Cole Shoot

by Micheal Maxwell

  Cole just shook his head and gave a little chuckle.

  * * *

  A thin man in a suit several sizes too big, covered in silver paint from head to foot, stood on a pedestal still as a statue. Or rather, he wants you to think he is still as a statue. The careful observer sees slight movement and his eyes dart around the crowd. When the occasional child would toss a coin in his silver coffee can, the silver man would tip his hat and change positions. The crowd reacts with squeals from the children, and chuckles from the adults.

  Luis and his three friends stood at the edge of the crowd watching the Anglos.

  “I don’t get it. Why would that fool spray paint his clothes and hat silver?” Chuy ask.

  “Changos will do anything for a penny!”

  The group burst into laughter. It was nearly noon, and Luis continuously scanned the sidewalk for Cole. The crowds flowed like rivers around them. A black man in a floppy hat played a keyboard to their right and sang into a makeshift PA system. His voice was strong and the beat up old speakers seemed pointless. Luis moved closer as he began to sing Donny Hathaway’s “Where Is the Love?”. It was his mother’s favorite song. The old guy does a nice job, but he really needs a girl to sing Roberta Flacks part, Luis thought as he moved closer.

  “Talented guy, huh?” Cole said over Luis’ shoulder.

  “Hey, old man!” Luis turned and gave Cole a smile.

  Cole offered him his hand and to his surprise the big Mexican gave him a bear hug.

  “It has been a long time. You’re looking good. Got skinny on me. What, they don’t feed you up here?” Luis laughed. “Come meet the crew.”

  As they approached the three men standing beneath the Fisherman’s Wharf sign, Luis’ demeanor changed. His relaxed attitude was gone and a tense hardness came over him.

  “Chuy, Juan, Carlos, this is Cole Sage. He’s a mouthy smart ass, but he’s good people.”

  One by one Cole shook hands with the three men.

  “You guys blend right in around here,” Cole said, taking in their obviously recent purchases of “local apparel”.

  Chuy’s hoody was emblazoned with “Alcatraz Psycho Ward Outpatient” across the front. Juan wore a San Francisco Forty-Niner’s jersey and Carlos sported an Oakland A’s yellow and green button up jersey. They looked every inch the tourist.

  “So, can I buy you a cup of chowder or a shrimp cocktail?” Cole offered.

  “Let’s find a place to talk quiet.” Luis said.

  The five men walked away from the crowded sidewalk and across the parking lot to a row of benches next to the Franciscan restaurant. There were three sections of benches. Each faced the water with another bench that backed it, facing the small plaza next to the restaurant. Cole and Luis sat facing San Francisco Bay. Carlos and Juan sat with their backs to Luis and Cole. Chuy stood, leaning back on the chain link that bordered the plaza.

  “Have you heard from the ones who have Whisper?” Luis began, as they sat down.

  “Not since yesterday.”

  “You’ve seen these guys? You talk to them?” Luis asked.

  “I went to Chinatown to see if anybody had seen or talked to Anthony. Two Firecracker Boyz confronted me and took me to a little restaurant. A guy they call Trick is the ringleader. He told me he had Anthony and wanted his cousin, who’s in jail, in return.” Cole paused and looked at Chuy, who was watching him closely. “He called yesterday around this time and said time was running out. Nothing since then.”

  “What makes him think you can get somebody out of jail?” Luis seemed bewildered.

  “No clue. They’re all late teens and early twenties. They reek of weed and are obviously wasted most of the time. But, they are insanely violent. I was there, at the parade. They just walked into the street and started shooting. No fear, no concern for the bystanders, it was crazy. I’ve never seen anything like it. The Norteños shot back, but they were playing defense. No excuse but...”

  “Fools,” Luis growled. “So what color do they claim?”

  “None I can see. They dress in white tees and chinos and they wear white ball caps with FCBZ stitched in black and silver. Not hard to miss.”

  “So, if I go to Chinatown, I’ll see these fools?”

  “I imagine. They think they own the place.”

  “The thing I don’t get, is why the cops don’t have these guys locked up. I mean, they must have witnesses, yeah?”

  “It gets back to the “all Asians look alike” and they all have an iron clad alibis. The merchants are so afraid of them, they all claim the guys were hard at work in their shops.”

  “So, we go get a couple and make our own trade.” Luis stood up. “Chuy, you hungry?”

  “Always.”

  “What you say we go get some Chinese?”

  “Yeah, sounds good.”

  Juan and Carlos stood and came around to the chain link fencing. In jerseys and ball caps they looked less than threatening, but like a platoon of soldiers they were primed, ready, and just waiting for orders to march.

  Cole was the last to stand. He wasn’t quite sure what came next, or his part in it, if any. He stood silently waiting for Luis to say something to him.

  “So, where you gonna be?” Luis finally asked.

  “With you guys, of course,” Cole replied.

  “No. No, you’re not getting anywhere near this shit.”

  “This is my fight too.”

  “Look, you got a good heart. This isn’t your thing. One of two things gonna happen, you’re gonna get killed, or hurt bad, or you’re gonna get one of us hurt or killed. Which do you prefer?” Luis folded his arms and stared at Cole.

  “Well, neither one, but...” Cole’s voice showed he knew the argument was over. “So, what do you want me to do?”

  “I gotta have someplace to bring Whisper. I don’t think he will want to come home with us. Do you?”

  The trio along the fence laughed. Luis shot them a look and the laughing stopped.

  “I’ll,” Cole began but was interrupted by his phone. He looked at Luis.

  “You gonna answer it?”

  “Hello.”

  “I think you’re a liar.”

  “Trick?” Cole pointed at the phone. Luis stepped closer.

  “You said you would work on getting my cousin out of jail. I talked to him. He’s heard nothing from anyone. You’re stalling. What’s your game? You want this Beaner with a bullet in his head?” Zhuó was not his usual smooth, controlled self. Could he be panicking? Cole thought.

  “Say hello, Norteño Newsman.” There was a brief pause, then a familiar voice, “Cole, screw this guy!”

  “Anthony!”

  Luis reached out and snatched the phone from Cole’s hands. “You do tricks, puta?” Luis growled into the phone.

  “Sage? Sage!” Zhuó yelled into the phone.

  “No. I’m not Mr. Sage. You will be praying to Christ I was when I find you.” Luis’s voice was controlled and terrifying in its delivery. “Now listen close you slit eye cockroach. I am going to give you a chance to live. Let my hermano go free, and you and your little band of wanna-bes will be eating rice again tomorrow. If not, you will be coming back as dog, or whatever it is you people think you do.”

  “Ooo so scary. Go to hell or whatever it is you people think you do!” Zhuó laughed and the line went dead.

  Luis handed Cole the phone. “I tried.”

  Cole could think of nothing to do but shrug his shoulders.

  Without a word, the five men left the Franciscan plaza and crossed the parking lot back to the Fisherman’s Wharf sign.

  “Where are you parked?” Cole asked.

  “Just off there.” Chuy pointed.

  The group walked a block up Taylor and turned on Beach. The dark green Corolla was parked on the curb, meter expired. A yellow envelope containing a parking ticket was under the windshield wiper.

  “That’s not good,” Cole said pointing at the ticket. “That’s a twenty-nine dollar fine.�
��

  Luis walked to the front of the car and gently took the ticket from the wiper and then tore in to a dozen pieces. “Let Big-Head pay it!”

  Everyone laughed except Cole. He didn’t get the joke.

  “So, where do we drop Whisper off?” Luis asked.

  “Safest place would be in front of The Chronicle. 901 Mission.” Cole looked at the four men one by one. “What can I do?”

  “Stay out of the way, old man.” Luis gave Cole a grin, but there was no mirth in his eyes. “We got this.” Luis slapped Cole on the shoulder and opened the passenger door. “I’ll call you.”

  “Luis, for God’s sake don’t kill anybody. We don’t want that on Anthony’s conscience.” Cole cleared his throat. “Or yours.”

  The door closed and Juan and Carlos got in the back. Chuy already had the motor running. With a quick beep-beep of the horn, they pulled away from the curb. The blacked out windows kept Cole from seeing even a silhouette of the men in the car.

  * * *

  “Your friend is a racist,” Zhuó said, turning to face Anthony.

  “Cole? Not hardly,” Anthony sneered.

  “Not him, the Mexican.”

  “Mexican?” Anthony’s mind raced. Who is he talking about?

  “One of your brother Beaners. Sage put him on the phone. He was very disrespectful. He just got you killed, I think.”

  “And Beaner isn’t racist?” Anthony asked.

  “Maybe a little.” Zhuó shrugged. “It won’t be dark for a while, so you should maybe pray to the guy nailed up on the wood thing. You Christians are such a bloody religion. A bloody guy gets nailed to a, what do you call it? A cross! Then you pretend you’re eating his body and drinking his blood. Does that make you cannibals, vampires, or both? Weird as hell, if you ask me.” Zhuó shook his head.

  “You know, belittling a person’s religion is as bad as racism, maybe worse. Did you ever think about that?”

  “I didn’t.”

  Too many blunts probably to do much thinking past finding a lighter, huh?”

  “I think you’re going to be a smart ass right up until I put a bullet through your eye.” Zhuó gave a chuckle. “I didn’t know you tamale peelers were such a funny bunch. I mean other than the way you talk.”

  “You won’t get the chance.”

  Anthony didn’t bother to watch Trick Zhuó go back up the stairs. He was too busy trying to figure out who Cole had put on the phone. How did Trick know he was Mexican? Maybe he was just trying to rattle him. Maybe he made up the whole thing. What if he’s not lying? Anthony’s mind raced.

  Would Cole dare call Luis? The last time they spoke it was very ugly. Luis’ anger actually frightened Anthony. They had been friends as long as he could remember. They were closer than brothers, yet Luis said terrible things, cruel, hurtful things. At the time, Anthony was shocked but, when Luis began turning over tables, throwing bottles and glasses, Anthony turned and walked out. A bottle hit the door casing, narrowly missing Anthony’s head, as he opened the door. That was the last time they spoke.

  In the years since, many times Anthony intended to pick up the phone and call his old friend. But he never did. A lot of the personal hurt and anger that Luis felt was because Anthony, his only real friend, deserted him.

  Luis is five years and 400 miles away. There is no way he would come to rescue him. Zhuó was lying.

  He made his choice to go to college. It was either break free of the life he led or end up dead. The irony is that the gang life he broke free of was now about to kill him anyway.

  Maybe it was time to say a prayer.

  TEN

  Three massive tour buses pulled into the bus lane, one after another, just to the west of the Chinatown gate. Forty or so camera-swinging tourists from eighteen to eighty hopped, eased, and were helped from the buses. One bus of Germans, one bus of Japanese, and one bus of Brazilians, who followed a yellow and green flag held high overhead by the young woman in the green pillbox hat and matching pant suit.

  From across the street Luis and his friends watched patiently.

  “Think we could fit in?” Luis asked.

  “Except for the Portuguese.” Carlos offered.

  The group crossed the street and fell in line with the Brazilians. Staying in the back quarter of the group, no one seemed to even notice their presence. As they walked along, keeping their voices down, and smiling and nodding, their eyes never stopped scanning the sidewalk for white ball caps and tattooed Fire Cracker Boyz.

  It didn’t take long to find what they were looking for. The three FCBZ hats down the street might as well have been flashing neon signs. Luis and Juan slipped away from the group and began looking at the Chinatown souvenirs at Lee and Company. Chuy and Carlos went to the same side of the street as the three Asian gangsters.

  The FCBZ crew stood smoking, chatting, and laughing at the curb next to an alley. Two of the young men were the same ones who had accompanied Cole to his meeting with Trick Zhou. The tallest of them seemed to be the leader of the group. He dominated the conversation, and was loud enough to be noticed by the groups as they passed in review. The jokes were rude, and directed at the tourists. Profanity laced their descriptions of men and women alike. Nothing seemed to be off limits. Height, weight, ample breast size or not, backsides, and bellies all drew the cruel and crass remarks from the trio.

  As the Brazilian delegation moved up the sidewalk, Luis slipped back into the crowd. As he came within a few feet of the FCBZs, one fist bumped the others and broke from the group and walked straight toward Chuy and Carlos. Luis turned and crossed back across the street. As the lone Asian gangster passed Chuy and Carlos, they gave him a lead of a few feet and followed him toward the great green gate.

  Juan and Luis followed from the other side of the street. Luis just a few feet behind Juan. Without eye contact or signals, the four men maneuvered in and out of the crowded sidewalks like a Blue Angels’ maneuver. All four men joined ranks and passed through Chinatown Gate together. As luck would have it, their prey turned right and proceeded in the direction of their car.

  Three car lengths from the Corolla, Juan and Luis passed the unsuspecting FCBZ. As they reached the front of the Corolla, they pivoted nearly in unison and faced Peter Lu.

  Peter started to go around Juan’s right but was stopped by a large arm across his chest. He tried to push Juan’s arm away, but was met with a forceful forearm shove back to center.

  “What the hell, man!” Peter shouted.

  “Sshh.” Luis put a finder to his lips. “Don’t cause a fuss.”

  “What do want?” Peter tried to appear tougher than he was feeling.

  “I’m feeling like Chinese take-out,” Luis replied.

  “You know who I am? I’m a Firecracker Boy. You need to just walk away.” The slight quiver in Ricky’s voice gave away his fear.

  “He’s kind of cute,” Juan said with a smarmy grin.

  “Reminders me of the big black guy’s bitch in lock up. What they call him Lotus Petal?” Chuy laughed and gave Carlos a jab in the shoulder.

  “You been in lock up?” Carlos said to Peter in an unfriendly tone.

  “No. And I ain’t goin’”

  “You’re right, because we’re not cops,” Luis said. “Let’s go.”

  Chuy opened the back door to the Corolla and Carlos and Juan grabbed Peter Lu by the arms.

  “Hey! Trick will kill you! FCBZ ain’t no bitch.”

  “Trick? Now, that’s an idea. If you give us any trouble, we will find a nice big brotha looking for some exotic Asian boy for a night of oriental delights. This is San Francisco. Gay pride, all that.” Luis put on his best pimp. It was so convincing even Carlos turned and looked. “We will turn you every way but loose.”

  “Especially out!” Chuy laughed. “Shut up and get in.”

  No effort was made to put his head down, just Juan’s powerful shove into the back seat. Peter’s head banged hard against the car.

  * * *

&nb
sp; “Good morning!” Hanna said brightly.

  Cole looked up and for a moment forgot who his new secretary was. Somewhere on the streets of San Francisco were four very committed, extremely violent men, ready to do God-knows-what to get their friend back. Cole was just staring at his cell phone as if willing it to ring. The interruption brought him back to the reality of work, the office, and the woman standing in front of him with a blue file folder.

  “Whatcha got?”

  “Good morning to you too. You need coffee or something?”

  Cole stood and reached out for the folder.

  “This will take a bit of explaining.” Hanna began. “Your friend in the basement really knows his stuff. Like you said, I’m not sure I want to know the “hows and whys” of his ability to get in places but he came up with some interesting stuff.” Hanna opened the folder and began to read. “Cheung Chou, Miss Corwin’s client, net worth 2.5 million. Owns, yada, yada, yada. OK here’s the good stuff. On three separate occasions he has bailed his son, Ricky Chou 18, out of jail. Then there is no record of the arrest, a court appearance, charges being dropped, nothing. How weird is that?”

  “What’d the kid do?” Cole sat back down.

  “Petty stuff mostly. Drunk in public, shoplifting, but, here’s the biggie, street gang activity, strong-arm robbery, intimidation of a witness, possession of a firearm, and possession of a controlled substance with intent to sell.”

  “Go back to the gang stuff. What gang?”

  “The Firecracker Boys, ‘Boyz’ with a z.”

  “The kid is connected to old school Chinatown money. How else could his arrest just disappear?” Cole could have cared less about the arrest; what he cared about was Luis and company walking into a well organized crime operation the size and strength of which the SFPD probably couldn’t measure. “Have you called Corwin?”

  “Not yet, I wasn’t sure what or how much you wanted me to give her.”