Marco showed his gums. “Don’t you dare call me a loser, you pathetic moron. Exactly who do you think you’re dealing with?” He shoved me just hard enough to make me laugh.
“I’m dealing with a loser.”
That did it. He shoved me again so I had no choice but to deck him. I mean, what was a man to do in front of two women he wanted for himself? I drilled him - under the chin and hard enough to send him flying backwards, his legs fanning the air and his arms flapping like a Canada goose. He skidded to a stop on his skinny ass.
“That’s enough.” Julia stepped between us. “You’ll solve nothing with violence.”
Back on his feet Marco attended to the skid marks on his precious pink coat. They looked pretty permanent to me. “Hiding behind a woman, are you Charlie?”
I smiled at him. “You want to go sailing again, Overcoat?”
Silence.
I reached into my pocket for the papers. “And by the way, Marco. You’re officially fired. By Jack. Signed, sealed and delivered.”
Marco’s mouth fell open. But he took the time to study a signature he knew well. “This isn’t over, asshole.”
“It’s over, Overcoat. Or is that an alliteration?”
“One more thing, Marco,” Julia said. “Stay away from my niece.”
Jillian looked dazed.
Marco was still rubbing his silly pink coat. “I think Jillian is capable of making that decision herself. Isn’t that right, Jilly?”
Like a robot Jillian walked to Marco and, pressing her lips to his ear, bit him hard.
Chapter Eleven
A SCANT RAY OF SUNSHINE poked through a bank of clouds to shine on trees lining the boulevards. I was on my way to Chinatown to make inquiries. Willy Chan had grown up there, had enjoyed a happy childhood, and was related to half the population, not that anyone would be willing to talk to me. But I did have a way with his mother who ran an import business out of the Sam Kee Building.
The historic Sam Kee building is two stories high and just six feet wide. It’s rich in history, having once housed communal baths in the basement and a tunnel used as an escape route from opium den raids on neighboring Shanghai Alley. I felt lucky as I walked lightly on the glass sidewalk, through the front door, and up to the slightly wider second floor where I ran smack into a grey-haired general. She placed her hands on her hips and blasted me. Why? Because, apparently, Willy was all my fault.
“You taught him bad things, Cha’lie!” she scolded. “Willy was a good boy until you came along.”
Right. I came along at age ten and Willy was pretty much a crook by then. Oh, and did I mention the fact that Willy was a genius? A member of the Mensa club? No one could coerce ‘slick’ Willy Chan unless Willy wanted to be coerced.
“I need to find Willy. He isn’t safe.”
“No.” She narrowed her sharp brown eyes while waving a finger at me. “You are not safe. Nor is Jack. Richard Chang will eat your balls for breakfast.”
News traveled faster than a greyhound in Chinatown.
“I need to find Willy. It’s important.”
Emily Chan was everything Willy was: shrewd, cunning and impossible to read. “Willy will be alright. He knows how to take care of himself.” For a second I thought I saw concern flickering in her eyes. “I gave up worrying about Willy long ago. It took too much of my time.” With that she whirled around, grabbed a fat brown envelope from her desk, and hurried out the door.
Well, so much for feeling lucky. I headed down Pender Street in search of Willy’s uncle who owned a fruit and vegetable shop not far along. I managed to trap him on the street.
“Uncle Sook,” I said.
Sook Choy was a small man with dark hair, a short nose, and a lazy eye. He wore a crisp white apron like a purple heart and didn’t mince words.
“Go away, Cha’lie,” he said with one eye on me and one eye on the Wing Sang Building down the street. “You’re just going to be trouble.”
“I don’t mean to be.”
“You never do. But you’re trouble. Trouble trails behind you like a bad fart.” He tossed an apple into the air, then reached for another, and another after that. Soon he was juggling, with one eye on the apples and the other checking the rain clouds moving in from the North Shore.
“I need to find Willy. I have to find him. Before Richard Chang does.”
Sook chortled. “The Cleaver will find you before he finds Willy. You, and your dad, Jack. You can bet on that.”
So much for Uncle Sook. Screw you, I wanted to say except no one pissed off Mr. Choy. Mr. Choy was higher in the Triad than Moses on the mountain and no one messed with that. Vegetable stand, phooey.
I was about to move down the street when Sook suddenly decided to cut me a break. He put his arm around my waist and spoke into my armpit. “Willy likes the garden. The doctor’s garden. You might look there, Cha’lie.”
“Thanks, Kow Gong.” Uncle Sook and I had bonded.
I figured Willy’s relatives were even more concerned about him then I was. I mean, Richard Chang? I turned on Carrall Street and headed for Dr. Sun Yat Sen’s Garden where it was all about balance, the Yin and the Yang. I was being followed as I passed by lampposts painted red and topped by dragons. I walked faster and the footsteps quickened. I slowed down. Nothing. Nothing but a sea of people flowing along. A quick look over my shoulder produced little more than a Chinatown streetscape; people rushing home with carts and groceries before the rain pelted down. At 578 Carrall Street I entered the gate to the Chinese Garden and stepped behind a tree. Nothing. Nothing but the fragrance of a 15th century garden in full bloom. It was intoxicating.
I followed the winding pathway past the fragrant cypress and pine trees, past bamboo trees spiking into the air and weathered rock beside a calm green pond. Soon I arrived at the majestic false mountain and the Yun Wei Ting Pavilion, with its spires sweeping upward like the bows of a white pine. ‘Colorful and cloudy’, the plaque read. I plunked myself on the pavilion bench where, short on sleep, I managed to nod off and slip into a peaceful dream of children playing tag on a lawn. There was a birthday cake on a table and Willy telling me that we should split it in half and not give the other kids any. I tried to think up excuses to tell Jack because Jillian would surely go bawling home, tattling and getting me the switch, but failing to come up with a decent lie I told Willy we’d have to share. Although he said he’d just been teasing I knew otherwise. He wanted his half and he wanted me to take all the blame. I woke up to an elbow in the gut.
Beside me on the bench sat an elderly Asian gentleman. Dark glasses masked his face while short grey hair bristled from beneath an old brown derby. A torn overcoat covered baggy pants, and bony ankles poked out above a pair of old scuffed shoes. His gnarled right hand gripped a cane.
I smiled. “Nice touch. Especially the hand.”
“What took you so long, dummy?”
“Ah… let me see. First off, Leo gets whacked. You disappear. Jack goes to jail. Then Tina takes a bullet for me. Oh, and now Richard Chang is back and wants your balls. And Jack’s too. And I’m trying to piece things together and nothing makes sense to me.” I stared him in the black glasses. “Maybe you can fill me in, pal.”
The old man sighed. He leaned back against the railing as if he’d grown there in the fog. “It’s not what it looks like, bud. Nothing is as it seems.”
“Well, thanks for the hot tip, soldier.”
“It’s a lot bigger than you know. Or anyone knows for that matter.”
“Stop talking in riddles. I hate it when you do that.”
He stood up. “If I told you what I know you’d do something stupid and get yourself dead. You’ll solve it, Charlie. You always do. Just be smart about it.” With that he turned and started to hobble away.
“When will I see you again?”
“Probably never. I won’t be taking chances after today.”
Chapter Twelve
LEO’S POSH PAD FELT STRANGE minus Leo. Strange, be
cause he wasn’t sitting in his chair stuffing ham sandwiches into his cavern while bossing Willy around. He wasn’t ordering sex from the street boys online either. And why was a lone Birkenstock sandal resting upside down against a wall? Had it been left behind during the struggle? Hmm. Books, never read, lay scattered here and there while a copy of GQ poked out from under a chair, not neatly stacked on the Tang dynasty table in the hall, as usual. And a half-glass of orange juice… What was that about? Leo never left anything consumable behind. Trust me. I knew the man. I’d lived with him long enough.
While the Loyal Suite had yet to be released by the law, Peter Selic had sneaked me inside. A word about Peter, a stellar, yet crooked cop. He was the sharpest and best-looking Vancouver cop too and wasn’t shy about flaunting it. Blond and Nordic looking, he had a penchant for Versace – suits, shirt, and flashy silk ties. He had married once, been taken to the cleaners, and pretty much avoided commitment after that.
I walked to the windows to take in Leo’s view of the North Shore. “He loved it up here. Poor bastard.”
Peter snorted. “The Lizard wasn’t exactly known for his many kindnesses. He even stiffed the street boys he used for sex.”
“Not all of them. He gave some of them bubble gum.”
“Stop it, Charlie. Just stop.”
“What did I say?”
“I know that look. You’re going to get goofy on me.”
“Why? Because Leo was my friend? I’m allowed to grieve.”
“Like hell you are. You made fun of the guy.”
“When he was alive I did. But now that he’s dead I’m starting to care about him a lot.”
Peter slipped on a rubber glove and started to pick things up. “Funny how people improve with death.” He snatched a crystal paperweight from the desk and tossed it in the air before slipping it into his pocket. “Well, it’s Waterford, Charlie. I know a girl who’d like it. And your friend would want you to have it for me, wouldn’t he? Given our closeness.”
I smiled.
“Do you think your buddy Willy Chan iced him?”
“No I don’t. Absolutely not. Willy isn’t a killer. Besides, he was making big money with Leo. And with Jack. And whatever other enterprises he was involved in, the little entrepreneur. If I had to guess I’d say he’s worth upwards of twenty million, possibly more.”
“And therein lies the problem.” Peter was searching for other things to steal. I figured he’d be sending a truck over later on. “Willy is money motivated. And I say Willy can be bought.”
“You’re right. He can be. But not where murder is concerned. Especially Leo’s murder. He viewed Leo as a bad parent. He grew up without a dad, remember, and Leo treated him like a child. In a strange way I think Willy actually loved the guy.”
Peter tried to trick me. “So Willy is where?”
“Right. Like if I did know I’d tell you.”
“You know.”
“Bite me.”
I put on my rubber glove and picked up the phone. “Send up two ham sandwiches on white. And don’t skimp on the butter.”
“Charlie!”
“What?”
“No one is to know we’re here.”
“Did you see me dial?”
He swatted me on the head. “And then there’s the matter of Tina Clark. Your little vampire girl. What the hell was she doing in a skuzzy part of town?”
“Drugs. And a little booze.”
“Was she hooking?”
“No. She was wearing a Rolex and had several credit cards in her bag. Her old man is loaded as you know. Well, it’s her mother’s money, actually. But she was there for kicks. For the thrill. The thrill of sitting in a seedy bar trying to act like a grown up. Oh, and she was also sleeping with the bartender.”
Peter smiled. “It’s hard to believe she’s seventeen. I remember her running around in frilly dresses on Jack’s lawn. She was such a pretty little girl. Pity about the black paint. She looks like a bat.”
“It’s a phase. Her mother told me so this morning.”
Peter’s grey eyes clouded over. “Tina took a bad hit, Charlie.”
“She did. She may not make it. And I know what you’re going to say. You’re going to say that she took it for me.”
“There’s a good chance she took it for you. There’s also the chance that she took it for herself.”
“I thought of that.”
Peter reached into his pocket and returned the paperweight to its place.
Chapter Thirteen
TWO NURSES IN PINK SKIVVIES and a janitor wielding a mop accosted me as I was sneaking into critical care. ‘The mouth’ was a tall, upright woman who came at me with big breasts and a set of stern jowls. After a spate of words, plus her calling security to have me tossed out, we argued a little more without success. Since I’m pretty good at lying I tried a new approach. Funny, but she didn’t believe I was Tina’s husband either. I even tried flattery that fizzled. Apparently, she had mirrors. Finally I whipped out my detective badge and patted my gun. Five minutes, I was told.
The cop parked outside Tina’s door nodded as I approached. He’d been watching the skirmish down the hall and couldn’t stop smiling, since I was likely about as much fun as his night was going to be. Inside the room a private nurse sat dozing in a chair while on a narrow cot Judith Clark snored like a banshee. Thankfully, the Judge had taken a hike.
Tina looked so tiny lying there with tubes coming and going and with a second bag of blood on reserve. All cleaned up and without black flowers marring her face she looked angelic, like a little cherub. I took her hand in mine.
“How are you doing, kiddo?”
To my surprise she opened her eyes. “Ok,” she said weakly.
“Want a Corona?”
She tried to smile. “The dogs…” she mumbled. She tried again but couldn’t manage much. She slipped into a deep sleep.
Early the next morning I leapt from my bed to draft a list of things to do. Spring Jack From Jail, I called it. And then in brackets (He’s not going to outsmart me). With the single-minded determination of an ant I listed everyone who owed Jack a favor, then everyone who owed him a little something, then everyone who knew him. With my plan in place I threw on my best Gucci suit and, dragging my trench coat behind me, raced the elevator down. Outside I welcomed the rain in my face - I just didn’t like it on my hair. Robson Street had yet to awaken at six a.m.
At Denman Street I took the stairs to my second story office two at a time. I tossed my coat on the worn leather sofa and again congratulated myself on having created the perfect PI office. Shabby. Philip Marlowe-ish, for certain. Not for me to have clients worrying about financing my lavish lifestyle. I leafed through a pile of mail and again had won a free trip to Mexico for a mere timeshare purchase. Hmm… And if I switched credit card companies I’d receive a waterproof watch in the mail… testimony from Jacques Cousteau, long dead, swimming around in a wetsuit in 1962. I decided to water Robert the Plant.
My sprawling rubber plant, Robert, pretty much consumed a wall. “Hey, Robert.” I reached for a bottle of spring water, his special drink. “Hey you little glutton.”
“Hey, stupid Charlie,” said Robert. I leapt about a foot.
In the doorway, Tony Chan was giggling his chauffeur cap off. “You looked pretty funny just then.”
“Ha. Ha.” The old coot had been torturing me since I was ten years old. “You can take the uniform off now, Tony. In case you haven’t noticed Jack’s in jail.”
Tony plunked down in a chair, removed his cap, and scratched his old grey head. His eyes brimmed with mischief. “That’s nothing compared to the news I have for you, Charlie.”
Before plunking down behind my one blotter, one pen-set desk, I straightened my wall portrait of a horse - the lone artwork gracing the Charlie Hampton gallery. Chestnut Gelding, the plaque read, not bad for something won at a silent auction for five bucks, especially since he turned out to be a client magnet. Prospective clients lo
ved the horse and would invariably want to know its name. So, not long after Chestnut Gelding arrived I discovered a creative streak in me, a Dickens of sorts. Why not use the boy to my advantage? It wasn’t even rocket science, really. To a second or third generation Canadian the horse would be Mike. It was an easy name and one they’d remember on subsequent visits. “How’s Mike?” my clients would invariably ask. However, if the client happened to be French the horse was named Pierre; to an English client the horse was Harry; to a Chinese client, Ming. One of my Chinese clients, in fact, offered to buy Ming for a cool grand so I took his card as an insurance marker in case my business tanked. A guy never knew when a thousand bucks just might come in handy.
“News? Such as?” I dared to ask Tony.
“Such as your meeting this afternoon.”
“My meeting?” I couldn’t remember this meeting. My iPhone couldn’t either.
“Yes, your meeting. With Richard Chang.”
My mouth fell open. “The Cleaver?”
Tony was shitting his pants he was so thrilled with himself. “The Cleaver. I got the word last night. He wants to speak with you.”
Now I was shitting my pants. “Alone?”
Tony chortled. “Well, as alone as Richard will ever be. He’ll have Shorty there, for certain. Shorty’s the killer. And likely King and Freddie for backup.”
I didn’t see anything in this arrangement for me at all. “And me? Who will be there for me?”
Tony’s brown eyes went dancing out of his head. “That’s the tricky part. Richard won’t meet with you unless you come alone.”
“And what if I don’t come at all?”
“Then he’ll come to you. And trust me, Charlie. It’ll be better for you to attend an arranged meeting. The other kind isn’t much fun I’m told.”
My teeth started to chatter. Sure, Tony was thicker than molasses with the Triad but I took little comfort in knowing that. Tony wouldn’t be there when they were hacking off my balls. But what was a mere mortal like me to do? Other than take my instructions like any prisoner going off to a Chinese torture chamber. I was dead either way and the word torture was sticking in my craw.
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