The Hubberts were devouring his lunch. Doug made half the sandwich go away in three quick bites, and Maisy used both hands to shovel pretzels into her mouth. For a moment Shamus forgot why he was there.
“Here’s their buyer’s order for that silver V6. We have to hurry before she eats my desk.”
“At least you landed them on a car. Good job.” Jake shook his head in disbelief. He wrote a number to open negotiations. “Here you go; now don’t lose them. You’ve spent all day with them, so that shows they like you. Go get ’em.”
“Hey, just because you feed a stray doesn’t mean it likes you.” Shamus geared up for combat, and Jake chuckled.
“Thanks for your patience, folks.” He tried to appear relaxed and cleared a spot on his desk amidst the carnage. Pretzel crumbs were strewn everywhere, even on Maisy’s mouth. Shamus did his best to ignore them.
“Now, here’s what the car normally sells for.” He pointed to the paper. “Since you spent so much time with us, Jake wanted to make sure you got a good deal.”
After a long pause Doug said, “That’s way more than we want to spend. We were thinking more like the price on the LX we drove.”
“I understand. Would you like me to write up the gold car we drove to save you some money?”
“No. I want the V6 and the leather, but if you want our business, you’re going to have to come close to the price on the gold one.”
“That’s a different model, Doug. But if you work with me here, we can meet somewhere in the middle and try to convince my manager to go for it.” Shamus could see his commission race toward a “mini-deal,” a lousy hundred bucks. Damn!
“Do whatever you have to. Tell your manager if he wants to sell a car today, he’ll do what’s right.” Doug spoke with righteous conviction.
“If I could get him to split the difference, would you take the car? That is a great deal.” The vein on his forehead was back.
“Go ask him and tell me what he says,” Doug said. Shamus could feel himself lose control.
He needed a break, even though Doug refused to offer a good-faith deposit.
“Shamus!” Jake yelled, for real this time. “He’s playing you! He can afford the car; he’s just sweating you, and you gave in and came back here to Daddy!” He looked at the clock. “Christ, it’s after two, and everyone else is selling cars. Close this guy. He ate your lunch, and you’re just going to take that?” He crossed out the figure and dropped from his original offer.
Shamus returned and smiled. “Wow, he did better than I thought. He came down a bunch. I thought we were aiming a little low, but this way now we know.” Shamus was sure they’d get down to it now. Victory at last.
“That’s no good,” Maisy said.
“What do you mean? That’s a tremendous price.” He looked at Doug. “You need to work with me here. I can’t do all the dropping; that isn’t right.”
“Seems fair from here,” Doug said, and Maisy screeched laughter. Several salesmen looked over.
“Like I said, if you want to sell me this car, you’re going to have to earn it.” He produced a hundred-dollar bill with a flourish. “You tell your manager that since you took all my time today I want to make it worth my while, so here’s my deposit and I’ll buy the car for this price.” Doug pointed.
Shamus presented the cash to Jake. “These people are unbelievable. I don’t know what he’s thinking, but he’s locked in. We still may have a shot if we move a little.” Mark was in the office waiting to present another buyer’s order.
“I could hear them, Jake. They’re nuts,” Mark said. Shamus was grateful for the support.
Jake scowled and consulted the computer. He wrote a figure less than three hundred dollars above the offer from the Hubberts.
“I’m only doing this to help you out, and because I see they live close enough to get their service from us. Close them now!” Jake glared.
Shamus came back and showed the Hubberts. “Here’s the absolute best price you can get on this car. I just need you to sign here, and we can set up delivery.” Shamus used an unfeigned “you won” tone of voice.
“I don’t believe this,” Maisy said.
“No good,” Doug said. “Told you what it would take.”
“Doug, let’s go to Marlo before it gets too late and see if they want to sell us a car.” Maisy stood up. Pretzel crumbs and salt showered off her dress.
“Shamus, you had your chance. Bring my money back. We’re leaving. If they can’t beat your deal, we might come back,” Doug said.
“Marlo Honda won’t be able to beat this deal. If you think you’re going to get big savings from the same car, I think you’re in for a surprise.”
“We’ll see, won’t we? Go get my deposit back right now!” Doug raised his voice.
“No need to get angry, Doug. We’re trying to work for you, but if you’d feel better shopping around, that’s understandable.” A cold fury replaced Shamus’s earlier flush.
He remained calm and explained to Jake, who could see the pair as they got up.
“All right, let ’em go. I saw you tried, but we can’t do better. Follow up, but I know Marlo’s going to snap them up just to piss me off.”
Shamus handed Doug the hundred and his card.
“Call me if they can’t match our price. We can reserve the car over the phone with a credit card. We’re here until five today,” Shamus said. Maisy walked out without a word.
“I’ll let you know either way,” Doug said. “If they beat your deal, then you’ll know better next time not to jerk your customers around.” Doug didn’t shake his hand.
Shamus only had one other customer that day, and he was dressed like a wino. He pointed to a Civic on the floor and said, “I’ll take it.” He left a deposit of twenty dollars and filled out a credit application. A typical “credit rat,” combing the dealerships seeing if one was desperate enough to lend him money they’d never see again. Shamus decided not to spend that commission in advance. When he got back to his desk, his message light blinked.
“Shamus, I don’t want to say I told you so, but I did. It’s Doug Hubbert. Maisy and I are looking at our new car. They beat your deal, and by twenty-eight bucks. Better luck next time.”
A whole day pissed away over twenty-eight dollars?
He looked down at the buyer’s order. Hmmm, what’s this? Name, address, phone number, employment information.
He couldn’t wait for his day off.
CHAPTER 10
Door to Door
Newark, Delaware, Sunday afternoon
Out-of-staters always pronounced the name of the town like the one in New Jersey, but Shamus had lived here long enough to know it was pronounced “New-ark.”
There was her house. Shamus pulled his car around the corner and double-checked the address. It matched the one Flannigan had given him. The Chinese characters on the mailbox reassured him. He didn’t know if she wore a fancy silk robe, but at least she wouldn’t be a muscle-bound freak like her son. Washed-up has-been…
He was so glad he’d made time to stop by the gag shop. Shamus glanced in the mirror to make sure his mustache was on straight. The blond wig covered all his red hair. For once, his young looks helped, and he yanked the paper tag off the University of Delaware Blue Hens T-shirt. Perfect. He was just another nice college boy off to make the neighborhood near his frat house a better place before a night of boozing and filthy little coeds.
This would provide excellent practice before the festivities tomorrow night. He picked up his clipboard and walked up the path of the neat town house and rapped on the door. Might take a while; she’s probably old.
The door popped open before the third knock. An old, thin Chinese guy fixed him with a penetrating look. “Yes?”
Flannigan didn’t say anything about a man. Chang’s father? Pretty small—Mama-san would have to be a whale given the size of her son…
“Yes?” The old man repeated. Might be his entire English vocabulary.
No response. Eyed him like he was a bug. Don’t touch the mustache—it’s fine.
Shamus spoke slowly. “My fraternity wants to help with chores for older Newark residents…” Nothing. He might as well have said he was Bluto from Delta House. “Is the lady of the house home?”
“No home. You go.”
“Anyone else I can talk to?”
“Nobody home. You go now.”
Who’d he think he was? Jumbo-sized cops were one thing; maybe he’d step inside for a little peek, remind this runt of his size. Shamus pulled out a flyer he stole off a windshield earlier.
“Alrighty then, boss, I’ll just leave this flyer on the table here…” Shamus brushed past the old prick. He started to extend his arm to drop off the paper.
One of the man’s hands moved in a blur. His fingers dug into Shamus’s forearm like talons, and pain exploded down to his hand. Shamus saw the paper flutter from his tingling digits.
“Go. Now.”
“Goddamn, what did you do?” Shamus used his good hand to shove the old man, who released the arm and pivoted his shoulders. It felt like Shamus had pushed loose canvas.
An instant later, the man stuck one finger under Shamus’s chin. Agony flared along his jaw, and he was forced to stand on tiptoes in an effort to reduce the pressure. Shamus hopped backward, but the man kept lifting and walked him away from the door like he was some sort of trained monkey. Shamus fell down, and the old man stood his ground with the same stony expression.
“Go.”
Fuck this. Shamus kept the clipboard and managed to get to his feet. His heart pounded. He opened his mouth to say something, he wasn’t sure what, but the man shifted his weight toward him and Shamus felt all resolve crumble. He turned and sprinted down the block. His legs felt fine, and he ran past his car before he looked back to see if this crazy bastard was chasing him. No.
Shamus got back to his car, and the shakes set in. He managed to get the car started and the radio turned on full blast before he cut loose with a scream. He could move his fingers, but the pain lingered. His jaw ached, and the scream hurt. He closed his eyes and tried to let the music wash over him, but he heard a familiar voice over the music.
“Scared, scared…”
He changed the station. Country, but it didn’t matter.
“Scared little boy…”
Another station. Rap.
Gran’s voice was loud and clear now. “Miserable excuse for a boy, let alone a man.”
“Shut up!” Shamus pushed in the lighter.
“You know what happens to bad boys…”
The lighter popped out.
“They need the mark of cowardice.”
“Yes.” Shamus pulled down his pants and slid his boxers up to the last circular scar. Placement was everything, or she’d never stop. He knew she was right.
“What are you waiting for, boy?”
Shamus tugged the lighter free, and the orange coils glowed. He pressed the tip onto his inner thigh. He couldn’t hear the hiss, but the smoke hit his nostrils a moment later. The pain washed him clean and pushed aside the bruises from the old man. Gran’s presence left the car without a sound. She knew he’d finish the work later and rub ashes into the wound to make the scar permanent, just like she showed him.
He didn’t mind. The rules were different now. He knew what to do to make her proud.
CHAPTER 11
Lake Effect
Monday morning
Chang crossed a quiet lake. His paddle left gentle ripples on the water’s surface. A noise shook his concentration, and he struggled to preserve the image. The paddle turned into a tennis racket. Tennis balls bobbed up around the canoe like eyes and stared at Chang. She had green eyes…
“How many times have I told you not to move your goddamned desk?”
Chang abandoned his meditation and opened his eyes. Sergeant Foley leaned over him. Sausage on his breath. Chang’s desk was turned perpendicular to the rest of the neat rows of detective desks. A small electric fountain and wind chime sat on the flat surface.
“The same number of times I’ve told you I need the desk facing that wall so I can align my qi.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, and I don’t give a rat’s ass about your kee! Your spiritual guru ain’t in charge of this room, I am.” Foley’s uniform looked like it had been starched while he wore it.
Chang stood and eyed the vulnerable points on Foley’s body. So easy, one quick strike…The Dragon’s heartbeat quickened his own pulse.
“It better be straight when I get back.” Foley left.
Chang remained still and allowed his blood pressure to drop. He wasn’t sure which relaxed him more, the feng shui or the fact that it annoyed Foley.
Nelson walked in and must have caught the end of the exchange. “Ever hear the one about ‘the nail that sticks up gets pounded down’?”
Chang waved the idea away. “He won’t make it physical. Fear rules Foley, and I can control myself.”
Nelson looked unconvinced.
“Ed Wiggins just came by.”
“Really?” Chang feigned surprise.
“Apologized and everything. I hope you didn’t threaten him.” Nelson met his eyes. Scanned him.
“I wouldn’t do that.”
“You might.”
“Well I didn’t.” Chang yanked back the angry red mist that tried to drift from Foley toward Nelson. “I let them know what happened and that you’re a hell of cop.”
Nelson stared at the floor. “Was.”
“Are—it’s part of your nature. You aren’t happy here.”
Nelson pulled a notepad from his back pocket. “Nobody is. Look. I staked out the mall across the street for two weeks. More than two-thirds of the people who walked by weren’t happy. I read it off them like they carried signs.”
Chang hadn’t realized how much Nelson missed investigating. “Meet me for lunch today. I need your help.”
CHAPTER 12
Off the Bench
Chang showed up on time with a briefcase in one hand and a takeout bag in the other. The weather was cool, in the high fifties, but the sun shone. They walked to the outdoor eating area with half a dozen picnic tables and chose one furthest from any other diners.
“I’ll get right to the point.” Chang took sandwiches out of the bag. “Do you know about the Vietnamese couple killed in their store a few weeks back?”
“Saw it in the paper. A double. Rare around here.”
“Yes, it could be a hit from a shakedown, but I don’t think so.”
“There’s more.” Nelson made it a fact, not a question.
“If there weren’t, I wouldn’t need a wreck like you, would I?” Chang saw the remark had stung. “Sorry. You know I didn’t mean that.”
“Maybe you’re desperate.” Nelson flashed a rare smile. “So you think we have a hunter?”
We? Good.
“Maybe. I don’t know.” Chang knew his frustration showed. He pulled out a folder. “I borrowed the case file.”
Nelson reached for the papers. “Let’s have a look.”
“Not here. You’re a civilian. Later.”
“I never felt like a cop when I was one. Now I don’t feel like a civilian.”
“Never mind the file; I want your first instincts.”
“I’m rusty, but what else sticks out on these cases?” Nelson spoke around a bite of sandwich.
“The papers left out plenty.” Chang lowered his voice and told him about the cans of food and the produce in the laps of the victims.
“Interesting. Both shot in the head, execution style. Money gone. Produce in laps. Both victims clothed?”
“Yes.”
“Signs of struggle? Defensive wounds on the hands, anything like that?”
“It looks like they were tied up before the perp got physical.” Chang hoped it was quick for th
em. Escaped the horrors of Vietnam only to get shot in Wilmington.
“Enemies?”
Chang mentioned the payoffs.
“Do gangs use melons for silencers these days?”
“I don’t think so. That bothered me. Did you see the news item recently about a convenience store shooting?”
“They quoted you, and you didn’t tell the reporter anything. Some 7-Eleven guy shot and robbed, was that it?”
Nelson’s memory was never rusty.
“It seemed like a pure vanilla robbery/homicide at first.” Chang covered the basic facts and the lemon.
“Broke the nose?”
“The killer was angry about something.” Chang couldn’t get the citrus smell out of his mind. He wished Nelson could have seen it up close.
“Set off, or was it a grudge?”
“That’s not clear. The guns are different, and the Nguyens were shot execution style, and in this case the killer faced his victim. But then there’s the fruit.”
“Walk me through the facts.” Nelson sat perfectly still and closed his eyes.
Chang recited the key points. “Two sets of murders a couple weeks apart. Peel back the surface and both could be anger related. Plus the food element.”
“Robbery, crimes took place later at night, the victims were ethnic, two Vietnamese, one Indian.” Nelson whispered. He opened his eyes. “No magic yet. I want to see the files.”
“We’ll put our heads together.” Like old times…an unfortunate reason for nostalgia, but there it was.
Chang watched Nelson take out a calendar and flip though blank pages. “I don’t have much to do after work this week, except walk Daisy, so I guess we’re on.” They cleared the table and walked back to the building.
Chang could swear there was a bounce in Nelson’s step.
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