by Tim Maleeny
“I read the police arrested Michael Long,” said Yan.
“A failed jeans designer masterminded a human smuggling operation?” Cape frowned.
“The authorities seem satisfied.”
“I showed Long a picture of your dead thug,” said Cape. “It scared the hell out of him. The cops don’t know that.”
Yan blinked several times. “You’re not as stupid as you look, detective.”
“It’s the broken nose,” said Cape. “Throws them off every time.”
“So what do you want?”
“I already told you,” said Cape, stealing another glance at the monitor. Ten minutes.
“A million dollars,” offered Yan.
Cape coughed.
“Not enough?”
“I was thinking at least five,” said Cape.
Yan started to raise the cell phone. “Let’s say I believe you don’t care about the girl,” he said slowly. “That’s still a lot of money—what makes you think I have it?”
“I figure I’ll need to disappear,” said Cape. “Especially if you push that button. You know, change my name, get a new identity…the whole Joan Rivers treatment. Maybe even get my nose fixed.”
Yan was watching him very closely now.
“What did it cost when you did it?”
Yan’s jaw dropped.
“Want me to guess your real name?” asked Cape. “I already know it’s not Rumplestiltskin.”
“Who are you?”
“That’s not the question,” said Cape. “Who are you?”
Yan’s voice was defiant. “I’m Harold Yan, the next mayor of San Francisco.”
“Liar,” said Cape.
“President of the Chinese Merchants Benevolent Association.”
“Criminal.”
“Respected member of the City Council.”
“Murderer.”
“Mayor of Chinatown.”
“Moron.”
Yan took a step forward but stopped, his eyes burning holes in Cape. He started to say something but Cape cut him off.
“You were the worthless son of a Triad leader,” he said. “You betrayed your father, then faked your own death to come here.”
Yan’s shoulders slumped as he listened, but his eyes remained hard. His nostrils flared when Cape spoke again.
“Your name is Wen,” said Cape. “Zhang Wen.”
Chapter Fifty-nine
“Zhang Wen.”
Sally had bellowed with rage when she first heard the name.
When Cape said it during their run through the tunnels, Xan had to restrain Sally from running ahead. After a furious exchange in Cantonese, Xan released her. But judging by the expression on his face and the vein pulsing on his forehead, it took all Xan’s self-control not to sprint down the tunnels himself. Cape didn’t ask what had been said, but when Sally told him how she knew Wen, he said, “We don’t have to stick with the plan.”
“It’s a good plan,” she replied. “We need you to buy us time.”
But now there was no time left. A million questions roared through her brain, but all she could do was count down the minutes. Sally watched Cape talking to Wen, the men only ten feet apart but fifteen feet below her.
She hung upside down like a spider, legs curled around a black nylon rope. She wanted to go lower but knew she’d risk being spotted by the goon in the corner, whose eyes were still riveted on Cape.
She heard Cape say the name again, daring Wen to respond. As he talked, Cape nonchalantly brushed his right hand across his hip, as if wiping sweat from his palm. Sally had seen Cape do that before. He was getting ready to draw his gun.
Taking a deep breath through her nose, Sally relaxed her grip on the rope.
***
The man who was no longer Harold Yan smiled involuntarily at the sound of his real name.
Ten minutes ago this gwai loh had walked into his plans, somehow in possession of the heart, catching him red-handed with a girl and a bomb. He knew right away he would have to kill the detective; he just wanted to get the heart first. But when their conversation took an unexpected turn and Wen heard his name spoken aloud for the first time in ten years, instead of being afraid, he felt relieved.
No more lying and obfuscation. Just life and death—two old friends Wen had known since he was a boy. He’d never been stronger than his brother but was always more clever, which is why he came out ahead even when others were arrested or killed. Like that yakuza swine Kano, so many years ago. Today was no different. After this was over, he could put the mask on again and become Harold Yan, charming politician. But for this moment he could be himself, Zhang Wen. Ruthless, powerful, and smarter than everyone else.
As he looked at Cape across the factory floor, he ran his left hand across his face. “They told me the plastic surgery would be painless,” he said. “They lied. I couldn’t smile for almost two years. My jaw ached. My scalp itched constantly.”
“Head lice?” asked Cape.
Wen ignored him. Nothing the gwai loh could say was going to ruin this chance to stop acting for a few minutes—to be free to say whatever he wanted—because no one in this room would live to talk about it. The girl would be dead in less than ten minutes, one way or another, then he’d play hardball with this buffoon detective. See how cocky he was after a few minutes with his bodyguard Shaiming. And even if he didn’t get the heart today, Wen knew he would eventually. Kill enough people and you’ll find someone willing to make a deal.
The detective was talking again.
“Why the ship?” he asked. “Why smuggle those people from China—why take the risk before the election?”
Wen shook his head, marveling at how someone so stupid could know so much about him. “Do you have any idea what political campaigns cost?” he said. “That ship brought in more cash from those families than a hundred fundraisers.”
“What about the speech in your office? How this affected—”
Wen cut him off. “All citizens of San Francisco? You think the socialites in Pacific Heights spent more than two minutes at cocktail hour talking about that ship?”
“I was thinking more of the folks here in Chinatown.”
Wen laughed, a sharp sound even to his own ears. “Not all Chinese are equal, detective. There are people with power, and there’s everyone else—that’s true in China and it’s true here. Those families were a means to an end. They just happened to be Chinese.”
“So it was just for the money.”
“And the heart,” said Wen. “Don’t forget why you’re here.”
“You actually believe the heart would help you win the election?”
“You wouldn’t understand,” replied Wen. “If you hold the heart, you cannot be defeated in any contest.”
“If you say so.”
“Where is it, detective?” asked Wen. “You’re running out of time.”
“How do I know you’re not going to double-cross me, like you did Michael Long?”
Wen smiled at the memory. Long was desperate to save his company, said yes to everything Wen had suggested. He even offered the use of his warehouse. “This is a different situation.”
“Yeah, maybe. But I saw the guy in the warehouse, with his throat cut—I assume that was your handiwork.”
Wen glanced over at Shaiming with a look of pride, then said something in Cantonese.
***
Cape didn’t like the expression on Yan’s face—or Wen’s face—and was having a hard time deciding what to call this asshole from one moment to the next.
Wen had gone from looking surprised to worried when Cape first walked into the warehouse, but now the guy looked almost euphoric, like every question Cape asked was a trip down memory lane.
He was pretty sure Wen, Yan—the man in front of him—was nuts.
It’s all out in the open now, thought Cape. He’s going to kill the girl, then me. Cape realized Wen thought he had an accomplice, someone to call on his cell phone that would bring the h
eart. But Wen’s expression said he figured it would still be for sale later, after Cape was dead. There wasn’t any leverage if you didn’t want the heart for yourself—you either valued the heart or you didn’t, in which case it was only worth something once it was sold. One way or another, Wen would get what he wanted, with no witnesses.
Cape saw Shaiming nod at Wen and unbutton his coat, revealing a snub-nosed revolver sticking out of his pants. Cape stole a glance at the monitor and wiped his hand across his hip.
***
Lin had managed to drag herself against the door, perpendicular to the monitor and video camera. She could barely keep her head up, but she managed to raise her right foot and kick, once.
The video camera crashed to the floor just as the door over her head splintered below the deadbolt.
***
Xan kicked a second time, separating the door from the frame. A third kick knocked the door off the top hinges, leaving it hanging and twisting against the broken lock. Wrapping both hands around the door, he heaved backward.
***
The screen behind Wen turned to static as Cape drew his gun and pointed it somewhere between Wen and Shaiming, who was already holding the grip of his revolver.
Wen raised his phone and brought his thumb down on the keypad.
Shaiming took a step forward and pointed his gun at Cape.
Sally let go of the rope.
Cape took aim and pulled the trigger.
Chapter Sixty
Sally plummeted headfirst toward the factory floor.
She was a black blur in Cape’s peripheral vision as the automatic jumped in his hand, the slide cycling backward with the spent cartridge ejected from the chamber. The roar of the shot deafened Cape instantly, leaving only a ringing in his ears. He couldn’t hear Shaiming’s gun fire but saw the muzzle blast of the revolver, shards of cookies stinging his face as the mountain of fortunes next to him exploded.
Cape adjusted his aim and squeezed off another round.
The second shot slammed into Shaiming’s chest, knocking him back on his heels as Cape fired again, hitting him in the gut this time. The revolver flew from Shaiming’s hand as the back of his head hit the floor, the gun spinning across the cement and bouncing off the wall.
Sally tucked her chin to her chest and reached behind her head, drawing the katana from its scabbard as she turned 180 degrees in mid-air.
Pivoting on his right heel, Cape saw Wen draw a palm-sized automatic and point it at him. He was going to fire before Cape completed his turn.
Sally landed directly in front of Wen, coming up from a crouch with her sword raised, her left foot leading her right.
Wen staggered back a step but kept the gun up, his eyes wild. Cape couldn’t see Sally’s face, but Wen’s expression changed with a flash of recognition, his eyes narrowing as he pointed the gun at Sally’s chest.
Slow motion took over. He’s got her, thought Cape, rocking onto the balls of his feet, his legs feeling glued to the floor. No one’s that fast, not even her. He felt the heat of the gun across his fingers, the sweat in his eyes, the weight of his own heart as it tried to beat faster, but he couldn’t see past Sally to get a clear shot.
The door at the back of the room slammed open and bounced off the wall with a sound like a gunshot, so loud even Cape could hear it. All heads turned as Xan kicked the door again as it swung back at him, Lin cradled in his arms.
It took a fraction of a second for Wen to see Xan was unarmed, but it was enough. He snapped his head back toward Sally and, sensing movement, squeezed the trigger.
Sally swung the katana in a vicious arc, stepping into the cut as the blade cut through flesh, her momentum pushing the sword as her weight shifted. Wen’s head flew from his shoulders like the cork from a champagne bottle, tumbling in mid-air before landing dead center in the pile of broken fortune cookies.
Wen’s torso wobbled for an instant before crumbling, the gun clattering to the floor, a trail of smoke coming from the barrel.
Sally stood over the body, her nostrils flared and her eyes wide, the edge of her sword glistening red. She lowered the sword and turned toward Wen’s head. Taking a step closer she spat, her saliva landing right between the eyes, still open and frozen with fear.
Cape took a panicked step toward Sally but she held up her hand and he froze. Reaching beneath her shirt, Sally tugged at something between her breasts. When her right hand reemerged it held the dragon’s heart, still wrapped in cloth but with a tear across the fabric where the bullet had been deflected. Sally looked at Cape and shrugged.
Cape felt dizzy and realized he’d stopped breathing. As the ringing in his ears subsided, he turned to look at Xan, who was standing over Shaiming, turning the man’s head to one side with his foot.
“You have good timing,” said Cape.
Xan nodded, jutting his chin toward Shaiming. “You shot him?”
“I had to,” replied Cape, feeling the weight of it settle in his stomach.
“Never apologize for killing someone,” said Xan gruffly, sounding like a math teacher Cape had in the tenth grade. “Especially if they deserved it.”
Cape gestured toward Lin. “How is she?”
Both men turned as Sally crossed the factory, her attention focused on Lin. Xan squatted and sat on the floor, cradling Lin in his lap like a child. A small trickle of blood ran from the corner of her mouth.
He said, “She’s leaving us, little dragon.”
Sally ignored him, touching Lin’s face with her right hand.
“The bomb?” asked Cape. He hadn’t heard an explosion, but after the first gunshot he hadn’t heard much of anything.
Xan shook his head. “Disarmed. I pulled the detonator from the plastic explosive.”
Sally looked at him. “Poison?”
Xan nodded. “Wen killed her long before we arrived,” he said. “She just refused to die before you got here.”
Sally felt something stir against her hand. Lin’s eyes fluttered open, her lips coming apart with a wet crackling sound. Sally pressed her face against Lin’s, holding her head in both hands, their noses touching.
Sally’s voice was barely a whisper. Lin’s eyes rolled around before focusing on Sally. Her mouth moved in slow motion. Cape couldn’t hear what they said, but tears sprang from Sally’s eyes and fell onto Lin’s face. Cape had never seen Sally cry. After a moment he blinked, his own eyes welling up.
The three stayed there, unmoving, Sally sobbing silently, Xan watching her, Cape trying to absorb everything that just happened. It was a long time before Sally sat up and ran her hand across Lin’s eyes. Taking a deep breath, she stood and looked around the room, as if she’d forgotten where she was.
Cape touched her shoulder. “We have to leave,” he said softly.
Sally looked at him and nodded. She had stopped crying, but her eyes told him she was somewhere else.
“Do we leave them?” asked Xan, waving a hand toward Shaiming and Wen’s bodies. “Or take them to the tunnels?”
Cape caught Sally’s eye and spoke very deliberately. “If they don’t find Lin, they’ll think you were on that ship.”
Sally held his gaze but didn’t respond. It took Xan a moment but he got it, turning to Sally and saying, “He’s right, little dragon.” Then to Cape he said, “You have a plan?”
Cape’s eyes never left Sally’s as he answered.
“Yeah,” he said. “I think I do.”
Chapter Sixty-one
It was almost 7:30 in the morning by the time Cape walked into the Hall of Justice on Bryant Street. After passing through the metal detectors, he rode the elevator to the fourth floor, where Homicide Detail was located. Many of the desks were unoccupied, and the small office at the back was empty.
Vincent Mango sat behind his desk, black hair slicked back, dressed immaculately in a dark gray suit, yellow tie, and loafers. He looked more like next month’s GQ cover than a homicide detective.
Cape gave him a wave, cross
ed the room, and took a seat in front of the desk. He checked his watch, then nodded at Vincent.
“Where is everybody?”
Vincent looked around the room as if he hadn’t noticed. “It’s that time of day. Most of the bad shit happened already, in the middle of the night, so we got people on the street. And the bad stuff that’s gonna happen today, well, it hasn’t happened yet. Still too early in the morning.”
“Where’s Beau?” Cape jutted his chin toward the desk behind Vincent.
“Went home about two hours ago,” replied Vincent. “You know how he hates this time of day.”
Cape nodded. “I’m here to make a statement.”
“I heard,” said Vincent, turning toward his computer. “Beau told me. Said you were supposed to come in last night.”
“I fell asleep.”
Vincent turned and gave Cape a look, just for an instant, that said keep the bullshit to yourself.
Cape asked, “You want to hear it or not?”
Vincent pulled a pair of reading glasses from his jacket pocket and turned back to his computer, fingers on the keyboard.
“You’re not going to write it down?” asked Cape, motioning toward a yellow pad on the desk. “Beau always writes it down first.”
“You ever seen my handwriting?” asked Vincent. “Even I can’t read it. Besides, what do you care?”
Cape shrugged. “Curiosity.”
“Killed the fuckin’ cat,” said Vincent. “You sent us a picture of a dead guy—or a guy who looks dead—only we can’t find him. How’s that for a start?”
“OK.” Cape talked for several minutes, getting the occasional look from Vincent but otherwise without interruption. When he had finished, Vincent swiveled in his chair and took off his reading glasses.
“That’s it?” he asked. “You found a body and didn’t call?”
“My phone wasn’t working.”
“You ever hear of a pay phone?” demanded Vincent. “Or 911?”
