by Phil Swann
“Then what was the money for? Where did you think it was going?”
She didn’t answer.
“Mrs. Wu, you have to tell me.”
“I can’t.”
“Think of Jean-Claude. Where did you think the money was going?”
She shook her head.
And then, to my surprise, Clegg shouted, “Where!”
Michelle Wu recoiled, and yelled back, “To save my father!”
I was stunned, shocked, and rendered utterly speechless. Clegg, however, showed no sign of surprise at all.
Michelle Wu closed her eyes and began to weep.
Clegg reached over and put his hand on hers. “You have to tell us everything, Mrs. Wu.”
“I don’t know where to start,” she said, trying to compose herself.
“Take it from the beginning.”
Michelle Wu swallowed, took a breath, and then began. “My father was born in Vietnam. His name was Phan Binh, but later, while attending a French school in Hanoi, he adopted the European name of Peter, like yours, Mr. Clegg. My father was a very wise young man. He became one of the few Vietnamese at the time to become fluent in French.
“At the end of the first World War, he moved to Paris to continue his education. That’s where he met Ho Chi Minh. They became great friends. Minh admired my father’s intellect, and my father admired Minh’s passion. Minh was an outspoken voice for Vietnamese independence. He was also inspired by the Bolshevik Revolution. So much so, that Minh eventually left Paris for Moscow. He expected my father to go with him, but Father had met a beautiful French singer at a cabaret in Paris, and they fell in love.”
“Your mother?” I asked.
She nodded. “Sabine was her name. They married, and I was born shortly thereafter. When the Indochina War broke out with the French in ‘46, Minh contacted my father to come join the fight for independence. This time, Father couldn’t say no. That was the last time I ever saw him. I was twelve.”
“What happened to him?” I asked.
“I never knew, neither did my mother. She died when I was eighteen.”
“Mrs. Wu,” Clegg said, “there’s not much time. Tell us about the money?”
“A few months ago, a man contacted me and said he had information about my father. He said Father had once been a commander in the National Liberation Front, but was now very ill and living in a remote village along the Mekong River, on the border between Cambodia and Vietnam. This person was going to get him out, and bring him to America.”
“And you believed he had found your father?” I asked.
“He showed me pictures,” she answered. “Every time we’d meet after that, he showed me more pictures.”
“How often did you meet him?” Clegg asked.
“Once, twice a month, whenever he was in town.”
I looked at Clegg. “Wilson.”
Clegg nodded.
Michelle Wu’s face froze. “How do you know his name?” she muttered.
Clegg said, “And that’s when you started transferring the money from your husband’s accounts into an account supporting the Viet Cong.”
“I thought it was being used to rescue my father. Is he…was it all a lie?”
Before Clegg could answer, the door opened and Colonel Pennington stuck his head in. “Peter, we got incoming.”
Clegg looked at his watch. “I’m surprised it took them this long.”
“Who are them?” Pennington asked.
“I’m going to need your help, Buck.”
“To do what?”
“Execute a jailbreak.”
Pennington dropped his head. “Peter, you can’t be serious.”
“She’s been set up, Buck, and she can’t stay here.” Clegg went over to Pennington and looked him hard in the eyes. “Buck, we go back a long ways. You need to trust me on this. We have to get her out of here.”
“Peter, you can’t expect me—”
“Buck, trust me.”
Pennington stared at Clegg for a long moment. Finally, he threw up his arms. “Oh, hell. What good’s a pension, anyway? You better be right about this, Peter. What do you need?”
“A key to unlock Mrs. Wu’s shackles, to start with.”
Pennington nodded. “Give me a second.”
The door shut, and literally a second later it reopened. Pennington tossed the keys to Clegg. “It’s the small one.”
Clegg handed the keys to me. “Unlock her, Trip,” he ordered. “Buck, is there a back door out of this place?”
“The office next to this one. It has a door that leads out back.”
“Excellent. Okay, here’s the play everybody. Trip, you’re going to get Mrs. Wu into the trunk of the Caddy, here’s the key. Once the coast is clear, get in the car, get through the gate, and then drive like hell back to town. And take good care of that dossier you have there.”
“And how am I supposed to get her out of here?”
“Buck and I are going to create a diversion.”
“What kind of diversion?” Pennington asked.
Clegg smiled. “You remember Manilla back in ’49?”
Pennington rolled his eyes. “I remember I was a lot younger back in ‘49.”
“Won’t they come looking for me?” I asked.
Clegg shook his head. “Whoever they are, don’t know you’re here. By the time they realize that you were, you’ll be back in Vegas. Don’t stop for anybody or anything. Got it?”
“Then what?”
“Once you’re back at The Jam Jar, call Stevens and Carson. Say Code Blue. They’ll take it from there. Trip, people will come for you. I suspect The Jam Jar will be the first place they’ll look. You must get Jean-Claude and Mrs. Wu out of there. Do you know a safe place?”
“I’ll think of something,” I answered.
“I know you will. Is she free yet?”
I held up the ankle shackles.
“Good man.” Clegg looked at Mrs. Wu. “Ma’am, I believe everything you told me, and as Trip will attest, I don’t believe many things. Just do as we say, and we’ll all get through this. Got it?”
She nodded. “I only want my son.”
“What’s going to happen to you?” I asked Clegg.
“With any luck, Buck will get to throw me in the stockade. After that, it’ll be up to you, Carson, and Stevens to get me out of here. I have a feeling I’m not going to be getting my one phone call.”
“I’d say that’s a pretty safe bet,” Pennington added.
“What if you don’t have any luck?” I asked.
“Then I’ll be killed on sight,” Clegg answered, matter-of-factly. “Buck, there’s going to be a couple of other things I’ll need you to do.”
“What?”
“I’ll tell you later. There’s no time right now. Okay, everybody, ready, set, go.”
“Peter,” Pennington said, putting his hand on Clegg’s arm. “Last time, you sure about this?”
“About her being set up? Absolutely. About anything else. Nope.”
“That’s what I thought,” Pennington replied. “Okay, Pete, let’s do this. Take it easy on me. And try to avoid my back, especially the left side, my sciatica is bad enough as it is.”
“What’s he talking about?” I asked Clegg.
“This,” Clegg answered.
Clegg let go a haymaker that landed square on Pennington’s jaw, sending the man stumbling backward, turning over a chair, and smashing down on a table. Just as the MP opened the door to see what the ruckus was all about, the colonel landed his own punch, sending Clegg hurling through the open door, and into the main room. From there, it was mayhem. Colonel Pennington jumped on top of Clegg, who judo tossed him into the air, causing the colonel to land hard onto one of the hospital beds. The bed’s legs gave way and crashed to the ground. A young MP tried to restrain Clegg, but Clegg took care of him with one slug to the kid’s chops.
I waited until all the action, and attention, was focused on the far end of the hos
pital. I took Michelle Wu by the hand and led her out of the room, and into the room next door. Just as Pennington had said, there was an exit. I opened the door and stepped outside. I cautiously walked around the building, making sure Mrs. Wu stayed close behind me. When I got to the corner, I peeked around to see if it was clear. It wasn’t. A burnt orange pickup truck was pulling up in front of the hospital.
A hard-looking man wearing khakis and a tan, wide-brimmed hat got out of the truck. He looked in all directions, took off his hat, and then wiped his completely bald head with a red bandana. I was finally seeing Hank Wilson in the flesh.
Word must have gotten around about what was going on in the hospital because men began rushing across the road. Wilson stopped one of the men, they talked briefly, but instead of following the man into the hospital, Wilson turned and trotted across the road, and into the bank.
Once everyone was off the street, and I concluded it was as clear as it was ever going to be, I ushered Michelle Wu out from behind the building. She hadn’t seen Wilson, and I decided there was no upside in telling her I just had.
We bolted across the road to the Caddy, which frustratingly was parked in front of the bank. All I could do was pray Wilson wouldn’t come back out. As stealthily, but as quickly as I could, I opened the trunk lid, and helped Michelle Wu climb in. Then, I closed the lid, got in the car, and started it. I kept a close watch on the entrance to the bank as I put the Caddy into gear, and backed out.
The young man stepped out of the shed as I drove up. I was prepared to stop, but surprisingly he just raised the gate and saluted me as I drove past. I waited until the town was safely in my rearview mirror, and then I floored it.
Chapter 10
I disobeyed Clegg’s orders and stopped when I got to the main road. My reason was due to the temperature hitting triple digits, and my belief that not even a camel could survive riding in the trunk of a car under those conditions.
“Thank you,” she said, getting out of the trunk. She was dripping with sweat, but otherwise, okay.
“Did you kill your husband?” I blurted.
She gave a bewildered look and then shook her head. “I told you my husband died—”
“Not Jean-Paul,” I interrupted. “Charlie. Did you kill Charlie Wu?”
“Charlie’s dead?” she said, covering her mouth. “How? When?”
“Last night.”
Her face went white, and I thought for a moment she was going to collapse. “I can’t believe…no. I swear I didn’t. I didn’t kill…Charlie’s dead? What’s going on?” she yelled.
I’m not an expert on reading women—don’t know any man who is—but I was sure Michelle Wu wasn’t lying. I was also sure she was scared to death.
“Come on,” I said. “We need to get out of here.”
Neither one of us spoke for the rest of the way into town. When we arrived at The Jam Jar, I was expecting her to leap from the car and run inside. She didn’t. Instead, she seemed hesitant to get out.
“It’s okay,” I said, offering a reassuring smile. “He’s inside.”
She looked at me, nodded, and then opened the door.
Betsy and Luther were behind the bar. I didn’t see Jean-Claude right off but soon found him sitting at a booth in the back of the club. He was examining some charts Eighty-Eight Eddie must have given him to look over and was so engrossed, he didn’t notice us come in.
“Hey, J.C.,” I said. “Aren’t you going to say hello?”
He looked up.
“Mother!” he yelled, leaping out of the booth and running into her arms.
“Jean-Claude,” she cried out, embracing the boy, and burying her face in his neck, “I’m so sorry, Jean-Claude,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry.”
I went over to the bar. Luther and Betsy were smiling.
“That’s mighty good, Trip,” Luther said. “Is it over?”
“Not even close,” I replied, setting the blue folder on the bar.
“What’s that? Where’s Agent Clegg?” Betsy asked.
I just shook my head and reached for the phone. I dialed the number. This time, there was no ring, only a click.
“Operator,” a woman’s voice said.
“Uh…who?”
“This is the operator. You’ve dialed a number no longer in service.”
“I’m sorry, I must have dialed the wrong number. Sorry.”
I hung up and dialed again.
“Operator,” another woman’s voice said.
“Is this 555-0020?”
“I’m sorry, sir. This number is no longer in service.”
“Thank you.”
I hung up the phone.
“Trouble?” Luther asked.
“The number to Clegg’s men has been disconnected.”
I looked over at Jean-Claude and Michelle. They were still in each other’s arms. “Luther, could you stash this?” I asked, nodding down to the dossier laying on the bar.
“I’ll put it in my office.”
“Could you put it in the stock room, maybe in one of the boxes where you keep your old copies of Down Beat? Sorry, Bets.”
“Consider it done,” he replied. “What is it?”
“I’m not completely sure, but Clegg told me to take good care of it. I need to get Jean-Claude and his mother out of here, and I don’t think me carrying it around Las Vegas all night would be a good idea. So, could you…”
“I’ll make sure it’s nowhere to be found,” Luther said.
“Thanks.”
“Can I make you some food? I’m sure the woman is hungry?”
“There’s no time,” I said, picking up the phone again. I had to close my eyes to remember the number, but eventually, it came to me. I dialed and hoped I’d remembered correctly.
“Hello,” came the sultry voice of a woman.
“Jaqueline, it’s Trip.”
“Trip Callaway, one of my favorite people. How are you, my darling?”
“I’m good. Listen, Jaqueline, I need a favor.”
She chuckled.
“Not that kind of favor,” I said.
“What do you need, love?”
“I’d rather tell you in person. Can I swing by in about thirty minutes?”
“I look forward to it.”
“Great. I’ll see you soon.”
I hung up and immediately dialed another number. The call was answered on the second ring.
“Barnard.”
“Sam, it’s me.”
“You psychic or something? I was just about to call you.”
“Why?” I asked.
“That motel you sent me out to, it’s not there anymore.”
“What?”
“Yeah, burned to the ground last night.”
My heart stopped.
Barnard continued, “The boys from the Boulder City Volunteer Fire Brigade said it was basically an ash heap by the time they got there.”
I didn’t want to ask, but I knew I had to. “Sam, were there any—”
“One body. Adult male. Burned to a crisp. Identification is going to take some time.”
“Sam, there were at least two people in that motel yesterday afternoon. One was a young girl about twelve.”
“County records list the owner as a man by the name Darrel Shirley. A local sand hauler said he saw Darrel and his daughter packing up their truck last night. He asked if they were going on vacation. Darrel told him they’d had a windfall and were moving back east.”
“Arson?”
“Looks like it. But again, it’s going to take some time to be sure. That’s all I got for now. So, why were you calling me?”
“Are you working late tonight?”
“I’m investigating the murder of a Triad crime boss. What do you think?”
“Right. I’m coming over. I’ll see you in about an hour.”
“Trip, what’s going on?”
“Plenty, but not over the phone. I’ll see you in an hour.”
I hung up and
stared down at the bar. My mind was going a thousand different places at once. I was so lost in thought that I didn’t notice Luther and Betsy staring at me. Once I did, I tried offering a reassuring smile.
“You okay, son?” Luther said.
“Yeah, I’m okay. Look you two, I’ve got to get them out of here. It’s possible…it’s likely some very intimidating men are going to show up looking for us. They might even be in uniform. You haven’t seen me all day, and you don’t know where I am. And, as far as Jean-Claude and his mother are concerned, you don’t know who they’re talking about. Think you can do that?”
Betsy scoffed “When have you ever seen me intimidated by any man, Trip? In or out of uniform. We can handle ourselves, can’t we, Daddy?”
Luther smiled. “Don’t you worry about us, Trip. We’ll take care of it. We’ll make sure Eighty-Eight knows the skinny too.”
I don’t know what I ever did to deserve people like Luther and Betsy in my life, but whatever it was, I’m sure glad I did it.
I went over to Jean-Claude and Michelle. She looked over the boy’s head at me as I walked up.
“We have to go,” I mouthed.
Michelle nodded and ran her hand through Jean-Claude’s curly-blond hair. “Come on, Jean-Claude. We need to go with Trip.”
It was the first time she’d ever used my first name, and if I’m honest, I sort of liked it.
“Will I be coming back?” Jean-Claude asked. “I didn’t say goodbye to Eight-Eight Eddie.”
“Of course, you’ll be back,” I said, punching his arm. “Heck, you’re practically a part of Eight-Eight’s band now.”
Jean-Claude grinned, and we headed for the door. I looked back and saw Luther with his massive arm around Betsy. She was biting her bottom lip.
“I’ll be back, you guys. Have a good night.”
Luther gave me a thumbs-up.
Prostitution was illegal in Las Vegas. Thinking it was not was one of the many fallacies people tended to believe about Sin City. While it was true there were brothels operating legally around the state, those establishments were few and far between, and tended to be in rural, very isolated areas. However, while prostitution was illegal in Las Vegas, it must be noted that ninety percent of all prostitution in the state of Nevada occurred in…you guessed it, Las Vegas.
