The Color of Greed (Raja Williams 1)

by Thompson, Jack

  Raja called Vinny on the way back to Studio City. “I hope you have something good for me,” he said.

  “That’s what she said,” said Vinny.

  “And what I’m asking,” said Raja, not feeling playful.

  “I’ve got a sketchy trail of credit receipts from Judge Griggsby with an epicenter in San Francisco.”

  “That’s where he was supposed to be going for business, according to his wife. And his business is now our business.”

  “Time for a road trip to No Cal?” asked Vinny.

  “Time for a road trip.”

  Although he owned two jets and flying was an option, Raja preferred driving if the distance wasn’t too great. Something about the open spaces on the road cleared his head and driving always gave him a better sense of control. “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes. Might as well go tonight.”

  Raja called Clarice on the drive home. “I hope you are keeping your head down.”

  “Like an ostrich at the beach,” said Clarice. “Any news?”

  Raja didn’t want to alarm Clarice with the body count. “We have some good leads. In fact, we are on the way to San Francisco to follow up on one right now.”

  “Anything I can do to help?”

  “For now, stay safe.”

  “I’m a big girl. I can take care of myself.”

  “That’s good. I’ll keep you posted when we find out more.”

  Raja ended the call just before pulling into the parking garage in Studio City.

  Vinny was waiting by the elevator when he pulled up. She loved the open road as much as Raja did. She had her hair tied in a pony tail and sticking out the back of her Rays cap. With her rolled up jeans and baggy shirt, she looked like an overgrown kid going on a family outing to a ball game.

  Raja wished it would be that simple. He couldn’t help smiling as he watched her gather up her things. Raja’s cup was usually half full, but Vinny’s was always overflowing.

  “I already locked up,” said Vinny. “I packed you the usual and everything I need,” she said while tossing two bags into the back seat.

  “You sure we have everything?”

  “G-T-G, boss. Let’s boogie,” said Vinny, as she climbed in beside Raja.

  “I take it that’s a yes.”

  “No doubt about it.”

  Chapter Twelve: Road Trip to Hell

  Raja drove the scenic route to San Francisco along the Pacific Coast Highway. Vinny kept to herself, running algorithms through her iPad to track the judge’s movements, and all the while continuing her investigations of the various names she had accumulated. First, she collected all the data on Judge Griggsby’s locations in the city over the past two years. She could access financial transactions and video feeds from surveillance cameras throughout the city. Then she ran the data through an iCloud program she had installed from the computer back at the loft. Simultaneously she was searching all the SEC filings on investments he had made during his tenure as a federal judge.

  Meanwhile, Raja breathed in the fresh sea air and tried to forget about the case as much as he could. He took every case personally, which made him a force to reckon with during an investigation, but the closeness also took its toll emotionally. Cruising along the PCH was the perfect antidote. The twilight stretched out over a long time along the coastline and the lights played over the horizon in subtly shifting hues that soothed his mind.

  When darkness finally closed over the coast, Raja had begun to relax. First he rolled up the windows to deflect the wind. His razor-sharp memory allowed him to play a favorite Mozart piano concerto in his head, including the ambiance of the Vienna theater where he had originally watched the performance. He could even feel the bristle of the theater seat upholstery on his arms.

  “Woo Fong,” said Vinny, bringing a sudden end to the concerto.

  “What?” asked Raja, thinking it must be another one of Vinny’s hipster expressions.

  “Woo Fong Mandarin. It’s a restaurant in Chinatown. That should be our first stop in San Francisco. My modality program says we have a sixty-seven percent probability of finding the judge from there.”

  “Chinatown it is.”

  When Raja exited Highway One and headed into San Francisco, it was quarter to nine. The restaurant was closed so they headed to the tenderloin district. The judge’s sexual tastes made the S&M clubs a good place to start.

  There were plenty of choices in the Castro District.

  “Where to first?” asked Raja, as they tooled along Market Street.

  “I’ve got blogs on two man-boy clubs in the underground scene,” said Vinny. “Nothing here. We are looking for Baker Street—somewhere off Market—I’ll have it GPS’d in a moment.”

  There were private clubs along Market Street with small signs meant only for clientele who knew where they were going. Raja pulled over and watched a group of men coming out of one of the leather clubs. Two of them looked like conservative businessmen. The third was considerably younger, probably in his early twenties, wearing a spiked leather collar around his neck. As he bent down to climb into a Black Lexus, Raja read the tattoo on his lower back. It was mocked up like a green rectangular street sign that read OPEN FOR BUSINESS.

  Vinny noticed Raja staring and couldn’t resist. “This place is much too mainstream for the judge.”

  “Mainstream?” asked Raja, finding that hard to swallow.

  “Yeah, this is squaresville for San Francisco. We’re looking for the darker corners of the city.” Vinny fiddled with the GPS. “Here we go. 447 Baker Street—should be just south of 15th Street. Turn left at the next corner.”

  Raja made the turn and cruised slowly. Only a few blocks away from the tourist section was another planet altogether. The street lights were all tinted pink and the windows were blacked out in all the buildings.

  “This is it. Welcome to the man-boy district.”

  After parking, they walked to the address Vinny had found. The outside was dark and uninviting, with only a Gothic door with the number 447 above. Inside it looked like a father and son convention, with one major twist. Most of the pairs were either dancing or pawing each other. Raja remembered his own father and felt uncomfortable.

  “You want a drink?” asked Vinny. “You look like you could use one.”

  “Better make it a double.”

  Vinny ordered a scotch for Raja and a wine cooler for herself. She dropped a hundred dollar bill on the bar and said, “Keep the change.” She handed Raja the scotch which he downed in one uncharacteristic swig.

  “Are these really underage boys in here?” asked Raja.

  “It looks that way, but that’s all role playing. It’s eighteen or older to get in, and believe me, they do card.” Vinny leaned over the bar toward the bartender. “My friend is looking for a lover. But he wants someone younger than anybody I see in here. Any chance you can point us in the right direction?”

  “You a cop?”

  “Absolutely not.” Vinny put another one hundred dollar bill on the bar and smiled at the bartender.

  “You want to talk to Raphael.” The bartender wrote a number on a napkin. “Tell him Rocky told you to call. Otherwise, he’ll hang up.”

  “Thanks, Rocky.”

  “My name’s Ted,” said the bartender without smiling.

  “Right.” Vinny folded up the napkin and found Raja. He was standing next to a large fountain of a cherub peeing, attempting to be invisible. A number of men in the club were trying to make eye contact with him.

  “I can see you aren’t enjoying this part of the investigation,” said Vinny. “You know, Raj, we are just following the leads we get. You don’t actually have to join the man-boy club.”

  “Easy for you to say. You’re a girl. I feel dirty.”

  “Welcome to my world. Maybe you’ll remember this the next time you feel compelled to gawk at some hot babe.”

  “Point taken. In any case, if you got what we came for, let’s get out of here.”

  “Le
ad the way.”

  They left the club and stepped out onto the pavement. Raja was clearly relieved to be outside.

  “Feeling a little homophobic, are we?” asked Vinny.

  “Not at all. What adults do for fun is their business. However, that doesn’t mean I have to embrace or like it.”

  “True dat.” Vinny fiddled with her iPad. “I’ve got our next stop located using reverse number look up. The bartender said we should call first. Or, would you prefer to go all storm trooper?”

  Raja extrapolated on several possible scenarios in his head. “Let’s follow the bartender’s instructions. We are heading into an illicit world. I’d rather not surprise anyone and prompt a violent reaction.”

  “Then you should make the call, me being a girl and all.” Vinny loved to push Raja’s buttons.

  Raja made a face and pulled out his phone.

  Vinny handed him the number. “You should say Rocky sent you.”

  “You’re just messing with me now.”

  “No, the bartender said so. For real.”

  Raja punched in the number and waited.

  The phone rang three times before a tentative voice said, “Yeah?”

  “Rocky said to call.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “I’m looking for a companion.”

  “Age?”

  “Maybe ten to twelve.”

  “Race?”

  The voice sounded like a bored clerk at Baskin Robbins taking an order for an ice cream cone. It turned Raja’s stomach, but he managed to keep his cool. “Surprise me,” he said.

  “One thousand dollars. I need a major credit card.”

  Raja looked at Vinny who was tracking the phone call on her iPad. Both sides of the conversation were typing across her screen. She opened a window on the screen and handed it to Raja. It was a legitimate credit card she had created, complete with a separate persona and background for just such an occasion as this.

  Raja looked at the iPad screen. The name under the credit card number was Lester Brass. The phrase “Lester the molester” ran through his head as he prepared himself to assume the part. He decided right then he would never use that name again.

  “You there, buddy?” asked the impatient voice on the phone.

  “Yeah, yeah, just getting out my credit card. Here you go.” Raja read the number, name and expiration date to the faceless voice on the other end.

  After a fifteen second lag, the voice said, “Go to the Avalon Motel on Third Avenue, between Baker and Washington, and book room 214. Go to the room and wait inside. Got it?”

  “Got it. How long do I wait?”

  “Patience, my friend.” Then the line went dead.

  “There goes a thousand bucks I’ll never see,” said Raja. Sketchy didn’t begin to describe what he thought of this operation.

  “Money is just an attitude, remember,” said Vinny.

  “Yeah, and right now my attitude is pretty poor, no pun intended. I just hope we get something out of this.”

  “Only one way to find out.”

  Third Avenue was less than a mile away. The Avalon Motel was no better or worse than most cheap city motels. Raja pulled in and parked toward the rear.

  “I’ll go in,” said Raja. “You stay in the car until I get into the room.”

  “As you wish, boss.”

  Raja walked into the office. The man at the front desk was what you might expect at a low-rent motel. A couple of old faded tattoos, bad teeth and the red, rheumy eyes that spoke of someone who had exceeded capacity on alcohol far too often.

  “Room 214,” said Raja.

  The clerk smiled knowingly and tossed a key onto the counter. “A hundred even.” He knew a sucker when he saw one.

  Raja glared.

  “It’s our most popular room,” said the clerk. His grin revealed two missing molars.

  Raja put a hundred dollar bill on the counter, which the clerk scooped up like a frog snatching a fly.

  “Top rear, last door. Stairs are through there.” The clerk jerked a thumb to his left, and turned from the window, no longer interested.

  As Raja climbed, the stairs echoed with an empty, hollow sound that seemed appropriate to the unholy activities that went on at the Avalon Motel. It pained Raja to imagine the tortured souls who had come before him—not to mention their innocent victims. Reaching the last door, he turned the key in the knob, and after a pause to glance at the red Ferrari below, slipped into room 214.

  While waiting in the car, Vinny had already run a trace on the merchant account that had run Raja’s credit card. It was the Woo Fong Mandarin restaurant in Chinatown, the same one that she had already connected to Judge Griggsby. It looked like Ramona Griggsby had been telling the truth about the judge and his preferences. They were right on track. Vinny also knew, when this was over, Raja would turn over everything to the local police so they could bust up the operation. She dropped the info into a document folder on her iPad, and headed up the rear stairs to the room. After a soft knock, the door opened and she disappeared inside.

  “What do you think?” asked Vinny.

  “I think this world needs help,” said Raja, rubbing his temples. Degradation hung in the room like a thick cloud. Sometimes empathy could be a bitch. “For now, we wait,” he said.

  Vinny looked at the bed. “No chance I sit on that,” she said, and grabbed a wooden chair near the door.

  Raja stood in the corner watching through a narrow gap in the window curtain. After an hour, there was a loud triple knock on the door. Raja opened the door, keeping Vinny concealed behind it. A small Chinese boy, at most ten, stood alone in the doorway looking scared and desperate. Raja waved the boy inside. He stuck his head out and looked in both directions. Whoever brought the boy had already disappeared. This was going to be tougher than he had hoped.

  When the boy saw Vinny in the room, he looked confused.

  “Do you speak English?” she asked slowly.

  “Yes.”

  “No one is going to hurt you. You are safe now.”

  Instead of the relief Vinny expected, the boy’s eyes got wide and he looked alarmed. He thought they were the police.

  An avalanche of Chinese spilled from his lips, none of which Vinny could interpret beyond the fact the boy was upset. Before Vinny could say anything the boy bolted for the door.

  “Whoa there, fellow,” said Raja, as he scooped him up before he could get out. Raja put the boy down inside the room and closed the door. “English, please. Slowly.”

  “You must not make any trouble,” said the boy. “They will hurt my family.”

  “Who will?” asked Vinny.

  “The boss man.” He added a word in Chinese that didn’t sound like a compliment.

  “Where is your family?” asked Vinny.

  “Chinatown. They work in the factory for the boss man. That’s all I know. Please, I don’t want no trouble. You must let me go.”

  Vinny looked at Raja then back at the boy.

  “Do you know where the factory is?” asked Vinny.

  The boy shook his head.

  “We will fix this,” she said. “What is your name?”

  “Li.”

  “We will fix this, Li.” Vinny’s cup was overflowing, as usual.

  Raja wasn’t so sure. He and Vinny listened while the boy told them the horrors of what had happened. Finally, he said, “So you see. You must let me go.”

  “No way, Jose,” insisted Vinny.

  “The boy is right,” said Raja. “Let him go.” Raja opened the door.

  “Are you crazy?” said Vinny.

  “Let him go,” repeated Raja.

  Vinny couldn’t believe her ears.

  In the shock of the moment, the boy pulled free of Vinny and scampered out the door.

  Raja closed the door behind him.

  Vinny was outraged. “This can’t happen, Raj. Get out of my way. I will hurt you.” Vinny took a martial arts fighting stance.

  Raja stood his gr
ound. “You’re right as usual, Vinny, but so was he. Trust me. It’s how the Triad operates. They offer a family passage into the United States for a price. When the family arrives here, they take the children and slave them out into the sex trade, while forcing the parents to work in a sweat shop or they’ll never see their children again. Then they tell the child he must do what they want or they will kill his parents. As illegals, they have no safe options. If either the child or the parents run, they kill whoever stays behind. And, if they think the authorities are on to them, a lot more will die. Scorched earth policy all the way.”

  “I won’t leave him.”

  “Neither will I. We need to go up the food chain. Did I mention I dropped one of your trackers into the boy’s pocket?”

  Vinny dropped her fists and pulled out her iPad.

  “You should find him on that. Then we can track him to the rattlesnake’s den.”

  “Yes, there it is,” said Vinny. “I have the signal. Let’s go.”

  “Not so fast, Vinny. We have to play this smart, or we get more people killed. We need the sweat shop location, as well. And we need to cut off the snake’s head.”

  “I traced your credit card purchase to Woo Fong’s Mandarin,” offered Vinny, still unconvinced.

  “Isn’t that—”

  “Yes, it is. Judge Griggsby has shopped there.”

  “That’s where we go next. But we are going to need help.” Raja dialed a number. It was Detective Rafferty in Los Angeles.

  “Tommy. Raja Williams. We’re in San Francisco. I stumbled onto a human trafficking ring and I need your help getting backup from the SFPD. It involves the Triad in Chinatown.”

  “Jesus, Raja, when you step in it, you step in it,” said Rafferty.

  “I’m going to need help finding a sweatshop and arranging a raid.”

  “I’ll call Matt Sampson. He runs the organized crime unit up there. If you have something solid, he’ll want to help.”