Jack in a Box

by Pringle McCloy

  He beamed. “Sank you, Amster!”

  After that Jackie got down to business, flaunting his stuff like a young Jimmy Connors and blasting the ball with the oldest tennis racquet not hanging in a museum. Shorty Poo ran his little legs off trying to keep up and not happily so, as ace after ace whizzed by him. Soon our opponents were looking forward to my serve, to no avail. Anything they returned my partner smacked hard.

  “We’re supposed to lose,” I whispered to Jackie after we won the first set 6-2. “Do you get it? Those guys are supposed to win. They like to win.”

  Jackie’s smile went right around his face. “Me too!”

  “That little guy, Shorty Poo? He’s getting mad.”

  “Shorty Poo? Shorty Poo Poo!” He danced around. “Poo poo on Shorty Poo. Who cares?”

  “Shush!” I held my breath.

  Jackie picked up his racquet. “I’ll show Shorty Poo.”

  We won all three sets.

  Later we adjourned to Richard’s shady back deck to relax in Adirondack chairs and enjoy a beer. But things were tense. “I’ll buy,” I said red-faced.

  Richard had zero sense of humor. “It’s taken care of.” He placed two frosty beer mugs on the round wicker table between us. “That was quite a performance, old boy. You neglected to tell me about your second.”

  I sipped my frothy ale. “He’s good, isn’t he?”

  “Good enough to steal.”

  Standing in the shadows Jackie came alive. “Steal? I can do that too!”

  “I’ll bet you can,” Richard said with a down-turned mouth.

  After Tony had collected Jackie, Richard walked me through the gate. “My sources tell me that you’re looking for Reynolds Woo. But of course you haven’t found him either.”

  Wise guy. “Your sources may not be accurate. What’s your business with the Wrap?”

  Richard leaned casually against my car. “Reynolds is an ex-employee of mine as you obviously already know. He’s the finest computer hacker in North America, possibly the world. He may have stolen my cargo. Either by himself or in cahoots with Willy Chan.”

  Reynolds the Wrap Woo was a young Asian intellectual with the ability to hack into a computer network faster than a skunk could rifle through garbage. He spoke seven languages and had recently severed ties with Richard, a dangerous thing to do. To say that he was in hiding is an understatement. But was he in hiding with forty million dollars worth of drugs? Only greed caused someone to make such a major CLM. (Career Limiting Move.)

  “It’s a shame,” Richard continued in his lovely British accent. “He was once invaluable to me and now I have to hurt him.”

  I gulped.

  He then struck an attitude while polishing my car with his sleeve. “It’s a bit sticky, this business. I’ve been waiting for you to track down Willy Chan but you’re not very good at it, really. I don’t mean to be rude but you haven’t done much in that regard.”

  I checked my watch. According to my calculations Willy was safely out of the country. “I’ve been busy.”

  “Quite right. And I’d like to understand but sympathy is not my weakness. Sorry. You and I had an arrangement and quite frankly you’ve blown it.”

  I said nothing.

  “And the deal was Willy for Mr. Jones. No Willy. No Jack.”

  “You do what you have to do,” I said casually, my heart thumping against my chest. “And I’ll do what I have to do.”

  Richard’s hazel eyes frosted over. “I heard you were underhanded.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  I HEADED FOR THE VANCOUVER jail with several thoughts in mind. Did Reynolds Woo collaborate with Willy in the heist? The boys were friends through their mothers who played Mahjong together on Saturday nights and had for thirty years. Both boys were proficient hackers. Might two sets of orders be given that day, one from Leo and one from somebody else?

  Jack looked disheveled when they brought him to the visitor section. He told me that he wasn’t sleeping well and that fellow prisoners had been eying him up. He didn’t know if it was for love or murder. He could really use me with him twenty-four hours a day.

  I tried not to laugh. “I don’t think so, Jack. You’re in jail. They don’t allow guests here. Besides, I wouldn’t want to interfere in your love life.”

  He wasn’t amused. “See that big guy over there?” He pointed to a husky Caucasian with a shaved head who was also receiving a guest. “He’s in the cell next to mine. He keeps threatening me and making obscene hand gestures through the bars. And yes, I give him my food. I’m not stupid. I don’t mess with career criminals.”

  I decided not to tell Jack that he was on his way there himself.

  “We don’t get much to eat you know. It isn’t the best hotel.”

  “What? This isn’t the Ritz?”

  “Not exactly. Room service though.” His eyes twinkled. “Do you think I could get into solitary by threatening someone myself?”

  “Well, they’re moving you to Ford Mountain in a day or two. You may get the chance. Do you think you’d be safe in solitary?”

  “Probably not. The guards say I’m moving into a shared cell at Ford. With another murderer. Isn’t that against the law?”

  “They’re just bugging you, Jack. Usually murderers are given a wide berth. No pun intended.”

  “No pun taken.” He looked shaky. “I have this feeling in my gut though. Someone is out to get me.”

  I had had more than enough of him by then. “You haven’t exactly helped me, Jack. I could have had you out of here long ago but you’ve done everything to keep yourself here. Furthermore, you’ve kept things from me, making my job that much harder. But trust me on this one. I will get to the bottom of things. Rest assured.”

  His eyes glazed over. “You may not like it, son.”

  Before I could reach my car, Tony called to tell me that I needed to postpone playing detective for a while and help the family out. It was more like an order. Jillian was on her activist kick again and had gone off to Clayoquot Sound with a group of protesters to save the marbled murrelet. Apparently, the new logging road into Hesquit Lake Creek was destroying habitats so she’d gone riding into battle to possibly become the second Jones to land in jail.

  “What exactly do you want from me, Tony? I’ve got a plateful right now.”

  “Tell someone who cares. This is family and family comes first. You need to take the ferry to the Island and capture her. Bring her home.”

  “Right. Capture her. Do you happen to have a large sack?”

  He giggled. “Jack will pay you, Charlie. He’ll pay you big.”

  “You’re right he’ll pay me big.”

  All the way over on the ferry and onto the road out of Tofino I could hear Jillian ranting in my head. ‘Aggressive logging advances against pristine forests…birds and beasts homeless… three-hundred-year-old trees destroyed’. Yada, yada, yada. With Tofino well behind me I drove along a bumpy logging road in my old green van, eventually catching up to a television crew bouncing along. Hmm… Was the little publicity hog courting the media, perhaps? I pulled into a clearing, exited my vehicle, and eased toward the group of rallying fools, thirty-some strong. Jillian was in the process of scaling a bulldozer while her disciples rallied on the ground below. The cameras rolled.

  “Brothers and sisters,” Jillian screeched. She looked like a skinny frog dressed all in green and with her long curls held back by a green ball cap. “It’s time to take action. Intercon has broken its promise to us and it’s time to set them straight. We must stop them now!”

  Cheers.

  “We remember the protest of 93,” she continued. “Over 800 of our friends were arrested but the result was a victory for Clayoquot Sound. No more logging of intact valleys!”

  Cheers.

  Right. In 1993 Jillian was eight years old.

  “And what are we standing on today? A logging road. A violation. A travesty. A crime.”

  Cheers.

  “Our laws
make no sense!” she shouted. “In the year 2000, Clayoquot Sound was designated a UNESCO World Biosphere Reserve. Because of its intact temperate rainforest. Yet, three quarters of Clayoquot is not protected by legislation. It’s open to industrial development. Is this not wrong?”

  Cheers.

  “Is this not egregious?”

  Cheers.

  Oh. Oh. Another group was beginning to gather - a not-so-kind, not-so-gentle one. The heavy equipment operators and ground workers (not a tiny one amongst them) were none too happy looking about the face. Yikes. Big strong angry men with families to feed were being prevented from earning a living. Things were about to turn ugly.

  Ecstatic Jillian seemed oblivious to the resisters. No, high on adrenalin she’d fallen in love with her own words. “If we don’t stop them, Intercon plans to log other intact valleys in Clayoquot Sound. Our spineless government has given approval. But we can change all of that. It’s all public land, you see. You and I have a say. So get off your apathetic butts and flood Intercon and the government with calls and emails and texts. We can make a difference!”

  As sirens in the distance grew louder I inched ahead, slipping through the protesters in my hooded jacket and shades. I had only seconds to nab the yappy activist and dash.

  “Don’t forget the endangered marbled murrelet,” she cried. “Logging is destroying its habitat. The marbled murrelet is an old-growth dependent bird and cannot survive anywhere else but here. With the forest undisturbed.”

  Oops! Activists madly cheering. Workers advancing and booing. Not good. Jillian climbed down.

  I quickly nabbed the yapper, picked her up like a toy soldier and, pinning her arms to her sides, carried her to the van kicking and screaming. With difficulty I managed to cuff her to the dash before screeching away, just as a pair of police cruisers arrived on the scene.

  Jillian was livid. “You idiot! You complete and total moron! What do you think you’re doing? They need me back there!”

  “My orders are to bring you home.”

  Her face went purple. “Your orders? From whom? Satan? He’s the only person you’d ever listen to.”

  I couldn’t help smiling. “Last time I checked Satan wasn’t a person.”

  “You don’t get it! I was supposed to get arrested. I was supposed to go to jail!”

  I tried to calm her down. “You wanted to be on the news, you little camera hog, and trust me, you will be. They filmed it all. What more do you want?”

  “I want not to look like a traitor!” She started to wail. “You’ve ruined it all. We were going to make a human chain around the bulldozer and be lugged off to jail.” Her shoulders shook. “And I’m not even there. I’m going to look like a defector. A coward. I’m going to look like a fool.” She looked really silly with her angry face bulging like a bullfrog and with her lips disappearing in rage.

  “Think about it, Jillian. Wouldn’t it be a little crowded in the slammer with both you and Jack? One Jones is enough for society to support don’t you think?”

  She flailed at me with her free hand. “I hate you! I hate you! I hate you! And I hate Jack, too.”

  “Why Jack? He had nothing to do with this.”

  “He’s in jail,” she whined like a child. “And because of him I can’t go. He’s taking up my space.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  DRUG LORDS. DON’T YOU JUST hate creeps like that? Richard was circling with Clever intentions while Jack sat defenseless in jail. I needed to get to Reynolds Woo and I needed to get there fast. I asked Tony to meet me for breakfast.

  So, in typical Tony fashion he arrived at the cafe after cruising Chinatown in the big Phantom IV with Shoeshine as his chauffer, the little show off. Upon his arrival he waved to the people before slipping out of the wide back seat with the grace of Fred Astaire. After plucking a piece of lint from his Alfred Sung suit he adjusted a striped silk tie which was fastened by a diamond clip. His shiny patent shoes reflected the sun.

  It was a warm June morning and we chose a small table on a patio near the street.

  “Jackie,” Tony said before I could say a word. “Jackie is your man.”

  I thought about it. Tony was looking for a job for his unemployed nephew. “Jackie hardly speaks English.”

  Tony’s eyes twinkled. “I thought you wanted someone who can speak Chinese.”

  “I do. But Jackie is just a kid. Barely twenty. I need someone with experience.”

  Tony buttered his warm croissant, topping it with strawberry jam. “Jackie has life experience. More than you know. And because he is Chan he has ties to Chinatown. He can find things out. And the big plus is, if you manage to find Mr. Woo, Jackie can help set up cameras and monitor things when you can’t be there.”

  “How long has he been out of Beijing?”

  “Four months,” said Tony proudly. “He’s learning to drive. And shoot. He’s practicing at the rifle range. And just think about this, Charlie. They won’t always be speaking English where Reynolds is. Especially when things heat up. Can you understand the dialects?”

  “No,”

  “How long can you wait for translation?”

  “I can’t.”

  “Jackie is your man.”

  I agreed to meet Jackie for dim sum in a Chinatown restaurant. He was easy to spot in the lineup with his tall hair and frantic waving and was all spiffed up for a job interview.

  “Amster!” he said excitedly. “Appy! Appy!” The sleeves on his jacket were long enough to hide his little hands. It was a nice jacket though. Blue and clean and much too big for the little guy.

  “Me too, Wildman.” I punched him on the arm. “Nice jacket. Is it new?”

  He nodded. “Kow Gong bought it for me. For my new job.”

  I rolled up the sleeves while we waited in line. “That’s better. I was sure you had hands last time I saw you.”

  “You funnee, Amster.”

  It was a red restaurant with red walls, red tablecloths and red napkins, even red chairs. Only the dragons were gold. They crouched near our table with hungry, ruby-red eyes.

  Jackie lit up when the carts began to arrive. “I love yum chow.”

  “Me too. Would you like to order or should I?”

  He sized me up. “You any good?”

  “The best.”

  “Ok. I’ll order.” He pushed up his sleeves.

  As cart after cart wheeled by, and Jackie left nothing untried, I realized several things. Firstly, Jackie was hungry. He may not have eaten in a while. Secondly, his English wasn’t as poor as I originally thought, and thirdly I was hooked on Jackie Chan. Nobody had more heart.

  He started to gnaw on a chicken foot and to make happy guttural sounds. After devouring a plate of them, chased by two orders of steamed dumplings, he paused to pour the green tea. “Tea for me,” he announced. “And tea for Amster. My new boss.” He poured my tea with great care. “I won’t let you down.”

  Was trouble hiding behind those twinkling brown eyes? Ten to one, yes. “You’d better not. Because if you do I’ll beat your fucking head in.”

  He howled. “You so funnee, Amster! You funnier than Dum and Dummer.”

  We were off to a blazing start.

  Inheriting Jackie was like receiving a large wart on the side of my head. From the corner of my eye I could see him everywhere and although I wrestled with the idea of having him kidnapped I did so only briefly and with guilt. Jackie worshiped me. Within five minutes he was copying my walk and sauntering down the street like a small Sam Spade, his shoulders swaying from side to side. The little thief was heavy into the process of stealing my identity.

  “We’re looking for Reynolds Woo, soldier. You got that?”

  His eyes sparkled. “Cash. You got that?”

  I took a wad of bills from my pocket. “I’ll pay for information.”

  “That’s good, Amster. How much you pay me?”

  “What do you think you’re worth?”

  He held out his hand. “Wots. You
pay me wots.”

  I peeled off several bills. “We need to be discreet. There are other people looking for Reynolds and we don’t want them to find him first.”

  Jackie shoved the bills into his pocket. “They won’t. They’re not Chan.”

  Tony was right about Jackie’s connections. He was already known and liked on the street. People smiled when they saw him coming, sometimes even slapping him on the back. He was family. I watched from a distance as he greased palm after palm, reloading several times. Around five p.m. he sauntered across Pender Street wearing a huge smile. He had a lead.

  The tattoo parlor on the second floor of a yellow building was narrow and quaint and as immaculate as the owner himself. Prince Lee Lu looked sharp, dressed in black pants topped by a crisp white shirt fresh from the cleaners. He had a straight nose, white teeth, and dark brown speckled eyes. He was a handsome dude but anxious. After locking up his shop and pulling the shades he lit, then promptly crushed out, two cigarettes in an ashtray. He looked to me like a man who’d done something wrong.

  He narrowed his eyes. “You a cop?”

  “Private.”

  “Are you going to go snooping around?”

  There wasn’t much to snoop over: a MacBook, a dentist chair, a metal desk displaying an assortment of tattoo tools, a stack of sample books, and a wide pharmaceutical cabinet with myriad small drawers. Two armchairs flanked a picture of a single magnolia bloom. “Like I told you, we’re here for information. We were told that you might have some to sell.”

  Jackie flopped into a chair to watch with keen eyes.

  Prince started to pace the worn Oriental rug he’d obviously paced before. “What are you going to do to him?”

  “What do you recommend?”

  “Castration. But then Reynolds has never had balls.”

  ”How long have you known him?”

  “All my life. We went to school together. And now the little creep has taken to stealing from me.”

  I thought about it. “So you’re a distributor then, Prince.”

  He bit his lip.

  “And Reynolds has gotten so greedy he won’t even let a little guy like you survive. He wants that action too. How am I doing so far?”