Jean and Kelly exchanged looks and shook their heads, knowing he was hopeless.
Ten minutes later both men had finished their meals and second cups of coffee. Josh glanced over at his friend. "Any new skinny on the streets?"
Kelly picked his teeth with a toothpick. "Same old shit.
Crack went up another quarter a bag, hero is gettin' a little scarce. Better keep the boys checkin' the parking lots. The freaks can get a kick by tradin' in a car CD player. Oh, yeah, the Intel boys say we got a bunch of new Chinks in the city.
The Intel weenies are puttin' the scare tactics on us, sayin' it looks like a takeover. They told us all to read up on that report about the Chink takeover in that Canadian city. When you fucked off that six months with us, you told me all about it. You know."
"The Vancouver model?"
"Yeah, that's it. The Vancouver model. Remember it, Hawk? You knew it inside and out and even briefed my guys on it."
Josh shrugged. "Sure, it's the report on how the Chinese syndicate took over Vancouver."
Kelly gave his friend a sidelong glance. "Look, be a buddy, huh, and tell me about it again. I didn't get a chance to read it last night 'cause--"
Josh rolled his eyes. "Mary on your case again?"
"Hey, just get to the bottom line, will ya? I don't need the third degree here. Mary wanted me to have some quality time with the twins. I took the whole crew to Chuck E Cheese's, spent a fortune playin' their gee-whiz arcade videos and even ate their lousy pizza. I need a little refreshing, that's all."
Josh shook his head as he leaned back in his chair. "Poor Mary. I don't know why she even bothers with you. Okay, for Mary's sake. The Vancouver model is a study on how the Chinese syndicate moves in and takes over the action. They work in at least six layers. The first layer is the pushers and recruiters. They get their dope and exchange the cash from sales with the second layer, the block lieutenants. We're not talkin' Chinese unless it's in Chinatown. The syndicate uses the existing locals, paying them a little more money for their loyalty. These local lieutenants work for the third layer, the district captains. These captains are tough, no-shit action boys who pack serious hardware and do the enforcing. They make big bucks and keep a stable of enforcers, muscle, and informants. They do the bribing and whacking if necessary. According to the Vancouver model, the district captains are usually the best of the Jamaican, Latino, or black players who know and totally understand the game. The captains take all the risks; they distribute the product and keep a close eye on their lieutenants. These captains report to the fourth layer, the majors, who stay clean and do the wholesale business.
Now we're into the smart guys. These majors work through a series of front men, all previous captains who earned the right to move up. These front men are super loyal to their majors, and are your principal wholesalers of product. They keep it stored and accounted for. The majors are where you find your first Chinese syndicate boys, and from here on up we're talkin' strictly family members. They make themselves untouchable by the law and let the front boys take the fall if anything goes down. Unlike the Mafia, these guys didn't work their way up the ladder picking up dirt along the way.
They don't swing, party, booze it, throw money away, or do anything that makes them blackmail able or usable by the law or competitors. The majors report to the colonels, who run respectable businesses and supply their assigned majors with dope, set priorities, and make the payrolls. Here we also find specialty colonels who do nothing but handle the books, money laundering, shipping, packaging, et cetera. The colonels report to the San, the lord, the big boss. He is the number one and has on call a complete stable of high-priced lawyers who cover his family with paper if the feds or police get lucky. This San is a boss for the Triad in Hong Kong, which means unlimited funds. This guy pulls all the strings and makes all the big decisions, but he never gets personally involved in anything dirty."
Kelly had kept nodding his head as Josh was speaking. He shrugged his shoulders. "Yeah, I know that stuff. I thought it was more scientific, y'know? Thanks, Hawk. I owe ya."
Josh's interest was now aroused. "Wait a minute, you don't get off the hook that easy. Do your Intel boys really think they could have a Vancouver model moving into D. C.?"
Kelly tossed down his old toothpick and picked up a new one. " 'Fraid so. The Chinese gangs down in Chinatown have straightened up their act big-time. Somebody who has discipline has set them straight. The word is that the independent wholesalers have been told to play ball with the new boys in town or get out. We've put a couple of teams in to keep an eye out, but right now it's all talk and no action. The West Coast sent us some books of photos of the guys who are supposed to have moved in here. My boys have spotted a few, but so far they're playin' it cool. Hawk, you wouldn't believe the names. They're all Wang and Dong and Ye and Fe. Shit, I'm gonna have to get a Chink cop from the West Coast just to keep the names straight for us if they start some action.
I'm not real worried yet, but something is definitely going on. The independents are runnin' scared, and they don't scare easy."
Josh looked out the window with a vacant stare. "That's not good news, my man. The Triad boys don't play around.
They go for the jugular early to make a statement. When I was on the task force I went to Hong Kong for two weeks for some briefings from the British, who laid it all out for us.
The Brits had been trying for years to penetrate the Triad but couldn't get past first base. Whenever the police started getting close, the Triad would go after the cops' families or blow up a few bombs in buses full of civilians. That way the authorities knew the price of waging war against them was going to be very high. The Triad doesn't play by any rules, and in every case the cops had to back off. The Brits said the only way to get to the Triad was to expose its leadership. Cut the snake's head off, as it were."
Kelly smirked. "Fat chance of that in the good old U S of A. The Hong Kong cops ain't got the American Civil Liberties Union lookin' over their shoulders. Enough of this Chink shit. What about you? You pick up anything I could use?"
Josh lifted his coffee cup with a wry smile. "Yeah, maybe.
The Chizo brothers had a pair of high-priced working girls with them while they were throwin' big bucks around in La Rivage last night."
Kelly's eyes narrowed and he became all business. "How big? What denominations?"
"Three hundred a pop for premium vino. They had four bottles plus the best meals in the house. They paid in hundred-dollar bills."
Kelly's upper lip crawled back in an evil smile. "Those boys are dumber than a box of rocks. I'll pass it on to Whitey. He needs a stroke. Thanks. Hey, our game is at two so--ah shit, why am I tellin' ya the time?" He glanced at Josh's bare left wrist. "Be there, asshole, on time for a change. Take a sundial out with you on the hunt, but be there. It's the D-ones down in Vice who beat us last week."
"We didn't lose, we were just settin' them up," Josh said with a crooked grin.
Kelly rolled his eyes, got up, and headed for the door, talking over his shoulder. "Get the check, will ya? Mary forgot to give me my allowance. I'll get it tomorrow. See ya at two."
Josh shook his head slowly, knowing his cheap friend would have the same lame excuse tomorrow. He tossed a ten onto the table and nodded approvingly at Jean, who approached carrying a string that was threaded through the handles of seven plastic gallon milk containers. She handed the bundle over and screwed up her brow. "I can't believe I'm helping you."
Josh winked. "He's mine; I'm gonna get him today. You just wait and see."
Jean stuffed the ten-dollar bill in her apron and picked up the plates. "Yeah, yeah."
Holding the string of bottles in one hand and a bag of ice in another, Josh strode to Lil' Darlin' . He was almost there when he heard a familiar voice behind him. "Boss, I need the keys to open the office."
It hit Josh like a bolt of lightning. He turned around and tossed the string of bottles to the startled young man. "And I need a witn
ess. Come on, you're coming with me."
Confused, Bob Stevenson looked at the bottles, then at his boss. "Where?"
"The hunt."
"But the office?"
"We have an answering machine. Stef will be here in a couple of hours; she can handle it. Come on, you're gonna see it happen."
"What happen?"
"Him, I'm catching his big ass today. Just shut up and follow me."
Bob's new Docker slacks and his shoes were mined as he sat disgruntled in the bouncing bass boat as it made its way around Haynes Point into the Potomac River. Minutes before, two buckets of Ky's rotten fish had splashed all over him.
The whole thing would have been a little better if his boss had at least helped him rather than just snickered and rolled his eyes.
Josh turned upriver toward the busy Rochambeau and George Manson Memorial bridges, which contained the usual Interstate 395 bumper-to-bumper traffic. He steered the boat between the pylons and glanced over his shoulder to make sure he wasn't being followed. Looking back, he shouted over the rumbling outboard and Conway Twitty singing "Julia," "I've never taken anyone with me before. You'll have to swear secrecy."
Bob looked at his pants and wrinkled his nose. "I swear I'll never tell a soul you stole the fish heads."
"I didn't steal them! Ky puts the buckets out for me. Hey, I'm serious. You can't tell anyone about how or where I hunt."
"Fine," Bob said, wondering what the hell he was talking about.
Reading his look, Josh patted his assistant's shoulder. "You still upset about the spill?"
"No. I'm upset that you talked me into going."
Josh smiled in understanding. "It's good to get away for a while. You're gonna love it. How do ya like the music?
Conway sure can wail, can't he?"
Bob nodded with a tight, forced smile.
They passed beneath the bridges and Josh motioned to their right. "Over there's the tidal basin. We can't hunt in there." He nodded to an opening just ahead. "We're going in there-Lady Bird Johnson Park and Marina. Just on the other side of the marina is the riverfront entrance to the Pentagon; you'll see it on the left as we go by."
Josh steered into the small harbor and cut back the power, bringing the boat to a crawl. "There's a waterway ahead, a kind of canal we're gonna take. It's the hunting ground. Remember, this is all secret. If Ky knew I got the turtles less than a mile from his Emporium he would shit a brick. I tell him I hunt up and down the river. Great con, huh?"
"Yeah, great," Bob said without feeling.
"Here we go. There's the first float marking one of the traps."
Josh cut the engine and glided up to the floating milk container. He reached into the water beneath the bottle, grabbed a thin nylon rope tied to the handle, and gave a little tug.
"Yeah, we got some," he said excitedly.
Bob found himself caught up in his boss's excitement. He grabbed the rope and helped haul the trap up, surprised at the heavy resistance. The chicken-wire and steel-framed trap looked similar to a lobster trap; to his horror it was half full of flopping fish, a snake caught within a chicken-wire loop, and what must have been five or six very angry, muddy turtles.
"Hot damn!" yelled Josh, who held the trap level with the water. "Pull the snake out and help me get the trap into the boat."
"Are you crazy?" Bob exclaimed in a high-pitched voice.
"It's just a water snake. Pull him out!"
"No way!" Bob backed away from the slithering reptile.
His arm muscles trembling with the strain, Josh worked his hands down the rope hand over hand until he could grab the top of the trap. He took a breath and suddenly lunged backward, bringing the trap with him. The snake's body slapped Bob's face and shoulder as the trap tumbled into the boat.
Josh grabbed the snake and flung it over the side in a single movement. "Is this fun or what?" Josh asked, looking into the trap with glee.
At that moment Bob knew his boss was totally insane.
Josh saw what he was thinking and laughed. "Come on, help me get 'em out. You'll learn to appreciate this, I promise. We keep only hard-backed turtles that weigh three pounds or more. Toss everything else back."
Bob knew there was no way out. He'd have to humor the lunatic until he was safely back at the pier. He looked into the trap of flopping fish and clawing turtles. "Do they bite?"
Josh was already unwiring the top. "Yeah, so watch how I do it. Forget the fish until we get the turtles out, pick one out aaaand ... grab him like that! See, get the back foot or tail and lift him quickly before he has time to fight." Josh dropped the turtle into the weld between the seats. "No sweat. Okay, your turn."
Bob took a breath, squared his shoulders, squinted, and reached in. His scream echoed up and down the canal until Josh calmly reached over and squeezed the turtle's elongated neck and it let go of Bob's little finger.
The young man waved his hand as if it were on fire, but he'd at least quit the bloodcurdling scream. Finally he looked at his finger, and a sudden stillness settled over him. His eyes slowly shifted to his mentor. "It didn't even break the skin."
Josh tried to keep a straight face but couldn't, and he broke up laughing. Bob tried to act hurt but couldn't, and joined him.
By the fourth trap Bob was as excited as his boss. But the wire contraption he pulled up was just a battered ball of twisted metal. "What the heck happened to this one?" he asked, lifting it up into the boat.
Josh's jaw tightened but a gleam sparked in his eyes. "Him ... he's here." He quickly stepped forward to the front of the boat and untied the special trap. "Today's the day. I've designed a secret weapon to get him," Josh said as he spun around and reached for the bucket of rotten fish.
Minutes later Bob watched his boss lower into the water a heavy-duty steel trap that looked to him like a small shark cage. Josh attached three milk bottles to the rope and dropped them overboard. He steered the boat to shore, got out, and motioned Bob to follow him. "Come on, we'll wait on shore and see if we get him."
Bob carefully stepped over the turtles between the seats and joined his boss. He asked, "What or who is 'him'?"
Josh gazed out at the floating bottles. "About a month ago I tried to pull up a trap but it wouldn't budge. I tried harder and nearly broke my back hauling it in. When it surfaced I saw him. He looked directly at me with his huge black eyes.
He'd bit through the wire to get the bait, but caught his front foot in the chicken wire."
Josh turned and looked at his mesmerized assistant. "He's big, a monster-the king of the turtles. He must be 100 years old and weigh at least 150 pounds." Josh's eyes slowly shifted back to the water. "The King looked at me, kinda daring me to reach down for him. I made the move but his eyes rolled back and he suddenly kicked free and was gone. The old King tears up two or three of my traps a week. He does it to show me who rules the river."
Bob closed his gaping mouth. "You're exaggerating, right?
I mean about his size?"
Josh shook his head in silence, sighed, and leaned back against a tree.
Bob looked at the still water with a greater respect for what lay beneath its tranquil beauty. He leaned back and spoke quietly. "So we just wait?"
Josh looked up at the tree limbs above him. "I'm going to let you in on another secret. I don't hunt all morning like everybody thinks. I sleep here a couple of hours, just lay back and rack out. Ky thinks I work hard at catching them, and I add to the con by telling him I can catch only a dozen a day."
"We've got that now," Bob said, sitting up.
"Right, and that's the big secret. We could bring in twenty if we wanted, but then Ky would know they're easy to catch.
To protect my business, I keep the secret from getting out."
"Boss, why do you do it? I mean, you've got a good business. It's not like you need the money."
Josh shrugged. "It's a challenge. An old teacher of mine once told me a man has to have one now and then just to know who and what he is.
It probably seems stupid to you, but ... but I like it out here. I like knowing I'm doing something nobody else does."
Bob looked at Josh's profile and made up his mind. "Boss, I guess it's as good a time as any to ask you something. It's about Stefne. I ... well, I would like to ask Stefne out. I'm asking you because I don't want you to think I'm trying to get ahead by asking out the boss's daughter. She ... she's a ... a ..."
"A challenge," said Josh, helping him find the word.
"Yes, kind of ... She's different from other women I know. She's beautiful and yet doesn't know it or doesn't seem to care. She doesn't play the usual games, just looks you in the eye and tells you what she thinks."
Josh smiled. "Some would call that opinionated. You don't have to ask me for my permission. Hell, you're old enough and so is she. But I gotta warn you about Stefne. Beneath that know-it-all exterior is a very sensitive woman. Her mother was like that, hard as a rock on the outside. People thought they could say anything to her and it wouldn't bother her, but it did. I know-I hurt her a few times. I could see the loss of a small spark in her eyes. It tore me up and I never forgave myself." Josh picked up a small stone and cast it into the water. "They seem to be tough, yet they're fragile, so goddamn fragile. I wish I'd known before she ..." He broke off and glanced at Bob with embarrassment. "Sorry, I was just tryin' to warn you that Stefne has a heart that breaks easier than most, that's all."
Forged in Honor (1995) Page 14
