by Dianne Emley
“Thank you for your time, Mr. Pai.” Vining stood.
“You’re welcome. If I find out anything, I’ll call you right away. Hey, did you hear about the Chinese couple that had a blond baby? They named him Sum Ting Wong.”
“Joey, you’re so bad,” the receptionist said to him over her shoulder.
CASPERS SPARED HER UNTIL THEY WERE BACK ON THE STREET. “I’M NOT Chinese, I’m Korean, he says. You think we all look alike.” He began cackling.
“Shaddup,” she said, provoking more laughter from Caspers.
She unlocked the Crown Vic and he opened the passenger door.
“I’m surprised he works for the Dragon Lady,” Caspers said when he was inside the car. “The Chinese and the Koreans don’t like each other.”
“I think it’s the Japanese and the Koreans.”
“Really? It’s not the Chinese?”
Vining cranked the ignition. “In the immortal words of the great philosopher Rodney King, ‘Can’t we all get along?’ ”
“One word,” Caspers replied. “No.”
AT THE CORNER OF COLORADO BOULEVARD AND LAKE, THEY SAW A GUY wearing a gorilla costume with a full-head mask doing a choreographed dance with a large arrow that said: Archstone Apartments Now Leasing.
FIFTEEN
THEY TOOK THE LOCAL STREETS THE FIVE MILES TO SAN GABRIEL, heading south through Pasadena and its well-heeled neighbor, San Marino. Driving curvy, tree-lined streets, they passed stately mansions set back on manicured lawns. The small city’s affluent residents tried hard to hang on to old traditions, which came to feel like wrapping one’s arms around a palm tree in a hurricane. The area had experienced a huge demographic shift over the past thirty years as wealthy Chinese immigrants bought large homes there, prompting wags to label the city “Chan” Marino.
After they crossed Huntington Drive, they were still within San Marino’s city limits, but left the mansions behind as the homes and lawns grew more modest. Entering the city of Alhambra, houses and front yards became more modest yet, apartment buildings appeared, and the Chinese influence was more pronounced. The signage on virtually all the commercial buildings was in Chinese and English, and often only in Chinese. Many of the quaint single-story brick-and-masonry buildings along the main thoroughfares had been razed and replaced with multistory minimalls that housed Chinese video stores, specialists in foot massage, and scads of Chinese restaurants.
The San Gabriel Valley is home to the best and most authentic Chinese food outside of Hong Kong. Among the more commonly available Taiwanese, Shanghaiese, Hunan, Sichuan, and Cantonese cuisines were restaurants specializing in Chiu Chow, Macanese, Shenyang, Hakka, and Yunnan. There was always great controversy among the S.G. Valley Chinese food aficionados over where to find the best Xiao Long Bao— juicy pork dumplings.
Reaching Main Street, they turned left, heading east.
At the city limits of San Gabriel, Main Street becomes Las Tunas Drive. The shape and color of the street signs change to incorporate a Spanish adobe design as one of the twenty-one California missions is here, dating from 1771. The Mission San Gabriel Arcángel’s greatest legacy was set in motion in 1781 when a party of two padres and several families left it to hike nine miles west to found El Pueblo de Nuestra la Reina de Los Angeles.
As Vining and Caspers continued down Las Tunas, the street narrowed and became dotted with small store-front businesses. They observed another phenomenon in the constantly evolving culture of the region— tucked between camera shops, nail salons, dumpling restaurants, escrow offices, tae kwon do studios, and karaoke bars were dozens of large and tiny bridal shops. The unique mixture of retail businesses extended beyond the San Gabriel city limits into its neighbor, Temple City.
The bridal shops catered to brides of all stripes, but had a Chinese bent; alongside traditional white wedding gowns and colorful bridesmaid’s dresses were floor-length, formfitting silk sheaths with Mandarin collars and deep side slits. The dresses were in vibrant tones of red, gold, or emerald green and were lavishly embroidered or sequined with designs of dragons, phoenixes, lotus flowers, or butterflies.
Caspers looked for Aaron’s Aarrows while Vining drove.
“What’s with all the bridal shops?” he asked.
“They took hold here some years ago. They have good prices, and sell cocktail dresses and evening gowns too. Makes it easy if you have to buy a dress because you can park once and go door-to-door.”
“Sounds like you’ve shopped here before.”
“I have a relative who insists upon a wedding each time she gets married.” Vining was thinking of her mother. “I’ve heard that some of these bridal salons are fronts for Chinese organized crime. Escrow offices are another common front. No customers ever come in. Then one day, the shop just closes up. Gets emptied out in the middle of the night.”
“Slow down.” Caspers pointed. “That’s the address for Aaron’s Aarrows.”
It was a small bridal shop. A large sign above the front display windows said: LOVE POTION BRIDAL.
Vining made an illegal U-turn and had no problem finding street parking right in front. It was eleven o’clock on a weekday morning. No shoppers were around, but all the shops had “Open” signs in their windows.
Love Potion’s two front windows were crammed with mannequins dressed in frilly wedding gowns festooned with shimmering sequins, beads, and crystals sewn onto yards of poofy white satin and lace. Some of the gowns had been in the window so long, the fabric had yellowed from the sun. Open parasols were stacked in the corners. Strips of silver-and-gold metallic stars hung from the ceiling.
The mannequins had hourglass figures and bullet breasts and appeared to have been rescued from a mannequin graveyard in downtown L.A.’s garment district. The eyes and lips on their Caucasian faces were heavily painted. They were all brunettes, wearing stiff synthetic wigs that would have been at home in an Annette Funicello and Frankie Avalon beach-blanket movie. Their plaster arms and hands were poised as if they were jockeying for position at the front of the window.
The centerpiece, standing alone, was a mannequin in a tasteful white strapless wedding gown. In her hands, posed primly in front of her, she held a bouquet of red silk roses. The upward tilt of her head was dignified and distant, her face solemn. Her red lips were parted slightly, the lower one pouting. Her dark, painted eyes were cast downward and to the side.
Vining and Caspers got out of the car and gaped at the display. She took photos of the shop with her digital camera and returned it to her pocket.
Caspers cracked, “Instead of Love Potion, this looks more like love poison.”
Vining stared at the mannequin in the middle. “That has to be the saddest bride in the world.”
Caspers joined her in examining the bride’s joyless face. “Maybe she just found out that the groom’s banging her maid of honor.”
“Or he’s having an affair with his much younger hair stylist at Su-perCuts.” As soon as the comment was out of her mouth, Vining regretted it. What had possessed her to say such a thing? That was her and her ex-husband Wes’s story, although he’d waited until four years after their modest wedding to break the news of his affair.
It went over Caspers’s head. He chuckled and reached for the door to pull it open.
When it didn’t budge, Vining pointed out a sign above the handle that said: Push. The lower half of the door was covered with a dented steel plate.
When he pushed it open for her, a loud buzzer sounded.
Heavy metal music played, originating from the back of the store.
Caspers bobbed his head to the beat.
A desk at the rear of the shop was empty.
“Hello,” Vining called. “Anyone here?” She again opened and closed the door, sounding the buzzer.
“We’re interested in looking at a wedding dress,” Caspers joked.
The long and narrow shop was floored with large black-and-white linoleum squares. Tiered garment racks bolted side by side alon
g the walls were crammed with gowns filled with plastic bust forms. Two chairs, upholstered in pale pink, were near the entrance. A round coffee table between them was strewn with well-thumbed bridal magazines and Sports Illustrated. A crystal ash tray was free of butts, but was coated with ash.
A spiraling freestanding rack was loaded with puffy veils. Two dressing rooms on one wall had their pink velvet privacy curtains pulled open. Between them were three-way full-length mirrors set atop a carpeted platform.
Boxes of shoes were stacked on the ground with samples on display. A glass case held gloves, lacy garters, strapless, long-line bras, and beaded headpieces. On top of the glass case was a fish bowl with blue glass pebbles at the bottom. Swimming in it were eight goldfish and a single black one.
Large framed posters of Asian brides lined the walls. All of them wore demure expressions even if the gowns they modeled were not. Also in a frame on the wall was a long, red silk robe. The full sleeves and hem were spread. It was covered in embroidery depicting a man and a woman wearing traditional Chinese dress, kneeling facing each other. Above them, two brilliantly hued butterflies soared.
“Hello …” Vining called. “Anyone here?” She felt that something was not right. She took out her gun. She had well earned her moniker “Quick Draw,” but didn’t care. She’d rather err on the side of caution and live to tell about it.
As for Caspers, he needed no encouragement to ramp up the force level. He quickly had his gun in front.
“This is Detective Vining and Detective Caspers of the Pasadena Police. We’re looking for Marvin Li.” They stayed still, looking and listening, hearing only the heavy metal music.
She pointed for him to head down one side of the shop, while she took the other.
A flash of light drew her eye to a corner where a square mirror was attached to the wall near the ceiling. She thought it was there to watch for potential shoplifters.
They searched through the racks of densely packed gowns, moving down each side of the long store, heading toward an open doorway at the back that appeared to lead to a storeroom.
The desk at the back had an old cash register and an old-fashioned heavy, twelve-ring ledger book. On the wall next to it was a big calendar with a photo of an Asian bride in a frothy dress gazing dreamily at a white orchid she held in her hands. The calendar was in Chinese and English. Also on the wall was a glass and wood display case with two sets of small swords that were about six inches long and three inches wide. One set had a dragon motif etched into the blade. The other had a flower and scroll pattern.
On the floor behind the desk was an old boom box broadcasting the heavy metal music. She reached down to turn off the radio just as an announcer was saying, “This is KROQ, the rock of Los Angeles.”
A large wooden screen, covered with a swarm of hand-painted butterflies, partially obscured an extra-wide doorway that led to the back room. As Vining approached it, the little hairs on the back of her neck raised up.
She was startled when a phone on the desk began ringing. Given the abundance of old office equipment, she was surprised that the phone was modern. After five rings, it fell silent.
Caspers hit the doorway to the storeroom first and spun inside, with more bravado than necessary.
Vining slipped around the screen, kicking open a partially closed door with a sign that said RESTROOM.
Caspers made his way around the storeroom, which was a third the size of the front room, looking behind rolling racks crammed with an odd mixture of wedding dresses and outlandish costumes. Some of the costumes were made of brightly colored shiny nylon; others were fake fur or soft plush fabric.
Leaning against a wall were giant, plastic arrows with bold lettering in primary colors. Shelves were stacked with arrows, boxes of shopping bags, and full-head masks— gorilla, rooster, Frankenstein— and multicolored Afro wigs, like the one Scrappy had been wearing when he’d been shot.
A door at the rear was fortified with heavy bolt locks that were all engaged.
A safe tall enough to hold long weapons was against a wall.
There was a second desk in the back room, the same vintage as the one in the front, but this one had an open laptop computer on it. A narrow table against the wall held a stoneware teapot atop a base with a tea light candle beneath. Four straight-sided cups were turned down on top of paper doilies. A red On light glowed on an electric kettle. There was a square metal tin with a lid.
Vining moved through the room in the opposite direction from Caspers. Seeing movement, she swung her gun up only to spot her own reflection in another mirror affixed to a corner of the ceiling.
After they had cleared the back room, Vining gestured to Caspers to position himself on the other side of the outside door. She unlatched the bolt locks and flung the door open. After not hearing anything, she ducked her head out. Signaling “all clear” to Caspers, she holstered her gun and walked outside.
An alley ran behind the block of small businesses. Parked outside Love Potion’s back door was a restored 1960s panel van. Its lustrous maroon paint had a metallic undercoat that glistened in the sun. Across the hood and down the sides were flames painted in lavender and silver. The effect was subtle; the design almost invisible. The van sat on oversize tires that had chrome “spinner” wheel rims in which a round face inside the rim would keep turning even while the car was stopped, creating an illusion that the car was still moving.
“Sweet,” Caspers said.
Vining looked inside the van’s tinted windows.
Attached to the rear was a hydraulic ramp.
“Somebody here use a wheelchair?” she asked at the same time they heard a bang at the front door coincident with the brash buzz emitted when the door was opened.
Caspers quickly had his gun out and strode back inside the store. “Police! Hands where we can see ’em!”
The abrupt entrance had startled Vining, too. She’d drawn her gun, but when she went back inside the store, she soon holstered it and took in the man who had rolled through the door in a manual wheelchair.
He had his fingers laced across his shaved head, as if he was well familiar with this drill. Tattoos covered his entire upper body, on display in a loose tank top that looked like a handkerchief against his massive chest and shoulders. Illustrations caressed his arms like sleeves, covering every inch of flesh up to his hands and to his collarbones, where the illustrations circled but did not creep up his thick neck. Inset into each earlobe was a half-inch cylinder of steel that was open in the middle. Sunlight from the shop windows shone through the round openings. A silver ring with a ball pierced his right eyebrow. A Fu Manchu mustache trailed down his cheeks and extended past his chin onto his chest. The ends were braided with narrow red ribbons.
His lower body was in stark contrast with the top. Jeans were draped loosely on withered legs. His feet on the footrests of the manual wheelchair were clad in spotlessly white, high-end athletic shoes. His thighs supported a large Styrofoam drink cup. A brown paper bag was on his lap.
Vining had never seen someone react so coolly to having a police officer hold a gun on him.
Marvin Li grinned as he took in Caspers, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “Ease up, man. Don’t shoot the crippled guy.”
SIXTEEN
CASPERS HOLSTERED HIS GUN AND BEGAN SEARCHING HIM. ARE you Marvin Li?”
“You have no legal right to pat me down. All I’ve done is enter my place of business. I have not behaved in a threatening manner toward you or broken any laws. You don’t have a warrant. But go right ahead. Knock yourself out. The Pasadena Police actually lets you have a loaded gun, young Turk?”
“Are you Marvin Li?” Caspers angrily repeated. “Yes, I am.” Li passively endured the young officer’s vigorous patting down, while not-so-passively giving Vining a prolonged onceover.
Vining hadn’t seen someone in an old-fashioned manual wheelchair outside a hospital in ages. Nowadays, the motorized ones seemed the norm. She now understood why the shop
had wide doorways.
Caspers felt Li’s jeans pockets. “You have anything on you that’s going to stick me or hurt me?”
“Look at you, Pasadena,” he said to Caspers. The edges of Li’s mustache rose when he smiled, revealing straight, white teeth. The planes of his face were strong yet refined, giving him an aristocratic look. It was underscored by the way he held his head and the fluidity with which he moved, in spite of his muscle-bound physique. His voice was mild and calm, belying his intimidating persona. He had a slight accent, clipping some words while drawing out others.
Caspers repeated, “Do you have anything that’s going to stick me or hurt me?”
“My needle days are long over and I’m not carrying a weapon.” Li caught Vining’s eye and arched an eyebrow. “You’re gonna get yourself a bad guy one day, aren’t you, Pasadena?”
The only people Vining knew who would behave so glibly in such a situation were career cops and career criminals.
“That wouldn’t be you, would it?” Caspers took Li’s wallet from his pocket. “What’s in the bag?”
Li said to Vining, “You should tell him to identify himself and explain why he’s searching me in my place of business without a warrant.”
Vining hadn’t reined in Caspers because she was happy he was searching Li. Since Caspers had naturally stepped into the role of bad cop, she’d assume the counterpart. Yet she was surprised by Caspers’s behavior toward Li. It went beyond the young detective’s innate disdain for criminals. Caspers had only recently been pulled inside from the streets into detectives and Vining hadn’t worked with him long, but she’d never seen this side of him.
“I’m Detective Nan Vining and this is Detective Alex Caspers from the Pasadena Police. We’d like to ask you some questions about your employee Abel Espinoza.”
“Detective Nan Vining,” Li said. “A pleasure.”
Caspers handed Li’s wallet to Vining and picked up the bag from Li’s lap. He took out a white clamshell container and opened it.
