by Oliver North
On April 29, 1992, after seven days of deliberations, a jury sitting in suburban Simi Valley acquitted five white police officers of assault in the videotaped beating of Rodney King, an African-American. King was on parole for armed robbery when he fled a routine California Highway Patrol traffic stop in March 1991. In the lengthy police pursuit to effect his arrest, vehicles reached speeds in excess of 110 miles per hour. King’s subsequent apprehension at the intersection of Foothill Boulevard and Osborne Street in the San Fernando Valley was caught on tape by George Holliday, who lived in a nearby apartment complex. With his camcorder, Holliday recorded King being hit with batons and kicked by the arresting officers.
Within hours, video clips of the beating headlined every news broadcast and the ensuing trial of the five Los Angeles policemen captured international attention.
Immediately following the April acquittals, the Los Angeles riots erupted, lasting six days and nights. Murder and arson accompanied massive looting. Fifty-three people died and thousands were injured. More than four thousand National Guard troops and active-duty U.S. Army soldiers and Marines were called in to quell the anarchy, arson, and murder.
One of the hardest-hit communities was Koreatown, along the Wilshire Boulevard corridor, where hundreds of locally owned businesses were damaged or destroyed. When the police and fire departments withdrew from the violent street confrontations with rioters, Korean-Americans living in the community armed themselves and rallied to protect the Korean-owned businesses. Television news crews captured gun battles between the businessmen and looters, with some in the media labeling it a race war.
Following the riots, Koreatown fell into disrepair as many residents fled the area for safer suburban communities. But by 2005, a stagnant overseas economy brought new Korean investors to the United States and there was a rebirth in the Mid-Wilshire community, now an urban success story.
For Jake Kruse, however, Koreatown was just one more criminal community playground.
It was late in the afternoon as the undercover agent threaded his way through traffic and pulled down a side street just off Wilshire Boulevard. “Where is this place?”
Before Tommy Hwan answered, Jake slammed on his brakes and pounded the horn. A female driver pulled out from an alley without looking and almost clipped the front of the undercover vehicle.
“You know what’s worse than eating down here?” barked Jake.
“What?” said Tommy, tattoos peeking out from below both sleeves of his counterfeit Polo shirt.
“Driving down here.”
“Don’t push your luck, whitey.”
Jake wanted to add evidentiary value to the conversation. “When you set up the meeting this morning, you didn’t tell me Reid was so short. I towered over him during the negotiations. The boots allowed me to up the ante for the hit, but I could have gone barefoot.”
“Did it work?”
“He’s paying fifty thousand dollars and the only thing he remembers about me is I’m a lot taller than he is and I wear Tony Lama ostrich-skin boots.”
“So when you get popped and are standing in a lineup with all your white-trash mayonnaise-sucking buddies, as long as your boots are off he won’t recognize you.” Tommy was grinning ear to ear as he spewed his idea of jailhouse humor.
“You’re real funny, my short little Asian friend, but tell me more about Reid,” said Jake.
“He is Mr. Park’s attorney.”
“When do I meet Park?”
“I’m not sure you ever will. You have no need to meet him. At least not yet,” said Tommy without hesitation.
“What’s the deal with you dog-munchers? You brag about some round-eye helping you smuggle in all kinds of counterfeit crap from the Empire of Evil but you won’t introduce me to your friends and family. I’m not sure my delicate ego can take your slights,” said Jake, concentrating on the road ahead but giving Tommy a quick glance.
“You’ll be meeting one of my business associates in a few minutes. Assuming you behave yourself, I might take you home to mother.”
“Tell me more about Reid, the attorney.”
“He’s a player. Reid and Mr. Park are big in Las Vegas. That’s where I go to launder money for both of them. I’ve brought Reid a few paying clients over the years and take a little street tax for my referrals,” said Tommy in a matter-of-fact manner.
“You’re a capper?” asked Jake.
“You might say that. I introduced him to some Korean high-flyers and for that he was very generous.”
In mock protest Jake said, “But Tommy, I believe referral fees from attorneys are illegal and unethical. Shouldn’t we report him to the bar association?”
Tommy gave a halfhearted laugh. “Yeah, it’s illegal. He trusts me and like I said, he’s been good to me. Before I made a run to Vegas last Friday, he pulled me aside in his office and asked me for some very specific help.”
“You don’t think he’s trying to set us up, do you?” said Jake, trying to sound cautious in taking on such an assignment.
“No. He deals with Hollywood filth and hip-hop drug scum. The only murderers he defends are actors who kill their wives. I told him you were a professional and could get it done right.”
“Okay. I’ll give it a shot and feel him out a little more tomorrow. I’ll probably take the job, but we need to be sure he doesn’t get cold feet and decide to switch sides.”
“If that happens I can get some people from overseas who will eliminate the government’s key witness, and you’ll have the perfect alibi since your Caucasian ass will be sitting in county on a contract killing beef.”
“You are so reassuring.” Jake paused for a prolonged moment, then changed the subject. “So when do I get to meet this girlfriend of yours?”
Jake hoped to engage as many of Tommy’s associates not only to identify the full scope of the criminal conspiracy but to enhance his credibility by throwing out Tommy’s friends as being the undercover agent’s friends.
“She’ll be at the restaurant. She’s working today.”
“How serious is this?”
“I really, really like her.”
“Really?” said Jake mockingly.
“Yes, really.”
“You gonna make an honest woman of her and pop the question?”
Tommy gulped. “I’m not sure I’m that serious.”
“You need to hurry and legalize it. Otherwise you can’t get conjugal visits in prison.”
Tommy again gave a halfhearted laugh, but even after two months of their joint criminal ventures he had trouble reading the man in the driver’s seat.
In a slightly playful tone, Jake continued, hoping to get a further rise out of Tommy. “Is her name really Candy? That sounds like a screen name for some interstate escort service. I bet she spells it with a k and an i. What is it, Kandi Wantsum? I can see the Internet ads now.”
Tommy wasn’t eager to engage his co-conspirator in roguish banter. “It’s Candy with a c and a y. I keep trying to figure out if I don’t like you because you’re white or I just don’t like you. You are closing fast on the edge of a very steep cliff. One misstep and you might be tomorrow’s headlines, assuming they find the body. I’m not even sure why I put up with you.”
Jake flashed an engaging smile and, for the benefit of the device recording the conversation and any jury who might ultimately hear it, said, “Because I am only charging you and your boss two kilos of crystal meth for the container of counterfeit jeans I helped you smuggle across the border last week. I also seem to recall promising you a third on my most recent murder-for-hire contract, which you brought to me. You should be a little more grateful and forgiving.”
“Once I no longer need your services I won’t need to be forgiving or grateful.”
“Come on, Tommy, don’t tell me you’re going to de-friend me on Facebook. We’re BFFs.”
Jake slowed as he came to a four-way stop, waiting for Tommy to give directions. Tommy pointed left and Jake turned north.
Tommy wasn’t married to any particular gang or criminal enterprise. He was more a freelance broker and floated between the various factions of Asian organized-crime families throughout Los Angeles. His value to the FBI’s investigation was immense, and he was an unwitting accomplice in what the Bureau hoped to be a successful run at a major crime problem plaguing the City of Angels.
Jake charged plenty for his services, if for no other reason than to thin out the herd. Trey Bennett, the FBI case agent, was interested only in targeting those Asian organized-crime figures deemed to be in senior management. In the Korean community only a few names surfaced. Tommy knew each of these players without a scorecard, and according to intelligence collected by the FBI, he had done business with all of them over the past several years.
Today was to be Jake’s introduction to a perennial all-star, Yeong Chun Doo, or his Americanized name, Henry Yeong. Tommy had brokered a recent shipment of counterfeit Dolce & Gabbana jeans for Yeong and now this major player asked to meet the “round-eye” who was capable of easing logistical headaches. If everything worked out, Yeong would be solidifying his prospects for a long-term stay as the guest of the U.S. government in a federal prison.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
It had taken more than two months for Jake to move from a “street hood” to a “delivery specialist” in the organized-crime hierarchy. Of the numerous crimes he and Tommy Hwan conspired to commit, Jake always fulfilled his end of the bargain, so his credibility was solid.
The smart move for the low-hanging fruit was to never introduce someone higher up on the tree. Had Jake been a real criminal and the situation reversed, he wouldn’t have made the introduction, chancing Yeong would cut him out of any further deals. When Henry Yeong extended the invitation through Tommy, Jake understood the young criminal entrepreneur’s reluctance to introduce Henry to his round-eye co-conspirator with the valuable connections at the border. Jake took the high road, promising Tommy a piece of everything regardless of whether Yeong decided to pull an end run. Tommy, happy to remain in the payment cycle, was pleased with Jake’s proposal, knowing he couldn’t very well go against the orders of someone like a Henry Yeong.
“There it is,” said Tommy, pointing to the restaurant.
Jake drove past slowly, sizing up the business. The chipped and faded exterior paint was less than inviting. Then he spotted a C in the window, meaning the health inspectors deemed this eating establishment just a little better than dining in a toxic waste dump.
“Can’t you ever take me to a place with a Zagat rating?” said Jake with genuine disgust.
“We’re not here to eat,” said Tommy.
“Don’t worry, I won’t be. Health inspectors must come to Koreatown to make their quotas.”
“I can take your racial insensitivity and ethnic slurs, but I suggest you clean up your act once we get inside. Mr. Yeong doesn’t like American humor.”
“You don’t think I got a shot on Korean Comedy Central?”
When Tommy pointed to a parking spot across the street from the restaurant, Jake shook his head. “Does this place have a back entrance?”
“Yeah,” said Tommy, “through the alley.”
“We’ll use that. I’m betting they don’t get much non-Asian business. No sense bringing undue attention to ourselves.”
Jake pulled around the corner and parked. When they hopped out of the Range Rover and headed down the alley they were greeted by the smells of backstreet L.A.: rotten produce and putrefied water.
A rat darted out from behind a dumpster.
“Is this the year of the rat?” asked Jake.
“Does it matter?”
“I don’t like rats,” said Jake, knowing the irony in that statement.
“Actually rat is good. It’s the symbol of luck. The rat is clever, quick-witted, and successful.”
“Sort of like me, huh?” said Jake.
“There you go, whitey, flattering yourself again.”
Jake and Tommy crossed the alley and Tommy pointed to a wooden screen door just past a large green dumpster. Even with the lid closed the smell of garbage was pronounced. As Tommy grabbed a broken handle on the frame and opened the back door to the restaurant, Jake noted the torn netting, which allowed the flies to enter at will. Both stepped into the kitchen and were greeted by the contrasting aromas from the alley: sesame oil, garlic, ginger, peppers, and gochujang, all used in traditional Korean cooking. Two employees were busy with the dinner rush and paid little attention to the recent visitors.
The place wasn’t exactly appetizing but the undercover agent loved playing the bold and brazen role. As Jake walked past the servers’ counter, one of the cooks threw a plate of yaki-mandu, Korean egg rolls, under the heat lamp. Jake grabbed one, popped it in his mouth, and kept walking. The cook shouted something, which Jake assumed to be Korean expletives referencing the undercover agent’s mother in some capacity.
Tommy turned in time to see Jake munching on the Korean appetizer and smiling ear to ear.
The restaurant was larger than Jake expected. From the street he assumed there were not much more than a few tables, but there was a fully stocked bar running the width of the building and several dozen worn tables scattered throughout the darkened open area. Ragged Asian décor accented the walls.
Only about a third of the tables were occupied but it was early, and based upon what Tommy said, he guessed things didn’t pick up until later in the evening. All the patrons were older and appeared non-menacing, so Jake figured the diners weren’t part of some Asian hit squad ready to take him down.
Jake was drawn to a tall African-American man standing at the far end of the bar and the attractive Asian woman seated on a bar stool across from him. The slender female had long black hair, a perfect complexion, and appeared to be in her early twenties. She shot out from her seat when Tommy entered the dining room, offering a seductive smile as she raced toward Jake’s criminal associate. Tommy responded with a quick embrace as the two met at the middle of the bar.
“How you doing, baby,” said Tommy.
“I fine, especially now you here.”
Jake was following and Tommy turned to introduce the two. “Candy, this is Jake.”
She did a slight bow. “Mr. Jake, it nice to finally meet you. Tommy tell me much about you.”
Her smile seemed genuine and Jake countered, “Tommy has told me a lot about you. He said you were beautiful, but I thought that was just blind love. You really are very beautiful.”
“Thank you, Mr. Jake,” she said. Her quick blush and tilt of her head were convincing.
“Please just call me Jake.”
She continued her smile and nodded. “Thank you, Jake.”
Tommy was pleased Jake found his girlfriend so attractive but needed to get on with business. He turned to Jake. “Sit at the bar. I’ll go upstairs and see if Mr. Yeong is ready.”
As Tommy headed toward the stairs Candy said to him, “I need talk to you.”
“Can we talk later? Mr. Yeong is waiting.”
“It only take minute. It important. Please, Tommy,” begged Candy.
Tommy stopped, hoping any further delay wouldn’t upset Yeong.
“Did you hear about Sonny?”
“No.”
“He dead.”
“What?” said Tommy with genuine surprise.
“Two nights ago someone kill him. Shoot him.”
“No way. Where?”
“He at home. It in paper this morning,” said Candy.
“Look, we’ll talk later. I’ve got to see Mr. Yeong. He’s waiting.”
Tommy walked toward the stairs, shaking his head, confused by the news he had just received.
As the two were talking, Jake straddled a bar stool covered with aging red vinyl and tried to listen in. The African-American at the far end of the bar turned out to be the bartender and strolled down to Jake with minimal enthusiasm. “What can I get you?”
“Give me a Hite.”
>
“We don’t carry it.”
“But it’s Korean,” said Jake, studying the bartender.
“Yeah, and so is Taedonggang, Cass, and OB.”
“Then give me one of those.”
“We don’t carry them, either.”
Jake shook his head. “What do you have on tap?”
“Bud, Bud Light, Select, and Michelob.”
“Make it a Light. . . . Real ethnic bar you got here. You carry all the authentic Korean brands, huh?”
The bartender, wearing what the undercover agent assumed to be a counterfeit Polo shirt and knockoff Dolce & Gabbana jeans, caught the sarcasm dripping from Jake’s mouth as he drew a Bud Light from the tap.
“You own this place?” asked Jake.
“Nope,” said the bartender abruptly, obviously not seeking to engage in conversation or get tipped.
“Why do you work down here?”
“I’m a bartender. I needed a job. They had an opening. Besides, ricers drink as much beer as peckerwoods.”
Jake caught the references. Peckerwoods, a term typically reserved for whites in prison, was not necessarily one used in sensitivity training.
“When’d you get out?” asked Jake as he took a drink.
“A couple of years ago.”
“Still gotta tail?”
“What are you, five-o?” asked the bartender.
“I did a little time back east,” said Jake as he extended his hand. “The name’s Jake.”
“Yeah, I heard Tommy introduce you to Candy.”
Jake waited, cocking his head as if to say, “And . . .”
The bartender said, “Nice to meet you,” without introducing himself or shaking Jake’s hand. He then walked to the far end of the bar and continued his conversation with Candy, which apparently Jake and Tommy had interrupted.
The undercover agent had taken only a few sips of his beer when Tommy returned through the hallway and joined their quiet discussion.
Jake could barely make out what Tommy, Candy, and the bartender were saying but they appeared to be discussing the murder of Sonny. No one seemed to be offering an easy explanation, though Jake overheard Candy say she was always uncomfortable around the victim because he asked too many questions and seemed to be in everyone’s business, a trait not appreciated in Koreatown. Tommy excused himself and looked to Jake. Using his index finger in a circling motion, he signaled to the undercover agent, who left a couple of bucks on the bar and headed for the back.
