Ten minutes later the door to the building opened again, and Fu Fung Fat reappeared dragging a large suitcase to the top of the landing. Behind him came Virginia Dimitri, dressed in black from head to toe, appropriate for discreet navigation of the underground highway, thought Samuel. She carried a suitcase, though it was half the size of the one her manservant was wrestling with.
Virginia tied a rope to the handle of the first suitcase, which seemed heavier, and she helped the servant let it down to the foot of the ladder, where it landed with a thud and stirred up dust. He then scurried down the ladder, with great agility considering he only had one arm. He untied the rope, and she pulled it up. She repeated the operation with the second suitcase, then they were both at the bottom with the baggage. They lingered a moment to let their eyes get accustomed to the darkness.
It was then that Charles made his presence known. “We’ve been expecting you, Miss Dimitri,” he said, turning his flashlight on and shining it directly in her face. “Our subpoena is still effective, and we’d like to examine the contents of your suitcases.”
Virginia was speechless. She stooped to set the small suitcase on the dirt floor, then straightened to her full height, folded her arms in front of her and confronting the attorney face-to-face. Her upper lip quivered slightly, but she seemed in perfect control of the situation.
“If you are going to invade my privacy, I have a right to an attorney. And get that light out of my eyes.”
“All in due course. First we’ll open the suitcases,” answered Charles.
Two Customs agents corralled the manservant and patted him down to make sure he didn’t have firearms.
“Let’s do this in a more comfortable setting. Is that all right with you?” asked Charles, making fun of her.
Without giving her a chance to reply, they made the two suspects climb the ladder and brought up the suitcases. Once in the basement of the building, which was adequately lit with fluorescent lights, the agents handcuffed Fu Fung Fat’s only wrist to a pipe. Virginia glanced fleetingly in all directions, as though she were looking for a place to run, but immediately realized the futility of such a course. She had a menacingly angry look in her eyes but didn’t resist when her hands were cuffed behind her back.
The big suitcase was opened first. It was more than half full of packages of one-hundred-dollar bills, and the other half contained several outfits for the fashionable female.
“Well!” exclaimed Charles. “Are these your savings, Miss?”
Next they searched the smaller suitcase. It was full to the brim with more packages of one-hundred-dollar bills.
“This is a lot of money, but we’re still missing about half of the half a million dollars we’re looking for, and then there’s the claim check and the key to the other jar at Mr. Song’s. She has to have them somewhere. Search her,” Samuel whispered to Charles, as he pulled him aside.
“It’s not that easy,” said Charles. “We have to have a reason.”
Samuel heated up. “What the shit are you talking about? We find this woman in a secret passageway under the streets of Chinatown with a ton of dough, and that’s not reason enough?”
By now, all the others were watching them.
“Okay, okay,” said Charles, “quiet down. I’m in charge here.” He adjusted his tie and straightened his shoulders. “Miss Dimitri, we know you have a claim check and a key for Mr. Song’s Many Chinese Herbs in your possession, and we want you to turn them over to us now.”
“You searched my house and you found nothing. Why don’t you leave me in peace?” Virginia spit, livid with rage.
“You’ll save yourself a lot of trouble if you cooperate.”
“I don’t have the slightest idea what you’re talking about,” she said defiantly.
“We’ll have to search you. You leave us no option.”
“If you lay one finger on me, you’ll pay dearly. And if you don’t release me immediately, I’ll sue you and the government and I’ll make sure you and that little bastard with you lose your jobs. Let me remind you I have connections in this town, in case you haven’t figured that out already.”
Samuel no longer had a job, so he considered the threat humorous.
“Well, then, Miss Dimitri, we’ll take you into custody and we’ll search your person. It won’t be agreeable for you, I’ll make sure of that,” smirked Charles.
He called one of the Customs agents over and gave him instructions. “Take Miss Dimitri to the federal marshal’s office and have her searched and then book her.”
“What’s the charge, Chief?” asked the Customs agent.
“Transporting stolen money,” he said off the cuff.
Virginia laughed out loud. “You’ll never make that stick, you son of a bitch. I’ll be out in an hour and you’ll pay the consequences.”
“Not if I find what I’m looking for, you won’t,” said Charles. He gave the order that the manservant and the suitcases also be taken.
“Are there charges?”
“The same. Transporting stolen money,” he answered. “This time we’ve got her. At least I hope so. There’s thousands of dollars in those suitcases. Where did she get it and where was she taking it?”
“It’s evident she planned to escape. That means she has the claim check and the key on her,” said Samuel.
“If she has them on her, we’ll find them.”
* * *
The interrogation and search of Virginia Dimitri at the U.S. marshal’s office was a raucous affair. She refused to answer any questions and demanded to consult with her attorney, who couldn’t prevent the search. She had to be physically restrained by two matrons while she was stripped. Virginia threw the first tantrum of her life, which increased in intensity until she lost control. She broke free—scratching, biting and kicking. She screamed at the top of her lungs, “There, you see, nothing on me, you Lesbian bitches!” Another matron joined the fray, and Virginia was finally subdued and flattened against a table. The claim check and the key were found in a plastic bag inserted in her vagina.
The head matron winked at her, and said in a soothing voice, “It never fails, sugar. Those with the most to hide make the most noise.”
They let her go and gave her a clean set of jailhouse garb, but Virginia was still foaming at the mouth and yelling expletives and pulling out her hair. They had to restrain her again. An hour later, she was still out of control and her voice was cracking. A doctor was called and she was sedated before she was locked up in the psychiatric ward.
* * *
With the claim check and key in hand, Charles had a new subpoena issued, and he again appeared at Mr. Song’s with two federal marshals, a Customs expert on fingerprints and, of course, Samuel, to whom he owed it all.
Mr. Song was his usual ceremonial self, bowing from behind the black lacquer counter, looking as strange as he did the first time they saw him.
He stroked his white wispy goatee as he examined the claim check and nodded affirmatively. He then looked up serenely at Samuel and Charles, placing both of his hands on the counter, as if weighing his options. Eventually he motioned to his assistant to get his niece. Fifteen long minutes elapsed. When Buckteeth finally showed up, she spent another ten minutes talking to her uncle. Then she got down to business. “Hello, Mr. Hamilton. How’s your mood and your health?” she asked.
“Very well, thank you.”
“I’m happy. You are welcome to come back. It will be cheaper now,” she smiled, showing her charming rodent teeth.
Charles raised his eyebrows. “What’s that all about? You haven’t been dating this young girl, I hope.”
“No, no, nothing like that. Mr. Song helped me stop smoking a while back. I’ll tell you all about it later,” explained Samuel, blushing.
“You tell your uncle that we have this claim check and key and this subpoena, just like last time,” demanded Charles.
After she and her uncle talked for five minutes, she translated. “My honorable uncle
says that you still haven’t returned the jars you took the last time.”
“As soon as the case is over, we’ll return them, I promise. It’s getting close now.”
“When?”
“I can’t tell you exactly. Right now I have to take another jar, the one that corresponds to this claim check.”
“My honorable uncle repeats what he said the last time. The contents of the jar belong to you, but not the jar.”
“We’ll talk about that later. First I have to take a look at what’s inside.”
The assistant went up the ladder and brought down the jar in question. Samuel remembered that when Fu Fung Fat had been there previously, Mr. Song’s assistant removed a smaller jar from the center of the wall, and there was now a gap where it had been.
Charles ordered the top of the jar be dusted for fingerprints before the contents were examined. Then they opened the jar and disgorged package after package of one-hundred-dollar bills, which he looked at closely in disbelief, before giving instructions that prints be lifted from them. “There’s a lot of money here! Do you have any more jars that belong to Virginia Dimitri?” he asked Mr. Song.
“He only goes by the claim check number,” she said. “He doesn’t know a Virginia Dimitri.”
“Ask him about the gap in the middle of the wall,” said Samuel. “Whom did that belong to?”
“He says that person’s business is finished. That’s why that space is empty.”
Samuel whispered to Charles, “Ask him where the jar is? That’s the one that the manservant opened the other day.”
“You need to bring us that jar,” ordered Charles.
When Mr. Song understood what Charles wanted, he had his assistant go behind the bead curtain and get the mediumsized jar, which he put up on the counter.
“What was in this jar?” asked Charles.
Mr. Song waited for the translation.
“He has no idea,” said the girl, and she burst out with contagious laughter. “And if my honorable uncle knew, he wouldn’t tell you.”
Charles ignored her. He also ordered that it be dusted for prints. He then counted the money. There was several hundred thousand dollars. They’d already recovered hundreds of thousands from Virginia Dimitri’s suitcases. The total was more than half a million. The major part of the money, $500,000, probably belonged to Mathew O’Hara. The question was what was she going to do with it? The more important question was where did the rest come from and to whom did it belong?
Mr. Song followed them to the street, arguing in his language that he considered what they were doing robbery and an assault on his property, but he couldn’t stop them from confiscating both jars.
Samuel, who now had a relationship with him and understood his frustrations, was the last to leave. He said goodbye with reverence to the albino, Buckteeth, and the assistant and promised them he’d personally see that the property was returned. “Tell your uncle I’m still not smoking,” he said.
“Mr. Song says that is good. He also says he hopes you begin to understand how sinister this whole affair is, just as he told you.”
“Yes, I believe I’m beginning to see that,” said Samuel.
“My honorable uncle says to never bring your friends here again,” the beaver translated.
* * *
That weekend Melba and Samuel went to visit Mathew O’Hara, who by then had been in the hospital prison ward for two months. He’d lost almost forty pounds, and he looked twenty years older. They didn’t know what to say, expecting to hear the worst, since it crossed their minds that he might be dying, but Mathew surprised them.
“I’m very happy to see you.”
“We heard they couldn’t save your leg,” Melba blurted out.
“They amputated my leg. Imagine! After all I went though.”
“You certainly have been through hell, Boss,” Melba said, looking in anguish at the place where his leg should have been.
“Nothing compared to what Rafael’s family’s been through, I’m sure. I know you’re close to them, Melba. Tell me how they’re doing. I heard Rafael’s wife had a healthy baby,” said Mathew.
Melba had known him for many years. She remembered him as a man who was always in a hurry, restless, full of ambitious plans, and who never demonstrated the slightest interest in other people’s problems. He didn’t even remember his employees’ names but never forgot those of people who could be of some use to him.
“Yes, he’s a handsome boy. He looks like his father,” Melba managed to answer.
“That’s right,” added Samuel. “They’re an amazing family. Fortunately, they have each other.”
“Melba, I want to do something for them, but I’m trapped in this bed and then I’ll go to prison. Will you act as an intermediary?
“What d’ya want me to do?”
“I want you to pay them the monthly stipend of $500 from the bar that you usually pay to me.
“You mean that you are giving up your share of the bar, Boss?”
“The bar’s in your name.”
“Yeah, but we both know we’re partners. How about if we put half in the name of Rafael’s family, so if something happens to me there won’t be a problem,” she said.
“I didn’t expect less from you,” smiled Mathew.
“I know that you’ve lost much of your fortune, Mathew. This is very generous of you.”
“I wouldn’t be here today if it weren’t for Rafael. I hope to meet his family one day. I’ll never be able to pay that boy back for what he did for me. In truth, he gave me more than my life, he gave me a new life.”
Samuel thought he was witnessing something he would always remember: the transformation of this man. Far from looking broken by the tragedy, Mathew seemed at peace and almost content.
“What about you, Mathew?” she asked. “What’s in store?”
“My lawyer tells me I’ll get out sooner now that all this has happened, but I need to go to a rehabilitation hospital and learn to walk with a prosthetic leg. I can’t do that until my wounds heal and the swelling goes down. I still have a ways to go.”
“I’m sorry,” commented Samuel.
“Nothing to be sorry about, man. I’ve learned a great deal about myself, and that’s what’s really important. Look, I’ve got several years ahead, and I don’t intend to waste them.”
As they walked out, Samuel gave Melba his impression. “The pain has changed and elevated him as a person,” he said emotionally.
“Yeah, we’ll see,” said Melba. “People don’t change much, no matter what happens to ’em. I’m going to put the bar in the Garcias’ name before he changes his mind.”
* * *
A couple of days later, Samuel answered an urgent phone call from Melba and rushed to Camelot. Excalibur was wagging his tail with delirious enthusiasm.
“Okay, dog, calm down. I’ll have to buy you another carrot for your fishbowl,” he laughed, petting him.
Seated at the round table was a beefy man with the gray crew cut. It was Maurice Sandovich. He wasn’t wearing his police uniform but was still recognizable. He was sipping a double or triple bourbon over the rocks and was talking earnestly with Melba.
“Hi, Samuel. Maurice has some news for you.”
The last time he’d seen Sandovich was from behind a mirror during an interrogation. Sandovich had seen him only once.
“Hello, Maurice,” he said. “It’s nice to see you in a social environment instead of on official business.”
“Nice to see ya, Counselor.”
“No, you’re mixing me up with Charles Perkins,” said Samuel.
“Oh, yeah. You’re the reporter guy.”
Samuel blushed. In reality, he was an unemployed ad salesman, but he accepted the compliment. “Do you want to talk to me?” he asked.
“I sure do. I was having a drink with my old friend Melba and telling her the latest gossip from the department, and your name came up. By the way, you wanna a drink?”
Sam
uel thought quickly. Should he trust this bastard? He was a pretty slippery customer at best, but maybe not as bad as Charles made him out to be. He remembered Melba’s words: he was small potatoes. “Sure, I’ll have a Scotch on the rocks.”
Maurice whirled around in his seat and yelled at the bartender, “A Scotch on the rocks for my friend here, and another bourbon on the rocks for me. Make ’em doubles. On my tab.”
“Yes, sir, coming right up,” answered the bartender.
Melba gave Samuel a complicitous wink. They both knew that people like Sandovich never paid the bill.
“Anyway, your name came up when I told Melba that we arrested Dong Wong, a well-known fugitive in Chinatown. You remember, I was being questioned by the attorney guy and the Customs agent, and you were behind the mirror.”
“How did you know it was me?”
“We cops know everything that goes on in front of us, my friend. But let’s get back to Dong Wong. He was arrested last night. He was getting ready to leave town, and they got him at the airport.”
“Wow! Does the U.S. attorney know about this?”
“Nope, just you and Melba outside of the department.”
“You know how bad Charles wanted this guy, don’t you?” said Samuel.
“Yeah, and he’ll want him even more when I tell you what he said.”
Samuel got his Scotch and drank it down in one long gulp.
“He spilled the beans.”
“What? Did he confess?” exclaimed Samuel.
“It wasn’t so simple. He figured we were trying to pin at least five Chinatown murders on him plus a bunch of other shit, so we asked what he had to offer in exchange for leniency. He told us plenty to try and save his ass from the gas chamber,” explained Maurice.
“So what’d he say?” asked Samuel, taking mental note.
“He gave us the mastermind.”
“You mean the mastermind behind all these crimes, including the murder of Rockwood and Louie?”
“Yes, sir, including the attempt on O’Hara. He gave us the one who organized the whole scheme. According to him, he was given orders to carry out the details, but the brain was someone else.
The Chinese Jars Page 22
