecting to hear anything this fast.”
Ty had wrapped up his conversation with the patrol and had moved down the block to talk with some residents, at least one of whom, a teen mom with a kid in a stroller and one in her arms, seemed to be getting unusually chatty. Ty could offer something in return for information that the cops couldn’t. Something that pretty much anyone could understand. Cold, hard cash.
Carmen didn’t say anything to that. There wasn’t much to say. Finally, she said, “You think they’ll be okay?”
“You mean are we going to get them back safe?”
“Yeah, that, and . . .”
Lock knew immediately what she was asking. Carmen had herself been abducted and held captive. Not so long ago. The ordeal didn’t end when you were rescued or freed. In some ways that was merely the end of the first stage. Carmen, with Lock’s support, was still talking to a therapist about the experience and its aftermath. No doubt that was why she was so eager to see this case resolved. A crime always hit closer to home when you had also been a victim.
“I think the first job is to get them back to their family. We can work on the rest from there.”
Ty opened the passenger door and got in.
“Anything?” said Lock.
“Yeah, but I don’t know what the hell to think about it.”
“Run it past me.”
Ty took a deep breath and exhaled slowly.
“This must be good,” said Lock.
“Don’t know if good’s the right word,” said Ty, flattening two huge hands on the dashboard. “Lady I spoke with saw something.”
Lock waited for him to continue.
“She was walking past when she heard the two gunshots from inside.”
So far that was nothing earth-shattering. It tallied with the information the LAPD had been willing to share: one male homicide vic with what looked like two gunshot wounds.
“Then she saw someone come out.”
That had to be the perp. But Ty’s delivery told Lock there was some kind of twist in the tale here.
“She get a good look?”
“She did, but that wasn’t all.”
Ty paused for dramatic effect. He lived for stuff like this.
“You going to tell me what it was or am I going to die of old age?”
“He had the girl with him. Y’know, the third perp from the kidnap. Lady says her street name is Princess.”
“Good work,” said Lock. They’d share the information with the LAPD, but not now and not here where people might see them. It was never a good idea to look like you were too close to those who many people in a neighborhood like this regarded as the enemy. “And the shooter?”
“Late forties, early fifties, five ten, five eleven, two hundred pounds. No tats that she could see. Cat was wearing a suit and tie.”
So far, so predictable, thought Lock. The age alone suggested a professional or at a minimum someone who was trusted to take on such a task. Add in the way he was dressed and that supported the likelihood he was a pro. Run-of-the-mill gunmen didn’t show up to work in a suit and tie.
“But that’s not the best part,” said Ty. “The dude wasn’t Latino. He was Asian.”
38
As the Audi sped up the on-ramp onto the 5, Lock called Li Yeng. He didn’t pick up. That suited Lock. For what he needed, it was better that he left him a message.
“This is Lock. There have been one or two fresh developments. I don’t believe it would be the best idea to discuss them over the phone. We need to meet as soon as you’re available.”
Lock wasn’t lying exactly. He just wasn’t being entirely truthful. He could have let Li know what was going on with a phone call, or in a voice message. But he wanted to be looking at his face when he told him about the sudden appearance of a well-dressed Asian man dragging a female gang member out of a house where her buddy had just been capped.
“What you think?” Ty asked.
Lock’s eyes narrowed as a rare patch of Los Angeles cloud cleared to reveal a blinding shaft of sunlight. “I think we could be sharing this investigation with someone else, and I don’t like it.”
“I feel you,” said Ty.
When the client was this wealthy it wasn’t unheard of for them to hire several private organizations or operatives. Lock had no objection. After all, he had already sub-contracted part of the investigation to Carl Galante. However, etiquette dictated that all parties were made aware of the others. Not only was it good manners, it p
revented anyone stepping on anyone else’s toes.
This, however, went a little beyond that. Lock rarely shared investigations with someone who was willing to perform executions in cold blood, regardless of how much the victim needed to take a bullet.
At the same time, it was important they didn’t jump to conclusions, even if there was only a single obvious conclusion to reach.
Lock’s cellphone rang. It was Li. His message had done the job.
“Li,” said Lock. “Thanks for returning my call.”
“Of course. You said you had some news. It’s good, I hope.”
“I do have news, but it would be better if we sat down face to face.”
There was hesitation at Li’s end. It might not mean anything. But if he had hired someone else, and he’d heard what had just happened, it might be that he wanted to avoid an awkward face-to-face with Lock.
“I’m a little pressed for time.Mr. Yan is about to land at Van Nuys and I’m here to meet him.”
Ty, who was listening on speaker, shot Lock a thumbs-up.
“That’s perfect,” said Lock. “We can meet you there. We can give him a full briefing in person as to where we are.”
Before Li could argue, Lock continued, “We’ll see you there in thirty.”
It was moments like this that justified the extra money he had spent on this particular vehicle. He pressed down on the gas pedal, and it surged forward.
Li Yeng climbed the steps of his boss’s factory-new Gulfstream G650ER. A steward greeted him at the door, and led him back to where Emily’s father, Chow Yan, was sitting at a conference table in the middle of a call. Chow Yan gestured for him to take a seat opposite, and abruptly wrapped up the call.
He stared at Li across the polished walnut table, a custom addition to an aircraft that had already cost over sixty million dollars. Li could feel a storm coming. There was nothing in the world more precious to his boss than his daughter, and to a slightly lesser degree his nephew, Charlie. His journey here was evidence of that. Chow Yan hated being out of his country. He only ever traveled when it was absolutely necessary, and never, in all the time Li had known him, took vacations.
Like many of China’s business elite and newly wealthy, Chow Yan was ever fearful of what he would return to if he left his empire. China wasn’t like America. The business climate was subject to the whim of the Party, and so was everyone who operated in it. The political sands were constantly shifting, and only unwavering vigilance allowed people like him to remain standing.
Li looked down as Chow stared across the table at him. The obvious question, the only question, sat between them, unanswered: How could Li have allowed something like this to happen?
It was a question to which Li had given a lot of thought. On the one hand it was a seemingly random crime that couldn’t have been anticipated. Crimes of that nature didn’t happen in places like Arcadia. On the other, if Charlie had stayed at home, and not gone out flaunting his wealth in such an obvious way, he would never have come to the attention of the kidnappers.
Li could have been stricter. He should have told Charlie to curb his partying, and perhaps, as he knew Emily had suggested, employ a less obvious display of riches than a Lamborghini. But it was doubtful that Charlie would have listened. And, if Li had pressed the point, he might have complained to his mother, who in turn would have complained to the man now glaring at him from across the table.
No. If anyone, apart from the criminals themselves, bore responsibility for this, it was Chow Yan’s nephew. But how could he say that? Charlie was family, and Li was an employee. Worse still, it would look like he was trying to shift the blame.
After much consideration, he decided there was only one path he could take. It wasn’t just the most honorable, it was the only path that might possibly allow him to retain some measure of respect in the eyes of the man who had been his mentor.
Li folded his hands in his lap and looked up. “This is my fault. I accept complete responsibility for what has happened. It was my job to look after them, and I failed.”
Chow Yan said nothing. Li hadn’t expected he would. All that mattered was that Li had accepted whatever blame there was to accept. The idea that a man like Chow Yan would tell Li that he was wrong, and that it wasn’t his fault, or that he would try to make him feel better was absurd. Even if he knew the role Charlie had played in his own misfortune, he wouldn’t acknowledge that to someone outside the family, and certainly not to someone who worked for him.
“What do we do?” Chow Yan asked. No emotional outburst. No long speech. Just this.
The question lifted Li’s spirits. It was the best he could have hoped for. It meant that, regardless of what Chow Yan thought of recent events, he still trusted Li to offer a solution.
Li had also thought about this. He tried to approach it like any other problem: analytically, and without emotion. Shortly after the American, Lock, had called him, Li had learned what had happened at the house where Emily and Charlie had been held captive. The LAPD had informed him that an Asian suspect had been seen fleeing the scene, and asked whether he knew anything about who it might have been. He had told them what he planned to tell Lock. He was as baffled as they were.
“Nothing,” said Li. “We do nothing.”
Chow Yan shifted in his seat. “And how will that help my daughter?”
Li took a deep breath and told him. Chow Yan listened to him in silence.
Over the years, Lock had discovered that the power of asking a question lay in the person’s reaction as much as their answer or lack of one. You might not be able to tell if someone was lying, but you sure as hell could gauge their discomfort.
Lock pulled up the Audi beside Chow Yan’s Gulfstream. He and Ty got out.
Li Yeng rushed down the aircraft steps toward them. He was clearly flustered. “Unfortunately Mr. Yan doesn’t have time to speak with you,” he said, before Lock had the opportunity to open his mouth.
“Sure he does,” said Lock. “Ty, could you grab the briefcase from the trunk?” Ty opened the Audi’s trunk and took out the briefcase full of cash that Li had given Lock. He handed it to Lock. “Thanks.”
They started for the stairs.
Li moved in front of him. “He’s busy.”
“Don’t worry, this won’t take long,” said Lock, side-stepping him.
Rushing to catch up, and prevent Lock stepping onto the aircraft, Li found Ty looming over him. “What’s the problem, brother?” Ty asked him. “You worried we’re going to tell him something you don’t want him to know?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Well, then, chill out,” said Ty, clapping a hand on Li’s shoulder.
Li trailed Ty up the stairs and into the aircraft where Lock was making a beeline for Chow Yan. Li squeezed hastily past Ty to catch up with Lock. By the time he did, Lock had his hand out in greeting.
“Mr. Yan, I’m Ryan Lock. This is my business partner, Tyrone Johnson. I’m sorry we’ve had to meet under such trying circumstances.”
Chow Yan shook Lock’s hand, but looked past him to Li as if to say, Why am I dealing with the hired help when I pay you to do that?
Lock decided to deal head-on with any question of propriety. “Because of the personal nature of your daughter’s abduction, I thought you might appreciate an in-person update.”
“I’ll have to translate,” said Li, his hand resting on Lock’s elbow.
Lock turned his head. “I just watched an interview at Business Insider. Your boss’s English seemed more than passable to me.”
Li shot daggers at him. Lock gave him nothing back. This wasn’t a time for respecting people’s feelings or any kind of corporate pecking order.
He turned his attention back to Chow Yan. “Your daughter and your nephew are in the hands of some very dangerous individuals. I want to get them home safe as quickly as possible.”
“So do I, Mr. Lock. So do I,” said Chow Yan, motioning for everyone to take a seat. Ty sat
across the aisle, his long legs still an obstacle to comfort, even on a private plane. Lock and Li were opposite Mr. Yan.
Lock didn’t speak. He allowed the silence to build.
Li started to speak to his boss in Mandarin, no doubt apologizing for the intrusion, but Chow Yan abruptly cut him off.
Mr. Yan’s chin fell to his chest. He looked exhausted. There were dark circles under his bloodshot eyes. “Mr. Lock, there is nothing more precious to me in this world than my daughter and, of course, my nephew.” He waved a hand at the plush interior of the jet. “I would give up all of this to have her back with me.”
Lock believed him. “Then allow us to do our job unhindered,” he said.
Li blanched as Chow Yan stared at him, then returned his gaze to Lock. “You’ve been obstructed in some way?” said Chow Yan.
“Not directly, no,” said Lock. “But one development has made us question whether we’re being kept entirely in the loop.”
“In the loop?” Chow Yan queried.
“Not being fully informed. Can I be blunt?” said Lock.
“Please do.”
“Do you have someone else helping you find your daughter?”
Chow Yan’s gaze darted to Li. A tell that was as good as a spoken yes in Lock’s book.
“What would make you think that?” asked Li.
Ty leaned across the aisle. “Because there was an Asian dude seen taking one of the gang members out of a house where Emily and Charlie had been held.”
“Middle-aged, suit and tie, some kind of enforcer by the sound of it,” added Lock. “It’s an entirely Hispanic neighborhood, which was why we wondered if he might have had some connection to you.”
“So does he?” said Ty.
“No, he doesn’t,” said Li, pointedly. “I didn’t know anything about some Asian man being at that house until you just told me. Never mind him taking someone.”
