Trigger Break

by Ty Patterson

  Hall rose from his seat, walked swiftly around his desk and crushed Zeb in a bear hug. Hall was the same size as Bwana and Bear, had the same build and the same crushing hugs and handshakes.

  Zeb gingerly felt his ribs for effect, at which Hall laughed and pointed to a seat.

  ‘What brings you here, Zeb?’ Hall asked. ‘Meghan gave me a heads-up, but didn’t say why you were visiting.’

  Hall and Zeb had served in Iraq, and on one occasion, Zeb had saved him from a sniper attack. A debt like that couldn’t be repaid, and Hall didn’t even try. That bond forged in the heat of battle hadn’t dimmed, and Zeb and Hall made it a point to look each other up when they were in the other’s city.

  ‘Your visit related to Levin’s daughter? I heard about it. Nasty stuff.’

  ‘I’m hunting Do An Banh.’ Zeb brought Hall up to speed quickly and watched his friend go businesslike.

  ‘He’ll never admit to being involved in Shira Levin’s killing.’ Hall stroked his chin. ‘However, if he knows Nguyen’s killer is with us, he might come.’

  ‘Has he shown up previously?’

  ‘Rarely at first call. We know where he usually hangs out. We leave messages at those places. After several such messages, he turns up. Accompanied by a lawyer. But your ruse might just work. My guess is he’ll come running. Don’t expect any revelation, though. He’s never admitted to being in a gang.’

  At the least, I can observe him.

  ‘Ask him to come in. Where does he hang out?’

  ‘In East Long Beach. A lot of Asian gangs are out of there.’

  ‘I thought you didn’t see much violence these days.’

  ‘We don’t,’ Hall admitted, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms behind his head. ‘Drive-by shootings, random shootings in restaurants over gambling debts, physical attacks—these were all quite common ten years back. Folks didn’t come out of their houses at night, it was so bad. It was a turf war out there, in East Long Beach, for the Asian gangs.

  ‘It’s different now. There are still gangs, but the violence isn’t so obvious. The gangs have become more sophisticated and have branched out from extortion and killing. They push drugs, run women. They’ve become more businesslike. Outright violence is rare. They know we’ll come down on them like a ton of bricks.’

  ‘What about Do An Banh?’

  ‘He’s a bad one.’ Hall grimaced. ‘He’s old-school, still. He’s quite young. In his midthirties. He grew up here, rumored to have killed his first victim when he was eleven years old. Of course, he denies all gang activity. He runs a motel in Long Beach. That’s his front. That’s where we usually leave our messages for him. He has five men around him at all times. We asked him why he needs protection for running a motel. He said they’re for his self-confidence. You’ll see for yourself when he comes in.’

  ‘You’ll tell him you have Bao Nguyen’s killer.’

  ‘Nope.’ Hall’s lips tightened. ‘I’ll talk about it in the hallways. It’ll get picked up. We know Banh has a few crooked cops on his payroll. The news’ll get to him. It might also help me find out who those dirty cops are.’

  Hall’s face was like granite and his words were cold, a taster of the reception Banh’s cops would receive.

  * * *

  Do An Banh swaggered in the next afternoon, with five flunkies, just as Hall had predicted. Banh was lean, wiry, with very short hair and eyes that were never still. They flicked to the left, to the right. They rested on people, moved on, and took in everything.

  He was wearing a short-sleeved white tee that showed tatts running up and down his arms. Blue jeans over white sneakers. His heavies were bigger men, all Vietnamese, and had the cold, flat eyes of killers.

  Zeb watched them through the one-way mirrored window and listened as two cops questioned Banh.

  Banh started off aggressively, demanding to know why he had been summoned. He narrowed his eyes and looked surprised when the cops told him the reason.

  ‘New York? Killing a woman?’ He spread his hands wide, an honest citizen expressing outrage. ‘I’m a businessman, Officers. I run a motel. I’ve never been to New York. I’m not in a gang. I thought you brought me in to identify Nguyen’s killer.’

  One of the cops pointed out a tat on his right arm.

  ‘This one?’ he exclaimed, ‘I didn’t know it was gang ink when I got it done. I haven’t bothered to remove it. Where’s that killer? You don’t have him, do you? You’ve wasted my time.’

  ‘Who told you we have Nguyen’s killer? He was killed by the Mossad, wasn’t he?’ a cop queried.

  Banh realized his mistake immediately, ‘Why else would you call me?’ he blustered. ‘I’ve done nothing wrong. I pay my taxes. I’ve never committed a crime. Bao Nguyen was my friend. I thought you’d caught his killer. I should have realized you cops are just fat and lazy.’

  ‘You see how he is?’ Hall came from behind and stood alongside Zeb, watching the interrogation. ‘Everyone who comes to these rooms claims to be honest. Upright. If we had so many honest folks in our country…’ Hall chuckled soundlessly.

  His mirth died when he saw the expression on Zeb’s face. ‘No vigilantism. Not in my town, bubba.’

  ‘Me, a vigilante?’

  Hall brushed away Zeb’s protest and hugged his friend before seeing him out.

  Zeb was climbing into his vehicle in the parking lot when the sound of raucous laughter attracted his attention.

  Banh and his heavies came into sight, the gang boss doubling over in delight as he mimicked the cops’ questions. They passed Zeb’s vehicle without spotting him, climbed into a Hummer and drove away.

  Zeb followed them out and turned away from them when he hit the street. Getting Banh come to the LAPD had served two purposes. Zeb got a firsthand look at the man, how he behaved. He had also seen some of Banh’s hitters.

  It was time to execute the second part of his plan, in which Banh didn’t laugh at all.

  Chapter 6

  Banh lived in a fortified house opposite his motel in East Long Beach. Just a strip of road separating him from his secure pad and his business interest. Well, it was his official business interest. His real businesses were spread across East Long Angeles, the usual stuff gangs were involved in. Drugs and prostitution were the mainstay. But movies, hard-core porn and snuff were fast-growing lines of business.

  Or had been. His face darkened as his ride stopped at a gas station and one of his homies sauntered inside to buy a pack of smokes. If Bao Nguyen hadn’t been killed, those lines of business would have been the most profitable.

  However, there was a silver lining to everything. If Nguyen hadn’t been killed, Banh wouldn’t have been king of the Hanoi Brotherhood. His lips curled as he remembered the two rivals he’d had to kill. One, he had stabbed a thousand times as he’d lain tied to a bench. Okay, maybe not a thousand times, but surely a hundred. How the man had howled. He had cut the genitals off the other man before killing him.

  One of his hoods met his eyes in the mirror and looked away quickly. That was good. Most of his men feared him. With reason. Banh was unpredictable. One moment he could be sharing a smoke with them. The next, he could fly into a killing rage.

  He rolled down his window and yelled at his man, ‘Get your ass moving. It’s late. I need to check on the motel.’

  The man waved his hand from inside, stopped chatting with the girl behind the counter, and hurried out. They all knew Banh was irritable of late. Ever since their four-man kill team had gone missing two weeks ago.

  That kill team was the best in Los Angeles. Fellow Vietnamese, they were coldly efficient, ruthless, and savage when they had to be. They served the gang without complaint and didn’t care who the leader was. Bao Nguyen or Do Van Banh, it was all the same to them. They hadn’t gotten involved when the gang was going through a transition and Banh was fighting to lead it.

  The four men were brothers, and no one was really sure how they had joined the gang. Bao Nguyen knew but h
e hadn’t told anyone else; after his death, it remained a mystery. The killers used to hang around Banh’s house, in their own private world. They didn’t talk to anyone. No jokes. No smiles. No mention of women. They dined separately and slept randomly, around the house. They occupied no fixed room.

  It wasn’t as if the house was small. It had eight bedrooms, and the only other occupants were Banh and three homies who were his protection detail. But the brothers didn’t take any rooms. They slept on the floor in the living room, or in hallways. They weren’t particular.

  Banh had asked them once why they didn’t occupy a room. ‘Don’t like closed spaces’ had been the laconic answer.

  The brothers were a killing machine. A rival gang boss had to be taken out quietly, they infiltrated his house and the man was never seen again. A victim was to be killed, viciously, as a message to everyone, they chopped his hands off.

  They were good with gun, knife, and sword. They spent hours practicing martial arts, and Banh had once asked them if it was karate that they practiced. They gave him blank eyes and continued their moves.

  Banh sometimes suspected they worked for other gangs. They disappeared occasionally for days after telling him they were off. Just that. That they would be back in two or three days. No asking for permission. No giving any reasons. Just a bland statement. And they would return as silently as they had gone.

  The recent absence was the most prolonged one. The eldest brother said they were going for a long time, but would be back.

  ‘Are you going to Vietnam?’ Banh demanded.

  He didn’t reply. He turned his back on Banh and filed out along with his siblings, and they weren’t seen again.

  Maybe they have gone to Hanoi. They must have family there. They’ll be back soon, Banh consoled himself as his ride turned inside the motel’s entrance.

  The brothers had cell phones, but all of them had been switched off. Banh had made discreet inquiries in Los Angeles, to check if any other gang had seen his kill team. No one had.

  He jumped inside, went to the office, and inspected the books. It was a regular thing for him. Not only did he have to maintain appearances, he genuinely liked the motel operation. It was a clean business. Was profitable and ran smoothly.

  He ranted for a few minutes when he saw occupancy was down. He pointed at a dying plant in a flower pot in a hallway and yelled. The motel wasn’t a fancy place, but appearances had to be maintained.

  He vented on the rest of the staff and stormed back to his vehicle. His heavies drove him quickly back home. As quick as they could, since they had to join traffic, go a long way down, and turn back at a light.

  ‘Get me dinner,’ Banh yelled as he disappeared into his room to shower. Ever since the killer brothers had vanished, he had added one more man to his protection detail. He had four people with him now.

  They were good men, but they didn’t have the edge the brothers had. Thankfully, there wasn’t much warfare with other gangs. The Mossad seemed to have disappeared after they had killed Bao Nguyen. The four hoods could protect him till the brothers returned.

  He returned to find dinner laid out for him on the dining table. Just for one person, for Banh ate alone. Always.

  He was halfway digging through his chicken when he heard a chair scrape and someone else join him at the table.

  ‘You know the rules,’ he said coldly without looking up. ‘I eat alone.’

  ‘I don’t care,’ a voice replied.

  Banh looked up, startled, and gaped at the lean brown-haired man who was sitting a couple of feet away. The man was wearing thick dark shades even though he was indoors. He had a headset around his ears.

  ‘Who are you?’ he asked stupidly, trying to comprehend the stranger’s presence.

  ‘Finish eating.’ The stranger pointed to Banh’s plate. ‘You’ll need strength.’

  ‘Strength? For what?’

  ‘For answering my questions. You will refuse to answer. Claim ignorance. I will become aggressive. You’ll need your energy for all that. Eat.’

  The man’s tone voice was even. Almost bored. As if he was discussing the weather.

  ‘Ngo? Kim? Linh? Phuong? Where are you?’ Banh bellowed and pushed his chair back.

  Footsteps came pounding. Ngo was the first to appear in the dining room, opposite the stranger. The stranger shot him with a gun that had materialized out of thin air. The report stunned Banh.

  He leaped to a chest of drawers where he had guns. The next moment he was yowling in agony as the stranger flung the bowl of hot soup at his face. He scrabbled at his face desperately. Caught glimpses of the stranger as he turned to face his men.

  The man seemed to move as if in slow motion. Thrusting his chair back. Half-turning, without rising to full height. Dimly, Banh knew why. To present a smaller target.

  The stranger’s gun bucked once. Kim went down, a red rose blossoming on his forehead. Linh and Phuong appeared from the kitchen, guns blazing. The stranger heaved the dining table to its side and used it as a shield.

  He didn’t return fire. His hand rose and something flew from it. It landed between Linh and Phuong, and then the room went blinding white and a roar of sound assaulted Banh.

  He blacked out.

  When he came to, he found he was tied to a chair. His ears were still ringing and tears were streaming down his face. He turned his head slowly. Ngo was still on the floor. Dead. As was Kim. Phuong and Linh seemed to be alive but were trussed tight, their mouths gagged.

  A shadow moved at the edge of his vision. The stranger. He came in front of Banh and held a glass of water to his mouth. Banh gulped greedily, breathing heavily.

  ‘Why did you kill Levin’s daughter?’

  Banh blinked fast to dislodge the sweat on his eyelids.

  ‘Do you know who I am?’ he shouted.

  Something hit him in the mouth. He fell, choking, spat out teeth and blood. Gasped when the stranger hauled his chair upright.

  ‘Why did you kill Levin’s daughter?’ The same question. Uttered in the same monotone.

  Banh’s eyes darted wildly, going to the various entrances in the dining room. Hoping his four killers would appear as if by magic. They didn’t.

  ‘You had better get away before my men come,’ he said defiantly.

  He didn’t hear the shot. He didn’t feel pain. Not at first. He just felt shock and his thigh jerked involuntarily as a round pierced it. Then the pain came, like fire spreading through his body. He screamed, and through his body’s throbbing and over his own shouting, he heard the man repeat the question.

  ‘Don’t know,’ he gasped.

  * * *

  Zeb watched him, considering his answer. He had read up on Banh and knew he was a vicious criminal. Banh liked blood sports. Liked killing. Zeb had expected resistance. Denial. But the man’s answer seemed to have a ring of truth.

  ‘Yesterday. In New York. You and your men killed her,’ he prodded Banh.

  ‘Was not in New York. Don’t know girl,’ Banh mumbled, his head sagging on his chest.

  Zeb touched his barrel lightly to Banh’s wound. The Vietnamese jumped as if electrocuted.

  ‘Don’t know. Didn’t kill any girl yesterday!’ he babbled, yelling, the words spilling out faster than his tongue could move.

  Zeb rose and paced the living room. The two living hoods on the floor stared at him balefully. If looks could kill, Zeb would have been dead and cremated. Zeb ignored them. Was the snitch lying?

  An idea struck him. He pulled out his phone and brought up the video, then grasped Banh’s head and made him watch the recording.

  ‘This isn’t you? Your men?’

  Banh groaned at the sudden movement but didn’t reply. He watched, his chest heaving, and when he looked at Zeb, his face was white.

  He moistened his lips. ‘That’s not me, man. I didn’t order that.’

  He flinched when Zeb’s gun rose. ‘Wait,’ he yelled, edging back in his chair. ‘Those men. They look familiar. Thos
e moves.’

  ‘Who are they?’

  Banh hesitated and then rushed to answer when Zeb moved threateningly. ‘They look like my killers. But I didn’t order them,’ he continued quickly when Zeb’s face tightened.

  ‘They have been missing for two weeks.’

  Zeb listened as Banh told everything he knew. It sounded plausible. The timeline fit. They could be taking contracts. Two weeks would be enough time to prepare. He searched Banh’s phone and found a couple of photographs of the brothers. The four heavies’ phones had more images. He transferred the images to his phone and forwarded them to Meghan.

  He scribbled a number on a sheet of paper and waved it in front of Banh. ‘Call this number when they return.’

  ‘Are you a cop?’ Banh asked him, wincing as he tried to stretch his legs.

  ‘No. Did you hear me?’

  ‘Yes, I heard you! I will call if they return! But I will kill you before that,’ Banh shouted in sudden fury.

  Zeb crouched in front of him and looked him steadily in the eyes. ‘Don’t. Don’t even think of that. Run your motel. Disband your gang. You just might live long.’

  He rose, and as he was walking away, Banh asked him another question. ‘Are you from the Mossad?’

  Zeb couldn’t help smiling. ‘You wouldn’t be alive if I was.’

  Chapter 7

  Banh waited till he was sure the stranger had left and then let loose a long string of curses. He cursed his protection detail. He would kick their sorry asses once he was free. He cursed his entire gang. What good was it when its members couldn’t come together for its leader?

  He cursed the city of Los Angeles. Why had it allowed the stranger in its vicinity in the first place? He saved his choicest curses for the Mossad. All his problems had started when the Israeli outfit had taken a hand in the gang’s operations.