by Michael Lion
I bowed deeply because it seemed like the thing to do and said, “My name is Bird. I’ve come a long way to tell you that I’m sorry about your family.”
At first he didn’t respond. He couldn’t have been a day over twenty-five, but his face was long beyond emotion, a face that would see a smile only rarely for the rest of its life. His eyes seemed, however, curiously satisfied. He finally bowed slightly, dipping little more than his forehead, and said, “Thank you. I am Tran Nguyen. Please, sit down.” He spread a slender-fingered hand toward the chair opposite him and said something in Chinese that excused the two men behind me. They exited quietly.
“Mind if I smoke?” I asked.
“I’m sorry but yes. I’m allergic to cigarette smoke. Also, it damages the pieces.”
I took a fresh look at the decor. Tran pointed to an ink painting on white silk that hung on the wall to my right. The subject matter was two long-stemmed chrysanthemums with what looked like a hummingbird floating near the base of the stems. He said, “The artist of that painting had been dead four centuries when Rome fell.”
“Nothing like a little perspective,” I said. I sat for a moment, wondering what to ask first. He beat me to it.
“I expect you would like to know what this means,” he said thoughtfully, hooking a feminine finger through the chain and lifting it off the table. He held the locket in front of his face and watched it pendulum back and forth. Then he suddenly snatched it up in his fist and placed it in his breast pocket. “The photograph is of a gravestone in the Manoa Cemetery,” he said quietly, gazing at a spot on the wall behind my shoulder. He absent-mindedly waved behind him toward the western hills of the island. “It is, as you have probably discovered, the grave of my sister, Li Nguyen.”
“Empty,” I said flatly.
Tran nodded. “Yes, but not for much longer. She will be buried there, pending certain unpleasant bureaucratic processes with the Los Angeles County Coroner’s Office.” There was not so much as a whisper of emotion in his voice. “The stone is one of three that sit there, side by side, and this photo was cropped from a picture taken many years ago by my aunt.” He stared at me silently for a bit.
I pursed my lips and took a deep breath. “I have a sincere apology to make, Tran. I truly believe that Li’s death is on my head. I believe if I’d been a little smarter, and a little quicker, Li might be alive right now. It’s something I haven’t quite come to terms with. When the killing started, it was made to look like ritual murders, and that slowed me down. I don’t mean that as an excuse. You have to understand that I felt toward your sister like I’ve never felt toward anyone, much less any woman.”
His eyebrow went up slightly.
“There was nothing romantic about it,” I said quickly. He stayed quiet while I carefully chose my words. “I am not a sentimental man, Tran. But for some reason I felt a duty to...idolize her, I guess. To protect her from the world. She represented something to me, a sense of purity. I don’t precisely know what, or why.”
Tran again shook his head solemnly. “Li’s death is not on your head. It is on mine...and her own. She used you.”
Bile rose in my throat, and for a moment I could have killed him. He sensed my tension and said, “I expect you are sitting in this room right now because you discovered that Li’s middle name was Dazhai. That gave you her connection to the Triads. Tell me, did she ever reveal to you her mother’s maiden name?”
“No.” I tried not to say it through clenched teeth.
“Ming.” He paused and studied me closely for a reaction. He didn’t need to. All the blood in my face fell immediately to my guts. “Therefore, in the eyes of the Triad, Li, and myself, are Chinese through my mother.”
I wanted to say something like, ‘Of course,’ or ‘I knew that,’ but everything sounded so stupid. I simply sat there, staring.
“Thirty years ago,” Tran continued, “the Ming family name in Chinatown was synonymous with crime. In those days, when the Black Societies were welcomed by the Chinese as a positive force against the racism of white policemen and public officials, the Ming Triad was the exception. There was not so much as a curbside dice game or back alley sexual encounter that they did not receive a piece of, and they were as powerful as they were hated. Both of my father’s brothers died at the hands of Triad assassins, and his sister was a whore to the men who called for their execution. My father swore to himself and his family that he would have his revenge on the Ming.” Tran looked me squarely in the eye. “I...am that revenge.”
I struggled to regain my voice. “The whore,” I finally managed, “would be the aunt who took the graveyard pictures.”
“That is correct. My father swallowed his hatred and married into the Ming family, a daughter of one of the central members, a girl named Cynthia. Her English name was the result of an Irish mother; the Ming sometimes bought and sold Irish women as white slaves. It was an arranged marriage, and when my father saw her for the first time on the night of their wedding, he began his revenge.
“I was conceived that night. Soon thereafter, his new father-in-law decided to put my father’s training as an accountant to use, putting him in charge of gambling receipts. It was not long before all the numbers that were run in Chinatown were crossing his desk. The skimming began.
“My father was a strong man, but soon even he began to strain under the weight of the facade. He began to ignore the bride who disgusted him so, and she complained to her father. Close scrutiny was paid to his accounting, and his theft was discovered.
“Before he was executed, he staged the death of his children to protect them from the long and never-forgetful arm of the Triad, and to ensure that his revenge would be carried out. It is about to be. Thanks to this.” He held up Li’s locket in front of him and gazed stonily at it. “I was sent to China with my aunt and educated in the culture. My sisters were sent to the mainland and cared for by relatives.”
And then I knew. “So your mother is Cynthia Ming, and you’re going to burn them down from the inside. This is all a revenge job.” I was fighting to come to terms with the fact that I was sitting across from the man I knew had put a bullet in Parenti’s head less than two hours earlier. I shook my own head as if to remind myself it was still there, and looked around for something, anything, to drink. I made a motion and Tran waved his hand. A glass of water suddenly appeared in front of me, brought by a small, pale man I hadn’t noticed before. I sipped it. “Li died because you had exposed yourself,” I said. “And you exposed yourself because someone had gotten wise to who you and your sisters really were. That person had to be taken care of.”
Another solemn nod. He still had the smile on his face, and my scalp went tight looking at it. He continued calmly. “No one, save for my mother, knew that Li and Song had a brother. It made it quite easy for me to alleviate the problem of discovery.”
“Except,” I said to the water glass, “that you just killed the wrong guy.”
Tran’s eyes clouded over.
“I just came from the penthouse of the Royal Hawaiian,” I said. “Nice work. Very clean. But I think Parenti was just carrying something around hoping it would save his life. I don’t think even he knew what he had.”
Tran’s expression didn’t change, so I moved forward.
“A couple of weeks ago Li found me at a club in Los Angeles and asked me to save her sister from fucking herself into oblivion. I did that, if for no other reason than it seemed like the right thing to do. The guy this sister was seeing was having some problems with the fact that he wasn’t the only guy she was seeing. Follow me?”
Tran nodded, his lips a grim line. “Song always was indiscreet.”
“Yeah, but this was beyond even her ability to screw up. Something didn’t click, and I just figured out a little bit ago what it was. A brainless fatfuck named Sonny T helped me out with it.”
Tran casually reached over and pressed a button on the intercom and said something in Chinese. A grunt from one of the men o
utside came back. Then Tran said, “And how did Sonny help you?”
“Song was shacking up with a repo man named Jay Ballesteros. He’d been a repo man forever. But I don’t think he’s boosting cars for a living anymore. I think he’s found new work as a recruiter for your mother’s whore business.”
Tran’s eyes got clear again.
“See, I think Li knew when she came to me in the club that Song was already marked. And Li needed some outside, ignorant party to go in there and throw a wrench in the whole thing, a patsy who would just do what she asked without wondering why. The problem is, it was too little too late. I think that Jay had fallen in love with Song on the ship and couldn’t bring himself to kill her when the order came down. But then Jay comes home one night to find Song in the sack with another guy, and suddenly he’s got all the reason in the world. Problem, because I’m there and can put them all together for the fuzz.”
Tran leaned away from the table and exhaled. “I do not understand,” he said calmly. “Song was not a very bright girl by any means. What could she have possibly known that would, as you put it, mark her?”
“Not what. Who. She was friends with another hooker named Josephine. Ring a bell?”
He shook his head, no.
“Our very dead friend Parenti had a thing with her, except the name she used was Ione.”
“Ah, yes. The letter.”
“Right. The letter. The one that promised Parenti she was going to get off that ship, but without saying how. I know how.”
Tran sat and waited. So did I. He finally caught on.
“And you are expecting some sort of compensation for giving me this tidbit?”
And that’s when it all caved in on me. All the greed and the selfishness and the deceit. I fixed my eyes on a point over his head, just to keep from seeing Li’s innocent face on her brother’s shoulders. “That’s funny,” I finally started.
Tran looked puzzled. “I’m sorry?”
I leaned forward on the table and laced my fingers together. “At any other time, from anybody else, I would’ve squeezed everything I could from that offer. But I met your sister at a time when I didn’t have two people in the world that gave a shit about me. The first time she ever saw me I was stinking drunk and stealing cars for a living, and she liked me anyway.” I let the images pour through me, searing as they came. “I trusted your sister, and I don’t trust anybody. She realized that, I think, and in return she trusted me. Not totally, but there was a certainty there that total trust would come with time. In a city full of people who don’t care about anything except what they can sell it for, I’d found the exception that proved the rule. Li was my best friend, Mr. Nguyen. I didn’t realize that until just now. She defied all of this shit. And it finally killed her.”
Tran suddenly stood up and paced a small circle behind his desk. He stuck a thumb in his teeth and started chewing some cuticle. It was the first indication he had given that he was a man under pressure. “As it turns out, it seems I am the one who should be apologizing to you.”
I was suddenly tired, and it felt like a long time went by before I turned to him and said, “What?”
“You were far closer to Li than I ever was. The last time I saw her she was only a baby.” He settled back into his chair, pulled the locket from his coat, and toyed with it. “I am not what you would call a happy man. And you have brought me a small bit of happiness with your memory of Li.” There was no joy in his face as he said it. “I am appreciative.”
I didn’t know how to take that, so I just kept going. I felt like I was purging a disease, and I couldn’t stop. “Li told me that night that Jay was getting done with his last repossession early. But like I said, I don’t think he was doing that any more. I think he was busy killing a redhead named Josephine and stuffing her behind a dumpster on 3rd Avenue.”
Tran’s forehead creased. “Parenti’s whore?”
“Exactly. When the trail sent me to Parenti, he acted like he was still waiting around and packing up to meet her so they could run off into the sunset. But he was lying, and now he’s dead because of it. He already knew Josephine had gotten snuffed, and he took it as a warning that someone was onto his little embezzling operation with Cynthia. He thought it was the Ohana. He was wrong. It was you.”
Tran shook his head forcefully. “I never ordered the killing of any hooker from the Azure Mosaic,” he said sternly.
“I know. But Parenti didn’t. And he wasn’t the only one confused. Ballesteros had to be scratching his head, too, because the kill order didn’t come from Cynthia. It came from Robert Waterston, a man so sick that, as far as I can tell, he was using his daughter as a liaison between himself and Cynthia, and his daughter was screwing him out of the profits he was making laundering money through his art dealerships. That’s what Sonny T helped me with.” The image of Sonny’s mouth stretched wide in a scream as I snapped his digits passed through my mind. “Not that his assistance was completely voluntary,” I added.
“For Parenti, the only way out of it was to come clean to the mob, beg for mercy and hand them Sonny T and Big Daddy Waterston in exchange for his life, which is what he was doing here. Problem was, you showed up first, because you thought he had the locket. The locket that showed you the location of your sister’s graves. And when he didn’t, you killed him. He probably thought you were from the Ohana the whole time.” I stopped and drummed my fingers heavily on the table.
After some silence, I said, “Mr. Nguyen, be straight with me. What’s in the grave? It’s not really empty, is it?”
He shook his head slowly. “It is filled with my birthright, money that my father sacrificed his life for, and our lives, his children’s lives, in a sense.”
“So that’s why everyone and their brother was after that little piece of metal,” I said distantly. “It was the only thing tying you to your past.”
Tran nodded, and I could tell he was beginning to distrust me. That made me nervous. He covered his suspicious expression with a question. “What did Sonny T tell you?” There was a light line of sweat on his upper lip, and I could see him breathing through his starched white shirt and dark jacket.
“He and Parenti have been skimming payments from the Ohana and giving it back to Cynthia, who’s having a lot of exposure problems right now and can’t afford the exorbitant dock fees the mob is charging. Sonny T set up Parenti as a bagman. Poor choice, but Sonny didn’t strike me as a great judge of character.”
The satisfied look floated back into Tran’s eyes and he visibly relaxed. And then the tapping came at the door. Tran cocked his head and said, “In.”
One of the linebackers stepped in and looked at the floor while he said, “Your appointment, Mr. Nguyen.”
“Beg his forgiveness of five minutes, Mr. Tsing, then see him in.” Mr. Tsing bowed slightly and closed the door behind him. Tran returned his gaze to me. “That will be the uncle of one Daniel Ohana. He does not want to see me join the Triad. Neither does he want to see any more killing. He understands that Danny’s death was retribution, but now it must cease. My handling of this will appear very astute in the eyes of the Triad tribunal. For that you are partly responsible. As a gift, I can now offer them Sonny T to do with as they wish. The result of this meeting will be a token of my appreciation for your efforts.”
I had no idea what he meant by that. I sat up. “Just one more question. Did you think that Danny ordered the hits on your sisters? Is that why you popped him?”
Once again, the grim smile. “No. Danny is, or rather was, a simple-minded thug, who did not understand that merely having a name does not automatically grant respect. No organization can long tolerate a man who believes such things.” I didn’t probe any further.
“As long as you know it was Waterston that took out the contracts on your sisters, Mr. Nguyen. Parenti and Sonny T just used him to launder the payoffs from Cynthia. But when Jo King wanted off the ship, she gave up Song to Denise Waterston, who used the information to try to b
lackmail Cynthia. This scared Cynthia about as much as a newborn kitten, I expect, and so she promptly blew to Daddy Waterston how much he stood to lose if this thing hit the fan, and he decided to start silencing people. Jay Ballestoros was his silencer.” For the last time, Song’s proud, ignorant face flashed before me, turned up defiantly at me in the streetlights, asking me if I knew who she was—wielding her newly discovered title like a broken and impotent weapon.
Tran gave a small shrug. His eyes were ice, his voice a steady, arctic breeze. “In our world,” he said, “nothing more than the natural give and take of politics. It will be taken care of.”
I shook my head. “Let me. Please.”
Tran said nothing, but drew the locket back out of his suit coat and stared at it thoughtfully. Perhaps thirty seconds went by. I finally said, very slowly, “Give him to me.”
The words stayed between us a long time. Tran played with the locket, running his finger through the braided gold necklace, setting it on the tabletop and pushing it around absently. “He will be punished, of course, as befits his crime and position. Of that you can be assured.”
“Not to my satisfaction. I want him. I have some questions for him.”
He shook his head thoughtfully. “You understand that Mr. Ballesteros is a thug, don’t you? He was merely acting on circumstances that he did not create...albeit circumstances that he stood to benefit greatly from in the eyes of his superiors.”
“I personally don’t view it that way. Jay made a decision that night, conscious, and vicious. I couldn’t care less why he made it. But I’m going to make him tell me anyway. I’m not quite sure what I’m going to do after that.” We searched each other’s eyes for moment. Finally I said, “One way or another, I’ll get to him. I thought maybe you’d see your way clear to helping me out. But believe me, I’m more than happy to do it the hard way.” I turned to leave.
Behind me I heard a soft rattle as he picked the locket off the table, and the soft taps of his shoes as he came around and said, “All right.”
