“No sweat, Amster. The car’s a wental. We’ll stiff the company.”
“They’ll just put them on Jack’s Visa, Jackie. So Jack is the person you’re stiffing.”
Silence.
“You can have his skinny ass back,” Jack barked. “And I’ll expect you to collect him within the next half-hour. And don’t worry about him going anywhere. I’ve confiscated his shoes.”
Jackie and I argued all the way back to the Chinatown spying apartment.
“I done good,” he insisted. “The best I could.”
“But you slept all the time. You were on surveillance. You needed to stay awake.”
“What I needed was bubble tea! You needed to bring me bubble tea, Amster. That’s how I stay awake.”
“Did your uncle Tony not drop by with your meals?”
He shrugged. “Yeah. But no bubble tea.”
“Did you tell him that?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
He thought for a minute. “Because he bwought dumplings. It would be wude for me to ask for both tea and dumplings.”
“He brought dumplings, all right. Enough starch to put you to sleep for days. Couldn’t you have done with a salad?”
He made an awful face. “Yuk! Salad is for round eyes. Chinese cook our lettuce.”
I couldn’t argue with that. I made a left on Pender Street and headed west. “I’m dropping you off at the apartment. There’s food in the fridge and you’re welcome to it. But you need to stay alert and watch Reynolds for me. Capiche?”
“What’s alert?” he asked wide-eyed.
I pulled to the curve in front of our building, opened the passenger door, and gave him a good hard shove.
Just after ten p.m. I walked into the bar on East Hastings Street and slid onto a stool beside Robocop who was casing the joint with his long crooked nose. Biker waved to me from the end of the bar.
“Nice hat!” I called. “Is it new?”
Biker shook his ratty bandana. “In 1964 it was new.”
Muscle-bound Barbell came by and slapped down a double Crown Royal, a house whiskey poured into a brand bottle, as usual. I wished I had the guy’s money. Barbell winked at me and I winked back. My friends. My bar. Home again. Soon someone would take a potshot at me with an AK-47.
“It doesn’t look good for your sister.” Robo’s head poked out from his big brown coat. My friend Robert had recently written a self-published book called Don’t Bend the Law, not exactly a bestseller. He, in fact, couldn’t give a copy away. But Robo was still a big guy, six-four, and in excellent shape for a senior citizen. He didn’t need glasses and his bushy hair had turned white in my absence, as white his thick mustache.
“You’re going grey, Robo.”
He nodded. “You caused it. You and your wacky family. It doesn’t look good for your sister.”
“Tell me about it,” I quipped, knowing that he would.
“It’s like this, son.” There he went again, parenting me. “She’s made too many enemies. There’s people in this city who’d like to see her hang.”
I nodded. I felt that way myself most of the time.
“She’s violated her probation. Plus mischief and a guy fighting for his life because he got out of his car to complain about the traffic jam and a peaceful protester nailed him with a rock. Two years, less a day if he lives.”
“And if he doesn’t?”
“She’ll need a damn good lawyer.”
“Marco Midolo is taking her case.”
Robo straightened up. “That changes things. But not much.”
“What if he gets the case thrown out? On a technicality, maybe.”
“Are you kidding me? With his ego I doubt he’ll even try. No, Marco will want the big circus.”
“That’s what I think. But I still think he’ll win. One way or the other. Overcoat Marco doesn’t lose.”
Robo changed the subject. “What would Vancouver do without you Joneses for news? Like last summer when Jack went to jail for murder and the town went wild. People couldn’t wait to turn their televisions on at night eager for his trial. Then suddenly the charges were dropped. And people liked that even better because they knew there’d been a fix. Your dad can pretty much fix anything.”
I nodded. “Almost.”
“What’s this I hear about his brand-new son? From the Asian Mafia?” His whole coat shook with laughter. “Folks aren’t buying it, you realize. No, they think Jack is cuddling up to the Triad because he’s getting into drug-smuggling where the real money is.”
“Right. Like Jack needs new money.” Boring. I started to yawn. “Richard is his son. His biological son. My new surrogate brother. But I like your story better. It’s funnier. You slay me Robo.”
Robocop left in a huff. But before his barstool cooled off, Biker snatched it up. “How you doing, Copper?” Biker was still the big friendly guy standing about six feet tall and four feet wide of muscle. Like most Longshoremen he was not to be messed with.
“Good.” A rotgut double-whiskey has a tendency to cheer me up. Especially the stuff I licked off the counter after Barbell slammed it down. “You?”
He nodded. “Same. I hear about you from time to time. Since your dad owns this joint.”
I tossed him a look. “How did you figure that out?”
“Research. After you told me that he came here to clean out the cash register when you were little I followed up online. I’m not a stupid man.”
“No. You’re not.”
“And I’m well-read too. I saw your sister’s picture in the paper. And I saw the footage on the news. Big do do.”
“Just for the record I’m a foster kid and I don’t have radical blood.”
Biker laughed. “Don’t kid a kidder, son. You’re every inch a Jones no matter what your blood.”
I started to wonder about what this guy didn’t know.
“I hope she turns herself in. She’s such a pretty girl. A bit skinny but she looks like an angel with all those blond curls.”
“That’s her disguise. She’s really dark-haired and fat.”
He liked this enough to order another round. “She’s tall.”
“She is. She’s five nine. Five nine and ferocious.”
“Are you in love with her?” he suddenly asked.
“Doesn’t matter cause it’s never going to happen. Not as long as Jack’s alive.”
“I could take care of that little problem. But it would cost you.”
“I’ll think about it.”
Biker punched me on the arm. “Yeah, right. Let’s face it, Copper. You worship the guy.”
Chapter Seven
AFTER DRIVING JACKIE HOME EARLY the following morning I returned to take up my post at the spying apartment. While Willy had yet to arrive for work the new guards were in place at the Woo suite and were busy jostling for position in the hallway - the coveted spot being most distant from the door, naturally. Bugs Zee had little trouble confiscating this territory since he had a bodyguard of his own, Lugs Nut. Lugs was about twelve feet tall with gold teeth that could rip the head off a shark, if it pleased him. The boys in the hall were not exactly an Asian rock band, you understand.
The stockbroker, Albert Noe, had donned his Elite Instructor uniform and was heading to the living room to work out his frustration. The market had taken an upward swing and no matter how hard he tried he could not convince Mini, who had arrived for an early morning meeting, to sell. She felt the market would go even higher, in which case she’d be mad at herself. And she certainly wouldn’t buy low stocks because those stocks were sure to plummet further. No, Mimi was going to sit on what she had.
Poor Albert. After a succession of stretches he eased into his routine where the man excelled. I mean, he made Bruce Lee look embryonic. He karate chopped and Kung Fu kicked all over the place, back-flipping, cart-wheeling, and Tae Kwon Doing everywhere, stopping only to slip into the one legged balancing act of Tai Chi, breathing deeply and radiat
ing like a man who’d just discovered a cure for constipation. He was fully capable of protecting Reynolds from a mugger, no problem. How he stood up against gunpowder had yet to be determined.
In the hallway, Bugs Zee was bossing people around. He was pissed with Taboo who kept running into the office he shared with Willy to hide. “You are now a guard,” Bugs chastised. “Get your fat ass out here.”
Taboo opened the door a fraction to peek out. “I’m an assistant. To your brother.”
“Then why are you wearing a gun?”
“Willy wears a gun. So why isn’t he a guard?”
Bugs Zee was simply a smaller version of Reynolds, but with more of Mini’s ways. “When you make this organization a million dollars a day you can sit behind a computer like Willy. Until then you’re a guard. A fat guard who could take a few bullets without hurting much.”
Taboo came into the open hanging his head.
Breakfast was about to be delivered by Reynolds’ man, Chewy, who was almost always on time. The door opened and in one graceful swoop the man who’d just iced Chewy showed a Ruger with a silencer and over the heads of a half-dozen, stunned guards blew Bugs Zee away. Pischew! Pischew! Pischew!
Chapter Eight
NEEDLESS TO SAY, THINGS TURNED chaotic at the Woo suite. Bits of Bugs Zee’s brains lay splattered against the plaster like ugly wallpaper, and Mini, who’d lingered at the bar after her breakfast meeting, surfaced from the living room to scream. Meanwhile, Reynolds’ bodyguards went stampeding out the door chasing scary white-guy, I thought, but later learned they were just running away. All except for Albert Noe, that was. Albert rushed to apply bathroom towels to Bugs Zee’s head while calling 911 on his cell. Ironically, Mini had been right about Albert coming in handy.
Soon Reynolds came screaming from his back office to the living room where he proceeded to run around in circles like a chicken with its head cut off.
“Help!” he hollered. “Somebody please help! Please help my brother!”
Sirens grew closer as ambulances and cop cruisers and fire trucks began to arrive on the scene. I threw on my blond wig and shades and hurried down the back stairway to film the commotion on my cell. It wasn’t every day that a guy got to see a Triad drug war firsthand. Frantic Mini had accompanied Bugs Zee’s stretcher down in the elevator and was busy accusing Reynolds - who was following along like a sheepdog - of everything.
“This was meant for you!” she screamed. “It should have been you!”
Reynolds cocked his head. “Why?”
“Because! You are Reynolds Woo. You are the big drug lord. Bugs Zee is just a baby. My baby!”
I waited for Reynolds to say something in his own defense, like it wasn’t his fault. Like it hadn’t been his idea to involve his ‘baby’ brother at all. But nothing.
Mini howled her way over to a big-muscled cop who lifted her into the ambulance while Reynolds crawled in behind. For an agoraphobic who hadn’t been outside in a while he hardly shook at all. As the ambulance sped away from the scene with lights flashing and sirens howling I felt an eerie sense of loss, an inexplicable void. It was like Mini and Reynolds had become family to me, my new weird relatives. I felt especially sorry for cousin Reynolds who was clearly not my aunt’s favorite son. And without some sort of divine some intervention, Mini was about to lose her favorite son. I pointed my Beemer in the direction of Vancouver General.
Inside the hospital doors I was greeted by the familiar odor of disinfectant, of Pine sol, and regrets. While some people came here to die, others wished they could die, and didn’t have to linger on. But babies were born here too, sweet babies that would grow old and possibly come back to die, or worse still, linger on waiting for the finale. I was a warped bastard and knew it. I’d likely become one of those hanger-oners, down the road, as punishment for a hollow, shallow life. But good things happened here too. Despite the odds, Tina had recovered from an abdomen full of shrapnel and was now able to drive her mom to visit Judge Clark in jail. Jack had recovered here too and likely should be in jail, but not for the reasons one might think. He used heavy-duty detergent to launder all that money, should anyone care to know.
Mini Chin was pacing in her little high-heeled shoes just outside the OR doors. Her face was scrunched. She was a mess of make-up and bloodstains and her expensive grey suit was destined for the trash. I held out the Starbuck’s tray.
“The cops told me. And I’m sorry about your son, Mrs. Chin. Perhaps you’d like a coffee while you’re waiting. The cops bought it for you.” I waved to the big burley officer and he waved back.
Mini’s eyes were puffy and worry squeezed her face. She held out her small hand. “That’s very kind of you, Mister?”
“Smith. Brad Smith.” Well, I could be Brad Smith. Or even Brad Pitt in my blond wig and shades. “Cream and sugar?”
“Black. Thank you, Mr. Smith.”
I continued on to the waiting area where Reynolds sat slumped in a chair. He looked like a glum eight-year-old child.
I approached with caution. “The cops told me about your brother. I brought you a coffee.”
He eyed me blankly. “Is there poison in it? Are you here to finish us both off? Me and my brother?”
I felt guilty. It was a rare feeling that I couldn’t shake off. I was a bad person, since only recently I’d been sitting in Reynolds’ living room eating free sushi while being offered a job, a job I planned to royally screw up. Deception was supposed to feel better. Not that I could have prevented Richard from attacking. And in my own defense I’d couriered back the money Reynolds had paid me for doing nothing. That had to count for something, especially since it had to travel up one whole floor. I felt ashamed.
I sat down, put the tray on the table between us, and pointed to the myriad flatfeet hanging about. “I can try both coffees if you like. They used to do that way back when. You know. When the Arabs poisoned each other’s wells.” I adjusted the wig on my head.
He nodded. “I thought you may be an Arab. With the blond hair and all.”
Whew! Sarcasm. I forgot just whom I’m dealing with. “Maybe we could get a cop to test the coffee. There are enough of them around. What do you think?”
He almost laughed. “And you’d expect me to drink it after that? Please!”
I took a coffee from the tray. “I’m sorry about your brother.”
He shrugged. “Yeah, yeah. Bugs Zee will do almost anything for attention.”
I wisely decided to give him some time, to which he responded favorably.
“It’s all my fault,” he blurted out. “He was guarding me. He took a bullet for me and if he dies my mother will kill me.”
Prospects weren’t looking so good for poor cousin Reynolds I had to say.
“I’m sorry to hear that. But I doubt she’ll kill you. She’ll just blame you forever.”
He looked me straight in the sunglasses. “How do you know so much? You don’t even know our family.”
Wanna bet? “I know families,” I said quickly. “I have one of my own.” Speaking of which I had to call in. I stood up. “Nice talking to you, sir.” I headed for the exit sign and when I turned for one last look, Reynolds was pouring cream into his coffee cup.
Outside the clouds were threatening to part with a scant ray of sunshine poking through. The pink petunias had been yanked from their summer beds leaving only the musky scent of wet earth behind. I took a deep breath of good air and dialed.
“Jilly is back at the house,” Jack said. “She’s preparing to turn herself in tomorrow morning. I trust you’ll go along with Marco?”
“Do I have a choice?”
“None. It’s all arranged. It’s an appearance that’s all. Those shoddy lawyers make deals ahead of time you know.”
That much I knew. Soon the crown prosecutor and Marco would be laughing together over drinks with the judge.
“One more thing, Hamster. Your narcoleptic assistant. Do you think I could borrow him again?”
“I
thought you wanted nothing more to do with him. Ever.”
“That was before I needed him. Needing is different than wanting.”
“What do you need him for?”
“Top secret.”
“Ok, Jack. What do you need him for?”
“You’re being repetitive. Willy thinks I need him, that’s all. Willy’s holding the fort over at Reynolds place. He says that Mini will seek revenge. And since I’m Richard’s dad, technically, I’m at risk. I’m not worried but Willy is.”
“I see. So Mini knows about you and Richard?”
“She does now. It’s all over Chinatown. Not that I’m famous there but Richard certainly is. She’s been running around calling him ‘the mongrel’. Not a clever thing to do.”
“Not clever,” I agreed. “Willy’s right, though. You’ll need protection. But why Jackie? What good is he to you?”
“Well, before you nabbed him he was in training. Tony took him to the shooting range almost every day. The instructors told Tony that they’d never seen anyone like him. He’s totally ambidextrous and can even shoot with his feet.”
“Really. And he’s licensed?”
“Well, you know Peter.”
Yup. The crooked cop had a desk drawer full of licenses. I treaded softly. “You know about Mini’s cousin, Woo Woo, Jack? And his A Team? She was playing for a while saying that she was using James Wong, giving Woo Woo time to put together a team. She told Willy that they’re ready now and to call them in. She’s meeting with them tomorrow afternoon. They will go after Richard, for sure. And possibly Richard’s dad.”
Jack nodded. “According to Willy there are eight trained snipers. I don’t like that word sniper.”
“Nor should you. We’ll need to get you some major firepower. More than just Jackie. But since I have to go to court in the morning it will be later in the day. But start with Jackie and I’ll come as soon as I can. I need Jackie at the Woo suite in the afternoon. We need to know what’s goes on at the meeting. He understands the language and they’ll be speaking it for sure. Willy won’t be privy to this gathering. He’s expected to be at his computer.”
Jack in a Box Page 21
