by Jon Land
“You don’t know that.”
“I will once I get a search warrant to have a real close look-see. In the meantime why don’t you tell me why Yuyuan and your friend Li Zhen would go to guns over a prostitute in Providence, Rhode Island?”
He ignored her again. “This isn’t some rogue creature that crawled out from under a rock near your boot. This is an operation with major significance to Homeland Security. I can only insulate you so long and so deep.”
“When have you ever?”
He shook his head again. “You have no idea.”
“So enlighten me, Jones.”
“Go back to that serial killer you’re chasing, Ranger. It’s a lot safer.”
“How’d you know about that?”
But Jones moved into the hallway instead of responding, his expression more sad than angry. “Same way I heard about that stunt you pulled at the cemetery.”
“I didn’t see it as a stunt at all.”
“Oh no? When was the last time a law enforcement official bulldozed a couple dozen people into a drainage trench?”
“That Beacon of Light Church has been terrorizing innocent people all across the whole country and no one’s done a damn thing about it that stuck. Guess I’m a prisoner of my own convictions.”
“That’s not the problem. The problem is you’re beginning to buy into your own bullshit. You think that because of who you are, shit like plowing into people with a John Deere is going to wash right off you without leaving a stink. But even Wild Bill Hickok met his match, Ranger.”
“As I recall he was shot in the back.”
“Right,” Jones nodded, his expression turning to what, for him, was somber. “That was my point.”
51
FIESTA, TEXAS
They were shooting a girl-on-girl scene, Li Zhen’s favorite years ago, when making films like this was his profession.
Especially when the performers really were girls, as opposed to women. Not kiddie porn here in America, of course, but skirting as close as possible to that without drawing the wrath of the FBI and a myriad of other agencies.
The studio was located in Fiesta, a few miles outside of San Antonio, in a nest of office buildings not far from the Six Flags Amusement Park. The office park had been turned empty and dark by the recession, but was absolute state of the art. Enough to make Hollywood itself proud. The shell company Li had formed to finance the studio’s creation spared no expense when it came to equipment, especially cameras and lighting. And right now that lighting revealed two sultry young women not even out of their teens pleasuring each other in ways even Zhen’s grandest imaginings could not conjure. Instead he imagined himself with them, between them, inside them. He noticed they’d shed their schoolgirl uniforms off to the side: plaid skirts and white blouses, just like the group that had stood at the rear of the ribbon-cutting ceremony the other day.
As per his request.
Zhen felt the familiar stirring, eyes beginning to close to surrender to the darkness of his thoughts when he heard heavy footsteps approaching through the quiet.
“So it’s true,” came the voice of General Mengyao Chang, and Zhen turned to find him standing in semi-darkness, outside the reach of the camera lights.
The director yelled “Cut!,” Chang having spoken just loud enough to ruin the shot. Zhen held a hand up before the director could protest further.
“You have returned to your former ways,” the general continued. “Tell me, did Chinese government money pay for all this?”
“We both have our jobs to do, General,” Li Zhen managed, trying to appear unperturbed. “What we do outside of fulfilling our duties is our own business. Or would you prefer that I remind you of some of your own proclivities?”
Chang forced a smile. “That will not be necessary, so long as we understand each other.”
“We do, General,” Zhen agreed, steering Chang further back into the darkness so the shoot could continue, “but learning of my inability to leave my former life entirely behind could not be what brought you halfway across the world without advance notice of your coming.”
“Power is a curse as well as a blessing,” General Chang told him, his voice quieter now. “A mentor once told me those with power are like pillars holding up the rest of humanity. As such, distance must exist between them.”
“Wise counsel,” Zhen nodded. “Perhaps you should take note of it yourself, considering I am responsible for much of the power you now possess. You were only a colonel that night I came before the Triad.”
“Should I remain thankful you chose Governor Chen to demonstrate your capabilities?”
“Not at all. I chose Chen because I knew he’d be the hardest to convince. I knew you, on the other hand, were a pragmatist then as you are now. Which tells me your visit is anything but random. Or pleasant.”
“That depends.”
“On what?”
“If our nation’s interests remain paramount in your heart.”
Chang clasped his hands tightly behind his back and Zhen realized the color of his suit was the same greenish color as the uniform that fit him better. It could not be a good thing that the general had showed up in Texas unannounced, catching Li Zhen unprepared. Of all the affronts in Chinese manners, surprise was considered one of the worst since it precluded much valued preparation. Li Zhen knew that was a sign, a message in itself, especially with Chang coming here since he could’ve just as easily have waited for Zhen to return to Yuyuan, the company’s entire workings supervised by the general’s department in the Chinese government.
Chang continued to maintain an active presence inside the Triad as well, overseeing the organization’s tremendously profitable move into Russia’s lawless far east, covering such areas as illegal logging and fishing in addition to control of the region’s many casinos. Yuyuan was now the sole supplier of slot machines and all electronic gaming for Vladivostok and beyond, thanks to that relationship. An unholy alliance perhaps, but an alliance to be treasured all the same.
“Concerns have been expressed,” Chang continued. “Serious concerns raised about your judgment and behavior.”
“Our contact in Homeland Security, Brooks, summoned you, didn’t he?” Zhen asked, noticing four members of Chang’s private security force dressed in plainclothes just inside the lone entrance to the studio.
“How I learned of your indiscretions is not of concern. What is of concern is how you may have placed at risk an operation crucial to the future of our nation.”
Zhen remained silent, waiting for the general to continue.
“You know of the pleasure I take from riding roller coasters, Xiānshēng Zhen?”
“I do.”
“Once, not far from here, I rode one that goes backward as quickly as it moves forward. An interesting symbology, don’t you think? Since moving in reverse can only mean an acknowledgment of error and one’s inability to correct it. An acceptance of that which is wrong.”
“That is not what all you see before you is about. And the product reaped from places like this has helped make you a very rich man far more than your gambling interests have.”
“I don’t like your tone,” Chang said, recoiling slightly. “Perhaps you forget your true heritage, to whom you are vastly indebted for overcoming it. You came to us no more than a cheap pornographer, peasant scum with a movie camera, and our backing allowed you to become everything you are today. Yuyuan isn’t yours, it’s ours. Your presence here serves us, something else you seem to have lost sight of.”
“Serves you? By that I’m sure you mean the fifth generation wireless network we are building that will provide China with a treasure trove of America’s greatest technological secrets and research. They think their defenses render them immune,” Zhen added, managing a slight smile, “not realizing we constructed those defenses as well. Through our subsidiaries, of course.”
“All the same, like that roller coaster I just spoke of,” Chang countered, studying him closely
in the spill of the refracted light off the big kliegs, “sometimes experience in life is enhanced by traveling backward. It has been decided that you should return to China and retake your seat as head of Yuyuan’s offices there.”
Zhen reminded himself not to raise his voice and risk ruining another shot. “I would respectfully remind you that my place is here.”
“We cannot allow the arrangement made between our government and the Americans to be compromised, Xiānshēng Zhen.”
“You mean the arrangement I made, don’t you?”
“There is only one ‘I’ in China and it is not you. Far, far from it. As when riding a roller coaster, each rise is followed by an even swifter fall. But on a roller coaster, as in life, the next rise is just ahead. Am I making myself clear to you?”
“What is clear to me, General, is that you are here because my American contact must have expressed his concerns to you. And you would take his word over mine.”
“You have become a liability, Xiānshēng Zhen,” Chang said, his voice laced with a grim finality. “You will be allowed to save face, but you will not be allowed to save it here. You will return home and do so without delay. On the same return flight that I am taking a few hours from now. I already have your ticket. You can meet me at the airport.”
“You know the proverb that says the rise may be slow, the fall fast, but no one stays at the top between them for eternity?” Zhen asked him.
“No, but it is a wise lesson to keep close in mind.”
“My thoughts exactly,” Li Zhen told General Chang.
52
SAN ANTONIO, TEXAS
Caitlin had pulled the Venetian blind back up and was standing by the window when Tepper came to reclaim his office.
“The man walked right past me on his way out the door. Felt like a snowman come to life,” he said, plopping into his chair. “I swear, Ranger, this man’s body temperature could keep your beer cold.”
“We ever relocate headquarters, let’s make sure not to send him the forwarding, Captain.”
“Do I need to ask how it went?”
“Off. I don’t know any other way to put it. There were times in our talk where he wasn’t even the same asshole both of us know. Like he was reading somebody else’s lines. And he brought up the serial killer we’re chasing.”
“Guess nothing escapes the attention of Homeland, does it?”
“Question being, why would he care? I don’t see any threats to national security in the murders of five prostitutes, unless he also knew Li Zhen’s family history in the United States has connections to the old Trans-Pecos rail line. I don’t know why he’d even bring it up otherwise, do you?”
“I’m trying real hard not to bother, Ranger, and you should do the same. That’s all I’ve got to tell you.”
“How about telling me what happened after my great-granddad and Judge Bean finished with that engineer at the railroad worksite?”
Tepper shifted about uneasily in his chair, as if Jones had left some oily residue behind on the fabric. “I was hoping you’d let that one go.”
“I did, until I saw pictures of those old railroad days plastered over the walls of Li Zhen’s office.”
Tepper lit up a Marlboro, as if to dare Caitlin to stop him. “Uh-oh, the Category Ten winds of Hurricane Caitlin are beginning to blow.”
“What happened next in Langtry, D.W.?”
Tepper took a deep drag on his cigarette. “Well, here’s what I recall from the story passed down through the years.…”
53
LANGTRY, TEXAS; 1883
“Now, lookee what we got here.…”
William Ray Strong swung toward the bulbous shape of what looked like an upside down bowling pin, massive across the top with spindles for legs approaching the mess tent where Kincannon told them to wait. Proudly displaying a badge on his lapel that William Ray didn’t recognize. He wore a three-piece suit with the top and bottom buttons missing from the vest. The Ranger pictured them bursting off him and taking out an eyeball or maybe breaking somebody’s nose.
“It’s a genuine Texas Ranger and a fake judge,” the man who looked formed of jelly continued, reaching them.
Roy Bean snickered at that. “Was he talking about you or me?”
“Both of us, I suspect,” said William Ray.
“I’m John W. Bates, chief of the Southern Pacific Railroad Police,” the bowling pin announced, hooking his thumbs in his lapels. “And right now you are standing on land owned by Southern Pacific. That places you in my jurisdiction.”
William Ray took a step forward to meet him. “This was still Texas last time I checked.”
“And you may be chief of the railroad police,” Roy Bean added, “but I’m the duly elected law for the county in which we’re all standing.”
“Duly elected?” William Ray posed quietly.
“Well, close enough,” Judge Bean replied in a hushed tone.
In response to the Ranger’s request to see the man who’d sewn on the tent flaps, Kincannon had summoned Bates to the mess tent jammed with wooden slab tables laid out amid the dozen posts pile-driven into the earth to hold the grime-strewn tent up.
“We’re here about the murders of those four Chinese women,” William Ray told Bates.
Bates rolled his thumbs around, then planted them back on his lapels. “I was meaning to look into that myself, but I’ve been too busy dealing with hostile locals to bother with dead whores.”
“Yeah,” said Judge Roy Bean, “those locals seem to have a problem with the Southern Pacific stealing their land out from under them to make room for the railroad.”
“We don’t steal it. We pay market price per acre. It’s called eminent domain.”
“And what do you call the four women killed here in the past couple weeks?” William Ray asked Bates.
“Not my problem.”
“How’s that?”
“Chinese strike is slowing us down. I got a thousand other workers in this camp already gonna lose bonus money on account of that. It’s all I can do to hold them back from taking matters into their own hands.”
“As opposed to the hands of those Pinkerton men we heard were coming,” noted Judge Bean.
“Sheriff can never have too many deputies, under the circumstances.”
“Is it true the Chinese weren’t paid for building that dam?” William Ray asked.
“Far as I know, they were hired to build a rail line and they’ll be paid for doing that as soon as they’re back on the job.”
“And once they are, will the man who proclaims himself to be the law for the railroad stop ignoring the murders of these Chinese women that happened under his watch?”
Bates thrust a stubby finger at him. “You watch your tongue, Ranger.”
“Got any suspects, Chief?”
“Not that I’m about to share with you.”
“Speak with any potential witnesses?”
“No, sir, I haven’t,” Bates said, sounding proud of that fact.
“What about the families of the victims?”
He shook his head. “Not my concern.”
“You know what bahk guai means, Chief?” William Ray asked him.
“Nope.”
“It means ‘white devil’—who your Chinese workers believed killed these women. You’d know that if you’d bothered to ask. Since you haven’t had the time or opportunity to do so, I don’t suppose you’ll mind the judge and me picking up the slack,” William Ray said. “At least until these Pinkertons arrive.”
Bates smirked. “You’re a Texas Ranger. You got the right. I just wouldn’t expect to get anywhere if I were you.”
“You mind if I get back to my work?” Kincannon asked, although it was unclear to whom his question was posed.
“We asked to meet you as a courtesy,” William Ray said to Bates, standing there like an extra pillar to hold up the tent. Then he swung toward Kincannon. “The judge and I will see that man who done the sewing now.”
Kincannon looked to Bates for a reaction. “Chief?”
“Let ’em waste all the time they want, Mr. Kincannon.”
“You’re welcome to join the judge and I for the interview, Mr. Bates.”
“I got better things to do with my time, like pick at the warts your damn climate grew on my feet.”
William Ray ignored him. “Mr. Kincannon, if you’d be so good as to point us in the right direction.”
“He’s right over there yonder,” Kincannon said with a thrust of his finger.
“Where?” Roy Bean asked.
“Sitting at that table sewing them flags we hang from each train with the Southern Pacific trademark. You can’t miss him,” Kincannon continued. “He’s the blind man.”
* * *
“Yup, I been working the railroad somewhere or other since they crossed the Mississippi,” Abner Ecklund told William Ray and the judge, not even missing a beat on his sewing. “Doing this and that, mostly that.”
He looked to be around sixty, though it was hard to tell thanks to the mottled scar tissue that ran across his forehead, brow, and all the way down to his cheeks. It encased much of his eyes as well, reducing them to sightless slits leaking pus and mucus that dried in a jagged line down from the corners. The light streaming in through the open tent didn’t quite reach the section where Ecklund was seated, which, of course, didn’t seem to bother him. But it was enough to reveal a deep brownish cast to his skin and hair mottled in kinky waves. William Ray figured him for a mulatto, much reviled in these parts, recalling how Rangers had come upon the corpses of more than one dragged to death after being lashed to a horse. He looked at the scars layered over Ecklund’s face like a second skin and pictured it dragging across a dry creek bed of stone and petrified wood. The thought made him cringe.
“You got a true talent, sir,” the judge told Ecklund, breaking up William Ray’s thoughts.
“Thank you kindly. What about the two of you, what is it you boys do brought you here?” Ecklund asked, still without missing a beat on the Southern Pacific flag he was sewing. “I know you’re new ’cause I don’t recognize your voices. And I know all the people here by their voices.”
