Hanna sat silent, dumb struck by Cole’s response. She came prepared with a lot more reasons she should get the job. This went far better than expected. In the other room the phone rang for the third time.
“Are you going to get that?” Cole’s voice brought Hanna out of her thoughts.
“Yes, sir, yes. I’ll get that.”
Finally, Cole thought, somebody who is just crazy enough to do this job right.
The phone on Cole’s desk buzzed. “Yep.”
“Mr. Ehcoff, upstairs.”
“Sage.”
“Sage, what’s the deal with the Chinese?”
“There’s a lot of them, and they make crappy stuff.”
“Funny. We’ve gotten a bunch of calls from Chinatown saying our people are harassing the merchants. You know anything about this? The description sounded a lot like you. The other guy I don’t know about.”
Cole was keeping a lid on Anthony’s abduction. It was wrong. He knew it, but it needed to play out. No cops, no bosses, these were street rules. So he lied.
“No, I’ve heard we all have a doppelganger. Maybe mine has come to town.”
“I don’t think I’m getting the straight dope here. I know how you work. I don’t like it. God knows why, but Chuck Waddle thinks the sun shines out of your ass. I don’t. As long as I’m filling in, I don’t want any problems. I can’t fire you, but by God, I would be happy to put you on indefinite leave. Got it?”
“Crystal.”
“That is a mixed metaphor.”
Cole knew it wasn’t, he just sat silently.
“Good, we’re clear?”
“I got it.” He set the phone down.
“If it’s OK, I’m going to run back down to clerical and get my things,” Hanna said from the doorway.
“Fine.”
Hanna could tell from the look that Cole gave her that the request must have sounded a bit odd. “They told me I would probably be right back.”
“Why’s that?”
“They said you were impossible. Did you really chase off the others?”
“I prefer to think it was mutual.”
“I prefer to think you were saving the spot for me.” Hanna smiled and looked down at the floor.
* * *
The raid into Norteño territory was going even smoother than Trick imagined in his smoke muddled brain. The ease of how their two cars cruised into the Mission without being spotted gave Trick a misguided feeling of invincibility.
The streets were empty. Few cars were parked along the streets. Traffic moved in both directions on Folsom, nothing threatening, or even warranting a second glance. That was all fine and good, but Trick needed to find some “red”. There was light foot traffic around a couple of corner markets, and a group of kids played soccer in a school yard, but not a Norteño to be seen.
Finally, after crossing 24th Street, Trick signaled and turned west on 25th.
“This was a waste of time,” Trick snarled. “Let’s head back.”
Another empty street. Trick slowed to a stop and Ricky Chou hopped out of the second car and approached Trick’s window.
“What’s up?”
“Waste of time,” Trick replied. “Let’s head for home.”
“Ahright, s’cool.” Ricky nodded, and returned to his car.
Trick began to slowly roll forward. A second later he hit the brakes. His arm shot out the window and he began pointing frantically.
Ricky ran back to Trick’s car to see two guys in red caps, red t-shirts, saggy jeans, and red sneakers walking down Balmy Street. The block between 24th and 25th was like an alley. The walls and garages seemed to be a gallery of murals with brightly colored Hispanic themes. The pair had nowhere to go.
“You guys circle and come up the other way. Go, go, go!” Trick said in a hoarse, forced whisper. “Be cool, be quiet!”
Ricky passed Trick’s car slowly and almost silently. Once passed Balmy, he fairly flew around the block. Stealth like, Ricky Chou’s lowered, silver Civic with blackout windows, pulled into Balmy alley almost unheard. It was too late for the pair to escape as they shared a joint and admired the myriad of murals. They were trapped.
At the first glimpse of Ricky’s Civic, Trick’s black on black Acura turned onto Balmy unnoticed. Like two sleek cats, ever so slowly, moving in on a mouse, by the time their prey saw them, it was too late.
All eight occupants of the two cars were out in a heartbeat and surrounded the two Mexicans.
“Buenos Dias, dead men.”
The pair said nothing. Ricky stepped forward and took the still smoldering joint from the hand of the shorter Norteño.
“You are making a big mistake.”
“No, it seems you have.” Trick smiled.
“Good shit,” Ricky said still sucking the smoke ever deeper into his lungs.
“Yo’ you’re on our turf here. You can do what you want for now, but you can’t even deal with the shit that’s gonna come down. You feel me? You’re dead.”
“You’re right. We are going to do what we want. What happens next won’t matter to you. Ricky take this one.” Trick pointed at the silent one.
As instructed, Ricky moved in fast. With deliberate moves, he snapped the long red bandana out of the back pocket of his prey.
The young man spun about and spewed a barrage of Spanish profanity into Ricky’s face. Trick nodded to a heavy set passenger from Ricky’s car. With one powerful swing to the knees from the baseball bat he had concealed behind his back, he dropped the Norteño to his knees.
The talker rushed at Trick. Another FCBZ sent a cracking blow to his jaw, dropping him at Trick’s feet.
“Get him in the car!” Trick ordered, pointing to the young man rolling on the ground holding his knee.
Two of the Asians grabbed him by the arms and yanked him to his feet. Ricky took the long red bandana and tied it over the Mexican’s eyes making a hard tight knot across the bridge of his nose. The remainder of the rag Ricky shoved deep into his mouth as he swore and gagged. Within seconds he was shoved into the back of Trick’s car.
“He’s all yours.” One of the FCBZ said.
As he struggled to get to his feet, the spokesman was pummeled with kicks, punches, stomps, and bone crushing blows from the baseball bats. As Trick backed out onto 25th street, the last thing he saw in Balmy alley was the limp, red form of the unconscious Norteño receiving two last kicks to the head. Ricky and his crew were running for their car and headed for home.
As Trick sped down 25th toward Folsom he looked in the rear view mirror. “I hope you’re comfortable. We have something very special planned for you.”
The other passengers laughed wickedly. The two in the back elbowed their hostage hard in the sides.
“How easy was that man? We should have done this a long time ago!” Curtis Doo stomped his feet and put his arm out the passenger side window. “What a rush, damn, what a rush!”
Trick smiled but didn’t say a word, he just ran his second red light heading for home.
SEVEN
As Hanna settled in, it was apparent to Cole there was a whole new breed of cat filling the secretary desk out front. She returned from clerical with a small box and a grocery bag. He watched as she methodically placed the contents of the drawers on the desk top. At one point Cole heard her mumble, “What is all this crap?” A steady crunch and thud of things hitting the trash can continued for several minutes. Finally, Hannah picked up the waste paper basket and disappeared behind the sea of cubicles outside of Cole’s office
Cole tried to keep his mind occupied with reviews of drafts, notes, and the bits and pieces he started for the article on the Parade shootings. Deep into his thoughts, and no longer facing the door, he didn’t notice the person standing in the door way.
A dark haired woman with her hands shoved deep into the pockets of her waist length leather jacket cleared her throat in an attempt to draw Cole’s attention. It didn’t work.
“Excuse me.”
“Oh, sorry,” Cole said looking up from his notes.
The woman entered the office, arm out, and offered Cole a business card. She was medium height with a solid build, and a no-nonsense gait to her stride. Her nearly black hair was pushed behind one ear. The other side seemed intentionally swept forward, but not for style. As she offered her hand to Cole, he could see that the side of her face and neck had been burned or severely injured in some way. His gaze, ever so brief, was long enough for the woman to self-consciously smooth the hair on the scarred side of her face.
“My name is California Corwin, Mr. Sage. Can I have a moment of your time?” Her voice was strong and confident.
“Alright, what can I do for you?” Cole replied.
“A mutual acquaintance said you have a lot of experience keeping things quiet.”
“Except my big mouth.” Cole smiled and offered her a seat.
“I have a client,” she paused realizing that Cole just looked at her card, “I have a client that has a serious problem but wants no police and no press.”
“Frankly Ms. Corwin, I’m not sure what, if anything, I could do about that. What sort of problem are we talking about?” Cole looked back down at the card that read California Corwin, Personal Investigations. No address, just a phone number.
“Please call me ‘Cal’, Mr. Sage.”
“OK, then I’m Cole. So what’s this all about?”
“My client is a Chinese business man named Cheung Chou. A wealthy business man. He and his wife, like most Chinese, are very private people. Family problems stay in the family and at the very most a small community of friends and trusted associates.”
“A hard wall to breach,” Cole said, watching Cal adjust in her chair.
“Indeed. They have a daughter.”
Here we go, Cole thought. What could I possibly do about a pregnant, drug addict, hooker, truck driver, stripper, lesbian, weight lifter, stand-up comedian? Cole’s thoughts were interrupted with the only thing that wasn’t going to be on his list.
“She has Down Syndrome. For old school Chinese this is a very difficult thing to deal with. But my client and his wife are pretty progressive in their thinking. They’ve tried to accept and deal with the realities of their daughter’s condition. She is in a very fine school for kids with her kind of limitations.”
“That sounds wonderful,” Cole interjected.
“It is, and they’ve seen her really blossom. The problem is, she’s disappeared.”
Cole sat straight up and leaned forward in his chair. “Kidnapped? They need to call the police. This is not to be handled by someone like you! No slight intended, but time is of the essence. They can’t let pride or whatever it is get in the way of a proper investigation.” Cole couldn’t believe what he was hearing.
“Hold on.” Cal’s whole demeanor changed in a heartbeat. “Nobody said anything about kidnapping. She’s run away.”
“OK, I’m lost. The kid ran off, they hired you to do what? Find her? I don’t see where I fit in the mix.”
“I knew this was stupid,” Cal said standing. “I was told you were good at putting two and two together. I’m new at this kind of investigation and I’ve hit a brick wall. I’m, sorry I wasted your time.” Cal turned for the door.
“Geez, are you touchy. I didn’t say I wouldn’t help you, I just don’t get how. Sit down, you really are new at this. You want some advice? Try working on the whole short fuse thing.”
“I was a cop. A good cop. I’m good at what I do. I just don’t do this kind of thing.” Cal replied indignantly at Cole’s seeing right through her.
“Let’s start over. What have you got? How long’s the kid, what’s her name, been missing?”
“Her name is Mei. She’s nearly blind. She’s been gone since yesterday morning. Her mother knows she wasn’t snatched because some of her clothes are gone, and a bunch of granola bars and stuff are missing.”
“Arguments lately? They make her mad?”
“Nothing like that. She left for school like normal.” Cal shrugged.
“Did they call the school?”
“Didn’t show.”
Cole had no idea how to help. He was grasping at straws. Little did California Corwin know he could use her help himself. Who was she anyway?
“How do you get a moniker like California?” Cole decided to change the subject for a moment and try to regroup.
“You mean how did a half-Asian Jewish girl get stuck with such a goofy name?”
“Ya, well, kind of.” Cole gave her a grin.
“Hippies. My folks, were flower children from the east coast and California was the Garden of Eden. So...”
“Got it. So the ‘Personal Investigations’ thing, how long have you been in that game?” Cole wondered how a woman who needed his help finding a Special Needs kid got to be a glorified private eye.
“I was a cop. Military Police, then SFPD when I got out. Then this...” Cal pulled her hair back exposing the scar Cole had already noticed. “I sort of got retired.”
“So what’s that all about?’ Cole said indicating the scar that ran from in front of her ear to below her collar.
“I was on patrol and my partner and I got a call. I went when I should have stayed. Bomb goes off and I get the boot for not following orders.” Cal shrugged. “My partner’s alive. I really don’t know anything but law enforcement and thought the PI thing might be the next best thing.”
“How’s that working out? Fine. ‘Til now. I don’t even know where to start. I’ve never even talked to a retarded kid before, ya know? Do they think like normal people? Bet not.” Cal was letting her guard down and her politically correct, professional facade was starting to collapse.
“How’d you get the case?”
“Chinese. Like I said, small community. They want to keep it contained.”
“Then I guess why comes next. If this isn’t your normal line...”
“I figured it was a way of, how’d you say it? Breach the wall?” Cal cut in.
“Good plan,” Cole said flatly. “I tell you what. I’ll talk to my editor here and at least keep it out of this paper. But, I’m telling you, you need to call in the police. I have a friend, a lieutenant, Leonard Chin, he knows the community he could...”
“Hates me.”
“Great. Well, call me old fashioned, but the cops have the cars, the radios, APBs, stuff like that,” Cole said raising his eyebrows.
“Look, I get it. I told the parents the same thing, they said for me to do all I could for at least forty-eight hours. I got twenty-four left.” Cal stood and extended her hand to Cole. “Maybe next time.”
“I really do wish I had something for you, but this Amber Alert stuff, you know?” Cole said, standing and taking Cal’s hand.
“Mr. Sage, a Lieutenant Chin on the phone for you,” Hannah said from the door, waste paper basket still in her hand.
“I better take that.”
“Yeah, thanks,” Cal replied.
“Sage.” Cole raised his hand palm out in good-bye.
“Cole, are you still working on the Parade piece?”
“Yeah, what up?”
“This is getting really weird. It’s going to a level we’re not used to. Got time for coffee?”
“Sure, where?”
Ten minutes later, Cole entered the Starbucks across from the Chinatown Gate. Leonard Chin was sitting toward the back by the window. Cole ordered a Mocha Venti and took a seat across from Chin.
“What’s up?”
Chin turned his phone toward Cole.
“Jaime Rojas, street punk, 22nd Street Locos wanna be, no record to speak of, stupid kid stuff mostly. Found him this morning like this.”
Cole winched and said, “Are those real?”
“Yep, black as night and real, real deep. They’ve tattooed his forehead and the top of both hands. FCBZ big as would fit. I have seen some things, but this is just...” Chin’s voice trailed off.
“The Firecracker
Boyz are just a bunch of hoods. This is beyond just turf stuff. This is like crazy. It’s like they are intentionally trying to start World War III with these guys.”
“I haven’t told you the best part. This kid was handcuffed to a streetlight, feet and hands, in the middle of Chinatown with a plastic bag around his neck. Now here’s the best part, in the bag was a pistol, a .38, and I’m betting it is one of the ones used in the parade shootings. Now get this,” Chin was showing a level of animation Cole hadn’t seen in a long while, “the thing is, the only prints on the gun are Rojas’s. And, we had him in the downtown lockup that day.”
“So, he wasn’t at the parade,” Cole interjected.
“Exactly.”
“What’s the kid told you?”
“Nothing. He’s in the hospital. They beat the shit out of him before the artwork. He’s pretty bad off. I tell you Cole, these guys either aren’t playing by the rules on purpose, or don’t know what they are. Either way, we have a powder keg about to blow. I’m guessing the Mexicans don’t know about this yet. When they do, there’ll be hell to pay.”
Chin’s phone vibrated on the table, “Chin.” The detective looked at Cole as he listened to the voice on the other end of the call, “Yeah, I figured as much. OK, thank you, Paul.”
“Ballistics got a match. Same gun that killed the woman from Merced.”
“But, Rojas wasn’t the shooter,” Cole groaned.
“Nothing about this whole thing makes sense. You saw a lot of gang stuff in Chicago, you ever seen anything like this?”
“No, you’re right this is on a whole other level. Black gangs in Chicago, love to just shoot it out like cowboys. This is some kind of head game. But, I just don’t think these clowns are that smart. This is just mean.”
“You know the FCBZ?”
Cole realized he said too much. His meeting with Trick and his crew had to be kept under wraps, at least for now. “By reputation.”
“Cole?” the barista called.
“Yeah.” Cole stood to get his coffee.
When Cole returned to the table Chin was on the phone again. All this information was good. Was it meant for print, or was Chin just giving him more background? Cole sipped his coffee and waited.
Cole Shoot Page 7
