by Alan Cook
The room that appeared before us when the door was opened to Pat's knock was more luxurious than I had anticipated, with expensive antique furniture. In fact, it must be a suite because there was no bed in evidence and I doubted that the Beverly Hills Hotel used hide-a-beds.
I gathered that the man who answered the door was not Pat's uncle from the way he bowed to Pat. He led us through a doorway into another room, still with no bed but with a desk and a telephone.
The man who sat at the desk was small and gray, including the suit he wore, and distinguished looking. He rose and hugged Pat and then shook my hand when Pat introduced us.
"I am very pleased to meet you, Mr. Patterson," he said, formally, in a low, rumbling voice. "I am glad you came. I wanted to personally thank you for helping Pat to get his feet back on the ground."
"I didn't do much," I protested. "Many other people helped as well. And if Pat didn't have the drive to improve his life, nothing any of us could have done would have helped."
"Nevertheless, you and the others in your organization succeeded where I and Pat's parents couldn't."
I saw pain in his eyes and I suspected it was difficult for him to admit this. I said, "Mr. Wong, Pat is a fine young man and you will be proud of him." I hoped it was true.
Mr. Wong led us back into the first room where we sat in overstuffed chairs and his assistant brought us tea, which we sipped in small cups. Then he brought us a plate of fortune cookies.
Mr. Wong smiled and said, "We ordered takeout from a Chinese restaurant and these cookies came with it. Let us see what the fates have in store for us."
He took one of the cookies, broke it open and extracted the fortune. He read, "'You will never lack for money.' That is reassuring. Although I would rather have serenity. Pat, what is your fortune?"
Pat read, "Your journey begins with a single step."
"That is appropriate," Mr. Wong said. "Mr. Patterson?"
I was hoping for a good stock tip, but what I read was, "A crisis is an opportunity blowing on a dangerous wind."
Nobody spoke for a few seconds. Then Mr. Wong said, "Perhaps this is a good time to tell you why I really asked you to come here. I wish to speak about Ned Mackay." He paused, took a sip of tea and said, "I believe Pat told you my belief that Mr. Mackay was not a drug dealer, but was killed by some person or persons who also placed cocaine in his rental car."
I nodded.
"I wanted to help you because you helped Pat, so I conducted a small investigation," he continued. "The results have confirmed that my suspicions are true."
I waited for Mr. Wong to say more, but he sipped his tea and looked off into space. "Do you know who killed Ned?" I asked.
"It is probably not relevant who did the actual killing because they were undoubtedly hired by somebody else. But I think they are members of a local gang."
I must have looked surprised, because he said, "Oh, yes, there is a gang in Chinatown, just as there are almost everywhere else. They would do something like that, for money."
"And plant the drugs?"
"Many gang members are drug dealers. The person who hired them must have paid for the drugs."
I looked at Pat. He said, "Uncle knows more about this than I do. I wasn't a gang member."
"He was a good boy," Mr. Wong said.
"Can you give me the names of the people you talked to?" I asked Mr. Wong.
He shook his head. "They will not talk to the police. They will not talk to you, either. And it could be bad for both of us if I gave you their names."
That sounded final. I was preparing my exit words when Mr. Wong spoke again. "I have another piece of information for you. In my inquiries I found an old friend of Mr. Mackay's. Mr. Mackay gave this person a gun some time ago to keep for her own protection. On the night he was murdered, Mr. Mackay came to her house and borrowed the gun. He said he would return it later in the evening."
"Can you tell me who this person is?" I asked.
"She wishes to remain anonymous. She cannot contribute anything beyond what I have just told you."
"Is...this person Chinese?"
Mr. Wong nodded.
"But if Ned wasn't involved in drugs, why did he need a gun?"
"I can't tell you that.”
Perhaps seeing the look of disappointment on my face, he continued, "I want to reassure you that Mr. Mackay was not a drug dealer. This should be comforting to Mr. Mackay's family and friends. I know it is not a completely satisfactory conclusion to his murder, but I suggest that you do not pursue this further."
"And not try to find the murderer?"
"Yes."
Mr. Wong was right about one thing. It wasn't satisfactory. I tried once more. "Do you have any idea who is behind Ned's murder?"
Mr. Wong looked at me for a while and then said, slowly, "A fortune cookie can make danger sound romantic, but it isn't."
Chapter 18 T206 WAGNER
Palos Verdes is Spanish for green trees. The name is ironic because if you look at pictures taken 80 or 100 years ago the hill is completely barren. There are no trees in sight. The land was once used for cattle ranching and more recently for growing grain, vegetables and flowers. Some sheep grazed on the hillsides.
The trees were planted by "settlers" who built homes here starting in the 1920s. Perhaps a case of people improving the environment, not ruining it. Thoughts like these sometimes occurred to me as I ran along the tree-lined streets in the mornings, but this morning they were more concerned with the future of Dionysus.
Would Elma side with Buchanan or my father? Why did Ned want to fool Buchanan into thinking that he was losing a lot of money? Who killed Ned? Why did he need a gun if he wasn't a drug dealer? Who was the mysterious Chinese lady? I was still pondering these questions later as I worked on my baseball card business.
While I was checking eBay auctions other than my own on the Internet I came across the Honus Wagner card again. The bidding for it had reached $350,000. That sounded low if the card was in good condition. I rechecked the pictures of the front and the back of the card. I looked at some of the favorable comments other bidders had made about the seller. His credentials were impeccable and he stated the card was in near-mint condition. He was probably selling it for somebody else, but his reputation was still on the line.
Unless there were some sandbaggers waiting to pounce, I suspected that the card could be stolen for under $400,000. On impulse, I found James Buchanan's business card and called his office in San Francisco.
A man answered the phone. I gave my name and said I'd like to speak to James Buchanan. He asked what it was regarding. I said it was in regard to a baseball card. He said to hold on. I held, thinking that he would come back on the line and brush me off.
Instead, I heard a familiar voice. "Good morning, Karl, I'm glad you called. I saw you at Ned's funeral yesterday and I was thinking about you."
"I saw your limo." I wanted to ask him about the woman who was with him, but I couldn't think of a smooth way to do it.
"Sorry I couldn't stay around and chat, but I had some business meetings to attend. But back to you. How would you like to come to work for me?"
My planned speech evaporated. I stuttered something about being happy where I was, and then realized this was absurd because I was nowhere. I finally had wit enough to ask him why he wanted me to work for him.
"I like your style, Karl. I checked out your website. Anybody who knows as much about baseball cards as you do must have something on the ball, so to speak. And you've had no problem solving the entrance puzzles."
"Do you use them as a screening device for potential employees?"
James chuckled and said, "Now you know my secret."
"I don't have an MBA."
"There's always night school. Wouldn't you like to live in the Bay area? Get out from under Richard's shadow?"
"No thanks. Not right now, at least."
"Let me know when you're ready. I can wait. And I usually get what I want. What
can I do for you today?"
"You told me to let you know when one of the special Honus Wagner baseball cards was up for sale. There's one on eBay now and I think it can be bought for a bargain price."
James showed immediate interest. He asked me some questions about what I thought it was worth and what it could be purchased for. After a two-minute conversation he gave me authorization to bid up to $400,000 on it.
This was too easy. I said, "Do you want some written confirmation?"
"Why bother? We know each other. What do you want to do, exchange emails? What good would that do? If you get the card just tell me where to send the check."
"Of course you'll own the card, not me."
"We'll work that out. I have no use for a baseball card."
That was the catch; I was selling my soul. After I hung up I thought about that, but not long enough or hard enough. I wanted that card too much. I put in a bid of $400,000 on the Wagner. Only the minimum incremental bid showed up on the screen, but any additional bids from other people would be automatically topped by one from me until the bidding reached $400,000.
I was excited and I danced around the room, completely forgetting about any possible downside. It took me a while to calm down.
I finally remembered that I was going to call Esther. I was fortunate enough to catch her in her office. I apologized for standing her up the night before and made a new date with her for that evening.
I had barely hung up the phone when it rang. It was Arrow. After our hellos she said, "I'm at the office but I just got back from Elma's. I was able to find some of her financial documents."
"And...?"
"Well, I haven't found everything yet and I'm not saying there won't be surprises, but preliminary indications are that she's loaded. For example, when Ned exercised all his stock options recently he received a check for well into seven figures. Every penny of that was put into their money market account and it's still there. In addition, Ned is covered by a big life insurance policy through Dionysus and he has a 401K. He has other stock investments, too."
"How about debts?"
"The only one I've found is their home loan and that's covered many times over just by the option money. Ned even paid off their credit card bills every month."
"So Elma doesn't have to sell her Dionysus stock."
"No; the Dionysus stock is all frosting on her financial cake. Karl, Elma has invited us to her house for dinner tonight."
"Who is us?"
"You and me. She said she wants to thank us for helping her through the crisis."
"I can't. I already have a date. Besides, you're the one who helped her. I didn't do anything. And she shouldn't be having company right now, anyway."
"She says has to keep busy so she won't go crazy. But here's the important part: She says she didn't tell us everything about the relationship between Ned and James. It sounded as if she might know something that would help us fit the pieces together."
***
For the second night in a row I stood up Esther. California has a three-strikes law and I suspected I was subject to it, even though she was very gracious on the phone. I had better not do this again.
As I drove to Redondo Beach to pick up Arrow I cursed the fates that had involved me in my father's business. Life had been so much simpler when I was responsible only for myself and my baseball card business, with a little help for Luz on her finances.
I had driven Luz to the hospital that afternoon so she could see my father, for the first time since his stroke. She had her own car, but she wouldn't go to the hospital by herself. She mothered him and read him a poem she had written in Spanish. It was very touching.
To thank me in advance, Luz made me tacos for lunch, and not the kind you get in a fast-food place either. She knew how to season them to perfection and she always used same-day-fresh ingredients.
My father continued to improve. At this rate he would be home by the end of the week. I couldn't wait until he was well enough to take over control of Dionysus again.
That was good news, but I was still feeling cross about standing up Esther when I arrived at Arrow’s condo. She must have sensed my bad mood because she said, "I thought it was important for us to go tonight while Elma is willing to talk. I'm sorry about your date. I'm not trying to interfere with your love life."
I grumbled something in return and we rode in silence to Elma's house. When we rang the bell the door was opened by a redheaded girl dressed in jeans that didn’t cover her hips and some sort of a top with straps too narrow to hide the bra straps that shared her shoulders.
She said, "Hi, you must be Arrow and Karl. I'm Sarah. Come on in." Then she turned around and yelled, "Mom, they're here." When Elma didn't immediately appear she raced off in the direction of the kitchen.
We shut the door and made our way to the living room. Arrow made a face and said, "I shouldn't criticize her fashion statement—or lack thereof. A few years ago I wore things just as hideous."
I laughed, glad that she agreed with me. Elma appeared, wearing a dress and looking very fashionable. She gave us both hugs and thanked us for coming. She said, "I understand you've already met my pride and joy."
Sarah followed her. Except for her attire she looked like a younger Elma. There was a shadow on her face and I remembered that she had buried her father the day before. I had seen her from a distance at the funeral, along with her older brother and sister, who were both in college.
Dinner was somewhat subdued, at first. After I said how nice the service for Ned had been I didn't know what else to say, especially with Sarah there. But Sarah broke the ice when, in response to something Elma said about the police investigation, she said, "Dad didn't do drugs. I would have known if he did. You can tell by a person's eyes...and other things."
Elma said, calmly, "I take it you know kids at school who do drugs."
Sarah looked at Elma, and then at Arrow and me. She said, "Well, I...you know, like you hear things."
"I'm not going to ask you to name names," Elma said, gently. "And I know you're smart enough to stay away from them. But you're right about Dad."
"I can vouch for your dad," I said. I told them the story of my meeting with Mr. Wong. Even Arrow hadn't heard this and they all listened intently. Sarah asked whether I'd seen any celebrities at the Beverly Hills Hotel. Elma wanted to know Mr. Wong's opinion about who was behind Ned's murder. I told her that Mr. Wong didn't know.
I didn't mention the gun or the Chinese lady. Elma hadn't said anything about Ned owning a gun and I didn't know whether the police had told her about it. I knew Arrow hadn't.
Elma served homemade cherry pie for dessert. I ate two pieces. Then she excused Sarah so that she could do her homework; Sarah went upstairs. Something that was supposed to be music drifted down to us. Arrow and I insisted on doing the dishes while Elma put food away. Elma remarked that I would make somebody a good husband. I said I'd had lots of practice washing glasses when I was a bartender.
When the dishes were done Elma ushered us into the living room and poured us small glasses of cognac. She sat in her favorite chair, kicked off her shoes and tucked one leg up underneath her. I hadn't been able to do that since I was in eighth grade.
She said, "I have wracked my brains, but I can't think of anybody who would want Ned dead."
"Maybe the police will find out who did it," I said, not believing it.
"You and I both know that that's not likely to happen," Elma said, quietly.
There was an awkward pause; Arrow and I didn't know what to say. Then Elma said, "But what I want to talk to you about is something that happened back in Scotland when we were young. I don't know the whole story, but it certainly affected the relationship between Ned and James and might even have something to do with James wanting to take over Dionysus."
"Did you know that James was at the funeral?" I asked.
"No." Elma and Arrow answered together.
"He left as soon as it was over."
"I wish he had stayed and spoken to me," Elma said. She looked hurt.
"I think he had some business to attend to in LA," I said. Why was I apologizing for James?
"It sounds just like James," Elma said, dismissing him, abruptly. "But back to my story. When they lived in Scotland, Ned and James hung around with a group of local boys in Wick. They did some crazy things, as boys will. James was the ringleader and Ned was his lieutenant. James invented a game that they played. It was a kind of gambling game. They called it, simply, The Game."
She took a sip of cognac. I did too. It caressed my taste buds and went down smoothly.
"Whenever any of the boys wanted any of the others to do something for him, such as fix him up with a girl or cover for him when he had done something wrong, they played The Game. They had a bunch of squares laid out in a field, outlined by stones. The boy who needed the favor would stand at a mark and throw another stone into the squares. That stone was painted white. If it landed in certain squares he won and got the favor; if it landed in others he lost."
"It sounds vaguely like roulette," I said, "with more of a skill factor."
"James was very good at physical games as well as mental games," Elma said. "When he played he could always get the stone in the right squares. I don't think he ever lost."
"What was the penalty for losing?" Arrow asked.
"Whatever had been agreed on beforehand. Which brings me to the point. One of the boys in the group was killed while scaling a cliff above the North Sea. He fell off and landed on the rocks below. Ned and James were both there when it happened.
"Neither one of them would talk to me about it, but the rumors said that climbing the cliff was a penalty for losing The Game. I heard that James had chosen the penalty and demanded that it be carried out on this particular day, even though it was foggy and raining and the rocks were slippery. Not long after that Ned and James left Wick forever and came to the States."
There was silence while we digested what Elma had said. I swallowed the rest of my cognac in one gulp and felt a burning sensation in my throat. Elma and Arrow sipped theirs.
