A Hard Light

by Wendy Hornsby

  Tam picked up the Polaroid again and studied it. He nodded. “Bao cared nothing for politics nor for material wealth. He cared only for the land and the people. I believe it is most likely that Bao wished to preserve the Cham collection in a museum, if that was the most feasible solution.”

  “An honorable man, you say.”

  Tam bowed. “A scholar.”

  My pager had been vibrating all morning. Because the hotel room’s telephone bill was on my tab, Tam said he wouldn’t mind if I made a few calls. I carried the phone over to a chair by the window where I could watch the first rain of the new storm gathering over the ocean.

  Tam dialed up a Pay-per-View movie and he and Guido got comfortable while I took care of business.

  Lana Howard, my producer, was on the warpath about something. I couldn’t figure out what the issue was, except that maybe she felt left out. Guido and I had spent very little time in the studio all week. Normally, we were her chief source of entertainment. When Lana signed me on to do independent films, she hadn’t counted on my being quite so independent.

  To make amends, to keep her happy, I invited Lana to join us in San Francisco and help us film the New Year parade in Chinatown Saturday night. She seemed somewhat mollified.

  Scotty had called three times. He left a local number, meaning either he was still in town or he had a locally franchised cell phone in his pocket. Looking out for Casey’s interests, I called him back.

  I asked him if he had ever known Ralph Yuen, but he brushed aside my question. Instead, he asked me, “Did you have time to think over what I said?”

  “What did you say?”

  “I want the opportunity to match any offer you get on the house.”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “It took me a long time to get our financial affairs disentangled, Scotty. Let’s just keep things uncomplicated. There are plenty of houses you can buy, and you never liked San Francisco anyway. So why go through this?”

  “All cash. No strings.”

  “Wait until I see the offer,” I said.

  “When?”

  “I’ll call Uncle Max sometime today and have him read it to me.”

  “Why don’t you and I get together tonight for dinner and see where we stand? It’s for Casey, Maggie. If you get the right price for the house, Casey can write her own ticket to college.”

  “That argument doesn’t work, Scotty. If you have cash to buy this house, then you have cash to pay for your daughter’s education. If I sell to a third party, then Casey will have two cash-rich parents.”

  “That’s naive, Maggie.”

  “It’s simple arithmetic.”

  “Have dinner with me tonight. We’ll go over the possibilities.”

  “I’ll get back to you,” I said. Honest to God, the hair stood up on the back of my neck. Dinner with Scotty? Alone? That prospect was about as close to a waking nightmare as I could conjure up.

  On the TV screen, Jean-Claude Van Damme was kicking his way through a legion of armed terrorists. Even with Scotty on the far end of a telephone wire, I had some idea what the character in the movie, were he real, must have felt: outgunned.

  I called Khanh and asked her what she knew about Yuen, and got as little help from her as I had from Tam and Scotty. She said she was curious about the man and would be eager to see the Polaroid when we got together Friday morning.

  There was some routine film business to take care of, and I dumped it all on Fergie. She complained that she was bored and that she missed us. I knew she was misstating whom she missed. Fergie and Guido had had an office fling during the fall that had chilled by winter. At least, had chilled for Guido. Fergie still carried, if not a torch, then at least a spark. It was Guido’s sweet face she missed, not mine.

  I was sitting with my feet up watching the storm curtain roll onshore, remembering how little Eric had felt in my arms. It was a nice feeling, but awfully confusing. I was thinking it wouldn’t be hard to be a grandmother, when Mike paged me.

  “He’s ripe,” Mike said.

  “Shannon’s ready to talk?”

  “I don’t know about that. I was referring to the way he smells. Hasn’t had a bath since we started looking for him. I sent him downstairs to booking for delousing and a shower before I’ll sit in a room with him. I’ll have him back upstairs within the hour.”

  Guido wanted to stay and see the rest of the movie. “Better than waiting in the hall at Parker Center while you have all the fun.”

  He said he would take a Dash bus over to the Civic Center if the movie finished before the interrogation ended. I left the two of them ordering lunch from room service.

  CHAPTER

  15

  “Even if I’m found innocent, I’ll do time.” Shannon’s shoulder-length dreads, still damp from his delousing shower, left damp patches on the shoulders of his orange jail jumpsuit. On his feet he wore rubber jail-issue sandals. He was smaller than I expected him to be, no more than five-six. Tina, his partner in crime, outweighed him by at least twenty pounds.

  “If you’re found innocent,” Mike said, “you’re innocent.”

  “That’s why I was scared to come in, cuz I was at the house.”

  “Just because you were there doesn’t necessarily mean you’re an accessory. Depends on what you did. Now, tell me about Pen and the gun. How did the gun get to the house?”

  “Someone called Pen. Maybe Tina or Zeema. I don’t know.”

  “Why did they need a gun?”

  “See, Tina says the man should be shot. I say let him go, but they say he knows their names and he could go to the police. I’ve got nothing to say on that. They called Pen for the gun.”

  “When he got to the house, who did Pen give the gun to?”

  “No one. He kept it in his pocket. He came one time, looked around, saw the man. When he came back, he came back with a gun, a small .22. He showed Tina and Snoop and them the gun, but he kept it himself all day. Then at night, when they took the guy over to the school, he gave up the gun.”

  “Who called you to come over to the house?”

  “Tina did.”

  “On your pager?”

  “Yeah. I call her back and she says come over, I need you to do something. And I’m pussy-struck so I went over there.”

  “We’re all pussy-struck.” Mike glanced my way, suppressing a smile. “What happened when you got over there?”

  “The man was in the room with the girls.”

  “What did Tina tell you?”

  “She says he has six hundred dollars and they going to jack him for it. They going to tell him they give him sex and get his pants off him. Then they going to jack him.

  “When I got there, Tina was kissing on the dude and then he was on top of her trying to take it from her, but she didn’t want to give it up.”

  “She was masturbating him when you got there?”

  “Yeah. But she was just pretending she was going to give him sex. He got on top of her and that’s when I hit him.”

  “You were protecting your girlfriend?”

  “Yeah.” Shannon brightened at the suggestion. “Like that. I was protecting her.”

  “You told me Tina was a prostitute.”

  “She won’t go out with you if you got no money.”

  “So, what were you defending? Looks to me like Tina had things well in hand, so to speak.”

  “He had her under him. I hit him. Then Pen and Snoop show up. Then I kick his ass for getting on top of her. Zeema tied his hands with an extension cord.”

  “Did he have his pants on?”

  “He was nekkid when I popped him. They let him put his pants back on. Tina started in beating him with a big old belt buckle cuz she was mad he licked on her when she was kissing on him. Zeema beat him with the extension cord. Then Pen and Snoop come in and hit the dude. I was just watching.”

  Mike shot him a skeptical frown. “All you did was watch?”

  “I hit him the first time to get him off Tina. That w
as the only time. Pen and Snoop got their licks in, then Tina came in with a knife—like a steak knife—and she burned her name in him.” Shannon grew more and more excited as he talked about that day. “Snoop was going, ‘Ah, ah,’ so he put a spatula on the fire and start to burn the man all over. Touch him all over; goes ssss ssss.”

  Mike sat as far back in his chair as he could, as if the story poured a bad odor into the room. “Why did they do all this stuff?”

  Shannon shrugged. “Just to do it.”

  “Did you ever see the six hundred dollars?”

  “No. Tina got the money and left.”

  “You got no money?”

  “No, man. Nothing.”

  “Now, the knife you say Tina used to cut Pedro. Did you wash that knife?”

  “No. I never touched the knife. It was still sitting on the counter when you guys came by and went through the house.”

  “The tip of your thumb was on the knife. How did your print get on the knife? That’s fairly significant, isn’t it?”

  Shannon thought for a while. Twice he started to say something, seemed to change his mind. All he said was, “I don’t know.”

  “Did you ever touch the gun?”

  “No.”

  “Did you ever touch the bullets?”

  “No.”

  Mike looked bored, but hard. “Who took Pedro over to the school?”

  “Pen and Snoop and some other guy. I was way behind. Standing on the other side of the street.”

  “Why did they shoot Pedro?”

  “Because the man said Tina’s name. Everyone in the whole house says they got to kill him cuz he said the name.”

  “Whose idea was it to take him to the school?”

  “Snoop says it. He says they can’t take him to the park because a lot of people work there and a lot of people could lose their jobs. So they went to the school.”

  “What people was he talking about?”

  “Some friends of his. Like, this gang abatement program they have over there. You know, this job program.”

  “In the park?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Who took Pedro?”

  “I didn’t see who all, cuz I wasn’t there.”

  “Who pulled the trigger?”

  “I wasn’t there.”

  “Who pulled the trigger?”

  “I didn’t see.” Shannon grew agitated. There was more sweat than shower water darkening his jumpsuit. “I wasn’t over there where they was at. Last I saw, Pen had the gun.”

  “Who put Pedro in the cart?”

  “All of them. Zeema put him in the laundry bag.”

  “She had help.”

  “Yeah. I say the bag is too small. She says she can put three or four loads of clothes in it.”

  “You’re saying you helped put Pedro in the cart?”

  “Everybody did.”

  “You knew where they were taking him?”

  “I wasn’t there.”

  “Who fired the shot?”

  “There were three people over by the gate. Pen, Snoop, and a third guy I don’t know. I was across the street.”

  “How many shots did you hear?”

  “Three.”

  “But you weren’t there?”

  “No, man. I swear, I wasn’t there.”

  “After the shooting, then what?”

  “Everybody goes to a party across the street from Zeema’s house.”

  “At the party did anyone talk about what had happened to Pedro?”

  “No.”

  Mike put his pen down on the table and folded his hands over the reports.

  “You tell a good story, Shannon. Probably a large portion of it is true. But a large portion of it isn’t true.” He made eye contact with Shannon. “Unfortunately for you, Tina and all the rest of them have already copped out. Every one of them has told me what happened, and every one of them has been fairly consistent with what you did. These people aren’t lying to save themselves, because they all copped to what they did.

  “For me to believe your story, it has to be pretty close to theirs. You did a whole lot more than pop Pedro a couple times. I know what you did. I know what everyone did.” Mike leaned in closer. “Because they all told me. Tina cut her initials in Pedro. Snoop burned him with a spatula. Pen went over and got his grandmother’s gun. Zeema put Pedro in her laundry bag. Now, you want to try it one more time and tell me what you did?”

  “I’ll tell you.” Shannon seemed chastened. “I did more. I beat him. I burned him. I gave him Cisco with bleach in it. But I never shot him.”

  “Who did?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You can’t get that past me, Shannon. You were partying with these same people the very day you spent nine hours torturing a man. You were in that house for two days after. There’s no way everyone didn’t talk about it. They talked to the neighbors, they talked to each other. And everyone says you pulled the trigger.”

  “I didn’t do it.” Shannon’s voice rose, but he caught himself, came back down, stayed controlled. “They can’t put it on me, and I ain’t no snitch.”

  “I didn’t ask you to be a snitch, because they’ve all told me what they did. If you didn’t pull the trigger, did Pen do it?”

  “I can’t say that.”

  “Pen pushed the cart; he told me he did. Then you shot Pedro three times. You went back to the house and Tina says you left prints on the cart, to go get it. So you go back.” Mike’s voice dropped to a church whisper. “Pedro was still alive then, wasn’t he? He had three bullets in him, but he was still moving around.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “So you dumped him out of the cart and brought the cart back to Zeema’s house.”

  “Pen dumped him. Me and Pen were hanging after the dude got shot. Some of our friends come by real nosy. Snoop been talkin’, takin’ people by to look at the body.”

  “Do you remember saying to Pen, this guy just won’t die?”

  “I was fuckin’ scared. I never saw a guy shot who didn’t die. Scared shit out of me.”

  “Did you think he might live and tell the police?”

  “That crossed my mind. Tina says go back and cut his throat. Pen said I should go shoot him in the throat.”

  “You did shoot him in the throat.”

  “I didn’t shoot him. They say go cut him, I say no. I ain’t takin’ no chance on that cuz the fuckin’ police come and I’d be really fucked.” Shannon began to cry, but he wasn’t very convincing. “I didn’t shoot the man, dude. I don’t want to go to jail on this. They’re all trying to put this shit on me. They all had time to put this all together.”

  “The last thing I want this late in my career is to put an innocent man in prison.” Mike did not acknowledge the kid’s show of distress. “And Shannon, I gotta tell you, in my twenty-five years, this is one of the easiest cases I ever assembled. Something you forgot to tell me. I know you handled the gun, and I know you unloaded the gun at some point, because I have your prints all over it.”

  Shannon gave up on the tears routine. “I was playing with the gun, unload it, cock it, dry fire by the man’s head.”

  “Was the man scared?”

  “He says he wants to go. I say, I can’t let you go, man.”

  “Did you explain to the man why you couldn’t let him go?”

  “Yes.”

  “You told him he had to die?”

  Shannon sucked in air.

  “You understand that based on what we know already, who did the actual shooting isn’t a big deal. The fact he was shot is as important as who shot him. You’ve just told me you had foreknowledge. The fact that you won’t admit to what you did makes it look like you’re hiding something.” Mike tapped the table in front of Shannon. “The gun thing, Shannon?”

  “Yeah?”

  “It’s going to come back and bite you in the ass.” Mike sat back, folded his arms across his chest. “I know you shot him. You’re the leader here, the only o
ne with the guts to do it. All the rest of them are followers. The gun thing right now is the only thing still hanging us up.”

  “I’m going to jail.”

  “Yes, you are. I’m going to book you right now. There are a lot of people going in with you. They’re all going to pay. It would be better for you right now to tell me the truth. Because if you don’t tell the truth right now, it taints everything else you’ve said.”

  Shannon considered. “Even if I did shoot the dude, it’s not going to change shit.”

  “The only thing telling the truth will do is show the judge and the jury that you’re sorry for what happened.”

  “I’m going to get my life taken. You’re going to recommend the gas chamber.”

  “I don’t recommend anything. That’s up to the DA. All I do is get the facts together.” Mike held up his hands. “I know you shot the guy.”

  No preliminaries, Shannon spilled. “Yeah. I shot the dude.”

  “You shot Pedro Alvaro?”

  “Yeah. I shot him.”

  “Okay.” Mike stood up. “Let’s go.”

  The interview was over.

  Shannon, at nineteen, wasn’t a juvenile. I was able to film him all the way through the booking procedure. He had been in jail before and went passively through the procedure like an old hand.

  Once, while he was waiting for some paperwork to be finished, he turned to me and tried to start a conversation.

  I said, “I can’t talk to you.”

  “I was just wondering,” he said. “It’s my girlfriend’s birthday coming up. Can I give her the tape of the interview for a present?”

  I said, “I’ll see what I can do.”

  CHAPTER

  16

  I needed to be with my daughter.

  The impulse to connect with her normally hits me several times during the school day. Most of the time I manage to suppress the urge, in the interest of her budding independence. But after listening to Shannon’s strange version of the way the world works, I needed to see Casey’s sweet face. Immediately.

  What a good idea, I thought, to videotape the first rehearsal of Cinderella. Casey’s dance teacher thought it was a good idea, too.